The Extinction Series | Book 1 | Primordial Earth

by Higgins, Baileigh

  The rest of the street proved equally disappointing. After hours of wandering through dilapidated shops and empty aisles, she was no better off than before. In the end, she had to admit defeat and returned to the apartment block.

  One of the flats was still reasonably intact. Rogue barricaded herself into the bathroom, blocking the door with a wooden chest and covering the small window with a piece of old cardboard. When darkness fell, she climbed into the bathtub.

  There she lay shivering long into the night, huddling beneath the flimsy blanket while trying to swallow her fear. Outside, strange noises echoed down the street as the nocturnal stalkers awakened. Guttural shrieks, the screams of raptors, and the echoing cries of flyers caused terror to course through her veins. Finally, she fell asleep, too tired to be frightened anymore.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn found her curled up into a ball, her head hidden between her arms in the pose of a scared little girl. She sat upright with a start, blinking at her unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly, the events of the past few days flooded back, and she realized she was still alone. Weak and vulnerable. Prey to this strange and terrifying new world.

  Her tongue felt like a stick of dry wood, and her eyeballs grated in their sockets. She was thirsty, so terribly thirsty. Her body craved hydration, and she realized she needed to find water soon, or she wouldn’t last much longer.

  Leaving the relative safety of the bathroom was hard. Rogue wasn’t sure if she could face another day wandering the streets alone with danger lurking around every corner. Yet, what choice did she have? “I don’t want to die.”

  The words strengthened her resolve.

  Gathering her meager belongings, she set off, heading for the outskirts of town. She reckoned she stood a better chance at finding supplies away from the center. It also meant an increased risk of running into dinosaurs, and her senses were on high alert.

  She navigated the streets like a ghost, sticking close to the walls and hiding in the shadows. The silence was eerie, and more than once, her skin crawled as if eyes were following her every move. Twice, she thought she saw a shadow flit by in the corner of her eyes, but when she looked, it was gone.

  The sun rose above her head, and an oppressive heat blanketed the air. Sweat trickled from her forehead and dampened her armpits. Her mouth grew drier by the minute, and spells of lightheadedness caused her to waver, but she pressed on. As long as she kept moving, she was alive. The moment she stopped, she’d never find the strength to carry on again.

  By noon, she found what she was looking for—a Walmart. From the shelter of an old car, she studied the area. It looked like a relic from the past, its sign both familiar and alien to her. She’d heard of the place and listened to people reminisce for hours about the bounty that used to be found inside Heck, she’d probably even been there with her mother as a child but couldn’t remember. It had always seemed like a magical place.

  On cautious feet, she moved closer, scrambling from one hiding spot to the next. The parking lot was deserted, the asphalt cracked and overgrown. Ivy crept up the walls of the brick building, and a section of the ceiling had collapsed inward at the front.

  Rogue paused inside the rim of the aluminum frames that once held the doors, her soles crunching over bits of debris. Shopping carts lay strewn around, old and rusted. Check-out stands waited for customers that would never come and light streamed in through the gaping hole in the ceiling.

  Her shoe sent a rock skittering.

  When nothing happened, she uttered a low, “Hello?”

  Her voice echoed through the interior, a hollow sounding-board for her fears. Nothing happened, and she dared to move deeper into the dank and shadowy place. With the screwdriver clutched in one sweaty palm, she tackled the nearest aisle. She’d start on one side of the store and work her way to the far side.

  As expected, the racks were mostly empty, long since picked over by other survivors, but a few items remained. Sadly, the elements and wildlife had also done their share, reducing what was left to rubble.

  A shadow stirred, accompanied by the heavy beating of wings. Rogue scrambled for cover behind a shelf, peeking out from the corner. Nothing shifted. Nothing moved. Still, she sat perfectly still. She thought she heard something from further inside the store but couldn’t be sure.

  After a while, Rogue continued her search but stuck close to the entrance. She didn’t trust the dark interior of the cavernous building. Who knew what lurked within its ruinous confines?

  Instead, she picked her way through smashed appliances, broken glassware, and exploded cans with faltering hope. Just when she was about to give up, she spotted a sign above a closed door tucked away behind a counter. Returns Office.

  “That looks interesting,” Rogue muttered under her breath. Skirting past a destroyed display of cereal boxes, she approached the door and tried the handle.

  Locked.

  “Damn.”

  She took it as a good sign, though. If it was locked, no one else had been in there yet. With stubborn determination, she searched the counter for the keys. They had to be there. Her fingers brushed across cold, jagged metal, and Rogue snatched them from the back of a cluttered drawer with a triumphant grin. “Yes!”

  With a quick twist, she unlocked the door and cracked it open. The air was stale and musty. Thick dust covered the floor and furniture, and a small window let in just enough light to navigate by. A metal rack bolted to the back wall contained several items, all returns by unsatisfied customers before the world went haywire.

  Rogue’s fingers trembled as she examined the items, hope flowering inside her chest despite her efforts to stamp it out. After the sixth broken toaster or microwave, that hope began to wane until she found something that caused her to gasp with happiness. A hiker’s backpack complete with accessories.

  Rogue yanked it down and tore into it with all excitement of a kid on Christmas morning. In a mesh side pocket, she found an empty canteen. Tied to the bottom with straps were a single bedroll and canvas sheet. Tucked inside the front flap was a tin cutlery set consisting of a mug, bowl, spoon, fork, knife, and a small pot. The flashlight was useless. The batteries had melted into a puddle of acidic goo. Still, a packet of waterproof matches and a basic first-aid kit made her squeal with delight.

  A tag on the side mentioned why the pack had been returned—a faulty zipper.

  Rogue tested them all until she found the culprit: A small side pocket that she’d simply avoid using. With a broad smile adorning her face, she tucked her ratty blanket, hair comb, empty tin can, and length of cord into the pack and slung it over her shoulders. Her items seemed like trash compared to the newness of the backpack and its luxuries.

  With newfound confidence, she sailed deeper into the rest of Walmart, confident that she’d find something, and indeed, she did. It was as if her luck had turned with the discovery of the backpack.

  Her most pressing worry was water, and she found a forgotten six-pack of the precious liquid in one of the refrigerators. After downing a bottle on the spot, she carefully stored the rest for later. A single can of beans meant she’d eat that night. She also managed to scrounge up a toothbrush and nail clippers in the toiletry section, items she’d never had the luxury of owning before. However, her greatest find came with a grisly discovery inside the store: A machete clutched in the hands of a skeleton.

  The skeleton sat slumped against a shelf in a dark stain on the floor. Its skin had long since rotted away, leaving the bones a genderless mystery. Even its clothes had weathered down to little but shreds. Across the skeleton’s lap lay the machete. The machete was too good to pass up, and Rogue pried it from the bony fingers with a grimace of distaste. She also took the belt and sheath, slinging it around her own hips, instantly feeling better for being armed.

  The corpse bothered her, though. How did the person die? What killed him or her? With growing fear, she eyed the rest of the Walmart. There was still much left to explore, including the clothing section. B
ut did she dare take that chance?

  Shaking her head, Rogue decided to go back. She could use more clothes. A jacket and proper shoes would be great, but a sixth-sense warned her it might not be a good idea. Screw it. I’m leaving.

  With swift strides, she backtracked to the entrance but paused abruptly when she noticed the time. The light was waning fast, and the sun had dipped behind the trees, leaving the city in shadow. The day was gone, and she’d lingered too long to make it back to her bathroom hide-out. She’d have to stay inside the Walmart for the night. “Crap. I guess the Returns Office is my best option. At least, I can lock the door.”

  As Rogue turned around to step back inside the building, a shadow crossed overhead. Instinctively, she ducked, and it brushed across the top of her head. With a cry, she looked up in time to see a flyer circling for a second go at her. It shrieked as it dove, and she rolled to the side in a graceless tumble. The flyer, a Nyctosaurus, missed her by mere inches.

  It screeched in frustrated anger, turning its body toward her faster than she’d have thought possible. Beady eyes pinned her to the floor before its razor-sharp beak stabbed at her legs. Crawling on her hands and knees, she narrowly escaped being skewered as the monster attacked.

  Rogue scrambled to her feet but nearly went flying when a leathery wing hit her in the back. Stumbling forward, she gained momentum and sprinted into the store. She ran without thought, panic coursing through her veins.

  The flyer followed, its harsh cries filling her ears with mayhem. The gusts of wind from its massive wings threatened to push her off her feet with every step she took, and her shoes slipped on the dusty floor.

  Desperate to find safety, Rogue ran straight through the store’s center, not caring where she went. The flyer was right behind her, its stabbing beak a constant threat. It crashed into a shelf on her left, and she swerved to the right.

  Weaving through toppled shelves, Rogue stumbled into the megastore’s clothing section. The disintegrated scraps of clothes from the racks had been pulled into piles, dozens of them, and several flyers perched upon their plush nests.

  Unable to halt her momentum, she bulldozed into a rack and sprawled across the ground. The flyers took to the air, screaming their fury. Some darted through the wide-open ceiling while others circled overhead. Their beady eyes fixed on her fragile form, and she cowered in her spot.

  The flyer that had been chasing her found its feet and whirled around. A crackling growl rose in its throat. Its beak hung open, revealing a row of needle-like teeth.

  Rogue snatched the machete from her belt. With all her strength, she swung at the creature. The dull blade hacked into the creature’s wing, and the flyer shrieked in pain as the fragile bones snapped. Droplets of hot blood splattered her skin and clothes.

  Seizing the opportunity, Rogue turned and fled. She headed for the only safe place she could think of: The Returns Office. As she ran, she dug in her pocket for the key. It was empty, her finger protruding through a hole in the fabric. No!

  Another Nyctosaurus bore down on her, and Rogue dove under an overturned shelf. The rusting hulk groaned and buckled as the flyer descended upon it. She crawled on her hands and knees, searching for a way out. There had to be something.

  Rogue’s eyes fell upon a dark hollow opening, the entrance to a back room. As more flyers attacked the shelf, she bolted from cover. Sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her, she dove into the darkness.

  Chapter 10

  Rogue slid across the floor, slamming into a pallet. The heavy beat of wings echoed around her. The flyer lunged through the opening, but the creature’s wings were too long. It snapped its beak as it struggled to fit its long wings through the door. Squawks of indignation ricocheted off the walls. Its feet scrabbled at the concrete floor, creating a cacophony of sound.

  Lifting her machete, Rogue spun on the flyer. The creature hissed and snapped at her, glaring with primordial hate as she sneered back at it. She lunged at the beast with the machete raised over her head, and the flyer drew back in surprise.

  The blade carved down the Nyctosaurus’s wing, slicing through the delicate tissue. The creature shrieked in agony. Rogue grabbed its head, yanking it down as the creature thrashed against her hold. Before it could escape, she raised the machete and brought it back down on the flyer’s wiry neck. The creature shrieked as blood spurted from the gash, splashing across her chest.

  Its movements grew weaker by the second as its life gushed out in a rush of crimson fluid. Rogue brought the machete down again, hacking through the thick muscles. The flyer flopped around. It no longer shrieked or raged. Even the panic was gone. All that remained was a wet gurgling noise. Its eyes rolled in their sockets—the last efforts of a dying beast.

  Rogue raised the machete again, her muscles quivering with fatigue. This time the blade sliced through the spine and severed the creature’s neck, the head rocking slightly as it separated from the body.

  She stepped back, gasping for breath. Sweat ran into her eyes, and she quickly wiped it away. Her face was slick. Too slick. She glanced down at her hands and found them covered in blood.

  The blood ran down the machete, trickling across her hand before dripping onto the floor. The drops were scattered around her feet. A trail led back to the flyer’s body where the syrupy liquid oozed from its mangled neck in a spreading puddle.

  The smell hit her all at once. The scent of iron filled her nostrils and washed over her tongue. Her hands were wet, and her clothes clung to her skin.

  Doubling over, Rogue retched, and the meager contents of her stomach splashed onto the floor. She backed away from the carcass on trembling legs and sank onto the nearest pallet. Her hands shook, and the machete clattered to the floor. She’d never killed anything before.

  Outside the storeroom, silence fell as the other flyers fled from the scene of carnage. Like her, they couldn’t abide by the scent of blood. It would draw predators. The kind neither she nor they could hope to face. I need to clean up, and I need to get out of here. Now.

  With a sigh, she turned around and surveyed the room. Light trickled in from small holes in the ceiling, spearing the darkness. Even that was fading fast as night tightened its hold on the day. She’d have to hurry.

  Pallets were stacked high around her. Goods that were endlessly waiting to be put out onto empty shelves. Some of the boxes had fallen over, spilling their contents across the floor. Others had rotted and been torn apart when little creatures made their homes in them.

  Her fingers trailed along the gigantic boxes as she moved through the maze, looking for anything useful. There was little to be found. Most of the stuff was utterly useless: Dinner sets that would never be eaten off of. Brightly colored children’s toys that would never be played with. Reams of paper that had become waterlogged at some point.

  Men’s shirts.

  Rogue’s heart skipped a beat when she read the label. A whole box of shirts. With the machete, she sliced along the edges, and the contents tumbled out. The shirts were musty but untouched. She reached out to pick one up and held it to her cheek. The fabric was soft against her skin, spared the ravages of time. It was probably the nicest thing she had ever held in her two hands.

  Moving fast, she pulled a bottle of water from her backpack. The liquid was precious, and she hated to waste it, but needs must. After taking a couple of swallows, she stripped off her shirt and washed the blood from her skin and hair. It was a haphazard job, but the best she could manage under the circumstances.

  Once her ablutions were completed, she pulled on the new shirt. It was far too big, but she didn’t care. With swift precision, she rolled up the sleeves and knotted the bottom part around her waist. Smiling, she tucked the machete back into its sheath. “There. Almost as good as new.”

  She glanced down at her ratty sneakers and threadbare jeans, relics from Prime City’s dwindling stores. It would be fantastic if the storeroom held more clothes and especially food, but her time was up. The last of the
light from the damaged ceiling winked out as night fell. Soon, every predator and scavenger within miles would come sniffing about, drawn by the scent of a fresh kill.

  Rogue grabbed a handful of extra shirts and stuffed them into her backpack. After slinging it onto her back, she edged around the Nyctosaurus’ carcass. With supreme caution, she stuck her head through the door and listened.

  All was quiet.

  For the moment, at least.

  On silent feet, she ran toward the Returns Office, navigating by moonlight. She no longer had the key, but it didn’t matter. It was the only place she could reach in time that offered even a modicum of safety. It’s not like I’ve got a choice.

  A sob of relief escaped Rogue’s lips when she made it without being jumped by anything with teeth. The small, empty room beckoned with its promise of shelter, and she rushed inside without hesitation.

  After dumping her backpack, she shut the door and stood with her back pressed against the flimsy wood. Darkness engulfed the room, the small window letting in very little moonlight, and her mind began to race. What if something tried to break down the door? Would it hold? Did she still smell of blood?

  She probably did.

  Some of it must have splattered onto her jeans and sneakers, and her brief wash couldn’t have removed every speck.

  Her memories of the past few days rushed back to fill her with fear: The Quetzalcoatlus at the market, the Albertosaurus at the wall, the feisty Zuniceratops that nearly got her in the van. And what about raptors? Or any of the other smaller predators that roamed about looking for an easy meal? The door would never withstand an attack from a determined predator. “I have to get rid of the smell.”

  But how? That was the question.

  With fumbling hands, Rogue searched the small room. She had to maneuver by touch until she found a stack of old crumbling papers. An idea came to her, and she fetched the waterproof matches from her backpack. She used them to light the documents, and the dry bundle went up in a whoosh of flame.