Mega 4: Behemoth Island (21 page)

Jowarski smiled and didn’t say anything else. When the door rattled he stepped to the side, making room for the two people that came through.

“Popeye!” Kinsey yelled and tried to stand, but was caught short by the handcuffs bolted to the table. “You died!”

“Nope,” Popeye shrugged as he was shoved against the wall by Jowarski. He didn’t even try to resist. “Close, but these assholes found me and fixed me up.”

“We did our best,” the next person in said. Dr. Dana Ballantine frowned at Kinsey and Ingrid. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? Is my husband on that ship in the bay? Or is he on the island? I need to know right this second or one of you gets hurt badly. I don’t want to hurt you, but Mr. Jowarski does. I’m afraid I cannot hold him back, as much as I would like to.”

She looked from Kinsey to Ingrid and waited.

“Well?” she asked.

“Did you say husband?” Kinsey asked.

“Yes, I did,” Dana said. “My name is Dr. Dana Ballantine. I am going to ask one more time. Where is my husband? The ship or the island?”

“That’s probably how my face looked when she said the same thing to me,” Popeye said. “It doesn’t get easier to understand, trust me. Just tell the woman what she wants to know or this guy will do some nasty things to you. He’s a scary fuck.”

It was at that moment that Kinsey wasn’t sure she could trust him. It was Popeye alright, but he seemed changed. He seemed beaten. She could see the look in his eyes. Junkie Kinsey recognized that look. It was defeat. It was giving in to those that said they held all the power. Kinsey knew that if she cooperated then she and Ingrid would be dead in seconds. The alternative was not much better, but it meant living.

“Go fuck yourself, bitch,” Kinsey spat and readied herself for the pain that was about to come as Jowarski came at her almost before the words were out of her mouth.

Chapter Ten- Make This Bitch Ours

The Harris-Logan thing tore through the passageway, its bulk denting the walls, pushing in metal that was designed to resist major explosives. It roared and thumped its chest, thick, black hair sprouting from its skin. Skin that had started to darken a deep grey, becoming wrinkled and folded across its face.

It ripped the stairs free from their bolts at the end of the passageway, making enough room so it could get to the hatchway beyond. It tore the hatch off, not even bothering to spin the wheel in the middle, and threw it back the way it had come. Its bulk was way too big to get through the hatchway, but that did not stop the Harris-Logan thing.

More metal groaned and splits sped across the surface of the walls as the thing shoved through the too small hatchway and into the passageway beyond. A man, an anonymous crewman that had kept his head down and out of sight during the past few months, screamed as he saw what came at him. He tried to run, but he was caught before he could make it more than a few steps.

The Harris-Logan thing lifted the crewman up by the back of his neck then slammed his whole body down into the floor, literally into the floor, denting the metal and pulverizing the man instantly. Blood and bone sprayed against the walls and shot upward like a geyser to be left dripping from the ceiling, an interior rain of horror.

The hatch at the end of that passageway swung open and Ballantine stared at the monstrosity. One of his eyes was swollen shut and he had a heavy gash across his forehead. He was favoring his left arm and his jaw was set, teeth gritted, against the obvious pain he was in.

“You,” the Harris-Logan thing growled. It was a deep, low voice filled with violence and violence only. “You should be dead.”

“If I had a nickel,” Ballantine said and shook his head. Slowly. It hurt to shake more than just slowly. “I am extremely hard to kill, Harris. Ask everyone that has tried. Not to say I haven’t actually been dead now and again, but I give all the credit to the miracles of modern medical science for bringing me back.”

Ballantine sighed.

“What the hell, Harris?” He nodded his head at the Harris-Logan thing. “What is going on?”

“Still you want answers,” the Harris-Logan thing responded. “Even as you face your death, you want answers.”

“I’m an answer man,” Ballantine shrugged. He winced at the movement. “Some guys are boob men, some are ass men, some go for exotic eyes or small feet. Me? I get turned on by answers. So, since I am about to die, as you say, how about giving me some? Real ones now.”

“You do not deserve them,” the Harris-Logan thing said. “You do not deserve anything except for a painful death. You did this to me, Ballantine. You made me what I am.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Ballantine shouted then rolled his jaw a couple of times. “Ow. I just found out that loud can hurt. I also found out that while you look like a giant gorilla, or a toddler King Kong, if you will, you are also about as emotionally developed.” He waited, but when the Harris-Logan thing didn’t respond he sighed again. “You’re like a toddler, is what I’m saying.”

“That will be the last condescending thing you ever say, Ballantine,” the Harris-Logan thing roared. “Now you die!”

Ballantine shook his head as the thing raced towards him.

“God, you are stupid,” he said. Ballantine’s whole body looked defeated, just flat-out tired. He stepped aside and Carlos and Moshi stepped forward with what looked like a very large cannon on wheels. “Who do you think found me, you fool?”

The Harris-Logan thing saw the cannon and changed its direction just before the weapon fired. A dark blue/black wave of energy seemed to roll through the passageway, but the Harris-Logan thing was no longer there. It had torn right through the wall, ripping the metal like it was paper, and hurried from cabin to cabin until it hit the passageway on the other side of the ship.

“That could have gone better,” Ballantine said.

“Don’t blame me,” Carlos said. “We fired as soon as you got out of the way.”

“For once, I won’t blame you, Carlos,” Ballantine said. “I’m blaming Moshi.”

The mostly silent woman raised an eyebrow and Ballantine chuckled.

“I’m joking, of course,” he said. “Who could blame Moshi for anything?”

“Well, I do have a list of issues that I want to bring up on her next performance review,” Carlos said.

“You, sir, might be the biggest asshole on this ship,” Ballantine said. “Even bigger than me.” He leaned close to Moshi. “There’re no more performance reviews. I only told him there would still be some so he’d shut up. It didn’t work.”

There were several loud screams and Ballantine limped to the hole in the wall. He watched through the impromptu passage that the Harris-Logan thing created as body parts flew across the opening on the other side.

“We’re going to need new crew members after this,” Ballantine said. “Where the hell will I find them?”

Carlos and Moshi had followed him and stared in shock at the amount of blood they were seeing.

“The cannon,” Ballantine said, walking back towards the weapon. “Bring it along. I know where he’s headed.”

“Where?” Carlos asked.

Moshi looked puzzled then snapped her fingers and pointed at Ballantine.

“Yep, the engine room,” Ballantine said. “The dumb ape thinks he can fix the engines and take the ship. Scientists and their egos, am I right?”

Moshi gave a quick giggle then stopped as Carlos glared at her.

She flipped him the bird as soon as he turned away.

***

Ronald raised an arm to block the table that flew at him as he stood in the middle of the mess, food everywhere, blood everywhere, body parts everywhere.

Strangely reptilian body parts covered in iridescent scales of green and black. And blood. The body parts were certainly covered in blood.

The table went flying to the side as Ronald swatted it away.

“I do not see the point in this!” he shouted and pointed a hairy finger at the scaled and bloody body parts. “I have already dispatched your comrade with ease. Do not think that you will have any better chance at defeating me than he did.”

The thing at the far side of the mess, a cross between a hyena and a spider monkey, screeched and hissed at Ronald then picked up another table and threw it.

“Dr. Werth, please stop this,” Ronald said. “I do not want to hurt you, if I do not have to. I could help you with your condition. Perhaps find a way to reverse and return you to your normal self?”

“No!” the Werth thing screeched. “This is my normal self!”

The voice was like a grating combination of fingernails on a chalkboard and the yip of a strangled Chihuahua. Ronald winced at the sound, his sensitive ears not caring for the noise at all.

“I would beg to differ with you about your appearance, Dr. Werth,” Ronald argued. “While I am hardly the picture of normalcy, I am a complete, contained species. You, however, are not. Something went very wrong when you attempted whatever you tried to attempt.”

“LIES!” the Werth thing hissed and spat. Drool matted the fur on its pointed chin and it licked its jowls with a wide, splotchy tongue. “ALL LIES!”

“I have tried,” Ronald said as he started to move forward.

A rolling sound from the passageway, like squeaking wheels, became louder and louder until a strange cannon came into view at the mess’s hatchway. It rolled by and soon revealed Carlos and Moshi behind it, both struggling with the effort to keep the cannon moving. Carlos didn’t even turn to look in the mess, but Moshi gave Ronald a wave.

“Moshi,” Ronald said, nodding his head towards the passageway before she was lost from sight.

He started to turn his attention back to the Werth thing, but then Ballantine limped into view.

“Ronald,” Ballantine said as he passed by.

“Ballantine,” Ronald replied.

Ronald returned his attention to the Werth thing.

“Need any help?” Ballantine asked as he ducked his head back into view. “I’m sure Lake is around here somewhere. You know how he likes his hand cannons. I’m willing to bet he has two Desert Eagles on him right now with at least another four within easy reach.”

“No, but thank you for offering to fetch him,” Ronald said. “I have this situation well in hand.”

“Okey doke,” Ballantine said and gave him a thumbs up. “Ow. Damn, even my thumb hurts. I don’t know how Grendel does it day after day. Well, carry on then.”

“Thank you, I will,” Ronald said and closed the distance between himself and the Werth thing. “Gladly.”

“Ballantine!” Carlos yelled from the end of the passageway.

Ballantine shook his head and ducked away. “Coming!” he yelled back.

Ronald easily ignored the far off argument that ensued. He was too busy shredding an abomination with the immense strength of his hands. And his jaw. There may have been some biting.

***

“There,” Darby said, pointing to a cave at the base of the ridge they had just climbed. She looked back and saw the rest of Team Grendel struggling up the grade. She winced at the sight of the cuts and scrapes on those that were still without clothing. “We’ll rest inside until we come up with a new plan.”

Several screeches from above made her look up and that time she winced at the sight of the huge red birds that flew in lazy circles over their heads.

“Get inside now,” Darby said.

The Team followed her gaze and their pace quickened.

The inside of the cave was dark and cool, a welcome relief to the scorching, tropical sun outside. Darby turned about and took a knee, her plasma rifle trained on the cave mouth, ready for whatever might follow. The far-off sound of a terrible roar made her shiver. It wasn’t far off enough for her comfort. In fact, if her ears weren’t lying to her, it was getting closer.

“Following our trail,” Thorne said, pulling on a pair of sweat pants and a ratty t-shirt that hadn’t been washed in some time. Darby raised her eyebrows. “There’re quite a bit of supplies at the back of the cave. Crates everywhere. Someone was staying here for a while. More than one person by the looks.”

“Will they be coming back?” Darby asked.

“Not likely with that thing out there,” Thorne said. He knelt and tied a pair of sneakers then picked up a pistol from between his feet. “Weapons crates. Not hidden at all. Someone didn’t think they’d be found up here.”

“Ammo?” Darby asked.

“Tight,” Thorne said. “We’ll have to make each shot count.”

“We always do,” Darby said. She nodded to the back of the cave. “You should rest. You’re going to crash if you don’t.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Thorne said. “I know how to manage my adrenaline surges.”

The terrible roar sounded again and several winged creatures took flight from the jungle treetops below.

“Closer. Shit,” Darby said. “If it is coming for us then it’ll be here in minutes at the rate it’s moving.”

“We can handle it,” Thorne said. “Relax.”

“Relax?” Darby snapped. “How the fuck can you say that?”

“Hold on,” Thorne snapped back. “I’m not Ballantine, so don’t take this out on me. I’ve been watching your patience with him get shorter and shorter over the weeks. I know dealing with your old team brought up some shit, but do not let that shit get in the way of your job. Ballantine is not in charge here, I am. Unquestionably. I am telling you to fucking relax, so fucking relax!”

“We good up here?” Darren asked as he walked up from the back of the cave, pulling on a tank top and some running shorts.

“Fine!” Darby and Thorne yelled.

“Oh fuck that,” Darren said. He stomped up to the two of them and jabbed a finger at Thorne. “I can take getting yelled at by you and Kinsey. We have personal history and I deserve it. But technically I am co-leader of Team Grendel, so neither of you gets to speak that way to me. Whatever you are talking about that has you so pissed off, stop talking about it. Right now. Just fucking stop.”

“What’s up?” Max asked, following Darren. He had on a Hawaiian print shirt and a pair of thrashed and dirty jeans. “Family meeting? Should I get Shane?”

“Someone call me?” Shane asked. He had a bag of potato chips in his hands and was munching away. He offered the chips to everyone. “Want some? They are stale as all fuck, but damn if the salt doesn’t taste good.”

“What are you going to do when the salt stops tasting good and you are dying of thirst?” Lucy asked, dressed in too tight shorts and a too tight polo shirt. “Did you think of that?”

“Damn,” Shane said. “I didn’t.” He took another handful of chips and stuffed them in his mouth. Everyone stared as he struggled to chew and finally swallow. “In for a penny, in for a delicious pound.”

That broke the tension. Thorne rolled his eyes and shook his head. Darby pretty much repeated the same motions while Max and Darren cracked up.

“Is this a good time to tell all the dick jokes I have saved up?” Lucy asked.

A roar from the base of the ridge told her it was not a good time.