Righteous Apostate: Raptor Apocalypse Book 3

by Steve R. Yeager

  Raptor Apocalypse 3

  Righteous Apostate

  Steve R. Yeager

  Copyright © 2015 Steve R. Yeager

  Cover Copyright © 2015 Steve R. Yeager

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  SECOND EDITION

  BY STEVE R. YEAGER

  The Raptor Apocalypse Series

  Raptor Apocalypse (2012)

  Red Asphalt (2013)

  Righteous Apostate (2015)

  Novellas

  Mechantula (2015)

  Short Story Collections

  Short Tales: Volume One (2013)

  To those who serve…

  He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.

  — Mathew 12:30 —

  -1-

  PRESENTATION ANXIETY

  DR. ANDREA BLAKELY eyed the road ahead, peering through a patch of glass not fogged by the moist warmth of her heavy breathing. Narrow yellow beams cast by her Toyota RAV4’s headlights barely lit the way ahead. A traffic signal mockingly bobbed in the gloom, switching from yellow to red. Slowing, she pressed closer to the steering wheel, leaning over it as the car came to a stop.

  Rain skittered across the pavement and pinged against the metal body. Gripping the wheel with one hand, she fished through a pile of trash in the center console, searching for her iPhone. Cradling the phone in the palm of her right hand, she twisted her left on the wheel, squeezing harder and harder.

  “Why, Andrea, why?” she asked herself, head shaking in disgust.

  She checked left, right. No one was approaching from either direction, so she considered running the light.

  But, she didn’t.

  With the way her night had been going, she felt certain that a cop was hiding just out of sight, ready to spring his trap.

  She cupped the phone in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it and looking at a number in her recently called list. Her thumb hovered over the redial button, wavering.

  With a grunt, she dropped the phone in her lap and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. She waited, drumming her fingers impatiently, keeping time with the wiper motors. The car rocked with the occasional wind gust. Nearly a full minute passed, and still the light had not changed to green. She checked the intersecting street again.

  No cars.

  Wriggling her nose in agitation, she snorted. Something broke free and slithered down the back of her throat. She choked and fell into a fit of coughing, which was made worse when the roaring defrosters sprayed her own spittle back in her face.

  Great, she thought, just fucking great.

  It took another few seconds for the intersecting street’s light to turn yellow. She lifted her foot from the brake pedal and let the car creep forward. But only the left turn arrow in her direction had changed to green, and she was forced to stop again. She banged both hands on the steering wheel and rethought running the red signal.

  A hazy glow begin to form to her right, along with a barely detectable, but growing hiss of wet tires. Her own signal turned green, releasing her from temporary imprisonment. The hissing grew louder. The light grew in intensity. Squinting, she turned away from the glare.

  A speeding car bounded through the intersection, the driver completely oblivious to the red signal in his direction.

  “Damn drunk!” she cried at the car's taillights, watching them disappear into the rain-stippled darkness. “Where is a cop when—?” Cutting herself off, she drew a breath. “Let it go,” she whispered. “Just let it go. It’s not worth it.”

  Cautiously, she checked both directions once more, keeping her hand over the horn button, and eased off the brake pedal. As the car cleared the intersection, she huffed in resignation, sped up, and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It read 4:08AM.

  She was already late.

  “Get it together,” she huffed. “You can do this.”

  Earlier, she’d been at home, finishing off the last few drops of wine from the box in her refrigerator, waiting for a call from the new man in her life. She’d stared at the phone for hours, hoping it would ring. When it finally did, the call was from work, not from him. It was the project director. He needed her to come in early to prepare a presentation covering her successes over the past year. She was also told in no uncertain terms that her project was in danger of being defunded.

  The RAV4 continued on its crooked course, knocked off track by the occasional blast of wind. She alternated between watching the road and bringing up the last voice entry she’d made on her iPhone. Given that she’d been getting old and forgetting far too many things as of late, she’d been making recordings of her findings. She hit the play button with her thumb. The tiny speaker hissed a few seconds of silence and background noise before she heard her own voice. “Problems with the most recent generation of XC-1142. Secondary outcomes of the homologous recombination now include extreme UV sensitivity. Numerous sub-dermal lesions have appeared within seconds of exposure. Testing occurred using multiple sources of light, but the strongest reaction is to full-spectrum sunlight. Subject death generally happens after ten minutes of mild or five minutes of severe exposure. Autopsies show root cause as toxic buildup of antibodies in the micro-vessels of the dermis. While symptoms would not necessarily generate undesirable use cases for organisms raised in suitable industrial environments, a potential limit on so labeled, ‘free range’ or ‘organic’ product applications for which this project was initially targeted have been invalidated to date.” The voice on the recorder stopped to take a breath. Andrea hit the pause button and set the phone down. Her mind had already wandered.

  “Damn him,” she said. The new man in her life hadn’t shown up, or called, or texted, or done anything at all to communicate with her. She’d waited up all night for him. He was the first guy she'd met in a long time who’d taken an interest in her and her work. He reminded her of one of those TV news anchors, the type who filled in on Sunday mornings. His salt and pepper hair and charming smile had attracted her, and his quick wit and sharp tongue had won her over. But the bastard had not called as he had promised to do. Every single one of her relationships had been like this. She hated how she couldn’t stop obsessing over it, especially when there were far more important things to worry about.

  In the near distance a sign appeared, indicating she was approaching the on-ramp to the freeway. The rain had not letup, and the windshield wipers were running at their maximum setting. Just as the expressway had been deserted, so too was the freeway. She drove for twenty minutes more before taking the turnoff leading to her workplace: SYCORP Meats and Poultry. Slowing at the guard shack, she waved her ID at a man dressed in a white shirt and black tie. He greeted her by barely glancing up from the glowing screen of an iPad and pressing a button to open the gate.

  The factory complex was truly massive. Steam boiling out of the tall chimneys quickly smothered the rain, creating a soupy gray filled with hazy points of light. The plant operated continuously, processing nearly two hundred and fifty-five thousand chickens each day. Early morning trucks stuffed full of squawking birds were already preparing to offload their cargo, which would be turned into various consumer and commercial products. Andre
a often wondered if those birds had tiny little souls locked inside, and if they did, where those souls went when they died. If her project proved successful, she would fundamentally change the entire industry. She would save millions, if not billions of lives.

  After parking in a lined space, she shut off the engine and watched numbly as the rainwater, whipped by the wind, sheeted off the hood. Her car was the only one in the back lot. While her assistants were expected, she did not think they would arrive for at least another hour. They’d been grumpy when she’d woken them, but she’d made it crystal clear that their asses were on the line right alongside hers.

  She checked the clock again. It glowed 4:23AM. Too goddamned early, she thought.

  Greenish-blue light shone down from a single fixture above her car, causing the rain to appear as streaking white filaments. The entrance to her lab was close. A canopy covered most of the way, but she was still going to get soaked getting there not matter what she did. She had not even brought an umbrella or raincoat.

  Damn.

  Sighing, she picked up her iPhone and checked it for messages. No one had tried to contact her. She opened her recently called list and hit redial. The speaker emitted four sharp rings. Finally, she heard Gary’s terse voicemail greeting. Short as it was, she still had trouble waiting for the message to end. It had been the fourth time she’d heard his recorded voice that night. She sucked in a deep breath, going over just what to say. Then her mind went blank, and her anger flared. What could she say that she hadn’t said already? It was over, she thought. She’d blown it yet again.

  “You asshole,” she growled into the phone. “You goddamned asshole! Why didn’t you show up? You left me—” She stopped and drew in another ragged breath, bit her lip. “Shit…shit, Gary, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please,” she mumbled, “just call me. Please. We need to talk.” She pressed the END button and massaged the phone in her palm. He’d never call her again. Why should he? She was just another crazy-ass bitch, always going too far.

  Angrily, she stuffed the phone in her pocket and exited the RAV4, shooting a glance at the night sky, feeling the cold rain strike her face. Rounding the car, she yanked opened the rear hatch to get her briefcase.

  Shit.

  The briefcase wasn’t there, and with a flash of insight, she remembered where it was. Sitting on the goddamned kitchen table. No way would she have enough time to go back for it. Double damn. She might have all the right files on her office computer. If she didn’t, she was screwed.

  Ducking her head against the rain, she affixed her plastic ID card to her lab coat and headed for the rear entrance. Stopping to rub her nose, she grimaced. Not even the rain could overcome the familiar wet feather stench hanging heavy in the damp air.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” she said, holding her keycard against the reader, waiting for the door to click. Once inside, the wind blew the door closed, clipping off the pounding rain, and enveloping her in an eerie silence. She shook rain out of her hair and stomped her feet dry. To her left was a desk. She had expected to see Charlie, the overnight security guard, sitting behind it, but he was not there.

  “Where the hell are you, Charlie?” she said as she rounded the security station and scanned the desk for the sign-in log. She checked the black and white security monitors nestled behind the counter. Charlie was not in any of the images. Three of them were showing snowy noise, which struck her as odd, but not beyond the realm of possibility. If the company could save a dime by not repairing a security camera, it would. She made a mental note to ask Charlie about it.

  “Gah! I really don’t have time for this shit,” she said as she jotted her name down on the security log. She checked her watch, briefly considering falsifying her check-in time. But as she looked at the latest entries, she realized that today was not the right day for that. She could not afford to do anything that could possibly be used against her.

  She marked the time down as 4:35AM and set the clipboard back on the desk. While guessing where he might be, she pressed a button under the countertop. The light on the interior door blinked green, and the unlocking mechanism buzzed.

  She entered the main lab, turning left, and walked toward her office. Something didn’t smell quite right. The air was usually stuffy, but an unfamiliar odor lingered, different from the sour aroma outside. It reminded her of rotting potatoes. One of her interns must have left something in the break room, she guessed. Some of their exotic meals could really stink up the place.

  When she arrived at her office, she reached for the keycard affixed to the lapel of her lab coat, but it wasn’t there. She must have dropped it somewhere along the way. She patted down her coat, thinking she’d either have to backtrack or go find Charlie and have him search for it.

  Where the hell was he?

  The men’s restroom was the most likely option, so she checked there first.

  She knocked on the door. “Charlie, you in there?”

  No one answered.

  She cracked open the restroom door and peeked behind it. The bathroom was dark, so she fumbled for the light switch on the wall.

  “Charlie?”

  No answer.

  Clicking on the switch, she timidly entered the restroom. He wasn’t there. She glanced under the stall doors just to be certain. Then she realized the lights had been off before she came in. Why would he be in there with the lights off? She took a deep breath, knowing she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Get it together, Andrea, you can do this. You have to.

  She headed for her office and stopped outside the project director’s door, wondering what time he would arrive. Knowing him, he’d probably show up ten minutes before the presentation was scheduled to begin. She rechecked her own office door, twisting the knob, but without her keycard, she was locked out.

  “Charlie?” she called as she patted down her pockets again for her security badge.

  No answer.

  Now she was beginning to worry. She left the main corridor and returned to the lab area. The odor she had detected earlier was growing stronger. None of the lights in the lab were on, which was unusual. Why hadn’t she noticed this earlier? Typically, a single bank of lights remained lit for the night janitors. Somehow, it hadn’t registered when she’d first arrived. Weird. Had someone else come in early? Maybe they were with Charlie. And what if it was a woman? What if he was—? She cringed at the thought. It would be just her luck. Good old Charlie, having a romantic interlude on the day she had to give such an important presentation. She shook off the mental image and resumed looking for him.

  The entire main lab remained cloaked in darkness. Gene sequencing, spectrograph, and various analysis equipment glowed in greens, reds, and oranges. Most of the ten computer monitors arrayed along the benches displayed screen savers set to the company’s logo. One had the familiar blue error screen with a string of meaningless hexadecimal digits. The light coming from the instruments and monitors reflected off stainless steel workbenches, giving the room an ethereal, dreamlike quality. A reddish glow originated from the cages on the far side of the lab. Those cages held her creatures locked inside glass enclosures. She stood on tiptoes to check if Charlie might be near them. Maybe he’d brought someone in to see her creations. She knew she should have called ahead to warn him she was coming in early. That had been an oversight on her part. But when she peeked over the benches, he wasn’t there. Returning to the hallway, she flicked a series of switches. Long banks of tubes rattled and popped in the lab, filling it with light.

  “Charlie?” she called, her voice wavering.

  Maybe he knew she was on her way and was lying in wait, ready to jump out of hiding and spook her. He’d sometimes played pranks, which she rarely found funny. Was he at it again? She was in no mood for this. Not today. If he didn’t show himself soon, she’d make sure he was the first one they fired.

  But as she called his name again, she was met with silence.

  Then a flicker of movement came from the
far end of the room. She froze. Was he hiding there, just around the corner?

  “Not today, Charlie,” she called out. “Not funny. This is not the day for jokes. Where are you?”

  She moved through the lab, past banks of bioreactors and bubbling fermentation tanks. Data screens blinked at her insistently.

  “Dammit, Charlie!” she yelled. “Where are you?”

  She took another step.

  “Charlie?”

  No answer.

  She peeked around the last workbench.

  “Charlie?” She nearly choked on his name. Her hands shot to her mouth, muffling a scream.

  Charlie was not more than ten feet away. He lay face down on the painted concrete floor. His black trousers were shredded to ragged strips. His white work shirt had pulled from his pants. It was soaked through with blood. His limbs, bent at unnatural angles, made it evident that something had been chewing on him. She got down on one knee to examine him. He smelled of coppery blood and offal. His belly was torn open, and the contents had spilled into a half-eaten, lumpy pile. His shoes were gone, and all that remained of his socks were tattered rags emphasizing the boney stumps of his missing toes.

  “Oh, Charlie. No. Charlie.”

  She hovered over his body, gazing from his ruined belly to his forehead. Her mind raced to make sense of what she saw, spinning hard to play catch-up. His nose had been completely chewed off, and his eyelids ripped away. His eye sockets oozed a clear fluid.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she repeated, stomach threatening to empty.

  As she examined him further, she realized just how blind she’d been to all that had happened since she’d arrived.

  Somehow, they had gotten free.

  Trembling with primal fear, she tried to stand, but couldn’t. She couldn’t seem to make her legs work properly. She grabbed the edge of a workbench and tried to pull herself up by it.