later, the keening howl of a siren broke the stunned silence over the Hoover Dam. The noise was urgent; plaintive. The sort of anguished howl that came with a deep wound. With serious damage.
Far below, the power plant was bleeding.
Seconds passed, raked away painfully, and without his even being aware of doing it, Chris found that he had retrieved his radio, and he was barking into it, his words lost beneath the rushing of blood in his ears. When the fog in his mind lifted, it took him several moments to understand that the radio was talking back to him.
“A...monster?”
Chris’ fingers tightened around the radio, until his knuckles ached and he felt sure the plastic casing would crack. He replayed the words his mouth had spoken of its own volition in his mind. I need backup at the Hoover Dam. We’re under attack from...a monster. At least one casualty —
“Say again? Monster?”
The tinny, disembodied voice in the radio was heavy with sarcasm or disbelief. Clearly, the dispatch officer thought Chris was pranking her. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘monster,’ but...how else could he have described the creature which was, at that very moment, tearing apart the power plant seven hundred feet below? It wasn’t an animal—at least, none that Chris had ever seen or heard of before—and it damn sure wasn’t a man. Yet in the fleeting glimpse Chris had got of the thing, he had been struck by a very definite sense that it was intelligent. It was impossible to say quite why: perhaps because the creature had been so singular of purpose: it hadn’t been distracted by the vehicles, or the people milling about atop the dam. This was no dog chasing a butterfly. No, it had been on a mission. It had a target.
Still; it was a monster. One that Chris thought he would see every time he found himself alone on a dark highway. Maybe even every time he closed his eyes to sleep: even now, the hideous image of the thing throwing a lump of something that had been a human being moments earlier over the railing of the intake tower and into the water was replaying itself somewhere behind his eyes.
“People are dying, goddammit,” Chris snarled into the radio. “Believe it or don’t, but I want fucking backup here now, you understand me? Or every single death is gonna be on your fucking—”
The words were still spilling from Chris’ lips on autopilot, fuelled by his rising frustration. The next word might have been head ; might have been hands . He didn’t get a chance to find out. Whether the dispatcher’s suspicion was going to cost her job or her soul suddenly seemed not to matter, as far below, an enormous explosion rocked the power plant, sending a towering column of smoke into the air. Chris watched, stunned, as debris rained across the valley below.
All at once, the purpose of the creature revealed itself to Chris, and he felt his stomach contract painfully, threatening to expel the eggs he’d eaten at breakfast. The monster wasn’t at the Hoover Dam to kill...it was there to destroy .
Jesus Christ.
Another—smaller—explosion rocked the plant far below, and a secondary alarm began to ring out, setting up a mournful duet with its louder co-star. Halfway up the dam, Chris saw a puff of dust jetting out from the wall of stone. Small, barely noticeable. Insignificant next to the destruction of the power plant further down, but Chris knew what it meant, and his mind began to shriek.
A crack. In the dam itself.
A third explosion rocked the air; the loudest yet.
He began to run; aimlessly at first, attaching the radio to his belt and ignoring whatever the dispatcher’s response was.
“Get off the dam,” he screamed, waving his arms frantically. The bystanders who had started to run at the appearance of the monster had halted their steps when it launched itself off the dam. Most were now either gawping or filming, no doubt composing the status updates they were going to post on
Far below, the power plant was bleeding.
Seconds passed, raked away painfully, and without his even being aware of doing it, Chris found that he had retrieved his radio, and he was barking into it, his words lost beneath the rushing of blood in his ears. When the fog in his mind lifted, it took him several moments to understand that the radio was talking back to him.
“A...monster?”
Chris’ fingers tightened around the radio, until his knuckles ached and he felt sure the plastic casing would crack. He replayed the words his mouth had spoken of its own volition in his mind. I need backup at the Hoover Dam. We’re under attack from...a monster. At least one casualty —
“Say again? Monster?”
The tinny, disembodied voice in the radio was heavy with sarcasm or disbelief. Clearly, the dispatch officer thought Chris was pranking her. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘monster,’ but...how else could he have described the creature which was, at that very moment, tearing apart the power plant seven hundred feet below? It wasn’t an animal—at least, none that Chris had ever seen or heard of before—and it damn sure wasn’t a man. Yet in the fleeting glimpse Chris had got of the thing, he had been struck by a very definite sense that it was intelligent. It was impossible to say quite why: perhaps because the creature had been so singular of purpose: it hadn’t been distracted by the vehicles, or the people milling about atop the dam. This was no dog chasing a butterfly. No, it had been on a mission. It had a target.
Still; it was a monster. One that Chris thought he would see every time he found himself alone on a dark highway. Maybe even every time he closed his eyes to sleep: even now, the hideous image of the thing throwing a lump of something that had been a human being moments earlier over the railing of the intake tower and into the water was replaying itself somewhere behind his eyes.
“People are dying, goddammit,” Chris snarled into the radio. “Believe it or don’t, but I want fucking backup here now, you understand me? Or every single death is gonna be on your fucking—”
The words were still spilling from Chris’ lips on autopilot, fuelled by his rising frustration. The next word might have been head ; might have been hands . He didn’t get a chance to find out. Whether the dispatcher’s suspicion was going to cost her job or her soul suddenly seemed not to matter, as far below, an enormous explosion rocked the power plant, sending a towering column of smoke into the air. Chris watched, stunned, as debris rained across the valley below.
All at once, the purpose of the creature revealed itself to Chris, and he felt his stomach contract painfully, threatening to expel the eggs he’d eaten at breakfast. The monster wasn’t at the Hoover Dam to kill...it was there to destroy .
Jesus Christ.
Another—smaller—explosion rocked the plant far below, and a secondary alarm began to ring out, setting up a mournful duet with its louder co-star. Halfway up the dam, Chris saw a puff of dust jetting out from the wall of stone. Small, barely noticeable. Insignificant next to the destruction of the power plant further down, but Chris knew what it meant, and his mind began to shriek.
A crack. In the dam itself.
A third explosion rocked the air; the loudest yet.
He began to run; aimlessly at first, attaching the radio to his belt and ignoring whatever the dispatcher’s response was.
“Get off the dam,” he screamed, waving his arms frantically. The bystanders who had started to run at the appearance of the monster had halted their steps when it launched itself off the dam. Most were now either gawping or filming, no doubt composing the status updates they were going to post on
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