A bank
of TV screens in the window of an electronics store on East 180th
was trying to get some attention but nobody in the Bronx seemed inclined to
watch. They shuffled by, tapping on phones or yelling at cabs, smoking cigarettes
or whistling at girls, all the while completely ignoring the chaos unfolding on
the 11 o’clock news.
The
footage was grainy and frantic, but it looked like a
security camera on the deck of a large container ship. The sea swelled in front
of the ship and something rose out of the water. Something huge and black.
Though difficult to discern in the churning waves, there seemed to be a mass of
giant tentacles approaching the bow, and what could only be described as
enormous clawed fingers grabbed the deck, wrapping around the ship and lifting
it clear of the sea. Here the clip went dark and the news anchor reappeared,
her muted words falling on deaf ears until the video played again, this time
with a banner scrolling across the top of the screen.
*Breaking news – seismic event recorded in
Atlantic – multiple cargo vessels missing and presumed destroyed – unknown
aquatic creature possibly approaching Eastern Seaboard – stay tuned for
details*
The
video caught the eye of a grubby man digging half a Camel out of an ashtray. He
lit it and exhaled a gray cloud at the glass, gesturing to an equally grubby
acquaintance nearby.
“What
do you think?” he asked.
“Let
him who would raise Leviathan curse the day,” the acquaintance said. “That's the book of Job. Chapter three, verse eight.”
“Hold
on to your butts,” the grubby man said. “That’s from Jurassic Park.”
“I
suppose the meaning is the same.”
A man
appeared at the door of the store. He stepped outside and made a show of
locking it behind him and lowering the security gate.
“You
bums run on,” he said. “Gonna ruin my investment.”
“I
have a feeling your investment will be ruined without any help from us,”
the acquaintance said and the two men shuffled off as the anchor made another
appearance.
---
A bank
of TV screens in the window of an electronics store on West 7th was
trying to get some attention but nobody in Long Beach seemed inclined to watch.
The ground shook again, and the big plate glass window, already cracked and
hanging loose from the storefront, fell out onto the sidewalk and shattered.
Clay tiles clattered down from the roof of an apartment building while a church
steeple across the street buckled and collapsed in on itself. Smoke rose from myriad rooftops. Screams rang out,
compounded by the wailing of sirens. The TVs flickered for a moment but came back on.
*Continued seismic activity along the coast from
Los Angeles to San Luis Obispo – widespread structural damages reported – the
Diablo Canyon nuclear facility has suffered severe damage and evacuations are
underway – those not in an evacuation zone should remain sheltered – aftershocks
will likely continue – stay tuned for details*
A
grubby man stepped through the broken window, carefully avoiding the large
shards of glass still sticking up. He unplugged a large TV from the display and
hoisted it to his shoulder.
“Hey,
you can’t do that!” a voice called from beneath the cash register.
“The
Lord helps those who help themselves,” the grubby man said and stepped out of
the store carrying his prize. The ground shook again but he didn't drop the TV.
---
The admiral
stood on the bridge and surveyed the bustling crew as they tended to their myriad
glowing screens and blinking lights.
“Chief
Mate,” he said. “The sit-rep, if you please.”
“Looking
good, sir,” she replied, brandishing a clipboard. “The entity is continuing northwest
at a speed of roughly twenty knots. We intercept in approximately twenty seven
minutes.”
“Excellent.
And then we will show it what a United States destroyer is capable of. It’s one
thing to pick a fight with cargo ships, but this is an entirely different
playground.”
“Yes
sir.”
“Guns
are ready?”
“Yes
sir, I have seen to them personally.”
“Excellent.
I’d like to see the entity that can withstand our Mark 45.”
“As
would I, sir.”
The
minutes passed and a deck officer soon called up. “Two clicks leeward, sir. ETA
approximately five minutes.”
The
admiral nodded. Sirens sounded to clear the deck and then it happened. The
thing rose from the sea in front of them. It brought blackness with it, not the
blackness of night, but a different black. The sun still shone in a cloudless
sky, but it was a black sun glowing in a field of ebony and the whole world had
gone silent. There were no sounds of the engines, no beeping computers, no
barking orders; there was only the ship and the thing that should not be in
front of it.
The
admiral wanted to fire the big gun but he could not give the order. His mind
had become a landscape of strange buildings rising from the depths. They loomed
at weird angles, not because they were old and falling down but because they
were built that way, and they were gargantuan in size.
Someone
managed to fire the Mark 45 and it erupted in a cloud of flame and smoke,
hurling a five inch shell at the atrocity still rising from the depths. The
shell struck somewhere on the bulbous head and exploded, blowing a plume of
inky jelly into the sky, but the thing took no notice and the wound disappeared
almost instantly. The admiral wanted to order a reverse but he had no voice and
the ship continued forward. Through the fog of the dream city, he looked around
at his slack-jawed crew. There was the Chief Mate, staring in mute horror. Her
clipboard was on the ground. There were the deck officers, screaming silently.
Someone should reverse the ship but it was too late. The thing had them now.
---
The
anchor spoke calmly into the camera even as a tremor shook the news room.
“We
have confirmed via the aerial footage you see here earlier reports of a
geologic event in the Atlantic Ocean.”
The
video playing behind her showed an expanse of ocean and then what appeared to
be a looming island composed of large, irregular blocks. A ship that had run
aground gave context to the massive size of the structures, and when the camera
panned left or right the island seemed to stretch to the horizon.
“Earlier
reports indicated a large earthquake along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge a few hundred
miles east of Bermuda. Scientists believe this earthquake raised the island you
are now seeing up from the seabed. They do not believe that this event and the seismic
activity off the California coast are related.”
The
footage segued to scenes of coastal destruction.
“The tsunami
generated by the Bermuda earthquake was estimated at twenty five feet when it
struck the Bermuda Islands, causing widespread destruction and loss of life.
Though the killer wave weakened as it moved westward, it still retained enough
force to inundate much of the coast along Georgia and the Carolinas.”
Someone
handed the anchor a piece of paper.
“This
just in: California has experienced a second earthquake, this one estimated to
be at least 9.0 on the Richter scale. Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and
surrounding areas are experiencing widespread flooding and property damage and
the reactor at Diablo Canyon is fully compromised.”
There
was hectic coverage of screaming people running through city streets, of
buildings collapsing and coughing up giant clouds of gray dust, and of the cracked
domes of the smoldering nuclear plant. The famed Hollywood sign had lost an O
and an L, and the roof of the Griffith Observatory had fallen in.
---
A loose front page of the Daily News blew across Broadway.
The cover photo was a grainy blow-up recovered from the Navy ship’s cameras
that showed a mass of tentacles rising from the ocean, and the headline read ‘Release the Kraken?’ in large block
letters. The paper caught on the shoe of a man trying unsuccessfully to
negotiate prices with a hot dog vendor.
“I’m not paying five dollars for a hot dog,” the man
said.
“Then you are not eating a hot dog.”
“Come on man. They’re two bucks around the corner.”
“Then you should go around the corner. His hot dogs
are garbage anyway. You get what you pay for.”
The man picked up the paper from his shoe and swatted
it with his other hand as he showed it to the hot dog man.
“Would you look at this?”
The vendor glanced at the paper but he did not seem
particularly interested.
“What is this kraken?”
“I don’t know,” the man said. “Probably one of them
government experiments gone wrong.”
“Yes. Now do you want the hot dog or not?”
“Yeah fine. Four dollars.”
“Five dollars.”
“Five dollars, hot dog and a Coke.”
“Eight dollars, hot dog and a Coke.”
The man counted out eight dollars and put them down
heavily. He took the hot dog and Coke and stamped off toward Battery Park,
studying the errant Daily News page as he walked and ate. When he reached the
walk along the water he sat down on a bench to finish the hot dog. He
would not have said so to the vendor, but it was quite good, possibly even worth the five dollars. He looked out over the
water and though the morning was foggy he could make out the Statue of Liberty
standing tall just past Ellis Island.
What he saw out there caused him to choke on the portion
of bun he was eating, not because he was surprised but because his mind seemed to have forgotten even its most basic duties. Something huge rose from the water. It flapped two great,
bat-like wings and lurched into the air, swinging one arm to the side and
striking the Statue of Liberty. The great monument toppled slowly, twisting as
she fell from her base and crashing to the ground with a loud metallic gonging
that echoed across the bay. Her head broke loose and rolled down into the water where it collided with a ferry boat. The thing was not concerned with the statue and
flapped toward land, its wings spreading darkness as he gasped his last breaths
around the bun that had lodged in his throat.
---
Stearns Wharf and most of Santa Barbara was still soggy from the after-effects of the flooding. Palm branches and
other debris littered the road but miraculously a shaved ice truck was parked
near the pier and open.
“Look,”
a tired man told the shaved ice vendor, “I’m not a tourist. I’m not paying ten bucks
for some ice and food coloring.”
“Cataclysm
prices, mate. Ice is at a premium.”
“My apartment
is five minutes from here.”
“Then
you should get walking,” the vendor said.
“Quake
knocked out my power. And water.”
“Then
walking won’t do you much good. Ten dollars.”
“Fine,”
the man said. He slapped a ten on the counter. “Black cherry. And don’t skimp
on the flavor. Or the ice.”
The
vendor pocketed the money and began grinding the ice. Eventually he dumped some
in a paper cup and squirted it with flavor.
“More,”
the man said.
The
vendor squirted some more flavor, this time missing the cup and landing some on
the man’s shorts.
“Sorry
mate.”
The
man snatched the cup, spilling some of it on his hand, and stormed off toward
the sand. While he ate the snow cone he inspected all the creatures so
recently washed up. He really liked the starfish, especially the bristly ones
with lots of arms. While nudging one with the tip of a palm frond the beach fell
dark under a shadow, so he turned his head back to see what could be blocking the
light.
The
hand holding the cup trembled and the snow cone fell, staining the sand a deep
purple. Towering out past the end of the pier was an impossible giant. It looked like a colossal
dinosaur, like a tyrannosaurus but with tall spikes running down its back, and
it blotted out the sun. The beast tilted its head skyward and roared,
unleashing a sound that defied description. The man could feel blood trickling
from his ears.
When
it rose from the below, the beast had created a substantial wave that was now
reaching the shore. The man thought to turn and flee, but the water was fast
upon him, picking him up and bashing the life from him against the side of the
shaved ice truck.
