Chapter 1: The South Shore Terror

Oona Murphy woke up that morning with a pounding headache. She found it difficult to move at first, without the feeling of being sick beginning to overcome her. Her head was pounding, reminding her forcefully of each drink she had consumed the previous evening. Shots of tasty liqueurs, colored cocktails, frosted vodka, Irish coffee (of course), iced tea (no alcohol in that one). Some prescription medication to beat down the headache; some over the counter tablets to settle the nausea, and some fizzy caffeine mixes to keep her awake. (And probably some slightly less proprietary chemicals.)

She sat up with a start, reviewing her state of attire. Her honor was intact, but her memory was still fried. Her mind turned to more recent events. About a week ago one of her Dublin friends, Charlie, had said, 'Oona, we're driving down to the South Shore for a Fourth of July party. Why not come along?'

'Isn't that Atlantic City? I'm too broke for that' she explained. 'Go without me this time. I'll come, on Labor Day'.

'We're going in Sad Alec's car,' they replied. 'It'll cost you nothing.'

So four of them had got into the Pontiac, two in the front two in the back, boxes of beer in the trunk. By the time they travelled down the Turnpike and reached Wildwood six hours later, Oona had forgotten where they were going or why. She was exhausted.

She remembered waking up in this house the next morning. Tracy Wing, a medical student from Cork, was shaking her shoulders.

'Oona, wake yourself. We've got to head back to New York!'

Oona's sleepy brain tried to make sense of the situation. 'But we're in Atlantic City, and we're going to a firework party.'

'Not now we're not,' said Tracy. She was already fully dressed. 'Everyone's got to leave this bit of the shore. It's an emergency.'

Alec, the owner of the car, came to the door of the little bedroom and yelled, 'What are you doing? Come and get in the car, Tracy. We're leaving right now!'

Tracy protested. 'My friend Oona's still here in bed. She's not looking too good.'

Alec looked down at Oona. 'If you don't get yourself into the car double quick, you can stay here and die! Come on, Tracy, let's be off.'

The two of them tumbled out of the room bickering. Oona thought that they had both gone mad, or maybe she was hallucinating. She turned over and went back to sleep.

When she woke up later the guesthouse was completely silent. Dizziness and a slight cold sweat forced her to stand and seek hydration. Standing at the top of a short flight of stairs, she called out: 'Hello? Anybody there?'

There was no answer. She went down the stairs to the little corridor behind the main door. Called again. There was no answer. She stumbled thru a communal laundry room, and then on into a long kitchen. There were translucent tubs of breakfast cereal sitting out on worktops and a carton of Florida orange juice sitting on its own. Oona poured out a glass of juice and drank it quickly. Finding it warm but acceptable, she poured and drank a second glassful. Despite some frosted windows looking out onto a back yard, it was a bit dim in the kitchen, so Oona took a chance that her prickly eyes would react well to illumination and she flipped the switch for the overhead light. Nothing happened. She tried the electric kettle and the cooker too and discovered that there was no power to the kitchen at all, possibly not even to the whole house.

'What a dump' she thought. Her crazy friends had dragged her here to New Jersey for a party which did not seem to exist and then bailed out on her. Not funny. She had to find a ride back to her digs in New York.

She made her way back thru to the main part of the lodgings and up a short corridor to the reception counter (a barely converted ledge in a doorway). Some ancient paperbacks - Soroyan and Kafka - were left carelessly on the carpet alongside oddments of footwear. She briefly called out over the counter into the 'office', a TV set sitting inactive in the corner, then pushed open the screen door to leave. She exited onto an elevated balcony reached by sturdy wooden stairs.

Before descending, she looked out over the street. A quiet side street in a well-to-do seaside town. Automobiles parked neatly to the curb, but noone in sight, noone driving around. The sun setting quickly, the breeze drifting gently in from a nearby beach. But no seaside sounds, arcade machines, rollercoaster screams, children laughing, youths screaming.

Something was not quite right. Her friends had been talking about danger and death before their departure. Before she went out onto the street, she decided to recover a little more, get her head straight.

After half an hour at the reception desk (really a comfy little TV room), staring at the dusty net drapes, Oona Murphy got up. After only a few waking hours, she had become a little claustrophobic of living in this unfamiliar property. On her own. She kept hoping that her friends would come back or a friendly police car or fire truck would pass in the street. She couldn't figure out why they had left so quickly; left her on her own.

She had tried the telephone, but there was no activity at all. The electricity and the gas were unavailable. The water had no pressure. 'This might be the best decorated squat in the whole of the Armpit' she said to herself. But this was clearly a well-populated street and it had it lacked any kind of noise whatsoever. No buzz. No hum. No presence. Oona wished she was back in Manhattan, in the noisy apartment block by the Park, where she knew almost no-one. Here, there was no-one to know.

Then, a rush of bravery overcame her. She ran to the front door, and went out on to the porch. Where were all the people who lived in this odd place? They couldn't be dead. The smell was fresh, salty, mostly unpolluted.

Barely thinking, she descended the steps to the street, looked up and down the road. Cars parked badly, dumped. She looked up at the building opposite, another guest-house painted a reliable blue. It seemed inhabitable, but quiet. 'Hello' she hesitantly chirped. 'Hello' again, louder.

She looked around to see if anyone was watching her, the victim of a crazy prank. But she was alone and, now, she was alone and determined to find out what was wrong with this crazy place.

One way looked like the main road back to the freeway, slightly grubby with stores and direction signs. The other seemed to lead to the shore, pleasant sea-side advertisements and the glimpse of shiny amusements.

It was about midday, so she kept to the shady side of the street, bumping down into the road and bumping up again as she covered the blocks. She kept her eyes up toward the roofline, possibly expecting to see an aircraft or other sign of activity, and reached the block before the beach without incident. She heard at last some sign of normality, gulls squawking around the beach.

Between a salt-water taffy store and a tattoo shop she could see the wooden planking at the start of a boardwalk. She passed between the buildings eager to see if any person was there. Unfortunately, there was.

:::

The military helicopter landed without delay at the County Airport in Cape May. The pilot, Teresa Martinez, stayed resolutely in her cabin while a platoon of Unites States Marines disembarked, complete with weapons and munition boxes. She looked back over her shoulder, polarized spectacles hiding any surprise in her eyes. The short bench seats were empty, but a slight, solitary figure remained. A pretty young woman in a business suit sat casually reading a paperback. The pilot turned back to the controls, clicked the mic.

"Tower? Clear to depart?" she inquired.

There was a pause, followed by a click, and an anonymous reply.

"Please hold."

"That's odd," she thought. "And that's given the already odd situation."

She turned to the seating area, leaned back and called thru the open cabin door.

"Ma'am?"

There was no response. She raised her voice politely.

"Ma'am. Where did you get on my aircraft?"

The girl looked up from her reading, a little bashful. The book was closed smartly; 'Cat's Cradle', old and yellowed, psychedelic cover.

"Hi there. The name's Goddard. I got on at Atlantic City. When you dropped off the Governor." She smiled (almost beautifully) and proffered a tentative hand at the door.

"Are you supposed to be here, Miss Goddard? You can't just jump on a random chopper in AC and get a free ride back to the college dorm. This is the heart of the mess here."

Goddard looked surprised in a very unconvincing way. The pilot wondered if she might be some sort of journalist. Probably a freshman looking for a Pulitzer on a stick.

"The mess?"

"You know, Ma'am..." A full pause. "Monster Country."

:::

Oona held back at the corner of the ice-cream stall. A person lay dead on the boardwalk, flat and gone, but very much the focus of attention. Gulls flitted in and pecked at the body, fighting and squawking. She rushed forward, waving her arms. "Shoo. Get off of him. Shoo."

The birds reluctantly cleared and hopped barely a few metres away. Oona looked over the ravaged figure. A young surfer lad, bare chest, long shorts, half a beard. But the cause of his demise was clear, if a little eroded by the attention of seashore birds. Three great gashes from his abs up to his shoulder. Like the swipe of a tiger's claws, but bigger; much bigger. A vicious attempt to tear open the belly, unsuccessful, but fatal. This had to have some connection to the empty town. A large wild animal was on the loose. "Escaped from the zoo?" she thought. "But what is it?"

She thought carefully about searching for some identification to notify police or security, maybe even a family about the tragedy. But she was trying hard, too, not to think that this was a dead person, and killed dead too. Staying around was a bad idea.

Her thoughts were diverted by more screeches behind her. Oona turned back to shout at the maddening seabirds behind, but the gulls had gone. Perched on the brow of the sea front store was a dark, bat-like creature, leathery wings folded around its body, a monstrous spear-like bill grooming the outside of the wings. In the second it took for Oona to wonder if it had seen her, the screeching horror tumbled over the edge of the roof and swooped toward her. Every last drink from the previous evening passed before her eyes in a taunting procession. "I'm giving up alcohol right now" she pledged as the beak struck her head.

:::

Teresa liked to think that whatever helicopter she was detailed to fly became her property and her responsibility. The overly grinning young woman sitting in the back of vehicle now was officially intruding into her space.

"She looks like a Fed with that suit," she thought. "Everyone wants a piece of this action."

She inquired over the radio again. "Tower? Clear to depart?"

"Orders on their way over" came the curt response. Teresa blinked and defiantly concluded that she would only wait five minutes and then return to New York. Those were the orders that she had in hand.

A man (another dark suit) ran over the dirt to the helicopter and leaned in thru the slide-door. He fake-smiled at her and produced a gold police badge from his pocket. The rather-smug eagle adorning the top of the shield confirmed his provenance.

"I'm sorry to divert you from your main duties, Flight Officer Martinez. We need you to drop Special Agent Goddard at the Coastguard Station in Diamond Beach. Then you can return to Manhattan." He held up a poorly copied fax of a map location. There was a blurred military seal and authenticating signature in the corner.

Teresa was surprised. "Isn't that in the restricted area? No flights are allowed over that bit of the coast."

"We have received a special dispensation for this - ah - task. You'll be covered by the paperwork."

"I'm not so worried about the paperwork covering me. It might be nice to know there was a bit of firepower watching over me if one of those monsters decides to appear."

Fake-smile. "As you've heard, there are no 'monsters'. Some news outlet intern decides to mishear a medical report and the conspiracists are jumping in their RVs to come spot a... d-dinosaur. Or whatever sells movies nowadays.

"These are an addition to your current orders and can be challenged by review. Thru the usual channels. Upon your return to base."

The suited man turned away politely, finally, and turned to Goddard. "Good luck, Diana." He nodded then slam-locked the slide-door and walked back to the tower.

Teresa turned back to her console cursing. A five-minute digression into The Mess. Then five minutes back to her previous route. What could possibly go wrong?

She turned back to her solitary passenger. "Buckle up ma'am. I don't wish to be in the air for any longer than three-hundred seconds."

Goddard smiled, returned the paperback to her purse and looked for the safety harness. "The sooner the better, I always say" she chirped.

As the rotors fired up to take-off speed, Teresa turned back again. "So you're a Special Agent, Miss Goddard?"

"Oh yes," Diana replied. "A Very Special Agent."

:::

Oona fell backward over the edge of the wooden decking, the flying creature tugging horribly at her hair. Her head twisted awkwardly, opposite to the direction of the rest of her body. She felt her head tearing open, then she fell to the sand below.

Oona woke on the sand. She felt dizzy and nauseous. How long had passed? Possibly only seconds. But her face was sore from the harsh, hot sand and warm blood ran down her cheeks to her neck. This felt bad.

Shaking her head, she knew she had to get out of the way, get out of sight of that monstrous reptilian bird. Was it still hovering over her? Perched up on the boardwalk?

She wiped blood and hair from her eyes. The beach was empty. Nothing up on the boardwalk. Nothing in the sky, circling malevolently. The gulls squabbling again in the distance were just that - gulls squabbling.

Thankfully this particular boardwalk was nowhere near as high off the beach as the one at Atlantic City. The fall had been minimal, onto accommodating sand. Had her skull been lucky with the bird-strike too? A few tentative presses with her fingers revealed that the creature had fled with the clump of hair extensions at the front of her head. The weight of falling had torn her scalp and generated copious blood, but - medical advice pending - her skull had avoided any of the drama of the attack and the fall.

She moved into the shade under the boardwalk, catching her breath, forcing herself to breathe normally. A pterodactyl. The thought struck her firmly. "That bat-thing. Just like a pterodactyl from a museum. Must be something they found deep in the Amazon. Ugly. And it's escaped." She had seen a 'King Kong' movie on television as a child. "Someone clever has found this thing and brought it back as a circus act. Now it's all gone wrong. And I'm the interval snack." She laughed. And sighed.

"A plan," she whispered aloud. "I need a plan to get me noticed. A plan to get me rescued."

She thought carefully, putting together the elements of a sea-shore location, an urgent rescue, and the need for high visibility.

"I need to find a sailing shop or a yacht chandlers. They'll have a radio. Or flares."

A plan had been hatched.

:::

Teresa guided her chopper at low level over the creeks and marsh using the distant Diamond Beach water tower as a waymark. After a few seconds the pools and small rivers fed into the expanse of the Jarvis Sound and they were skimming the surface of the wide open water. The Sun shone obliquely on the surface of the lake, sealing the view of what might have been beneath. Not a time to worry about the danger below. Following the outline of the Sound would have taken much longer, and - who knew? - might have been just as dangerous.

After a few seconds of holding her breathe, the aircraft once again crossed the marshy border. She glimpsed the calm figure of Special Agent Goddard, again casually reading her paperback, oblivious to any issue of excitement or general interest in geography.

They were now rapidly approaching the white painted hotels and holiday homes at the southern end of the island and the more organized grounds of the Coastguard Station. From their slight elevation, some of the results of the evacuation were clear. A few vehicles abandoned at the side of the Ocean Highway. Some vehicles crashed helplessly into buildings or street signs. Black streaks on the whitewash where small fires had gone unattended. The State Governor had used a Hurricane plan to order an immediate evacuation and it had largely succeeded, but his reasons had been a little difficult to prove, and now he was proving difficult to find.

Teresa brought the helicopter in over the main quadrangle of the Station, a series of highly maintained grass squares. The main pad was at the far end, but she fully intended to land in the quad briefly, then depart quickly. As they descended the last few metres to the grass of the central square, it became clear that a large herd of small creatures was grazing on the abandoned grass. Their small blobby bodies were appended with long snaking necks and equally long whip-tails.

"What are they?" asked Diana, now showing interest.

Teresa brought the vehicle to a low hover at a height which would normally allow troops to jump awkwardly to the ground, but she kept the slide-door locked. The creatures looked a little disinterested, and a little slow to move.

"Lizards?" she speculated.

"Just eating the grass. Like cattle," observed Diana. "Shouldn't be any trouble to us."

"When you can land this thing in the middle of a herd of cattle, you can decide what is trouble. Sit tight."

Teresa let the chopper descend slowly toward the grass. The buzzing noise and focused downdraft started to catch the attention of the oblivious grazers. A few romped away instantly, some skipped a short distance then returned to eating the grass. A small patch was forming that could be targetted as a landing area. The herd started to shift as a whole and then, as a group, started to rumble back toward the shore.

"Make it quick. I'm not landing," shouted Teresa. Diana nodded and went to the slide-door, pulling it open. She paused and assessed the drop to the deck. It was still nearly two metres to jump, from an unstable - and impatient - platform. She held her document case and prepared to jump.

"Trouble."

Diana looked back, not quite sure what the pilot had said or even if she had spoken. When she looked out of the door again, she recognized the source of their trouble. The grazing lizards had been looked after by an interested relative. But this 'mother' was behind the short office block near the beach. A giant head appeared at the top of the building with a roar perceptible over the rotors. Then the head kept advancing, snaking up and over the building on a long, thick neck

"Was it you who just told me not to use the the word 'dinosaur'?" Teresa snapped.

"No. I said they would be no trouble," retorted Diana as she fell back against the side of the interior. A scaly, ugly snout bumped into the doorway with a heavy thud. The helicopter tilted sideways then began to fall to the ground.