Raptor Apocalypse

by Steve R. Yeager

  He stopped suddenly.

  Something in the distance had caught his eye, a brief flash, a glint of sunlight. The shattered glass in the building ahead was turning orange and yellow in the dying light. Those broken window pieces clung to their steel frames like giant fangs with the occasional random shard jutting outward. The effect seemed to form a sickly, twisted mouth, like that of some hulking demon. Inside that mouth, the maw of the demon, a figure stirred. The hairs on Jesse’s arms prickled in response.

  About time, he thought. It was Hannah, his Hannah.

  -12-

  ARRIVAL

  CORY’S FEET THROBBED. Walking cross-country had all but worn out the soles of his latest pair of Nikes. He had been through at least four pairs since starting the journey, and it was getting harder to find more, especially ones that fit his size thirteen feet. He wanted a cigarette, but had given them up. They slowed him down too much. Slow equaled death.

  Over three years had passed since the long awaited Reboot Day had come and gone, and five years since the launch of Project Genesis. The better part of the past year, he had spent on the road, traveling from one end of the country to the middle, trekking through destroyed cities, decaying farmland, and dead, blackened forests. Hiding spots along the way had been relatively easy to find, buildings, basements, or whatever else served as ad-hoc barriers against the raptors. But when barriers could not stop them, the ancient steel of his Muramasa-made katana could.

  A crudely painted signpost on the main highway indicated a settlement lay ahead. Many of these settlements sheltered the last remnants of humanity left in the rubble-strewn world. Most had been erected not only to keep the raptors out, but also to provide protection from the hordes of looters and savage gangs that pillaged and raped their way across the country. Cory usually avoided such settlements, preferring to stay on his own, but today his feet ached and he needed to pick up some local news of the road ahead.

  Trading was also an option. He did not have much to trade, but reasoned that he might be able to barter for a few necessities. The packs of cigarettes he had stashed in his bag tended to go for a lot. He also had a can of peaches, which was quite valuable. But what he hoped to find most was alcohol, for it had many uses other than drinking, or so he kept telling himself.

  After going over a rise and climbing through a chain-link fence, he made his way down a single-track dirt trail that led away from the highway and meandered its way toward the solitary compound. Side streets leading from the main road also seemed to funnel to the house, but the dirt trail provided the most direct route and had trees that would cover his approach. When he got close enough to spy on the compound, he crouched low next to a Hawthorn tree and pulled out a pair of binoculars from a pocket in his jacket. As he scanned the encampment, it appeared much as he imagined an old west fort might have, had he ever seen a real one anywhere other than in a picture book. He had encountered many such camps on his travels. This one looked similar to the rest, but still different in other ways and less threatening than most.

  The compound sat in the middle of a field of burnt grass and dirt. The perimeter surrounding it was barren. It had been cleared out to at least a hundred yards before the first evergreen trees took over and offered any cover. Razor wire and sharpened wooden posts about twelve-feet high formed a roughly shaped, rectangular barrier around a two-story ranch house located in the center. From his current vantage point, he spotted a dozen or so cars scattered inside the walls. Three platforms, presumably guard towers, were inside and slightly above the main walls. Two were empty. The third, the one nearest a wooden gate, contained three men standing watch. He considered for a moment just passing by and ignoring the settlement, but there was something about the place that drew him to it. Plus, he needed information on the road ahead. He had seen others traveling down I-25 in trucks painted with a yellow symbol and armed with guns. They seemed dangerous. He did not want to blunder into a turf war if he could avoid it. Since he had not seen those symbols painted on anything here, he figured he could learn more about that other group here. Usually, these tiny settlements were relatively benign and filled with simple people wanting to survive, so information was vital to their existence.

  Leaving the cover of the trees, he made his way down a well-worn gravel path toward the front gate. He walked with a casual gait to appear nonthreatening. Along the path were signs painted with bold, white numbers. One read, Deuteronomy 28:61 and another, Numbers 11:33. He knew those were biblical quotes, but he had no idea what they meant. The compound had a lived-in feel, as if it had been there for at least a year. Sharpened stakes planted in the ground out front were already cracking along the grain. He walked past those, noticing the area around the poles was swept clean. Still, he picked out the occasional three-toed tracks in the dirt.

  The three men watched him approach until he got to within thirty feet of the front gate. One of the men held up a hand. “Far enough, stranger. State your business.”

  Cory stopped. The man who had spoken wore a camouflage baseball cap and had on an orange hunting vest with no shirt underneath. The other two, flanking the shirtless man, wore camouflage T-shirts and held recurve bows with arrows already nocked. Actively repressing any outward signs of fear toward the men, Cory let his gaze roam the empty space to either side of him, searching for the quickest route of escape. It would not be easy, but he could manage.

  He took another step forward.

  “Close enough,” the man in the camouflage hat said. “Now, hands up and turn around. All the way around.”

  He obeyed, raising his hands slightly above his head.

  “What’s that on your back?” the man asked.

  “Katana,” Cory answered.

  “A what?”

  “A sword.” It was a one-of-a-kind blade forged centuries ago by a long dead, legendary swordsmith. But he was not going to tell them that.

  “We don’t allow anyone in here with weapons. So, set it on the ground, stranger.”

  Cory said nothing. He understood the man’s emphasis on the word ‘stranger.’ This was normal, and expected. The man in the cap bent lower and spoke with someone behind the wall. He straightened and stared down at Cory, scratching at a week’s worth of growth on his cheek.

  They all waited in silence.

  An older man with a full head of neat, silver-gray hair stepped onto the platform and joined the other three. His smile was filled with brilliant white teeth, and he was clean-shaven. He seemed out of place. The smile Cory found quite odd considering the hill-folk standing next to the man appeared to share barely a full set of teeth between them.

  “Friend,” the silver-haired man said. “We want to welcome you into our fold, but you should know we can’t allow strangers to walk in here armed. I’d be neglecting my duties if I allowed that.”

  Cory shrugged. The guy was polite at least. He turned his back on the silver-haired man and began walking up the trail the way he had come. He might have to continue his journey without the information he needed. That was if they did not shoot him in the back with an arrow. Though, given the relative politeness of his reception, he estimated the odds of them trying were fairly low.

  “Hold up there!”

  He kept going, not bothering to turn around.

  “Son, hold on a sec.”

  The man’s tone had changed. Cory knew then the risk he had just taken had worked. They intended to let him inside. It was only a matter of time. He pivoted on his heel to face the gate. The black duster jacket he wore billowed out behind him. The gate creaked open on squeaking hinges. Seconds later, the silver-haired man strode through. Two other men holding long spears made of sharpened steel pipe walked beside him, remaining exactly one step behind. The men with bows kept watch from the platform.

  The silver-haired man extended his right hand as he approached, palm downward. His hand looked soft and smooth, much like the skin of his face. “I’m Noah,” he said. “Welcome. We don’t get many solitary travelers he
re, so, please excuse our rather rude welcome.”

  Cory nodded. He did not shake the man’s hand. The corners of Noah’s mouth wrinkled, and he withdrew his offered hand. He looked Cory over closely, head to toe, inspecting him with great care. His eyes widened slightly at something he saw. It had been very subtle, almost imperceptible, but Cory had still seen it.

  “Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll find you something to eat? I’m eager for news from the outside.”

  “But he’s—” one of the guards said.

  Noah interrupted with a raised finger. He gave the man an angry look. He then gestured for Cory to step alongside. Wordlessly, they made their way inside the compound. The gate swung closed behind them, but not before Cory observed how it could be reopened. He scanned the area inside, seeking the quickest escape route. That might prove a little more difficult here than outside, but still seemed possible.

  Pop-up dome tents filled the inner space. Clothing hung on lines strung between poles. At a card table to his left, four men sat playing dominoes. As he walked past, a bug-eyed man gave him a nasty look, which he ignored. He was used to it. It was nothing new. The place had the hustle and bustle of a small community, and it smelled like one, too. Rusting cars sat close to the exterior walls. With a running start, he could probably jump on top of one of them, leap to the edge of the wall, and drop over. But if he missed, his journey would end rather abruptly.

  “Give me a minute, if you please,” Noah said, stopping. “I’ll send someone out to fill you in on our humble little settlement here.”

  Noah left him standing next to a rusting, light-green Toyota Prius. The car’s tires were flat, and the side windows had been smashed out. Someone had spray painted Green Movement in red letters on the side of the car, but whoever had done so had also inserted the word ‘bowel’ between ‘Green’ and ‘Movement.’ Noah walked across an open dirt area in front of the house, climbed the steps to a well-weathered porch, and entered through the front door.

  A few minutes later, the front door opened again, and a woman stepped out. She appeared to be in her early twenties and was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans. She also had on a threadbare red-plaid shirt she wore over a T-shirt. When she moved into the sunlight, he saw the hint of a purple bruise ringing her right eye. She stared at him for a moment from the top stair of the porch before stepping off and coming to join him next to the Prius.

  “I’m Evelyn,” she said. “But everyone here calls me ‘Eve.’ Welcome to Eden.” She extended her hand, and he took it. Her grip was light and her hands soft. “Out here, you’ll find most of us,” she said. “A few live in the house. There is not much worth stealing here, so don’t get any ideas. You’ll also get shot.” She indicated with her head toward the two men standing near the house. “Matt and Ryan are pretty good at keeping the peace. Oh, and if you gotta pee, we have a couple of blue shitters out behind the house.”

  He folded his arms and leaned back against the car. She joined him.

  “Mind if I ask some questions?” she asked.

  He did not mind, much. She had a sweet voice and pretty teeth. “Free country.”

  “Well, yeah, guess so. What’s your name and where you from?”

  “Cory. East.”

  She nodded. His name formed silently on her lips.

  “East?” she asked. “My parents lived in Iowa. You been through there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then where exactly?”

  It did not much matter if he told her the truth or not, but he figured it would be easiest to remember, so he said, “New York.”

  “All the way from New York? You don’t seem like someone from New York.”

  “Well, I am. Or was.”

  “I watched New York get destroyed on TV. That was horrible.”

  “Yes,” he said absently. He was underground at the time and cut off from any coverage, so he had seen little of what had happened.

  She remained silent for a bit, so he decided to ask something. “How long have you lived here?”

  “A year,” she replied. “There was a hundred of us once, now there are only fifty-two.” She moved closer. “We had a long trip. A lot of them died along the way. I lost a lot of good friends.”

  He grew uncomfortable with how close she was standing. He glanced at the wall, considering the difficulty of clearing it. “We?” he asked. “You mean with that guy, uh, Noah?”

  “No. And he’s not ‘that guy’ either. He’s in charge here. He is our leader. He takes care of us. Oh, I mean, yes. You meant something else, right? I was talking about me and my boyfriend, and all the others who joined us along the way.” She pushed away from the car and straightened her shirt. “But he’s dead now. Most of them are.”

  “Sorry,” Cory said, confused by her scattered responses and not sure what else to say. He wiped his palms on the legs of his pants and swallowed. He had not been this close to a woman in a long time.

  “One hundred?” he asked. “Now fifty-two?”

  “The raptors,” she said, as if that explained it all. “God protects the rest of us.”

  “God?”

  “Yes.” She turned to look at him, tilting her head. She brushed a lock of her sun-bleached hair over her ear. “God protects us. He sent Noah to watch over us. Since Noah has arrived, we’ve only lost eight.”

  This was not the first group Cory had encountered that organized themselves around religion. It was one of the ways to bond people together, but he also knew it was a lie. A big one.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “About what? About Noah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am holding my judgment.”

  “What about God?”

  “What makes you think God is involved?”

  “Because He—”

  “This, you mean?” Cory said, spreading his arms. “This wonderful world? No, this we brought on ourselves.”

  “What? Why?” she said, confused. “Why would you say that? God will decide who is worthy.”

  “Not Noah?”

  She stalled on that, as if she had to stop and think about it. “Noah is God’s representative on earth. He was put here to protect us.”

  Cory laughed. “So, then, where did he stash his ark? I did not see it on my way here.”

  “Ark? Noah’s? What? You. You think this is funny?”

  He did not have time for this. He needed information, not useless conversion. It had been a long day. He was tired and wanted to rest his aching feet. Next, he was certain she would try to indoctrinate him into their insane, bullshit cause. That was not going to happen.

  He said, “If this guy Noah is saving the world, then he must have an ark around here somewhere. So where is it?”

  She pushed herself away from the car. “You do think this is a joke.”

  “No, you can believe whatever you—”

  “Noah will protect us. God has chosen us to survive.”

  “Really? Really now. Fine. You can keep believing that,” Cory said. The difficulty in talking with a crazy person was that once you started to challenge their dogma, it always ended with them storming off in a huff. He figured in another minute or two she would get fed up with him and leave.

  She took a step away from him and then stopped. “If God is not protecting us, if all this is not part of his plan, then how are we going to survive?”

  Cory waited in silence. His tolerance for this nonsense was gone. He probably was sealing his fate here and would need to start running soon, but he could not help himself. “Kill them all,” he said. “Every last one of them. That is the only way we survive.”

  She stared at him, unblinking. “Kill them all? How are you planning on doing that? You think you can take them all on by yourself? That’s insane.”

  He touched the handle of the sword on his back. “I came here for—”

  She interrupted. “For what? To insult us? To make fun of us?” She seemed to consider something for a moment. Sh
e glanced at Matt and Ryan. They were watching closely, but not intervening. Then, shaking her head, she left him by the car and jogged back to the house. The door slammed shut behind her.

  It had been closer to thirty seconds than two minutes, he figured. A new personal best. She thought he was the crazy one? No, she was bat-shit crazy. They all must be. Not that he really cared. She would tell that Noah guy what he had said, and it would get him tossed out on his ass. That was if he did not get shot instead. No, there would be no trading with this bunch. Probably no information, either. It was time to get the hell out of there. But one glance at Matt and Ryan told him what he needed to do now was to stay put and play it cool for a while. Rushing into things rarely worked out in his favor.

  He unstrapped the sheath that held his katana and climbed onto the front-end of the Prius. The hood dented under his weight. He scooted farther up and sat cross-legged, resting his back against the cracked windshield. It was comfortable enough, and he was off his feet. He pulled out his most cherished possession from its sheath. It had been self-awarded the day he had finally beaten his mentor, Professor Juan LaPaz. The sword came out with a faint hiss, sounding like an irritated serpent. He glanced at Ryan and Matt. They had been watching his every move since entering the compound. He assumed they would not hesitate to kill him if he tried to escape now, or made any threatening moves. He would watch them just as carefully as they were watching him. He held the sword out before him. Both men reached for knives on their belts, which would do them little good. No one brought a knife to a sword fight, not if they wanted to live. But from the corner of his eye, he saw the men on the platform drawing their bows. He let the sword come to rest in the downward arch between his fingers and thumbs. He bowed slightly. Then, slowly, he set the sword on his lap. From inside his bag, he withdrew a strip of leather used to strop the blade. The men remained unsettled, but those on the platforms lowered their bows and eased their draws.