Kingdom of Monsters by John Schneider (microsoft ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Rosa was a little speechless herself.  She actually couldn't believe they were alive.

At that moment, Garner sat up groggily, putting a hand to his swelling jaw.

And Rosa felt the momentum of the chopper shift.

Then it tipped and fell over the edge.

Chapter 5

'Monster Island' was always one of the wilder urban legends.

Kate certainly never expected to be going there one day. Yet, there she was, out over open ocean in a little rented Cessna, flying low, so as not to be detected by radar.

It was exactly three weeks before what surviving homo sapiens would start calling 'KT-day' and no one on board had any idea they were ushering in the end of the world.

Kate had been skeptical when she had first started receiving mysterious e-mails a few weeks before – broken pieces of messages, attached to snippets of video.

Her first reaction was to assume a put-on.  Modern CGI could be convincing, and pranks kept pace with special effects.  In 1923, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had previewed cuts from the silent film, The Lost World – subtly implying that the footage was real – and the then-breakthrough stop-motion technology was enough to fool the New York Times.

Kate's reputation as a journalist was already considered a bit sensational – an accusation she maintained was because she commanded a public following independent of any parent network.

She actually laughed at the thought of bringing the networks the brief clip of video, like one of those 'lost-footage' dramas that had become so cliched.

Although, this clip was well done.  Kate looked closely for pixel lines but could find no tells.

Still, you had what was possible, and what was not – what she saw on this video was obviously impossible, and so that sufficed as its own tell.

It wasn't until her long-time tech-nerd assistant had analyzed it that Kate had taken a second look.

Recruited right out of college, Betty had hired-on as a data-analyst and because she was highly adept with computers, although both were really periphery-skills of her primary field of study, which had been genetics – with her particular area of interest being medicinal applications of drugs and chemicals.

“The resolution on this footage,” Betty pointed out, “is extremely high.  Higher than most studios use.  It's hard to fake at this level.”

She had sat back, absorbing the implications for herself.

“It looks real,” she said.

For Kate, that was enough to get her going.  Unfortunately, she had made the initial mistake of contacting official sources for confirmation – a pesky hold-over of old-style journalistic ethic, that was more of an encumbrance – and the next thing she knew, there were government officials confiscating her computer and her devices.

Then she had made the greater mistake of calling her father.

Four-star brigadier General Nathan Rhodes, semi-estranged from a daughter he'd raised alone, and a man of duty before all else.  Kate's appeal had the effect of skipping past the rank-and-file, to a directly-ordered cover-up, right from the top.

She did, however, have the foresight to make a copy of the file, stashed in Betty's purse with her never even knowing, and just as easily retrieved.

Among other cryptic bits of information – broken-broadcast chop, as if someone had attempted to scrub the entire message before it had even been sent – there also contained latitude/longitude coordinates and a map.

The destination lay deep in restricted waters.

No sense going through official sources for permission on this one, Kate had decided It would likely get her in trouble just asking.  She would certainly be questioned, and probably detained, General's daughter or not.

Kate was therefore going anyway, and would just skip the asking part.

She had the crew – a little team she'd set-up and kept together in a loose alliance for years.

First and foremost, she had a crazy pilot, willing to fly any aircraft, credentialed or not, and hadn't been killed yet.  An important first step, all the more ironic in that Betty had been their initial contact.

Kate made wide use of unpaid interns, particularly at the start of her career.  As a student at NYU, Betty had operated in this capacity since she was a sophomore.

On this particular evening, Kate was due in Chicago for an on-set interview, debuting her first mainstream film release – an exposé on war-profiteering, that would really piss-off her father.  It was also intended to be a career kick-starter – the first time one of the major networks had agreed to promote her.

But she had to get there, and damned if one of the biggest storms to hit New York in years hadn't up and blown through, shutting down all the goddamn airports.

Kate had called all the charter pilots and found them either grounded or already booked.  Betty, however, mentioned a guy she knew on campus – a film-student, whose mini-feature class-projects featured a lot of aerial footage.

“He has a friend who's a pilot,” Betty said.  “I think they do charter work.”

“Is he any good?” Kate had asked.

“Well, he's hot,” Betty said. “That's actually why I was talking to his friend, because I wanted to meet...”

Kate interrupted.  “Can you get him here quickly?”

Betty produced a phone number – the film-student, who agreed to meet them.  With Betty in tow, Kate spent an hour driving through the deluge and flooded roads, out of the city to a small, commercial air-park on Long Island, that catered to small aircraft and private charters.

She was even less enthused when she met the duo waiting with their twin-engine plane.

The burly fellow who was apparently the pilot, introduced himself as Maverick.

“You know,” he said, “after Top Gun.”

Kate had glanced doubtfully at Betty, who shrugged.

His companion smiled reassuringly.  “He'll get us there,” he said.  He reached to shake her hand.  “My name's Cameron.”

“You're the film student.  Why are you here?”

“Maverick needed a ride.  His driver's license is currently suspended.”

His grin widened as he grabbed up their bags.  “All aboard.”

It didn't get any better once they were in the air, especially after the turbulence really started tossing them – out over the Lakes, right around where