by David Meyer
He handed the can back to her. “How can you eat this crap?”
“It’s delicious.”
“You mean gross.”
“Suit yourself.” She smiled one of her most dazzling smiles. “But you’re missing out, Zach.”
Don’t I know it, he thought. While she finished the beans, he studied the many cans and other packages lining the shelves. “Ready to start moving this stuff?”
“Already?” She made a face. “You’re no fun.”
“Maybe not here. But elsewhere?” He gave her a sly smile. “That’s a whole different story.”
Indeed, Caplan was all-business when it came to the outside world. He rarely let his friends leave the cabin and then, only for supply runs. And he never let runs last longer than absolutely necessary. He was, after all, the leader. And in this day and age, that meant keeping his people safe above all else.
“Now, you’ve got me curious.” A thoughtful look crossed her visage. “You know, I think I saw some boxes in the back.”
Caplan and Perkins followed her to one of the back rooms. Inside, they found containers of all shapes and sizes. They grabbed as many as they could and returned to the aisles. Perkins started with the chips and crackers while Mills focused on the canned goods. Meanwhile, Caplan paced the store for a second time, aiming his beam down each and every aisle. He didn’t find any ammunition. But he did see lanterns, batteries, knives, camping gear, clothes, and plenty of other goodies.
It was enough to make him want to jump into the air. To pump his fist like he’d just won the lottery. Because, in a way, that’s exactly what had happened. The store changed everything. It solved their food problems, their supply shortages. It might even stop all that foolish talk about joining up with the Danter colony.
He retraced his steps and tossed his containers into one of the aisles. Then he filled two of them with boxes of cereal and oatmeal along with packaged breakfast bars. Grabbing the containers, he hiked to the doors.
A sudden coldness welled up in the pit of his stomach. It crept outward, stealing through his veins and blood vessels. He shivered involuntarily as a creepy feeling came over him. It was the sort of feeling one experienced in a dark, dank basement or while hiking through a graveyard on a black night. The sort of feeling that someone—or something—was watching. Don’t look, he told himself. You know there’s nothing there so don’t you dare look. Of course, he looked.
A gray mist, vaporous and without much shape, floated in the semi-darkness. It was about ten feet away, compressing a bit before expanding back to its original size. It didn’t look like a person. It didn’t look like much of anything. But it was there. It was real.
Well, you finally lost your marbles, Zach, he thought with a sigh. That ought to make the end of the world just a bit more interesting.
The mist shifted backward, then forward. Abruptly, it morphed and an airy tentacle appeared at its side. The tentacle unfurled, stretching toward Caplan.
The ice in his veins and vessels got colder, harsher. He faced the gray mist head-on. Blinked and …
And nothing.
It was gone.
“Are you okay?” Mills asked.
The iciness faded. Caplan blinked again and looked around. He saw Mills carrying a heavy box of cans and packages. But he saw no sign of the gray mist. What’s worse? he wondered. Seeing a ghost? Or only thinking you’ve seen one?
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied. “Just tired.”
“Poor baby.” Smirking, she nodded at his cereal-laden containers. “Want me to carry those for you?”
“Nah.” He hefted them with one hand and shot her a wink. “Leave the heavy stuff to me.”
Spinning around, he walked to the glass doors, pushed them open, and strode outside. The wind, cold and hard, raked his skin like a giant claw. But he barely noticed it. Instead, he thought about what he’d seen, what he’d felt. It was so real, yet it couldn’t have been real.
Maybe he really was tired. He’d barely eaten or slept for months. And every bit of energy he possessed had gone into keeping his little band of survivors alive. So, maybe that explained the mist. Maybe it was just a delusion of his tired, starving self.
“Zach.” Mills’ voice lacked its usual spunk and sassiness.
Turning around, he saw her looking above and beyond the store. Following her gaze, he saw something he’d hoped to never see again.
The dark hills just beyond the building transformed into a giant mass of shifting, thumping blackness. The mass surged upward and Caplan saw it clearly. It was a dire wolf, similar to the many reborn megafauna that now stalked the planet. But this wasn’t the same species he’d fought in the Vallerio Forest all those months ago. This dire wolf was different. It was gigantic. It was monstrous.
It was one of them.
Chapter 2
Date: November 23, 2017, 9:44 p.m.; Location: North Maine Woods, ME
Caplan’s mind whirled, flashing back to seventeen months earlier. He recalled the first behemoth he’d ever seen, a genetically-engineered saber-toothed tiger of massive proportions. He recalled its lava-orange eyes, hotter than fire. He recalled its sharp, curving teeth. But most of all, he recalled its size. At some thirty feet in height, it had towered over him. He’d escaped with his life, but just barely.
“This way.” Sliding behind a crushed car, he set his containers upon the ground. Then he grabbed hold of his rifle and peered over the dented roof.
The dire wolf stood at the edge of the forest behind the store. As far as Caplan knew, there was just one behemoth per species. Awhile back, he’d started giving them names in order to differentiate them from the normal-sized reborn megafauna. The saber-toothed tiger behemoth, for instance, was now known as Saber. As for this dire wolf, he’d nicknamed it Dire. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most creative naming scheme in the world. But hey, it did the trick.
Dire’s shoulders stretched some thirty feet off the ground. Its golden brown coat, streaked with black, blended into the shadows. Its eyes, lava-orange, burned holes through the darkness.
Thoughts flooded Caplan’s brain as he gazed upon the ungodly creature. The events that had brought him to this moment had a dark, distant past, much of which had taken place long before he was born.
Some ten to eleven-thousand years ago, vast amounts of Pleistocene megafauna—giant animals—mysteriously died out across the globe. Mastodons, mammoths, giant ground sloths, saber-toothed tigers, short-faced bears, glyptodonts, and many other creatures all went extinct during this period, now known as the Quaternary extinction event.
Their deaths left gaping holes at the top of the food chain. The chain, along with the world’s many and varied ecosystems, proceeded to unravel over thousands of years, leading to large-scale extinctions across the globe. This phenomenon had been known amongst the scientific community as the Holocene extinction. But what those scientists hadn’t known seventeen months earlier was that the Holocene extinction was about to kick into high gear.
Only one person—James Corbotch—was ahead of the curve. For years, he’d experimented with ways to fix the food chain in the confines of the enormous Vallerio Forest. First, he’d introduced proxies—horses, bison, elephants, and others—in place of the original megafauna. When this failed, he’d set out to breathe life into the past. Using his fabulous wealth, he’d recruited the world’s top scientists to a secret facility and set about recreating the entire spectrum of long-deceased Pleistocene megafauna.
For some unknown reason, these creatures exhibited unusual bloodlust. Even worse, a few of them began to experience enormous growth spurts. These new creatures, behemoths, set out across the Vallerio. They’d eventually broken free from the forest and, with behemoths from Corbotch’s many other facilities around the world, set forth on an epic rampage.
Humanity might’ve—should’ve—stopped them. But one of Corbotch’s other research teams had created a deadly viral compound called HA-78. Caplan and his friends, against their will
, had actually been turned into asymptomatic carriers of the compound. That was why they’d fled to the North Maine Woods in the first place. To avoid people, to avoid infecting them. But it hadn’t mattered. Corbotch had just released HA-78 into the general population, killing billions of people in the process.
Some had survived it. They’d survived the behemoths, too. But could they survive the death of nature? Theoretically, the reborn megafauna—the normal-sized ones, not the behemoths—should’ve fixed the food chain. In turn, that should’ve stopped the Holocene extinction dead in its tracks. But for some reason, that hadn’t happened.
Caplan did see some evidence of a slowdown. However, the various ecosystems comprising the North Maine Woods continued to fail and he suspected that held true across the globe. All in all, the last seventeen months had been hell on Earth and the future looked even bleaker.
Mills slipped behind the vehicle and placed her containers on the pavement. She clutched her bow tightly, but didn’t bother retrieving an arrow from her quiver.
The twin doors flew open and banged against their stoppers. Perkins strode outside a moment later, carrying a large container. “Hey guys,” he called out. “Where’d you—?”
“Quiet,” Caplan hissed. “And get down.”
Perkins looked over his shoulder. A shudder ran through his arms. Carefully, he lowered the container to the ground. What now? he mouthed.
Not sure, Caplan mouthed back. Hang on.
Perkins hesitated, licked his lips. Hurry.
Caplan’s mind raced. He hated leaving the food behind, but he saw no way to save it. And all you ate was lima beans? he thought. For shame.
“It’s just sitting there,” Mills whispered. “Why isn’t it attacking us?”
“Good question.” Caplan studied Dire’s massive head, its claws, its teeth. Why had James Corbotch created behemoths anyway? Were they part of his plan to stop the Holocene extinction? “Maybe it can’t see us.”
“That—oh, no.”
Following her gaze, he saw something streak away from the store. “Derek,” he called out. “Stop.”
But it was too late. Perkins was already scampering toward one of the wrecks. Dire’s lips curled into something resembling a grin. Growling, it paced around the building.
The ground rumbled. Caplan lifted his rifle and took careful aim. Squeezing the trigger, he directed gunfire at the behemoth. But the armor-piercing bullets merely bounced off its thick hide.
Teeth bared, Dire bore down on Perkins. A wrecked car went airborne as the massive creature ripped through it.
Caplan’s magazine ran empty. He reached into his pocket for another one. But that was it, the last of his ammunition.
Backing away, Perkins raised his long pistol. He squeezed off a few shots. Dire didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Instead, it opened its jaws and lunged.
At the last second, Perkins dove to his right. Enormous teeth grazed his waist before crunching into the pavement. He spun in mid-air like a helicopter blade and crashed with a sickening thud into an overturned SUV.
Caplan ran out from behind the vehicle with Mills just steps behind him. His powerful arms pumped hard and his breaths came short and fast. He ran with an awkward, strange gait. But he possessed quiet, antelope-like speed.
Dire lurched in his direction. But its jaws, embedded deep into the cracked pavement, kept it anchored. Grunting and growling, it fought to free itself.
Caplan skidded to a stop next to Perkins. The man’s sweatshirt, stained and covered with dirt, hung in tatters. Entire layers of flesh had been sheared off his left side, exposing fat and muscle. He was losing blood fast and from multiple places.
Perkins’ eyes fluttered open. He winced, clearly in great pain. “Where is … and how long …?” His jaw hung in the air for a moment, quivering. Then his eyes closed and he fell limp.
Caplan’s gaze turned steely. Perkins needed serious medical attention, the type they couldn’t hope to provide by themselves. Their best bet was to staunch the bleeding and get him back to the cabin. Hopefully, Morgan, the closest thing they had to a doctor, could help him.
He grabbed Perkins under the armpits. Mills took hold of his feet and together, they hurried toward the van.
Claws clicked on pavement. With a mighty yank, Dire pulled its teeth from the rubble and rolled onto its side.
“It’s loose,” Caplan shouted. “How much farther?”
Mills looked toward the van. “Too far.”
“Then head for the store.”
Shifting directions, they hustled toward the market. Dire’s powerful muscles coiled up. Its massive eyes blinked rapidly. Then it jumped up and bounded across the parking lot.
They ran to the front doors and Caplan wrenched one of them open. Quickly, they dragged Perkins into the store. The door closed over just as the behemoth arrived. It stopped outside the structure and lowered its massive head to the ground, trying to peer through the windows.
Caplan and Mills set Perkins down behind a checkout counter and threw themselves to the floor. “What if it attacks the building?” she whispered.
Caplan studied the thin walls, the leaky ceiling. “Then we’re in trouble.”
Hunkering down, they waited. Waited for the creature to attack, to shatter the glass, to stick its long snout into the store. But nothing happened.
He chanced a look over the counter. A shadow shrouded the glass panes, but it was light in color. He hurried to the window and looked outside. Dire had backed up about twenty feet. Now, it paced back and forth, denting and cracking the pavement.
Mills gritted her teeth. “It’s blocking us.”
Indeed, the behemoth had cut them off from their van. And the other vehicles were far too damaged to run properly. Without wheels, they were as good as dead. Under different circumstances, Caplan would’ve waited out the creature. After all, the store had plenty of food and supplies. It could keep them alive for months. But they didn’t have months. They needed to get back to the cabin—to Morgan—as quickly as possible.
Perkins’ life depended on it.
Chapter 3
Date: November 23, 2017, 9:56 p.m.; Location: North Maine Woods, ME
“This isn’t working.” Mills removed a bloodied, wadded-up shirt from Perkins’ side and tossed it onto the checkout counter. Immediately, she pressed another shirt against the man’s injuries. Within seconds, it was soaked through with blood. “What about a tourniquet?”
Perkins lay on his right side behind the counter, propped up by heavy bags of flour. His eyes were closed and his mocha skin had taken on a sickly yellow tinge. Despite their best efforts, he continued to bleed profusely. The risk of exsanguination, already high, was growing by the second.
“On his entire side?” Caplan shook his head. “Keep up the pressure. I’ll be back in a second.”
He ran down several aisles. Using his beam, he located a metal trash can, a bunch of Cy Reed comics, a lighter, a bottle of lighter fluid, a long wooden spoon, masking tape, and some rubbing alcohol. He returned to the counter and stuffed the comics into the trash can. After filling the lighter, he set the colorful pages ablaze. Smoke shot up to the ceiling, but there were no ringing bells, no sprays of water. Like so many other things in this world, the sprinkler system was dead.
“You’re going to cauterize it?” Mills peeled another bloodied shirt off of Perkins’ side and replaced it with a fresh one. “Is that safe?”
“No. But we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
He unsheathed an axe and wiped its blade on one of the clean shirts they’d gathered from the clothing aisle. Then he stuck the blade into the fire and waited for it to heat up.
Cauterization utilized protein denaturation. Essentially, the heated blade would cause Perkins’ hydrophobic proteins to lose their solubility. They’d cluster together, binding tightly and stopping the blood flow. Even though it was effective, it was still a last-ditch type of treatment. The biggest problem with cauterization was t
hat it raised the risk of infection to astronomical levels. While the heated blade would kill bacteria, it would also leave second and third degree burns in its wake, creating the ideal environment for even more bacteria.
“Tape that spoon into his mouth and get rid of all the cloth.” He flipped the blade over and began to heat its other side. “Then hold him down. Whatever you do, don’t let him move.”
Grabbing the spoon, she slipped it into Perkins’ open jaw. She wrapped one side of the spoon in masking tape, extended the tape behind his head, and proceeded to wrap the other side as well. She secured the spoon with even more tape. Then she removed the cloth, exposing Perkins’ wounded side to fresh air. Finally, she pulled away the bags of flour and laid him flat on his back.
Blood poured out of the man’s side, making it nearly impossible to see the actual wounds. The sheer scale of the injuries worried Caplan. Could Perkins survive that much blood loss? Could he survive the amount of cauterization necessary to stem it?
Caplan flipped the blade again and yet again. Finally, he pulled it away from the flame and nodded at Mills. Returning the nod, she grabbed hold of Perkins’ shoulders.
He took a second to wipe away gobs of blood with a spare cloth. Then he pressed the blade against Perkins’ side. Skin sizzled and the odor of burnt flesh filled his nostrils.
Perkins’ eyelids shot open. Gasping, he tried to gnash his teeth, but the spoon kept him from doing so. His body attempted to wiggle and squirm. But Mills had a good grip on his shoulders and held him down.
Caplan kept the blade steady for a few seconds. Then he pulled it away, flipped it over, and pressed it against the man’s side for a second time.
Perkins froze. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out.
Caplan pressed the blade against Perkins’ side over and over again, reheating it several times in the process. He worked in sections, starting with the areas that emitted the most blood. Soon, the red liquid started to slow. And then it stopped altogether.