Raptor Apocalypse

by Steve R. Yeager

  Now all he could hear were the sickening sounds as the hunters fed, it seemed all around him, it overwhelmed him. He almost gave in, he wanted to fall face forward on the ground and cover his ears, but he knew then he would die also. He knew he had to control his fear, he had to move. He leaped to his feet and for whatever reason, also ran towards the stone wall. His flashlight was not on but Michael’s light still illuminated the rock face from where it was laying. There, in the edge of the light, he saw the opening, it seemed too small but he raced towards it willing it to be big enough for him to get through. Praying it was deep enough to get him away from the terrors that were all around.

  Then he heard a short, sharp, throaty cough behind him and could hear the crunch of rocks as something tried to catch up to him. He had been seen, he was next. As he crossed into the light on the rocks, he could see his silhouette…and a larger one blending with his. He reached the opening though and forced his way through just a split second before the hunter arrived. He was just inside as the beast tore at the opening, but could not enter. Deeper he pushed himself in. He leaned against the cave wall and fought to control himself, he was safe. Then he realized that was wrong. All was lost, he was alone, and he sank down onto the floor of the cave in dark despair. He cried then too, as darkness came over him.

  He never left the cave during the next few days. The wide open clearing in front of it seemed too dangerous. There was a rocky slope down from the entrance to the cave and then it became a dirt or mud open expanse. The tree line to the south was about a hundred yards away. He watched from inside as animals crossed it and disappeared into the jungle. Some walked slowly, uncaring; others ran as if they were being chased. Some were and he watched as the hunters made their kills. There were a blur of memories filled with horror as he fought off attacks from smaller animals that could get into the cave. Though they had the pistols they had all agreed not to kill anything unless it was a matter of life and death. But they had only thought about being here for a short time. He was trapped forever and killing to survive was necessary.

  He finally ventured from the cave in short, anxious trips. He first went to the jump zone, avoiding the areas where the others had died. There was not much left but he had found a few useful things; some ammunition, a knife, a supply pack that he made into a backpack, the night vision goggles, another flashlight, a lighter, and some candy bars and nuts. He was able to bend a piece of the destroyed pulse housing into a gate to keep the animals from coming into the cave.

  The candy had not lasted long and he had begun to hunt. He was not an outdoorsman though, not a hunter himself. But it always went back to the common denominator, kill or give up and die. They were easy to kill if you did not have to get close to them. He tried to shoot smaller animals so he could carry them back to the cave. As soon as they were down though he had to run in and pick them up. Any death cries or struggles kept him back for fear of their slashing claws. Then the sounds of death alerted others to an easy meal. More than once he had given up an animal to keep from becoming a meal himself. Now he would run in and cut off only what he needed, leaving behind a meal that kept others from chasing him. It usually worked. But cooking meat drew unwelcome visitors and he could not stomach raw meat.

  He picked fruit and had been violently ill only once. And so he had fallen into a routine of leaving the cave after dark, usually during a rainstorm. The night vision goggles helped him see the hunters and he learned to listen. He would pick the fruit and then return to the cave to eat. Sometimes he thought about how going to a nice restaurant used to be so easy. The meal exactly the way he wanted it and he would be surrounded by friends. Then he would drift off to sleep. But true sleep never came, the nightmare of the horrific first night always repeated itself.

  And then there was another nightmare, of a beast that was large and shadowy that had somehow gotten into the cave and was coming at him as he slept. Mouth wide open with teeth flashing and eyes glaring, he could only move in slow motion and was never able to stop the attack.

  * * *

  He awoke with a start, wondering where he was and why he was so sore. He quickly remembered. The cold floor of the cave brought him back to reality, but which nightmare was he waking from? How long had he been asleep? He could see the sunlight coming in through the narrow cave opening but the rest of the cave was still in dark shadow. He turned on his small flashlight and shone it around; he had to make sure nothing else was inside. The cave was quite small, after the first four feet of the entrance the ceiling abruptly dropped until it was only three feet high. This kept him safe from the larger hunters. The cave then widened out and the back portion was roughly six feet long and five feet across. For once he had been sleeping soundly, and he realized he was lucky that nothing had entered the now unprotected cave entrance during that time.

  He rubbed his aching body and moved slowly to the cave entrance. He felt reasonably sure that whatever had chased him would not be standing there waiting for him to come out. Still, just like that first morning, he moved slowly towards the cave entrance. As he reached the opening, he looked north out at a vast swampy, wooded area at the bottom of the slope that ran away from the cave. What appeared to be palm trees swayed in the wind while lower was a tall, thick area of tangled shrubs and vines. There were other trees too; they almost looked like trees he had seen before but not as tall or leafy.

  But what he looked at the most, were the animals. Even now he could not take his eyes off of them. He had seen pictures of course, but they in no way prepared him for what was outside of the cave. They were monsters to him, huge, grotesque, killing machines. It was kill or be killed every day. To survive another day was merely putting off the inevitable. He thought this must be some idea of what it was like to try and survive in the African jungle, but on a much larger and deadlier scale. And he would not be too out of place in Africa, but he did not belong here.

  He treated every creature as if it were capable of killing him at any time. No matter if they were not hunters, their huge size made them a constant danger. Nothing seemed small to him, they were all fierce, all determined to live at any cost. How many times had he cheated death? His frail human body was no match for the giant beasts that surrounded him but he had survived. It was his intelligence that saved him time and again. But being smarter or more creative could only last so long in a world ruled by brute force. How many more times before the inevitable? Then what? Was he being saved now, before he arrived? How did that paradox work again? Or had he and the others simply vanished mysteriously? Everyone would understand though once they found the tapes and the journals, but he would be lost, and all the knowledge with him. They would understand what he did, but not how it was done. His plan had to work, he had to be stopped.

  Dawson glanced at the opening of the cave and realized he needed to place the metal back up to keep out unwanted visitors. He was curious though about a shiny liquid on the wall by the entrance. Had the hunter spit something, a poison, at him? Then suddenly he realized it was blood. He thought the hunter must have injured itself as it clawed at him and for a brief moment he was glad. Then he realized the awful truth; it was his blood. On the dark wall was a trail of blood, thick and red, in some spots it had dripped to the dusty floor of the cave. He leaned forward to touch it and an intense pain swept over him causing him to cry out loud.

  He dropped to his knees and crawled back into the cave. There was a pile of items he had taken out of the pack at the control area. He nervously picked up a small mirror and held it behind his back and saw his ripped shirt hanging in tatters behind him. Slowly, he moved the mirror around but was unable to see where the blood was coming from because there was not enough light.

  He reached over for one of the flashlights and propped it up on a stone on the floor. He positioned himself over it and slowly, painfully, took his shirt off. He awkwardly, moved the mirror into position and gasped at what he saw. His back was a mass of blood and torn flesh, in one spot it looked like bone was e
xposed.

  He sank back slowly to the ground as all hope, of which there had been little anyway, left him. There was no hope any longer, only despair and the deep feeling of loneliness. Darkness started to come over him again but to his surprise he found himself fighting it, refusing to quit. He had escaped death, there had to be something he could do.

  He picked up his canteen and poured water on a torn piece of flag that one of the others had brought with them. Red, white, blue, they had planned on planting the flag as a joke; claiming the land and all its inhabitants as their own. They should have brought grave markers instead, he thought. He used the wet cloth on his back and wiped away what blood he could. It was slimy too and there was a stench about the wounds. He cleaned the area well and was relieved at what he now saw in the mirror.

  Though there were several cuts only one was deep. It started just under his left arm and ran back towards the shoulder blade. He could still get to it with his right hand. There was medicine in the kit, all kinds for all emergencies. Ken had medical training and had insisted they carry the kit. He stressed before every trip that they go over all the medical procedures. Where they traveled during other jumps, the medical practices would obviously not be modern. Ken had even forced them to learn how to set bones and sew stitches. He had not liked it, had even tried to talk Ken out of what he thought was wasted time, but now he saw he would be able to take care of his injuries. Pack the wound and stop the bleeding. A shot of antibiotics, a few stitches, and he would live. He had cheated death again.

  He looked around for the first aid kit, and then he began throwing around the few articles in the cave as he frantically tried to find it. He grabbed the flashlight and searched over every part of the cave over and over. It was gone. Then he remembered it was always in the backpack, he always had it with him in case something happened while he was out of the cave. The backpack was not in the cave though and it took him a few seconds to remember that he had it on as he ran for the cave, and that it had been torn from him. That was obviously when he was injured. The backpack was still outside, in the light.

  Dawson crawled to the front of the cave and looked out into the daylight. The sky was blue and the forest trees swayed slowly in a gentle breeze. If he had not known better, he would have thought it looked like paradise. The pain in his back though quickly reminded him it was not and that he was in a desperate situation. The longer he took to give himself the proper medical attention the larger the chance of infection. Or something would smell the blood and want to investigate. The smell of blood always brought them. He had to have the medical kit.

  He checked the holster on his side, the pistol was still there. He felt reassured, though still nervous. He moved out of the entrance slowly and stopped completely. He looked around slowly but did not see the backpack. What if the animal, in its rage over missing a meal, had attacked it or another animal had found it by chance and had destroyed the kit? An animal could simply step on it and the pack would be reduced to nothing. He felt the panic rising again, he had to get it now, there could be no waiting. He moved out more from the cave and was glad to see he was in shadow. The sun was still below the top of the cliff wall, it was still early morning, and the shadows were still dark.

  He kept moving slowly, careful not to accidentally step on a loose rock. He did not want to draw attention to himself. He did not know how long a hunter would wait for a meal, but there were always other hunters to worry about. As he continued forward, he saw the backpack lying about fifty feet to his right. The panic receded, he had a chance. But it was not in the shadow but out in the light. He wondered how it got there.

  Though the cliff wall above the cave was about fifty feet high, it dropped off dramatically and was much lower by the back pack, only about fifteen feet high. Suddenly he had the feeling that there was something waiting for him at the top of the wall. Something he did not want to see. He recoiled in fear as an icy coldness swept through his body. An urge to run back into the cave swept over him but he fought it. He had to have the medical kit, every second he was closer to not being able to stop the wound from becoming infected. Slowly, the fear subsided.

  He moved out a little, still close enough to run back to the cave if something were to appear, but out far enough to see the top of the cliff as it dropped downwards. Nothing moved along the top of the cliff. He turned and looked out at the backpack, so close. Still, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

  Out of the jungle, about a hundred yards away, a creature slowly came out of the forest. It walked on all fours and had a long neck. It was not a hunter though and, after studying Dawson for a few moments, it began to eat some leaves at the top of the tree line. He was encouraged by this sight; he did not think the animal would stay if there were a hunter nearby. He began carefully moving along the cliff wall. He stayed as close as he could to it as if it offered some protection. He was still in the shadow, and nothing could see him from the top of the wall without his being able to see its shadow in front of him on the ground. Every step was slow and careful. As he reached the spot directly across from the pack he again grew nervous, the wall was just too short. Fifteen feet was a small jump to many of the hunters.

  The large animal was still grazing though so he pushed away from the wall and moved quickly to the pack. He was still trying to be quiet, but now he just wanted to get the kit and get back to the cave as quickly as possible. He ran to the backpack and knelt down beside it. Though there were many slashes in it he smiled as he saw that it did not appear to be too badly damaged. Through the tears, he could see the medical kit was still inside. The night vision goggles too, he hoped they still worked. He picked up the backpack and wrapped the straps around his right hand; it was time to get out of the light.

  As he turned to leave he heard the leaf-eating animal grunt excitedly. He wheeled towards it and saw it turn away quickly and move quickly back into the trees. Dirt flew up from its large feet and the trees swayed violently behind it. It was afraid. It was escaping.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow running along the top of the cliff and realized the hunter had already jumped. He tried to draw the gun but his hand tangled in the straps and torn material of the backpack. He could not get it free. He turned and tried to run for the forest but a dark shadow crushed him from above and drove him to the ground. The pain was overwhelming, his legs were shattered, his chest crushed.

  He struggled desperately, twisting and turning to face the attacker. He looked up into the cold, lifeless eyes of the hunter as the teeth flashed. He pounded against the long muzzle and was surprised at how hard it felt. He tried to push the head away but his arms were useless against the strong neck muscles of the hunter. An arm disappeared into the mouth and was gone. Movement slowed and he saw the blood from the stump of his arm spurting in a long arc. As darkness overcame him, he knew he was going to die. He wondered if he was screaming.

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