It was all as simple as that.
They were still around, of course, but not in any significant numbers. Plus, due to their reduced numbers, they had become controllable. Many parts of North America still had large infestations, but those were being pushed back, and some crazies were even attempting to domesticate the raptors and use them for their original purpose—a cheap source of farm-raised meat.
Ultimately, the raptors were the losers in the struggle to become the apex predator. Humans still held that role. The raptors just could not compete.
Since humankind remained at the very top of the food chain, it had the primary responsibility for protecting the planet and all that dwelled upon it.
Walter had even put it into words for Jesse late one night, and done so quite succinctly.
“We are the stewards of this planet,” he’d said. “We can either destroy it, or we can save it. Sometimes, out of ignorance, we get it wrong. And when we do, we need to be adult enough to understand the difference and do what’s necessary to repair the damage we caused.”
No hippie bullshit in that. Jesse was certain Walter and his father would have gotten along well.
Andrea had ended up with the First Sergeant. After they had gone south and found a rebuilding civilization, she’d convinced the new leader of the NAT about the importance of finding Cory and Noah alive, and that they held the key to destroying the raptors. But that, in and of itself, had not done it. She’d mentioned Kate in passing, and soon the twin helicopters were spooling up and ready to go.
Jesse was certain he was going to die that day, but, next to his daughter’s voice, the sound of those two whirling angels was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, all led by Andrea, the avenging angel.
Halle-f’ing-lujah.
Soon after, he had gotten to meet Kate’s father, President Thomas K. Barrow, leader of the North American Territories. He’d shaken the man’s hand as he had wanted to, left handed. They had spent the night swapping stories of Kate’s survival in the city and all the amazing things she had accomplished. Jesse had admitted how Kate reminded him of his own daughter, and through the stoic glances between the two men, the tiny glints of fatherly understanding Jesse would remember most.
Along with Jesse, Walter and Andrea had returned to Cyrus’s former base and freed the women trapped underground, but that was another story for another time. The pair had been married soon after, and now Andrea and Walter ran the trading outpost at Bunker 12. Walter still cooked a mean cheeseburger, and the last time they had all gotten together for a visit, it had been made with fresh beef, a truly remarkable taste, impossible to reproduce in any other way. Jesse had brought along new potatoes, which he had hand sliced and fried, getting it right this time.
Jesse’s cabin in the woods had remained virtually untouched by the raptor menace. When he’d located it, he’d been amazed by the condition. Not even a dish was broken. There was plenty of dirt and dust to clean, and plenty of minor items that needed to be fixed, but once he’d gotten the well up and pumping and solar panels installed, it was better than anywhere else he could think of living. Taking a hot shower on any regular basis was not something he thought he would ever experience again, but he had, daily. He even found a dishwasher and an electric oven and got them to function.
And the view was just…magnificent.
Today, he planned to spend a long day fishing. He would take the skiff out by the big rock on the northern side of the lake. Last time he was there, he saw the biggest damned trout he had ever seen. He intended to catch it.
In the cabin behind him, he heard stirring and the creaking of floorboards.
He smiled.
No longer did he need to be on such high alert. He could live without having to constantly check his surroundings for danger. Life had returned to a new normal. The raptors would ebb and flow. They would never fully go away. Hell, no one could eliminate mosquitoes, so any hope wiping out the raptors was just a pipe dream. He expected to see them again one day.
But not today.
Adaptation was the key. It was something he had come to fully embrace. When he had finally let go and was able to forgive those who had wronged him, those who had trespassed against him, he’d found peace. When he had given up the hate, the anger, and the frustration, and even the gnawing self-loathing over his own actions, he had discovered the most important virtue in all life—the ability to forgive.
The floorboards inside the cabin squeaked again, protesting against the feet moving about in the kitchen. He hoped very much that he had not woken her too early when he’d made coffee. She had been so good to him over the past year. Helping him through the terrible nights he cried out for his wife, or spent sobbing over his lost daughter. And, when he had grieved long enough and had put it all behind him, she had been there for him for that too. His wife and daughter would always remain a big part of him, and as long as he held onto their memories, and their goodness, and the joyful time he’d spent with them, they would never truly vanish.
In his lap was one of his favorite new books, I am Legend by Richard Matheson. He’d read it twice during the past year, along with a host of other post-apocalypse themed books he’d found stashed in the basement of the cabin. Some of the zombie ones were his favorites. He had hoped to find some nugget of sanity in one of the books, some deeper meaning in life. So many of those stories had been so tragic and shown the worst characteristics latent in even the best people. None of them were him.
He was just happy how his own story had turned out. Damn happy. The world had enough evil and misery in it.
He heard the sounds of the door swinging open behind him. Footsteps on those creaking floorboards. A hand rested on his back, and he leaned his head over to touch it with his cheek. Her warmth had made him happy again. She stepped in front of him, wearing only a loosely wrapped blanket. Seeing her standing there practically naked, her milky-white shoulders and long hair draped to one side, he found her more beautiful than any sunrise could ever hope to be. Blocking his view of the lake, she flashed him a wicked smile, and he placed his good hand against the bulge of her belly.
“Have you thought of a name yet?” he asked.
“Adam,” she said.
“And what if it’s a girl?”
“It’s a boy, I’m sure.”
“Hmm… Adam,” Jesse said. “Adam Prieo. I do like the sound of it.”
“Me too.”
“That’s what your parents should have named you,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess so. Would have made more sense. But, my father was a bit weak in that department. He named me after the guy on the twenty-dollar bill—Andrew Jackson—or A.J. for short. He once told me he’d been trying to tip the delivery nurse. She refused the tip and asked him what to put on the ‘goddamned’ birth certificate. He pointed to the twenty. So I got named after the seventh president of the United States of America… That’s my dad for you.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How do you get ‘Jesse’ from all that? Shouldn’t it have been ‘Jackson’ or ‘Jack’ or something like that?”
“That’s a story for another day.”
He smiled back at her. Eve was just so damn beautiful.
“Well, don’t stay out here too long, okay? We’ve got work to do,” she said over her shoulder as she stepped inside and closed the door.
He stopped rocking in his chair and just listened.
THE END
Read on for a free sample of Vengeance from the Deep - Book One: Pliosaur
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The Righteous Apostate is the third and final book in The Raptor Apocalypse series. My original plan was to have a single book, which I started in 2010, but it quickly blossomed into a much larger story, and I realized that I could not tell it in the space of a single book. This is the final volume in Jesse's storyline. He's living his life, licking his wounds, and will hopefully die of old age, peacefully. There are some remaining threads that are still open, and in the futu
re I may pursue them with additional stories in this world. But, after a couple of years working on this series, I need to move on to something else for a while.
I wrote the final chapter for this book in 2010 when I first penned the original rough draft for Nanowrimo. Not much strayed from the original epilogue and very few revisions were needed to bring all the character's story arcs to a close.
I hope you enjoyed this story and stuck with it until the end. It certainly has been an interesting journey. Thank you for taking it with me.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I'd like to thank a number of people who have helped, either through their brilliant feedback, stellar ideas, or simply acting as sounding boards for my insane ramblings. In no particular order, my thanks go out to: Emil, Don, Clifton, Ryan, Matt, David, Scott, Karen, Jesse, Andrea, Kody, Jenny, Ruth, John, Carol, Katie, Garrett, Carl, Rob, Jeff, David, Mark, and all my friends at Stonehenge. I’d also like to thank my wife and family for giving me the time and room to write.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steve R. Yeager lives in Northern California with his wife, two kids, and a pair of crazy dogs. He has worked as a corporate software engineer for over twenty-five years and now spends his spare time writing as an exercise in sanity retention.
Chapter 1
KUTA KEB-LA
Three years earlier
A loud clap of thunder brought fifty-five-year-old Captain Frank Addelson back to consciousness. A hazy darkness flashed before him until he drifted out. He inhaled the salty air, and that’s when the pain came. His shoulder joints ached deeply, and his wrists were on fire. “Aaagh!” he grimaced, feeling like he was being pulled in half. As his vision cleared, it was easy to see why. He was stretched out in an X shape, bound between two huge posts by wrists and ankles—and as naked as the day he was born.
“What the—?”
He had once awakened buck naked in a Durban pig’s trough, but the lads at Murphy’s Law Saloon weren’t capable of this. The roughly hewn poles were spaced about fifteen feet apart. A glance down showed the pilings leading into the misty, black sea. Lapping waves transformed into froth against the wood.
What kind of madness is this? Squinting his eyes, he glanced all around him, only to discover that he was inside a massive underground lagoon. Twinkling in the pitch, a series of small fires outlined the hazy shoreline. Their dancing flames reflected eerily along the water’s edge. The air was foul. Every time the wind calmed, a vile stench rose from the pilings.
Maybe that’s it. He gazed into the flames. Maybe I died at sea, and this is hell.
His vision blurred. He almost blacked out until the pain once again awakened him. He groaned, throwing his head straight back. Looking up, he saw the poles reaching high above toward the roof of the cavern. A fiery torch atop each piling illuminated dagger-like stalactites. He felt the heat radiating from the lapping flames, yet an icy chill crept over his bare skin.
No, this isn’t hell. At least not yet.
Above the poles, and strung beneath the roof of the cave were a series of ropes and pulleys. Best he could tell, it looked like rigging from an old sailing ship. The ropes led to a towering cliff off to his left that hung eerily in the darkness. Its rocky ledge was illuminated by a single torch.
“WHO PUT ME IN HERE?” The captain’s voice roared through the cavern.
The pounding in his head made it difficult to think. Vaguely, he recalled piloting a fishing trawler off Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Images of a hostile storm flashed before him—the forty-foot swell off port side, clinging to a lifejacket while rolling over huge waves in the pounding rain. Lastly, he remembered waking on a dark shoreline.
Like a fly snared in a spider’s web, Frank squirmed helplessly between the ropes. A loud crack of thunder resonated through the cave. As the deafening rumble faded into the distance, it seemed to take on a rhythm—or was it something else . . . a drumbeat? Slowly, the tribal drums grew louder, echoing impressively throughout the vast cavern. Squinting into the pitch, Frank inhaled a deep breath of salty sea air. The mist cleared further, and then he could see them.
Like demons in hell, countless dark figures glistened in the flames along the banks. Every face wore a strange white stripe. Spears in hands, their shimmering bodies writhed like serpents to the drumbeat.
The cave fell darker. The wind swirled around Frank’s bare flesh, growing cooler.
KABOOM! A flash of lightning illuminated the cavern, and for a split second he could see his captors clearly. With half-painted faces, their blue-black bodies seemed frozen in the light. And then darkness returned, leaving only the silhouetted figures writhing in the hellish flames.
Frank twisted, screaming between the ropes, “Take me down from here, you black devils!” he snarled. “Cut me down!”
There was a squeak from above.
Peering up, he saw a small tribesman dangling by one of the ropes. The little man scurried across the rope like a monkey, muscles glistening in the torchlight until he disappeared behind the ledge of the nearby cliff. Beyond the ledge, Frank saw more shadowy faces peering down at him, their eyes shining in the pitch.
A loud squeak from one of the pulleys.
Another squeak. And then another. The ropes above the captain grew taut and came to life, twisting and turning beneath the stalactites of the cave.
SWOOOOSH.
Frank struggled to look upward as a large, brown object glided down a rope and squeaked to a stop, swaying ominously above his head. It was a four-foot round sack, constructed of animal hide. The stench was undeniable . . . and unbearable.
“What are you doing?” Frank screamed. “What have I done?” His pleas echoed through the huge cavern, unanswered.
This is madness. What kind of nightmare have I awakened in? Straining against the ropes, Frank’s eyes darted back down to the hazy shoreline. One of the tribesmen appeared to be some kind of chief. Bathed in firelight, the portly man stood and raised his arms as though in worship. The drumbeat ceased. Spears and torches stopped waving, and the banks fell quiet. The crashing sea could once again be heard. The chief pointed toward the posts that held Frank’s body. Thunder cracked. Lightning flickered off every half-painted face as they all turned and looked Frank’s way.
If this is a nightmare, now would be a good time to wake up. But Frank’s aching shoulders and the ropes burning into his wrists were all too real.
“KUTA KEB-LA!” bellowed the chief.
The surrounding tribesmen roared with delight, “T’lay, t’lay!”
Thunder rumbled. Lightning flared.
Upon signal from the chief, a tall tribesman took off along the bank, spear in hand.
WHOOOOSH!
Frank’s eyes widened as the spear arced over the lagoon, flashing through the darkness, plummeting toward the posts. He screamed, thinking the spear would go right through his chest. But it didn’t. It struck the sack above his head.
SWOOOOSH!
A gushing warmth cascaded over his naked skin and splashed down into the black water. Chunks of flesh pelted him. He writhed in the warm blood, as he screamed, strung up like a pig between the poles. Out of the periphery of his vision, he could see a length of intestine dangling from his right arm like a snake. He shook the ropes violently until the intestine slid off and plopped into the black sea, coiling beneath the waves.
Twisting frantically, Frank looked down at the blood spilling from his body and into the water below. A scarlet cloud swelled between the poles.
The drumming intensified.
A shout went up from one of the tribesmen. He pointed to the far side of the lagoon.
A shark fin broke the surface.
Panic surged through Frank’s body. Another glance down showed small metallic blurs—a shoal of fish—shooting by the pilings, fleeing the area.
A trail of urine splattered against the sea—Frank’s bladder contracting from sheer terror.
The men along the banks roared with fury. Rhythmically pounding the
blunt end of their spears against the rocks, they began to shout, “T’lay, t’lay! Kuta Keb-la.” The chant grew louder and louder, echoing madly through the cavern.
The drinking, the divorce, his daughter’s tears—every mistake of Frank’s life flashed before him. “God, no,” he shook his head. “Not now. Not like this.”
The tall fin emerged from the pitch in unison with a crack of thunder. Then a flash of lightning illuminated the giant, torpedo-shaped body beneath the fin. The great white circled below, attracted to the blood still draining into the lagoon. A former army sergeant, Frank had seen action on the front line, but he’d never known fear like this. Had the drumming increased in tempo . . . or was it his pounding heart? His breathing was rapid and shallow.
The ropes tore into his flesh as he twisted more violently in an attempt to pull his hands free.
Below, the giant shark glided between the pilings. The crimson waters divided in the wake of the passing fin. Frank’s heart was about to burst. He didn’t know how much longer he could survive the enormous foreboding in his heart. He knew that with just one leap from the water, the creature could easily reach him, devour him.
His tormented screams echoed in the darkness.
“You’ll burn in hell for this, you bloody savages. Burn in hell,” he shouted. “BURN IN HEELLLLL!”
~~~
On the rocky shoreline, one of the chief’s guards watched eagerly from behind the flames. Thirty yards out in the center of the lagoon, the sacrificial offering twisted hideously between the poles. His painted-red flesh shimmered; his screams muted by the thundering drums.
~~~
Frank’s eyes were riveted to the approaching great white. His body quivered uncontrollably.
Then, in an instant, he stopped moving. His terror and pain was diverted completely by what he saw beyond the great white’s fin.
Righteous Apostate: Raptor Apocalypse Book 3 Page 28