In the Shadow of Extinction: A Kaiju Epic -- Part I: The Ring of Fire

By Kelly Warner

The end of the world begins with sudden volcanic eruptions along the Ring of Fire, killing thousands and displacing millions. These natural disasters soon give rise to the kaiju; hulking leviathans seemingly immune to modern weaponry. Mankind's final wars last only weeks. Governments are quickly disbanded, entire countries are left decimated, and our once great cities are now dangerous ruins ruled by giant predators.

In the Shadow of Extinction is a science fiction epic spanning 15 years as humanity shifts gears from fighting the kaiju apocalypse to merely surviving it.

Part I: The Ring of Fire takes place during the final moments of civilization before the world welcomed the Age of Monsters...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Warner
• Release date: Jun 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463839539

Kelly Warner

Kelly Warner is the author of In the Shadow of Extinction: A Kaiju Epic, Rakasa, and other forthcoming works of dark genre fiction. Kelly is the editor at Scriptophobic, where she also co-hosts the Japanese horror film podcast One Missed Pod with writer Zack Long. Kelly imagines that she'd survive a kaiju attack because she'd be the first to recognize the signs that we're all doomed and that our giant reptilian overlords have come to reclaim the planet. She lives in Illinois. You can connect with her on Twitter at @OhHellKell

Book preview

PART I

THE RING OF FIRE

Kazan-ryu art by Gabe-TKE.

Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts…

Heinrich Heine

MILLIONAIRE

Los Angeles, California

The evening was unseasonably cool and the gun had caught a chill.

Wesley McFarland was on his knees in a dark alleyway while two goons debated who was to blame for leaving the silencer behind. They taunted him, saying his death was going to be loud and messy, but McFarland wouldn’t have it any other way. A quiet death was never part of the plan.

Ahead of him on the hill was the Hollywood sign lit up like a lure designed to draw in the stupid and the damned. Like the gullible starlet looking for stardom, the glow of Hollywood had drawn young McFarland out of his shadows many years ago. He’d not come here to discover fame, but rather to seek out an opportunity to prey on the rich and powerful so that their riches might one day become his own.

For much of his thirty years on this planet, Wesley McFarland had lived and operated on the fringes of the criminal underworld, only rarely dipping his toes into the deep end where the big sharks reigned. He knew who the important players were but had learned to keep his distance. Perhaps, he wondered now as the gun moved through his hair like a lover’s gentle hand, the gangsters and the bosses had always been dimly aware of McFarland as well.

One day they gave him a job taking care of some high rollers in town for the yearly underground poker tournament. It was to be a weekend full of drugs, alcohol, violence, fortunes gained, and fortunes lost. McFarland was meant to taxi around some rich boys from out of town, show them the sights, and make sure they made it to the game on time. These out-of-towners were not gangsters themselves, but they knew people. McFarland didn’t know who they were connected to, but didn’t think it really mattered. What mattered was the duffle bag full of money they put into the trunk of his car.

After some broken bones and menacing threats, McFarland dropped the tourists off in the wrong part of town and hit the road with their cash in the passenger seat.

He knew they’d find him eventually. The stolen four million dollars insured that his life of luxury would be forever spent looking over his shoulder. He’d escape to Mexico or Costa Rica. He’d buy a beachfront villa and drink himself stupid every night. McFarland expected they’d find him drunk and sunburnt on the sand two or three years later.

They found him a day later.

The one thing keeping him alive was that McFarland did not have the money with him when he was captured. It was safely stashed away in a bus stop locker near the coast. Of course the goons asked him where the money was but McFarland wouldn’t tell them. He’d taken it, knowing full well that he’d die for his transgression. That money was his now and he would die before letting it go.

So, this was their idea of getting him to cooperate. They took him to the foulest alley in LA, shoved him to his knees, and drew out his execution to the point of monotony. Most men would’ve come to the realization that money was not worth dying for and spilled their secrets to the executioners.

McFarland had no such moment of truth. He just watched the Hollywood sign, thought about that upcoming summer movie he wouldn’t get to see, and waited for the gun’s touch to warm to his skin.

He wondered if he’d feel the muzzle flash before the bullet cut through his brain. For the briefest moment in time, the fire might warm him and he wouldn’t need to die shivering and miserable. It’d be like touching the sun.

The ground rumbled with what sounded like distant thunder. The lights on the Hollywood sign flickered. McFarland frowned.

I’m done being nice, said the bigger of the two gunmen. Tell us where you stashed the cash or I’m gonna break your skull on the pavement.

Not telling, McFarland said.

Is this how you want to go? On your knees? Weeping like a bitch?

I’m not weepy, McFarland said.

The other goon, thinner and lankier than his buddy, put a comforting hand on McFarland’s shoulder. The boss said we don’t have to kill you. Said he liked you, kinda. Was willing to look past this, if you only return what you stole.

McFarland said, Not gonna happen.

The man backhanded McFarland across the face, drawing tears despite his attempt to keep pain and emotions under control.

Stupid bastard, said the big brute. Money is wasted on a dead man, don’t you get it?

What was your plan, exactly? asked the thin man. Buy a house in Beverly Hills, spend the rest on cocaine and women, and just hope we didn’t notice?

I was going to build something, said McFarland. A better future for myself.

Not anymore, looks like, said the thin man.

Looks like. McFarland nodded. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

The brute said, All right, enough of this. The boy’s suicidal or stupid and I’m getting cold. Should we just do him here?

It’ll be loud, his partner reminded him.

So, it’ll be loud. Can’t be helped. Not unless you want to head back, grab the silencer like you should’ve done and—

Yeah, yeah, all right. Just do it already.

The brute pulled back the hammer on the pistol. McFarland’s body went rigid. The hairs on his arm stood at high alert.

This was it.

The ground beneath him shook and a deafening rumble assaulted his eardrums.

For a second, McFarland thought it was the sound of the gun and the effects of the bullet crashing through his memories, destroying his world. When the screams echoed over the streets, he understood that this moment was not about him.

The world was falling apart.

The pavement rocked in all directions. The buildings on either side of the alley groaned like monsters woken from a deep sleep.

Glass exploded outwards from the windows, raining down on the street. The gunmen shouted in alarm and moved to hide in a locked doorway.

McFarland didn’t think. He bolted to his feet and ran, glass and sparks falling all around him.

The gun went off. The bullet zipped past McFarland’s head, taking a chunk out of the building to his left. He rounded the corner before the brute could get another shot off.

A woman collided with McFarland as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He lost his balance and fell over backward. More people ran past, nearly trampling him underfoot.

McFarland used a storm drain to help himself up. He stared past the fleeing civilians, saw the skyscraper down the street teetering as gravity and unstable earth threatened to drop it on the people below.

He was just about to join the crowd and start running when two big mitts took him by the collar. The brute spun McFarland around to face him.

Where do you think you’re going? said the thin gangster, who was standing beside his big buddy. He made sure that McFarland saw his gun.

There was a strange tearing sound but it was quickly drowned out by a chorus of screams. The street shifted, broke in a dozen places, and cracks opened up. The pieces moved in opposite directions, displacing sidewalks and tearing storefronts in half.

The pavement was splitting open, swallowing people and vehicles into the dark pit beneath the street.

An old man reached out to McFarland as the ground opened up. The old man’s fingers slipped from McFarland’s arm and he screamed. McFarland could only watch as the man lost his balance and disappeared into the dark hole.

Shaken by being so close to the widening hole, the gunmen did not notice the skyscraper’s shadow as it started its descent.

McFarland pushed the distracted men off him and ran for the hole in the street. Rebar was jutting out from the cement like spears. He slid through the gravel and dust, dropped into the hole, and grabbed the rebar to prevent him from falling into the death pit. His momentum caused him to swing on the bar. He hit his left knee on a line of piping in the torn up sewer system and yelped at the unexpected pain.

The gunmen chased after him but only made it a few steps before the building fell from the sky, crushing them beneath its weight.

Cinders and glass fell all around McFarland. The shockwave alone was nearly enough to tear him away from the rebar and drop him into the dark chasm below.

McFarland held on tight, though, even as burnt bodies tumbled out of the building and fell past him.

Beneath him was only darkness. Above him was an inferno that used to be a high-rise hotel.

He chose to climb up.

McFarland pulled himself through a burning bathroom. The shower curtain was melting and colorful toothbrushes littered the sideways room. He took a quick glance into the hotel room outside the bathroom door but saw no signs of life.

The bathroom had a window, offering him a quick escape from the building.

He pushed himself through the window, dragging his left leg behind him all the way, and tumbled out onto the street.

People were crowding the street once more, awestruck and frozen by the tragedy of it all. The earthquake was over, but the damage had already been done. Fires were burning everywhere and the property destruction was unlike anything McFarland had ever seen before.

McFarland hobbled away from the burning hotel just as the squad cars rolled up.

He made it onto the next street. A family was quickly packing their minivan, desperate to get out of the city before things got worse. They’d left their keys in the ignition while they ran back into their home for more of their belongings.

It didn’t make him feel good, but McFarland needed a ride and he doubted the taxis were in service right now. He got behind the steering wheel, locked the door, and peeled out of there before the family ever saw him.

McFarland had an injured knee, a stash of millions at a crowded bus station, and the promise of more hitmen to come. He had no time to worry about the welfare of strangers.

All throughout his drive he saw visions of the world gone wrong. Bodies in the street. Homes torn in two. Businesses in flames. Ugly madness. He would shut his eyes if he could drive blind.

He hadn’t been looking forward to leaving Los Angeles behind. He loved his adopted city. But this wasn’t the same LA glow that he’d fallen in love with.

Tonight the City of Angels was burning.

McFarland reached his destination, a clean and unassuming bus station a few miles from the coast. A moment of panic hit him as he wondered if he’d lost his locker key in the chaos of the earthquake, but he found it on his keychain right where he’d left it.

The station was packed with people watching the tragedy unfold on TV. He figured watching it on TV made it easier to look—this was the land of make-believe, after all.

He found his locker, turned the key, and pulled the duffel bag of money out. It didn’t come willingly, forced as it was to fit into a space too small, but it was back in his possession at last.

McFarland looked back and forth, just making sure that no gangsters had been waiting to ambush him there. But no, he was just being paranoid. They didn’t know where he’d stashed it. And whatever killers might await him outside those doors had worse things to worry about now than a few million dollars going missing.

Hushed screams echoed throughout the station.

McFarland limped through the crowd to get a look at the TVs.

Shot from a helicopter, one news station replayed an image of a fireman helping a woman from a pile of rubble. The fireman nearly had her free when a wave of water came from out of nowhere, crashing through the street and taking everything with it.

The crowd was asking questions like, Where is this? What street? and Is the wave related to the earthquake? but McFarland’s focus was on something else entirely.

He walked through the crowd and stared out the windows.

Three blocks down the lights had gone out.

Two blocks down the lights sparked and went dark.

One block down he saw the wave of water.

McFarland turned and ran, dragging his injured leg behind him, heading deeper into the bus station before the first screams alerted the crowd to the coming danger.

He threw open the doors and went to the closest bus, climbed its rear bumper and hauled himself up the ladder to the roof.

The wave of water hit the bus station, crashing through glass and pushing the people out the back.

Their bodies were at the front of the wave when it collided with McFarland’s bus.

RUBBLE

San Diego, California

The earthquake intensified, shattering the hospital room’s window. The room was invaded by the sounds of distant screams and sirens as the city descended into anarchy. There was a pounding sound, like the building was losing its structure beneath them. Young Dr. Joel Tanner imagined a man with an axe chopping down a tree in the forest, shouting, "Timber!" Panic gripped Joel and he reached into his pockets for his bottle of anxiety medication. There was something slapstick and silly about trying to pour a single pill into the palm of his hand while the world jumped and rattled. Joel stuck a finger into the bottle, retrieved a pill, and swallowed it down.

Nurse Gemma shouted, Doctor, look out!

Joel capped the pill bottle a second before one of the lights in the ceiling came crashing down. It swung from a wire like a pendulum and struck Joel in the face. He lost his footing and staggered backward into the wall, while glass and sparks fell all around him.

Gemma went to his side to make sure he was all right.

Joel shook the stars out of his eyes. He pointed at the hospital bed. See to them!

There was a little boy in the bed. He’d broken his wrist while learning how to ride a bike. The boy screamed and clutched at his mother. The mother sat on the edge of the boy’s bed, putting her son’s head against her chest. She hummed a lullaby that was barely audible over the sound of the earth splitting apart.

Joel sat on the floor, dazed. The world continued to shake. There were screams echoing through the halls from other parts of the hospital. As lifelong residents of California, Joel and his wife Kate had survived many earthquakes. But he’d never been present for a quake such as this. It seemed to grow in intensity with each passing moment.

There was an explosion outside the shattered windows.

The little boy was crying, Make it stop!

The restaurant across the street shot up in a fireball. There were fires breaking out all over San Diego. Black smoke choked the sky.

The rumbling quieted. The shaking lessened. The earthquake was dying away.

Joel and the others remained silent, not trusting the calm. When it became clear that they were momentarily safe, Joel rose to his feet.

We need to get somewhere safe before the aftershocks hit, Joel said. He put a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. Are you two all right?

The mother and her son nodded.

Gemma? Joel asked.

Nurse Gemma said, I’m not hurt.

Good. Take our patient and his mom outside, Joel said. Use the stairs. Tell people not to push, not to panic, but to calmly head for the exits. I’m going to see if anyone else needs help.

Joel hurried out into the hall. Nurses were pushing patients on gurneys while doctors tended to the wounded. The lights were flickering and something was smoking by the nurse’s station.

Joel spotted Dr. Scott seated in a chair outside a hospital room. Dr. Scott was Joel’s mentor and the hospital’s oldest attending physician. As Joel came around to face Dr. Scott directly, he saw the other side of the old man’s coat was splattered with blood. Scott’s hand was still clutching a wound on his neck, though blood no longer flowed there.

Setting aside grief for another day, Joel shut Dr. Scott’s eyes. He