Raptor Apocalypse

by Steve R. Yeager

  Still watching everything with feigned disinterest, he began to run the leather strop along the edge of the sword and down the length of the blade. Each stroke matched his breathing. In, then out. Each cycle helped to slow his mind and focus his thoughts. Would he fight his way out, or trick his way out? He would fight if necessary, but bow beat sword when the person with the bow had range. Or would they try to convert him? Or maybe they would just outright kill him. Maybe that was what they were planning inside the house. They could kill him and rob him of everything he had, which was not much, other than his blade.

  He sat on the hood of the Prius, formulating an escape plan, then a backup plan, and a plan after that. He had been stupid to walk in here without thinking it all through, but he had been tired, so tired. When he reached a decision on how he would escape, he stopped honing the sword and held it up. He closed one eye and looked down the edge of the blade to check for nicks. The sword gleamed in the fading light, reflecting the reddish hues of the setting sun. It was now sharp, razor sharp, and could cut through flesh and bone as if slicing through straw. The blade had been made by the ancient sword-smith, Muramasa, and was a thing of incalculable beauty and craftsmanship. History had labeled its creator as evil and bloodthirsty. Cory now sought redemption for them both.

  Satisfied with his work, he ran his thumb along the edge of the blade to test the sharpness and perform the ritual. A thin trickle of blood oozed out where he’d sliced open his skin. He held his thumb upside down and watched as a drop formed.

  Larger.

  Larger.

  Perfect.

  He smeared the crimson drop along the blade, letting the fresh redness streak the polished metal and roll over the patterns in the folded steel. Then, with loving care, he returned the weapon to its sheath, and checked his thumb. The bleeding had already stopped.

  -13-

  A NEW FRIEND

  HANNAH STOOD IN the mouth of the demon. Her brown hair fluttered in the wind. Today, she was wearing a blue sundress emblazoned with yellow polka dots. She kept one hand on the dress to prevent it from blowing up and waved with the other. Jesse shielded his eyes from the multi-hued glints reflecting off the broken windows. He stabbed at her with a shaking finger, gesturing for her to stay put. On weak knees, he took an awkward step toward the building. His breathing grew shallow, rapid, and his heart thudded erratically. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, but getting to her meant having to go through the interior of the building. There could be raptors inside. There could be other people inside. It could be the last decision he ever made. But it took him only a split-second to decide.

  Ducking through the broken glass entryway on the ground floor, he crossed over to the building’s shattered lobby. Hanging wires, ceiling tiles, and overturned chrome and leather furniture filled the space. To his right were the elevators. The sliding doors leading to them were partway open, the shafts littered with windblown garbage. A pictograph sign indicating the location of the stairwell hung on the wall between them. He could probably climb one of the elevator shafts if he had to but figured the stairs might prove easier. Running to where the sign had indicated, a small corridor to his left, he found the space packed floor to ceiling with trash. Broken chairs, desks, cabinets, and assorted office furniture were all jammed together tightly in the space, forming a barricade. He’d been here before and did not remember the stairwell being blocked like this.

  There were footprints. New footprints.

  A large cabinet, wedged between a pair of broken chairs, blocked access to the front of the pile. He started rocking it back and forth until it came free, and then shoved it out of the way. On the backrest of an office chair behind the cabinet was a bloody handprint. It had dried. Judging by the color, though, it seemed to be recent. Behind the chair, a small, deliberately made passageway led under the stacked debris. He got down on his knees. The light coming through the doorway was barely enough to see without a flashlight. A smeared trail of dried blood stained the floor and led into the tunnel. It made him pause. Blood he could handle, but he hated small spaces. That’s where the raptors got you.

  Thoughts of crawling through made him shudder. He wrapped his hands over his biceps and squeezed. He had to try. She was on the other side. The smeared trail appeared to only go in one direction as if someone had crawled through and not come back out the same way. Setting the chair to one side, he squeezed his way into the narrow space. It was barely large enough for him to crawl through on his hands and knees and seemed to grow smaller the farther in it went. It was also dark on the other side, too dark to see much of anything. Something could be waiting for him there. He backed out and fetched his flashlight from his knapsack, clicked it to the mount on his shotgun, and pressed the dimpled button to turn the light on. The other side was about twenty feet away. He could see the bottom of the stairs. No movement there. He also checked the blood trail on the floor. No three-toed tracks, which meant no raptors. The way through was probably safe. He got up his courage and entered the narrow passageway. After three deep breaths, he spun around inside the cramped space, took hold of the heavy cabinet, and dragged it into place behind him, shutting off much of the light. Holding the shotgun in one hand and letting the beam shine ahead, he made his way under the piled furniture. The tunnel did grow smaller in the middle. It also felt as though thousands of pounds of weight hung just above his head, and it was all threatening to crush him.

  Shivering, he continued to move, but then his knapsack snagged on something, stopping him cold.

  Darkness.

  A ripple of panic surged through him.

  Dizziness.

  His heart rate increased. The walls were squeezing in on him. He had to get out of there, had to get out of there fast! But Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. She was on the other side. Alone, without him. Can’t. Have to. Must. Steadying himself, he fought the claustrophobic seizure. It took a few seconds, but he began to breathe normally again. When he checked to see what had stopped him, he found the plastic bags strapped to the outside of his pack had snagged on a chair leg. Exhaling, he lowered himself to his belly and tried to push forward again, but the pack was still caught on something. Any movements he made caused the pile above him to wobble in response. The darkness. So dark. No. No. It’s too dark. Too tight. A sudden wetness dampened the left sleeve of his shirt. Something was soaking through it. A thin stream trickled down his arm. Raptor blood, he could smell it. One of the bags of meat must have sprung a leak.

  He adjusted himself again, tried to move forward. The sounds of the shifting furniture above caused him to freeze yet again. He watched for further reactions from the pile, looking down the fifteen or so remaining feet he would need to crawl to get to the end. The elevator? He thought about it again. Maybe, just maybe. But that would take even more time. Here, as long as the pile held together long enough, he could get through. It would be dark outside soon too. If he didn’t hurry, he might end up stuck in this building for the night, which would be a very bad idea. Gathering his will, he forced his arms to stop shaking and his legs to give him the strength to get through this. Lying flat on the floor, he wriggled out from under the nylon knapsack. Once it came free, he pushed it behind himself and stuck a boot through one of the straps. From there, he inched forward on his elbows, using his right foot to drag the pack along behind him.

  The tunnel grew in size as he cleared the middle. When he passed the final obstacle on the opposite side, he rose to his feet and let out a long, explosive breath. He’d made it. Staring at his hands, he willed them to stop shaking, then took a moment to brush off the layer of dust and dried blood that had formed on his clothing. He patted his shoulder. His hand came away wet and red from the leaking bags. Damn. He’d just ruined another shirt. They were not easy to come by, either.

  He sniffed the air and listened.

  Nothing.

  Raising the shotgun, he used the beam to see up the darkened stairwell. Footprints, two sets. One small, one large. Hannah’s? W
ere they Hannah’s? He wasn’t sure. He’d made a lot of noise going through the pile, so if others were ahead of him, they already knew he was coming. He tightened his grip on the shotgun and tested the weight of it. Bending at the waist, he untied the bags from his knapsack and propped them against the bottom stair, knowing he could retrieve them when he left. As soon as he set the bags down, he changed his mind. Instead of leaving them on the stairs, he removed a chair from the pile and set it on one of the higher stairs, then placed the meat on it to act as a counterbalance. Anything going for the bags would cause the chair to topple over and crash into the pile below, thereby creating enough noise to give him a few seconds warning. Satisfied with his makeshift alarm, he ascended the stairs on silent feet. When reaching the top, he stopped in front of a steel door. It was bent outward and jammed in place. Bullets had punched their way into the metal on the side facing away from the stairwell, leaving large, funnel-shaped dents. But they were rusting and appeared old, and he remembered them from the last time he’d been here.

  He pulled at the door, widening it just enough to squeeze through, wincing at every little sound. He entered a narrow corridor on the other side. On his right was a broken glass partition with a raised planter below it. Twin doors separated the elevator and stairwell lobby from the larger office area. Both doors had been shattered, leaving behind only the dull gray hardware. He stayed low, using the planter as cover. Hearing nothing, he peeked over the top. Inside the office space, chest-high cubicle walls lay in collapsed piles like toppled dominoes. Computer monitors, lamps, and pictures of loved ones all created various heaps on the floor. The room had a scattered look to it, as if someone had decided to rearrange the furniture by setting off a bomb. His skin prickled with a mixture of anticipation and fear, but he detected no movement, nor smelled anything alerting him to danger, nor did he feel that particular tingle in his gut.

  Directly ahead, the waning rays of sunlight filtered through broken shards of window glass at the far end. That had been where he’d last seen her. He raised a hand to cover his eyes and peeked out between his spread fingers. Hannah was no longer near the broken windows. So where was she? Confusion clouded his mind. He wanted to call out to her, almost did, but decided not to. She had been right there.

  He entered the main office area, stepping lightly. Dried, blown in leaves, broken bits of glass, and gravel crunched under his feet. He winced with every step. There were footprints in the dust and debris. Small, childlike footprints, but he still couldn’t tell if they were hers. His anticipation grew. She was near.

  Most of the office surrounding him was painted a neutral gray. However, patches of dark splatters accented almost everything. The remaining white ceiling tiles that clung to their frames above were decorated with matching patterns that resemble stars and galaxies in the night sky, only in reverse. Black replaced white. He knew what had made those marks. He’d seen the same thing repeated throughout the city. They were the dried splatters of blood from some unsaid horror, some last, clawing, desperate frenzy right before death.

  Bones littered the floor. They had been picked clean and were covered with a chalky dust. He stepped around those, following the trail of footprints. One set was small and belonged to a child, the other to an adult. Who? Who was here? Ahead, something stirred in one of the windowed offices adjacent to the open area.

  “Hannah,” he said in a cracking voice. He covered his mouth and cleared his throat. It had been days since he had last spoken any louder than a whisper.

  “Where are you?”

  No answer.

  He raised the shotgun and closed in on the office, carefully choosing each footstep around the weathered bones on the floor. Inside the office, a large table filled most of the room. On top of it was a broken fluorescent light fixture. The bulbs had shattered and covered the tabletop with tiny shards of sparkling glass. A few dust-covered chairs rested against the table. Others lay tossed on their sides.

  He heard a sound. He froze and raised the shotgun.

  One of the chairs near the far wall jiggled.

  Hannah?

  He waited.

  The chair did not move again. Cautiously, he lowered himself to peer under the table, readying the shotgun to blast anything coming at him. What he saw caused him to blink in amazement.

  A frightened young girl was staring back at him.

  Hannah?

  Standing, he glanced around, scanning the room again. “Hannah?” he said, confused. She had to be near. “Hannah!” he repeated louder. His voice echoed back to him.

  The girl was not his Hannah. The room settled into stillness. Where was she?

  She’s—

  In a moment of clarity, he swallowed his disappointment. He sucked in a breath and got down on one knee. The girl under the table was still there. She was frightened. He waved at her. She scuttled backward behind a chair and peeked out around it. He pointed the gun at the floor and made a calming gesture with his free hand. Then, using muscles long untapped, he beamed his friendliest smile at her. He was unsure if she saw it as friendly since he probably looked like some crazy old hermit. She continued to cower, moving backward until she could go no further.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I don’t bite. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

  She said nothing. Her eyes darted left and right. She was preparing to bolt.

  “Shhh, we’re safe. No raptors in here.” He held out the shotgun for her to see, hoping the gun would provide reassurance. “See? I got this. You’re safe. I can protect you.”

  He waited for her while making calming noises. She seemed to be trying to make a decision about him. Was he a friend or a foe? He could read it in the way she moved. Warily, she came out from behind the broken chair and slowly rose. He stood along with her.

  “It’s okay. They won’t get you. I’m here. Won’t let it happen. Who… Who are you?”

  He noticed her shoulders slump. She no longer appeared as if she were preparing to flee. Even so, he moved cautiously, watching her every move. It felt awkward to be able to feel something again, so suddenly too. But he did. The girl turned and hurried out of the office.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  She didn’t respond, and he didn’t feel he should stop her, not yet, so he followed instead.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, trailing after her.

  She went down the corridor adjacent to the office and into a darkened area. He followed closely behind, noticing bloodstains on the moldering carpet along the way. The stains were not as dark as those painting the walls. These seemed fresher. Footprints were everywhere. So many he could not tell if they led somewhere or away from somewhere. He raised the shotgun in preparation. The girl may have companions. This could all be a trap.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She didn’t, so he cautiously followed behind, checking corners. He found her stopped in front of a small office. When he stepped alongside, he smelled something unpleasant. It was an odor he recognized all too well. She pushed the door open. He followed. Inside, it was dark, but not too dark to see the dead man lying on the table. The guy’s face was the color of gray ash, and his eyes were two cloudy orbs. Wispy traces of facial hair grew on his chin, yet from the wrinkles on his face he appeared to be in his early thirties. The room stank of infection. Sweat formed on Jesse’s brow, and suddenly he wanted to run from the room. That smell meant a painful, lingering death. The girl didn’t seem affected by the stench. So, he couldn’t let her see him, a grown man, acting so afraid. Keeping his nose as far away as possible from the corpse, he pulled open the man’s stained shirt. Underneath was a hastily bandaged, putrid wound.

  “Who is this?” he asked, choking back his gag reflex. “Your father?”

  She shook her head.

  “Your brother?”

  She looked at him, showing no emotion. Maybe that was it. He shuddered to think who else it could be. There were some sick people out there.

  He stepped back from
the man and looked her in the eyes. “Did you see a girl in a blue dress standing by the window earlier?”

  She stared at him for a moment, saying nothing.

  He glanced away. “Nevermind. Is there someone else here? Anyone? Anyone at all?”

  She shook her head. Thoughts of leaving her behind crossed his mind. It would be a cruel thing to do, but it might be the best thing to do. Could he though? Could he really just walk away? He didn’t want the burden of having to protect someone else. Only Hannah, once he found her. Maybe leaving this girl behind would be for the best. The world was no place for a kid, really. She would only slow him down. She might even get him killed, but Hannah had led him to her, so there must have been a reason that he’d found her.

  “You and I need to get out of here,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Anything else I should know about?”

  She shook her head. That was something, she was communicating, but it didn’t help much.

  “Grab anything you need,” he said, starting a quick search of the room. Old blankets and discarded clothing lay in a crumpled pile on the floor, but nothing else appeared useful. He turned over a few scattered items, evaluating them, but ultimately found no food, ammo, or anything else worth taking.

  Before leaving, he ran a hand over the dead man’s face to close the sightless eyes. Then he picked up a blanket from the floor, shook it, and covered the lifeless body. Lastly, he bowed his chin to his chest and tried to come up with some comforting words to say, but nothing immediately came to mind. He and God were not exactly on good speaking terms. Since leaving Texas, there’d been so much death, so many horrors. This man was now free from all that. Part of him envied the guy for it. He kept his head lowered and eyes closed, mumbling. Halfway through, he peeked and caught the girl staring up at him with a puzzled expression. She seemed to be judging him. Her eyes were deep and bright and there was intelligence behind them. Although, the rings of dirt that surrounded them made her look like a raccoon.