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  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “I don’t know yet, precisely, but I intend to find out. They’re highly bioactive, and those I have been able to ID are very mutagenic. I’m going to take the samples back to the lab for full analysis. I don’t have the equipment here to do a full assay.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “We’ve got to get some answers.”

  He barked a short laugh. “That’s actually good news! I hate to say this, but I want you gone!”

  She laughed in return. “And I was worried about leaving you alone with all this mess.”

  “Let me deal with it. This is my job. I’ll have more help than I can manage soon enough.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Take your time!”

  “Dad, there’s one more thing, and this is critical.”

  “Yes?”

  “I think I know the source of the contamination.”

  “Where?”

  “The chemical concentration is highest in the samples taken close to the old military base.”

  “There was an old Superfund site there… The EPA claimed that was all cleaned up.”

  “I’m sad to say, it seems that the biological experiments that were undertaken there continue, if unknowingly.”

  “At least we know where to go to try to contain the agents that caused this outbreak and try to prevent another.”

  “I’ve already made some calls. Crews should begin arriving to begin evaluation within the week. More serious efforts will begin as soon as they can.”

  “Thanks, Meg.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too.”

  The phone went silent in his hand.

  That made two less worries to contend with.

  Given his luck, a few more would arrive quickly to take their place.

  Cephalostorm

  Finally, some more good news!

  He turned the television off with a satisfying click of his remote.

  A major storm front with heavy rains and high winds that had been shaping up off the coast for some time was now expected to make landfall within hours... perhaps as soon as mid-morning.

  The system had originally been predicted to remain at sea with minimal impact on the local weather.

  The rains were predicted to last for days.

  Not everyone looked forward to rain, particularly nasty, potentially violent storms, but in this case he was ecstatic.

  Something to keep people away from the beach!

  He couldn’t be happier.

  He’d take what little gifts he could.

  Grabbing a quick bite to eat on his way after making sure everything was in order at the station, he headed back to operations central at the pier.

  The beach was silent.

  Too silent.

  There was no activity, no movement, no vitality to the shore.

  Grey skies overhead and winds blowing inland threatened the rain he knew was coming. The surf was choppy and grey, holding the mysteries within threateningly.

  Most, but not all, of the media were gone.

  The protestors with their signs, chants, and demands had vanished.

  He did not take pleasure in their absence, however.

  He wished they were back.

  Fervently.

  In fact, most of the streets near the ocean were now completely abandoned, the central business district included.

  Unless people had very important business to do, or didn’t have the means to leave town, most were already gone.

  The one exception was Master Tanaka’s Sushi Yoshi. It was doing a booming business with all the community imports.

  Master Tanaka probably wouldn’t need to order any more octopus or squid for years.

  Locals were also making surreptitious walks to his shop to buy foods. The effort was both a show of thanks for his efforts on the community’s behalf and an indirect way to show their disdain for the agents of their town’s undoing.

  FEMA was in the process of setting up shelters inland for those living in high-risk areas. Their members could be seen moving determinedly through the command area.

  He wished they could resolve the town’s problems with just as much authority.

  Heavier equipment and weaponry had been moved in overnight. The strand itself now looked like a military surplus parking lot. Tanks, APCs, Humvees. Various types of artillery: mortars, anti-aircraft, rocket launchers. Cannons and missiles. Assorted support vehicles were positioned almost everywhere space allowed. Farther inland, aerial vehicles had a larger staging area should evacs or additional firepower be necessary.

  Walking toward the main command tent as he exited his patrol car, he thought of his own role in the crisis. In many ways, he had gone from being a central hub in dealing with the ongoing response to an advocate for his citizens’ needs.

  He was fine with that.

  The experts could handle the logistics. He would focus on what his community needed to move forward, to heal, and to return to health.

  That job was as important as any.

  Plus, what else was he going to do?

  He checked the two machetes strapped to his hips—he had returned Master Tanaka’s wicked sword—before entering the command tent to see what news Major Ganlin had to report.

  A point of calm in the midst of all the activity, Major Ganlin lit up uncharacteristically when Hayes entered. He supposed a familiar face was always welcome in a crowd.

  She walked over to him. “Coming in to take the pressure off me having to give a press conference in your absence?”

  “I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

  She smiled.

  “But after yesterday, are you sure you want me to give one? I practically summoned those monsters from the water.”

  The major briefly shook her head. “No, that honor goes to the genius who lured them in like bait dancing on the end of a fishing line. You merely had the opportunity to be the face of the disaster on national television.”

  “Thanks. That bodes well for my reelection chances.”

  “Considering you did a passable Conan the Barbarian impersonation, I would say you didn’t hurt your chances.”

  He gave a wry, winning smile. “I was aiming more for Yojimbo, what with Master Tanaka’s dancing samurai sword exacting justice, but I’ll take Conan.”

  “You helped turn the tide. We’ll take that however it comes.”

  Shifting from casual to more serious, he said, “I don’t think we’ll need many swords and knives now with the array of heavy equipment fortifying the beachfront.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t need them at all.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I have word that a crew from the EPA should arrive at the old military installation shortly. You’ll have to pass our thanks to Megan. Her work will lay the groundwork for much of our future efforts to stabilize and restore the bay.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m too proud of her not to let her know.”

  “And happy she’s gone?”

  “More than I can say.”

  Before Ganlin could add anything else, he said, “Is there anything we can do to help? My officers are starting to feel a bit left out.”

  “I doubt that. You’ve got more on your plates than you can handle. If you can help us keep people out of harm’s way, that’s more than I can ask or expect. Evacuation isn’t mandatory, but helping people find safety, support, and surety is paramount. They’ll look for that from you and appreciate it more than if we offered.”

  “We’re already on it. Anything else?”

  “Well, there is the matter of the next press conference…”

  He laughed. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Good. Let’s talk over the particulars of today’s mission.”

  Falling in beside her, he walked over to the tent’s center, with its uniformed officers clustered around the central table, already deep in discussi
ons.

  He appreciated this kinder, gentler major.

  He knew she was just as tough underneath as she had always been. Perhaps he had just earned a bit of her respect, and with it, more of her personality.

  Let’s hope he didn’t have to earn any more.

  Speaking into his walkie-talkie, his words interspersed by static, he said, “Major Ganlin, you’ve got to come see this.”

  “Is this critical, Sheriff? I'm in the middle of a conference.”

  “Your meeting can wait. In fact, bring it out here. Get them all out here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the pier by the barricade.”

  The moist ocean breeze gusted against his back, the smell of the sea strong, as he watched Major Ganlin walk toward him from the command tent with a retinue of assorted government officials.

  Offering a wry grin, his words competing against the building winds, he patted the weapons at his side and said, “I don’t think my machetes are going to be enough.”

  Raising her eyebrows in reply, Major Ganlin followed his gesture toward the storm front looming behind him.

  Her eyes went wide.

  A steel-grey storm front surged across the dark cobalt ocean waters of the bay. Intermittent flashes of lightning illuminated the roiling interior darkness of the tempest. Within the spumous, convulsing depths, amid the rain and clouds, and rushing along the squall’s fore, incandescent lights, wavelike chromatic displays, and reflective iridescent surfaces rode the air currents in numbers beyond counting.

  Cephalopods in untold hordes raced toward the shore.

  Any hope of things ever getting any easier evaporated in the face of the impending tumult.

  Not that he had really expected anything less.

  Smiling over at the major, who still stood stunned beside him, he asked, “Any chance we can sit this one out?”

  His words snapped her from her reverie. “Not on your life.”

  She had found her place just as he had found his.

  About the Author

  Including influences such as Shunryu Suzuki, Tolkien, Krishnamurti, Iain M. Banks, Laozi, Stephen R. Donaldson, Philip Kapleau, Raymond E. Feist, Edward O. Wilson, Dan Simmons, and David Bohm, Joe creates existential fantasy filled with rich worlds, concepts, stories, and ideas.

  Joe holds an advanced degree in environmental management from Duke University where he also studied religion with a focus on meditative, experiential, and transformative traditions. Additionally, Joe graduated with (dubious) honors from the Tellanon Institute of Noetic Knowledge, Education, and Research (TINKER) and has yet to put this knowledge to good use.

  When not at play with his family, he enjoys reading, writing, and relaxation. When he can, Joe also practices various martial traditions in which he has attained the victim level of proficiency.

  In addition to Octopocalypse, Joe is also the author of Contagion, Confessions of an Angry Dwarf, Nemesis – A Good Guide for Bad Guys, Everygnome’s Guide to Paratechnology, Mulogo’s Treatise on Wizardry, and the Chronicles of the Fists trilogy. He is also working on something else but really cannot say more on the matter at present.

  Author’s Final Note

  I hope you have enjoyed reading this book as much as I did writing it.

  Whether these words transported you to another place, one you enjoyed wholeheartedly, or pushed you away without lasting impression, I would welcome your fair and honest review (good, bad, or indifferent) of my book wherever you may choose.

  If you truly did appreciate this book, feel free to spread the word to your friends, family, and random acquaintances. I would also love for you to visit me at either my website at www.josephjbailey.com or on my Facebook Author’s Page.

  If you would like to learn about future book releases, please consider signing up for my book announcement newsletter.

  Many thanks and happy reading!

  Joseph J. Bailey

  Table of Contents

  Octopocalypse

  What the Hell?

  Jet Squid

  Octocopter

  Camoctopus

  Out for a Jog

  On the Beach

  Reinforcements

  A Moment to Plan

  Shit, Meet Fan

  Teuthological Tautology

  Origins

  Cephalostorm

  About the Author

  Author’s Final Note