Zombie Shark Page 6

  Yes. That plan would work—just so long as Akiko got some decent pictures of the meteor’s landing site.

  The idea gave her so much pleasure, that, for a few moments, she almost forgot about Shinobu’s betrayal. Almost.

  Caught between gleeful revenge and lurking depression, Akiko topped the rise and stared down the other side.

  Below, a wide, bowl-like valley stretched between the mountain ridges, and in the middle of it lay a huge crater. The pit looked as wide as a baseball stadium, and all the trees around the edges of it had been knocked flat by the meteor’s impact. Small fires burned around the blackened hole’s perimeter, but happily none of the blazes seemed to be spreading into the forest beyond.

  In the center of the crater rested a huge, glowing, orange-and-black mass.

  Akiko had seen a lava dome once, during a work trip to Hawaii a few years back, and this appeared similar to that. Had the meteor liquefied the bedrock of the mountains as it hit, or was she seeing the meteorite itself?

  She couldn’t be sure, but this certainly was a newsworthy shot.

  Quickly setting up her tripod, Akiko mounted the Pentax and squeezed off a couple of preliminary snaps. The light was rapidly failing, but she hoped that by varying the shutter speed and F-stop, she could capture a clear image of what she was seeing.

  Front-page material, she thought, grinning.

  She adjusted the settings and looked through the viewfinder again. Why was the meteorite out of focus now? Had her tripod shifted?

  She peered through the viewfinder and readjusted the focus, trying to get everything as clear as possible. The first stars of evening were blazing brightly now, and she didn’t have much more time before her light failed entirely; the meteorite was far too large to cover with the Pentax’s flash.

  Wait... Was something moving?

  Akiko gasped and stepped back. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Had she imagined it?

  No! She hadn’t. The meteor seemed to be … pulsing, almost like a beating heart.

  And a piece of it was breaking from the surface, thrusting up like a huge tentacle and...

  It was coming toward her!

  A hissing sound, like steam escaping from a huge kettle, filled her ears, and suddenly the air around her became much hotter.

  Akiko shrieked and ran, dashing back the way she’d come, leaving her camera equipment behind.

  She didn’t dare look back.

  It was coming for her! If she stopped running, it would catch her for sure!

  She imagined the huge, snakelike thing hot on her heels, crashing through trees as though they were matchsticks.

  She lost her footing amid the leaves and rocks, and nearly fell, but she righted herself at the last moment and dashed headlong into something solid.

  “Oof!”

  Akiko screamed again, and balled up her fists to pummel the monster assaulting her. If she was doomed to die, she wouldn’t go down without a fight!

  NEXT: The Mystery

  Read the latest episode for FREE online today at www.daikaijuattack.com!

  * * *

  MONSTER SHARK

  ~ An Umira the Accursed Story ~

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  I. Treasure

  Sharks circled Umira, above, below, and on every side. Their cold black eyes gazed at the triton starwatcher, scrutinizing her scaly blue skin, her long green hair, and her glittering jewelry. Umira gazed back, her own black eyes trying to peer into their alien minds.

  Are we so different?

  Eyes, teeth, skin ... all so similar. Both, feared and hated—outcast from civilized societies.

  We are alike.

  Despite their similarities, a chill of doubt ran through Umira. As a triton, she’d been around sharks most of her life, but she’d never faced so many at once, never a school this large or with so many different species: redfins, daggertooths, blues, hammerheads, and more. Mariners had named this place the Shark Keys with good reason.

  Had it been a mistake for Umira to come here? Would this decision be her last? Even with all her strength and skill, a school this size could tear the triton apart in moments. Would that be so terrible, though? At least then there would be an end. At least then she would know: there was no place in the Blue Kingdoms, either above or below the waves, for Umira the Accursed.

  Umira steeled herself, strangling the dark thoughts until they vanished into the depths of her soul once more.

  I will not die this day. Not unless I am stupid. Not unless I show fear.

  She kept her swimming movements regular and her heartbeat calm. She did not reach for the serrated longknives strapped to her hips. Instead, she forced every aspect of her body to send a single, potent message:

  I am not prey.

  Though Umira was neither mage nor telepath, the sharks seemed to believe her. They remained curious but respectful, keeping their distance from the starwatcher. Even the school’s sole ravager—a species of shark known to eat both human and triton—spared Umira merely a passing glance.

  Is this what it feels to be accepted?

  Umira focused her sea-born senses on the school, heard the water passing across their gills, felt their sinuous movements as waves of pressure against her scaly skin. She moved in harmony with them, but she still could not tell: Was this acceptance or merely indifference?

  She reached out and caressed the side of a passing redfin with her webbed fingers. The fish arched pleasurably under her touch. Its skin felt smoother than her own. Then the shark darted away into the azure distance of the middle depths.

  I am like them. More than I am like people.

  For a moment, Umira almost felt at home.

  WHOOMPH!

  Smothered thunder shook the deep. The entire water column quaked, and the sharks swirled in agitation. Some buffeted Umira, their skin scraping like sandpaper now. Umira gasped involuntarily. The school wasn’t attacking, though; they were confused, frightened. Umira felt the confusion, as well.

  The pressure, the sound, the sudden rush of cold from deeper waters, all dazzled the triton’s senses. Every instinct told her to flee, to swim away, fast, as her fishy brethren were already doing. Only Umira’s intellect overcame her panic. Once more, she strangled the fear inside, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind.

  In an instant, the rest of the school had vanished into the deep, leaving Umira alone.

  What just happened?

  A shadow eclipsed the bright disc of the ocean’s surface, many fathoms above. She looked up and saw the silhouette of a large ship cutting through the waves.

  People? People did this? How?

  As the waters calmed around her, Umira felt a slight tingling just below the surface of her scales.

  Magic.

  But from where? The ship felt alien, an intruder in her world. She felt the magic emanating from it, but there was something else, too ... She peered down into the indigo depths, and noticed a faint glow that hadn’t been there before—not a reflection from the surface above, but something different, something that made her feel as though crabs were crawling across her skin: powerful, ancient magic.

  She looked from the ship to the strange glow and then back.

  The humans’ magic is causing this somehow. They are harming the ocean! They must stop!

  Umira swam toward the surface, her sleek body cutting through the water with sinuous powerful strokes. As she drew near the ship, something splashed into the water to her left: a glowing, greenish orb that sent tingling electricity across her skin. The light sank quickly, leaving a trail of hissing bubbles in its wake.

  It dropped into the blue and then exploded.

  A senses-numbing shockwave buffeted Umira, thrusting her toward the surface. The bottom of the boat’s hull loomed above, unyielding, covered with sharp barnacles.

  Read more in “Monster Shark” at better e-book sellers everywhere!

  * * *

  CRIMSON & DRAGONS

  ~ A Blue Kingdoms Sto
ry ~

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  Is there anything in the multiverse worse than waking up naked and chained to a dungeon wall? I say, Yes: dying before you get to pay back the son-of-a-bitch who put you there.

  I intended to make sure that the bastard priest who put me in this position got what he deserved, and in this lifetime, not some future one. Of course, being naked and chained to a dungeon wall, I wasn’t currently in a position to do much about it.

  Acting as pin-up girl in some sadist’s twisted fantasy isn’t something I’ve experienced a lot in my many lifetimes, mostly because “death before dishonor” has always been my mantra. Of course, that kind of hard-ass credo is easier for me to follow than it would be for most, death not being a permanent set-back in my case. In situations like this, my peculiar brand of immortality is more of a blessing than a curse. Trouble is, I wasn’t the only one in this jam.

  Other women—little more than girls, really—occupied the dungeon with me. We were chained in a line against a damp stone wall, each of us far enough apart from the rest that we couldn’t possibly touch or help each other in any way. I guessed from their pallid skin and soft bodies that the others weren’t going to be much help in getting us out of this predicament.

  I hadn’t seen my own body in a mirror since I revived in this new incarnation, but I knew what I’d find; the “gift” from the gods that unhinged me in time also allows me to look more or less the same every time I’m reborn: trim and muscular, pale blue eyes, red hair—shoulder-length in this incarnation—and busty. Somehow, I always end up with big boobs; I figure the gods must like them. And so, judging from the endowment of my cell mates, do pervert clerics.

  I assumed it was the priest who’d put me here, as the last thing I remembered before waking up in chains was accepting a drink from him. I really must learn not to accept wine from strange men, even when they drink from the same skin first. Either he had some magic that protected him, or he’d built up an immunity to whatever drug he slipped into the drink. I wondered if my fellow captives—there were five of us, counting me—had fallen prey to a similar fate.

  I couldn’t see what I had in common with the other girls, aside from chest size. All had different skin and hair colors; three were human, one an elf. All four looked exhausted and terrified, their hair ragged, their eyes puffy from crying. They slumped against the wall, their chains hanging limply. I was at one end of the line, a girl with short, mousy-brown hair at the other.

  I stood and tested the strength of the shackles. Though rusty, they seemed sturdy enough, and the walls were smoothly joined stone. This was no makeshift prison; whoever constructed it knew what they were doing—unfortunately.

  “Hey!” I called. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “Quiet! He’ll hear you!” said the girl with mousy-brown hair.

  “Do you want to be next?” hissed the Elf, though I wasn’t sure if she was talking to Mousy or me.

  “Next for what?”

  “For the dragon!” the Elf replied.

  “H-he took my sister!” the long-haired Brunette, chained next to Mousy, said between sobs. “He just came and took her!” I noticed an empty set of shackles at the start of the line, and I remembered hearing screams just before I woke. I wondered how long ago he had taken the sister—and was she the first victim, or just one in some kind of sick series? “The wall just opened up, and he dragged her through, and ...”

  “And you’ll be next if you don’t shut up,” the Elf shot back. “On second thought, keep talking.”

  “Bickering won’t help,” the blonde in the middle of the line said. She looked older and a bit less haggard than the rest. “I’m Princess Rachelle of Narosh. Who are you?”

  “Crimson. Just Crimson.”

  “Crimson, how did you get here?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. Last thing I remember was having a friendly drink with this priest, and then next thing I know, I wake up in this shit hole.”

  Saying “shit hole” brought my attention to the stench of the place, a wonderful combination of dampness, mold, and human excrement. Some of my companions had not comported themselves with much dignity during their captivity, not that I blamed them. I looked at the wall the Brunette had indicated earlier, but couldn’t see any obvious door. In fact, I didn’t see any way in or out at all, just stone and mortar. Either the room was sealed by magic, or its exit was a secret door constructed by some very clever stonemasons.

  “The priest would be Bentano Dracus,” Rachelle said. “He drugged you.”

  “Where are we?”

  “In the catacombs below Dracus’ church, I think.”

  “And how do you know this guy?”

  “Dracus was my father’s chief priest when I was a child. Years ago, the church kicked him out for ... questionable actions. I heard he went to Lemagne and started his own church in an old, abandoned cathedral. I was passing through Lemagne when I was kidnapped. I woke up here.”

  “Looks like Dracus’ actions have gotten even more ‘questionable’ in the intervening years.”

  “I never did like the way he looked at me when I was a child. I like it even less, now.”

  “So, who are the rest of you?” I asked.

  “Look,” the Elf replied, “there’s no use getting to know us, because we’re all going to die!”

  “I don’t want to die!” the Brunette sobbed.

  “Quiet! He’ll hear you!” Mousy added.

  “What? You think that shutting up will make this lunatic spare us?” I asked. “You think maybe he’ll get tired of feeding girls to dragons before he gets to you? Forget it! I’ve met guys like this before, and they just keep on killing until someone stops them.”

  “Why is he doing this?” the Brunette wailed.

  “Power, I think,” Rachelle said. She seemed almost completely calm now, and regal, even in this awful situation. “Bentano Dracus always wanted power.”

  “No,” I replied. “People may say they do this kind of thing for power or some other motive—but the only real reason to chain someone up and kill them is because you get off on it. Dracus is no different. Thing is, this time, he picked the wrong victim.”

  Read more in “Crimson & Dragons” or in The Crimson Collection at better e-book sellers everywhere!

  * * *

  SISTERS IN ARMS

  ~ A Blue Kingdoms Story ~

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  1. Captain’s Gambit

  The half-ogre stared at Lilani Coralshell’s breasts, but Lia didn’t mind; distracting the enemy’s first mate was a vital part of Captain Marg’s plan.

  Lia leaned her chair back on two legs and tipped the bottom of her mug toward the tavern ceiling, savoring the taste of the heady Barbarossan ale as it slid down her throat. The cool froth dulled the swelter of the summer afternoon air and helped her ignore the stink of the overcrowded saloon.

  The mountainous half-ogre seated next to Lia and her sister, Rina, continued leering. His bloodshot eyes probed the vast expanses of tan skin showing above, below, and between gaps in the Coralshell sisters’ bejeweled armor. Lia could almost feel his bestial imagination pawing her.

  The enemy captain, Ali al Shahar, wasn’t following his first mate’s lead, despite the sisters’ scanty attire. He kept his keen eyes fixed on Marg Twoswords as they parleyed—and he wasn’t looking at Marg’s middle-aged body. Lia had heard of Captain Ali, and clearly he had heard of Marg, mistress of the Silver Pearl.

  This one is cagey, Lia thought as she drained her glass, and not easily distracted. But Marg has his measure, I’ll wager. Lia tipped her chair forward, making sure to give the half-ogre a generous view. The brute’s eyes flushed orange with arousal. Lia chanced a quick glance at Rina and, somehow, neither sister laughed.

  As Rina fidgeted with the golden strap of her halter, “accidentally” exposing a bit more flesh, Lia pretended to study her drink, while actually sizing up the man sitting opposite Captain Marg.

 
Ali al Shahar’s appearance did not match his formidable reputation. Yes, he was athletic and handsome, with sea-tanned skin, a trimmed beard, and flashing hazel eyes—just the kind of rogue that Lia normally fancied, in fact. And, yes, he was well dressed. A bejeweled pendant in the shape of a teardrop dangled around his neck, and he wore two rings—one on the middle finger of each hand. The rings, a ruby-topped golden circlet and a platinum band of dolphins surrounding a deep blue stone, looked both ancient and valuable. But Lia had seen plenty of buffed and decked-out mariners in her time; to her, Ali was just another pretty face.

  Seeming to sense her scrutiny, the enemy captain stopped talking to Marg for a moment. His hand strayed casually to the golden hilt of his cutlass as he glanced at the younger Coralshell sister. This was no leering appraisal, but the deft assessment of a clever mind.

  We can take him, Lia concluded, so long as he doesn’t tumble to our plan. She looked away, pretending not to have noticed Ali’s scrutiny, as the captains returned to their conversation.

  Lia and her sister had been sailing on the Silver Pearl for four years, and Marg’s schemes nearly always worked. During that time, Marg Twoswords had fleeced much tougher rams than this Ali—though Lia remained unsure why they needed to deal with him at all, especially a scant month before Marg’s planned retirement.

  What did their captain, who usually avoided contact with the men, want with this freemariner? Her ship, the Silver Pearl, was nearly as swift as his Starcutter, and her crew was at least as formidable. Surely they could tackle this mission without matching wits against such a famous seafarer—whether he deserved his reputation or not.