Read Online Armageddon by James Patterson, Chris Grabenstein - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson, Chris Grabenstein
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asked Emma, “who did?”
“Hey, you guys—were those four the only troublemakers?”
It was Mel. Her voice was booming out of a loudspeaker mounted on top of the FBI truck.
“Or are there more locusts for me to eliminate from this equation?”
Chapter 26
“THERE’S A TOWN in Kentucky called Locust,” Mel informed us as the ATV, with all of us back inside, crawled through the deserted streets of what used to be Washington, D.C. Now it looked like something out of the Stone Age.
“So,” she continued, “we know how to deal with the noisy little buggers when they swarm into town to devour our crops.”
“So what’d you do?” asked Willy. “Blast them with some kind of invisible insect-repellent death ray?”
Mel smiled her crooked grin—the one that had totally stopped my heart when she’d flashed it at me as I came out of that creek soaking wet.
“Something like that,” she said. “I rigged up the van’s sound system to act as an ultrasonic device and blasted extremely high-frequency waves out of the external speakers, because locusts have complex tympanic organs….”
“Huh?” said Joe.
Emma helped him out. “Ears, basically. A stretched membrane backed by an air sac and sensory neurons. Sort of like a tiny tympani drum with nerves.”
“Oh,” said Joe. “Eardrums.”
“We humans can’t hear sounds pitched higher than twenty thousand hertz,” Mel continued, “but locusts can detect frequencies up to
one hundred thousand
hertz.”
“They teach you this at horse school, Mel?” Dana said, somewhat snidely.
“Nope. Middle school.”
“Uh-oh,” Joe said, gesturing toward the monitor mounted above the truck’s blinking control panel. “Here comes something else humans are gonna wish they couldn’t hear.”
He amped up the master volume knob, and we heard the final trumpet strains of “Hail to the Chief.”
Every flat-screen TV was now filled with the official seal of the President of the United States.
“Pull over,” Agent Judge said to the driver. “We probably need to watch this. Looks like President McManus has activated the Emergency Broadcast System.”
The driver crunched over to what remained of the curb. According to a sign I saw lying in the wreckage, we were on Constitution Avenue, right in front of the ruins of the National Archives Building, which had once looked like the Parthenon in Athens.
Now it looked more or less like the scrap pile behind Granite ’R’ Us.
“Here we go,” said Willy as the presidential seal faded away.
A very nervous President John McManus—who hailed from Tennessee and had snowy-white hair—sat behind a military-issue steel desk with his hands folded, trying to look calm and presidential. There were no American flags on the desk, no family photographs.
“He must be in the bunker,” said Agent Judge. “The secure underground location where they’d take the president if we ever had a nuclear attack.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cooed an off-camera voice, which I immediately recognized as belonging to Number 2, “the President of the United States.”
“My fellow Americans,” said President McManus, “I come to you this evening with a heavy heart. For many years, we, your leaders in the United States government, have dreaded the day when alien beings from planets unknown would land on Earth and, with their superior weaponry, conquer us. Well, as you have undoubtedly heard, that day has arrived. Today, our nation’s capital was taken over by an invading army of technologically advanced alien invaders.”
“What?” said Willy. “He’s already surrendered?”
“Sure sounds like it,” said Joe.
“To those of you currently residing outside of Washington, D.C., be advised: your own Armageddon is rapidly approaching.”
“Tomorrow,” said the off-screen voice.
“That voice. That’s him, right, Daniel?” said Mel. “Number 2?”
“Yeah.”
The camera pushed in tighter on the president’s veryworried
“Hey, you guys—were those four the only troublemakers?”
It was Mel. Her voice was booming out of a loudspeaker mounted on top of the FBI truck.
“Or are there more locusts for me to eliminate from this equation?”
Chapter 26
“THERE’S A TOWN in Kentucky called Locust,” Mel informed us as the ATV, with all of us back inside, crawled through the deserted streets of what used to be Washington, D.C. Now it looked like something out of the Stone Age.
“So,” she continued, “we know how to deal with the noisy little buggers when they swarm into town to devour our crops.”
“So what’d you do?” asked Willy. “Blast them with some kind of invisible insect-repellent death ray?”
Mel smiled her crooked grin—the one that had totally stopped my heart when she’d flashed it at me as I came out of that creek soaking wet.
“Something like that,” she said. “I rigged up the van’s sound system to act as an ultrasonic device and blasted extremely high-frequency waves out of the external speakers, because locusts have complex tympanic organs….”
“Huh?” said Joe.
Emma helped him out. “Ears, basically. A stretched membrane backed by an air sac and sensory neurons. Sort of like a tiny tympani drum with nerves.”
“Oh,” said Joe. “Eardrums.”
“We humans can’t hear sounds pitched higher than twenty thousand hertz,” Mel continued, “but locusts can detect frequencies up to
one hundred thousand
hertz.”
“They teach you this at horse school, Mel?” Dana said, somewhat snidely.
“Nope. Middle school.”
“Uh-oh,” Joe said, gesturing toward the monitor mounted above the truck’s blinking control panel. “Here comes something else humans are gonna wish they couldn’t hear.”
He amped up the master volume knob, and we heard the final trumpet strains of “Hail to the Chief.”
Every flat-screen TV was now filled with the official seal of the President of the United States.
“Pull over,” Agent Judge said to the driver. “We probably need to watch this. Looks like President McManus has activated the Emergency Broadcast System.”
The driver crunched over to what remained of the curb. According to a sign I saw lying in the wreckage, we were on Constitution Avenue, right in front of the ruins of the National Archives Building, which had once looked like the Parthenon in Athens.
Now it looked more or less like the scrap pile behind Granite ’R’ Us.
“Here we go,” said Willy as the presidential seal faded away.
A very nervous President John McManus—who hailed from Tennessee and had snowy-white hair—sat behind a military-issue steel desk with his hands folded, trying to look calm and presidential. There were no American flags on the desk, no family photographs.
“He must be in the bunker,” said Agent Judge. “The secure underground location where they’d take the president if we ever had a nuclear attack.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cooed an off-camera voice, which I immediately recognized as belonging to Number 2, “the President of the United States.”
“My fellow Americans,” said President McManus, “I come to you this evening with a heavy heart. For many years, we, your leaders in the United States government, have dreaded the day when alien beings from planets unknown would land on Earth and, with their superior weaponry, conquer us. Well, as you have undoubtedly heard, that day has arrived. Today, our nation’s capital was taken over by an invading army of technologically advanced alien invaders.”
“What?” said Willy. “He’s already surrendered?”
“Sure sounds like it,” said Joe.
“To those of you currently residing outside of Washington, D.C., be advised: your own Armageddon is rapidly approaching.”
“Tomorrow,” said the off-screen voice.
“That voice. That’s him, right, Daniel?” said Mel. “Number 2?”
“Yeah.”
The camera pushed in tighter on the president’s veryworried
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