Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2

by Steve R. Yeager

  Another blast came from Henderson's gun. He now stood only a few feet away from Bo's corpse. The feasting raptors snarled at him, striking the air with their fore claws. Henderson lunged forward and stomped the ground with his boot, slapping it against the pavement. Hissing, growling, the raptors broke off and began to scatter.

  “Yeah!” Henderson yelled. “Run you mother fuckers! Run! Run!” He raised the shotgun above his head in a one-handed grip and gave chase.

  Jesse wrapped his ankle with his hands and sucked air between his teeth in anticipation of the pain that would soon come. He was feeling nothing from the fall or from the nasty twist he'd given his ankle. As if checking off items on a shopping list, he ticked through the bones he was sure had not broken. Fortunately, nothing seemed in need of immediate medical attention. Though, he found he had ripped his shirt, and a glass shard was stuck in the skin of his abdomen. Cringing, he pinched his fingers together, plucked free the shard, and tossed it aside. The wound started to bleed. Dabbing at the cut with the cloth of his shirt, he looked up just in time to see a smug, swaggering Henderson return to the squad car. The guy flashed him a toothy smile and reached inside the car. He came back with a half-empty whiskey bottle and went to the other side to join the sheriff, his boss.

  Big John nodded at Henderson and accepted the offered bottle. He leaned his head back, gulped, and then handed the bottle back to his deputy. Wiping his mouth, he came around to the other side of the car.

  “Get up, AJ. It's time to go,” Big John said. He put a meaty hand on Jesse's shoulder, shook him once, and shoved him in the direction of the truck. “You keep them safe, son, or you'll answer to me. Got it? And I'll kick your ass six ways to Sunday if you screw this up.”

  “I promise,” Jesse said.

  Big John scowled and shoved Jesse again, sending him scampering. When Jesse got to his truck, he climbed into the driver seat and readjusted the aftermarket radio in the dashboard. It was loose. He hadn't finished installing it. He pressed the tuner buttons to search for a station still broadcasting, hoping to hear that the roads were now clear, or the government had decided where everyone could go. But with growing disappointment, he realized it was just the same emergency broadcast recording he'd heard ten times over. He pressed again, looking for another station. The clock display on the radio flared bright orange and winked out. He fiddled with the buttons one more time, but the display remained dark.

  “Dammit!” He punched the deck with his fist. Then he yanked his hand away, shaking away the sting.

  “Leave it, Jesse. We need to go,” Cheryl said. She pulled open his torn shirt. “You're… You're bleeding? You're bleeding!”

  Ignoring her worries, he placed one hand on the steering wheel and prepared to back up. A shotgun blast went off. Jesse flinched. The blast sounded muffled and distant from inside the truck. Another shot followed the first. Then another.

  “Do something!” Cheryl screamed at him from the passenger seat.

  He twisted to look at her and then back out the rear window. Hannah had her hands pressed against the tinted glass.

  “Stay down!” He reached over the seat back and pulled her lower.

  Outside the truck, Big John and Henderson were in the street, aiming and firing their twin shotguns at a large pack of approaching raptors. The group had way too many in it to count. The twin lawmen stood shoulder to shoulder, pumping their shotguns and firing again and again into the mass. Red-orange flames spewed from the gun barrels. Chunks of asphalt broke off as pellets ripped up the pavement. Raptors fell. But not enough. More came. More still. They started gathering in a large group at the end of the block. Big John reached into the squad car and yanked out a pair of compact machine guns: Uzis, fully automatic. He disappeared from view behind the patrol car. Jesse spun to locate his father, extending an arm to keep Hannah's head down below the window. With growing terror, he realized staying in the truck was not going to be good enough.

  His father needed help, or he was going to die.

  “Stay here!” he barked at Cheryl. He jammed the gearshift into park and cracked open the door. The dome light blinked on, and a steady beep-beep-beep sounded from a buzzer inside the dashboard.

  “No. Please,” Cheryl pleaded. “Jess, no. Don't go. Stay. You can't go out there.”

  He couldn't stay. Just couldn't.

  The twin machine guns in Big John's hands roared, sending lead streaming down the street. Red erupted as the fusillade of bullets struck raptors. It was having had little effect. More creatures continued to fill in from behind, scrambling over dead pack mates. Henderson ran to the cruiser and came away with a bandoleer full of shells. He paused to reload his shotgun while Big John sprayed quick bursts of lead at the oncoming raptors. Henderson finished reloading a split second before John's Uzis stopped firing. John held the twin guns in the air. Smoke twirled out of the barrels. Henderson tossed the bandoleer of shells onto the hood of the squad car. The wide nylon belt spun to a stop next to Big John's shotgun.

  Jesse saw disaster looming in the time it took his rapidly beating heart to pump twice. The raptors were closing in far too quickly.

  “Get in the damn car!” he screamed through the half-opened door. “Hurry!” He started climbing out of his truck. “I have to help.”

  “What? Who? Who can you help?” Cheryl asked. “No, no, please, you gotta stay. Please. Don't leave us. Get us out of here!” She grabbed him by the arm and held him in place.

  He only had to twist slightly to escape her grip, but he waited instead. There was still time. His father and Henderson could get away if they hurried.

  “Come on,” Jesse screamed at his father. “Get in the car, go!”

  Henderson snatched up the whiskey bottle from the hood of the patrol car and took a long pull from it. He let the liquid dribble over his face and further color his already well-stained uniform. He slammed the bottle down hard, denting the hood of the car. He pumped his shotgun and fired again at the raptors. Big John shook the now empty Uzis in his hands, looking at each in turn. Then he hurled the guns at the approaching raptors. He paused for a moment to readjust the brim of his hat and spat away his cigar. He stepped toward the approaching mass. Henderson stopped firing and raised his gun barrel.

  “No!” Jesse yelled. He knew what his father was planning to do. He could see it but didn't want to believe it. “What are you doing? Get in the car! Get in!” Jesse pulled himself back in the cab and slammed the side door shut. He jerked the gearshift into reverse, stomped on the accelerator. The engine roared, the tires peeled, and the truck blasted out of the driveway, tailgate first. Aiming for the raptors, he quickly realized he would hit his father too. He slammed on the brakes. The truck lurched to a stop.

  “No! No No!” he yelled again. “Move! Come on! Move! Get out of the way! Get in the damn car!”

  Big John did not get in the patrol car. He went deeper into the fray. He kicked the first raptors to come near him. They flew backward, landed, and leaped to their feet, shaking off the blows before rushing to rejoin their pack mates. Reaching down, Big John plucked two squirming raptors from the ground and smashed them together. Henderson moved around him in a wide arc, firing at those farther down the street. The creatures began to jump at Big John. They landed against him, held on, piled higher. They snapped, clawed, and bit their way to him. Henderson circled the group, shooting randomly at the outliers. With a bellowed cry that could be heard over the punctuating shotgun blasts and rattling truck, Big John roared for Jesse to get going while the raptors piled higher and higher on him.

  Sheriff Big John Prieo wobbled, caught himself, and stumbled onto one knee before finally toppling forward. The leaping, snapping wave quickly smothered him in a frenzy of ripping and tearing.

  “Please. God. No,” Jesse mouthed.

  “Pap-paw!” Hannah cried.

  Cheryl screamed in grief beside him and clawed at her seat back. Jesse wanted to look away. He couldn't. His father had just died, and Henderson was
next. He hated the man but didn't want to see him die. Henderson just needed to get in the damn patrol car. Simple as that. Get away. Now.

  But Henderson did not budge.

  “Get in the car,” Jesse whispered, exasperated. “Just get in the car.”

  Henderson grabbed the whiskey bottle from the police cruiser and took another swig. He stood with his legs and arms spread wide, holding up the bottle in one hand and the shotgun in the other. He was screaming at the raptors, “Come on! Come get some!”

  Then Deputy Henderson fell down beside Big John, shouting until his voice clipped and went silent.

  Jesse's quivering hand knocked the truck's gearshift into drive. Dazed, he pressed the accelerator against the floorboard and turned the steering wheel. The tires fought for grip as the truck skipped onto his once pristine lawn and began to spatter his house with meaty chunks of sod. Slowly changing directions, the slewing truck took out the young trees planted in the front yard. When the tires reached the solid surface of the concrete sidewalk, they found all the traction they needed to launch the truck into the street.

  With the rear end fishtailing on the pavement, Jesse spun the wheel left and right. The F-250 corrected its course and sought to build speed. Furniture, children's toys, and whatever else had fallen off his neighbor's vehicles crunched and pinged noisily beneath the tires.

  “No, no, noooo!” Cheryl yelled. She sat on her knees, holding a death grip on her headrest and looking out the rear window.

  The truck's turbo-diesel engine strained to match Jesse's foot to the floorboard command. Dark shadows alternated with patches of orange light and went flickering across the windshield. He peered forward, gritting his teeth. He had no time to spare for emotions. Not yet. He would grieve for the dead later.

  -4-

  BOW DOWN TO THE KING

  SEBASTIAN SHUDDERED AND rode a long, glorious wave of pleasure. As his eyes rolled back into focus, he gazed out over his dominion.

  The view from the top of the stone tower was crisp and clear. New growth forest stretched like green carpet all the way to the horizon, and the burnt matchstick-like husks of civilization were all that remained to mar an otherwise beautiful vista. Today's sunrise had been much like all the sunrises over the past few weeks, humbling in its magnificence, a bringer of life, and banisher of shadows and darkness.

  He let his fingertips touch the cheek of the girl who was on her knees before him. She wiped her lips with the tips of her fingers and beamed up at him. She'd been good to him. She did whatever he desired. But much as any toy he'd played with for too long, she was beginning to bore him.

  He pushed her head to one side. She understood. Handling him gently, she took his deflating member and tucked it back inside his black cargo pants then carefully pulled up the zipper. Without uttering a word, he looked to the stairwell. She got to her feet, straightened her blue linen dress, and obediently ran to the stairs.

  While gazing at the structures on the hillside below, he listened to her footfalls as she descended into the tower. He needed to focus, and that focus would not come until he willed it into existence. With his arms raised, he interlocked his fingers and bent forward to stretch.

  A man joined him, coming up the stairs the girl had gone down. It was David Gonzalez, his lieutenant and confidante of the past two years. The man stepped alongside him and held out a clean white T-shirt. Sebastian flexed his neck to each side, ran a hand over his bald head, and with his middle finger, dabbed at the spot of sweat that had formed on his bare, hairless chest. He flicked the sweat away and took the offered shirt.

  “Sir, we have to go,” David said as Sebastian slipped the shirt over his head. “They have already gathered, and we were expected to be there twenty minutes ago.”

  His people could wait. Waiting was what created anticipation, and anticipation would only increase their arousal.

  He gazed east and squinted. “Thank you,” he said to the sun with a slight dip of his head. The sun seemed to answer him by glowing just a little brighter. He loved the sun, always had. That burning ball of fusing hydrogen gave his community everything it needed, electricity, food, and the warm rays that gave life and banished the raptors into the shadows. What more could they want? But to him it was not enough.

  It was never enough.

  He let David lead him down the stairs, past the large murals adorning the walls, and out into a small parking lot. The only vehicle there was a hulking black military Humvee. Square steel tubing had been welded to its front, back, and sides. The bars stuck out at seemingly random angles, and the tips had been sharpened to points. On the hood and doors, stencil-painted in yellow, was the logo of the Solar Nation, a half-circle sun rising on the horizon with seven rays fanning upward.

  A man dressed in a fraying black suit with the arms torn off flicked away a cigarette butt and hopped into the driver seat. He started the Humvee. Charcoal-colored diesel smoke belched from the exhaust.

  As Sebastian climbed into the rear seat, his mind began to churn. He drummed his fingers on the unpadded armrest. Soon, he would have to give a speech. He hated to speak in public, had hated it all his life, but he knew it was simply one of the necessities of power. To lead men meant spending inordinate amounts of time properly maintaining that power and control. While the speeches were important, they did little to sustain that control. True leadership required bold action, not words.

  Taking his cues from David, the driver shifted the Humvee into gear, and the lumbering beast started rolling down the narrow, overgrown road. Along the way, they passed new trees that stuck up like jagged stakes in the blackened soil. Weeds filled in where structures had once stood. While the roadway was solid, it often required the driver to slow and weave around the occasional fallen tree that had not yet been cleared.

  One day, he thought, this would all be rebuilt. Everything could be rebuilt. Societies were always constructed from the ashes of a former society. It had always been so, and it would always be so. The world would go on as long as humans were willing to trade blood, sweat, and tears for progress. But that still required someone to unify men and drive that progress forward.

  He was that someone.

  The girl sat quietly in the seat beside him, lost in whatever bumbling thoughts one so young might have. She smiled timidly. He did not return her smile. She was pretty and useful, but dumb. However, she was important in her own way, good for one thing, and if she did not do what was required of her soon, he would find another to replace her, and she would be sent to service his men. They needed her far more than he did.

  Thirty minutes later, almost an hour late, they passed through the main gate and arrived at the parking lot next to a three-story office complex. It was one of the few structures that had not been burnt to the ground by the fires that had swept through the nearby forests.

  Roughly a thousand men had gathered in the parking lot. They turned like lemmings to watch the Humvee approach. Sebastian despised this unwashed rabble. How they smelled, how they looked, what they found important, and what their craven little desires drove them to do. He hated his need for them even more.

  The Humvee entered the assembled mass and crept forward. The crowd parted and reformed around the vehicle, staying ever wary of the machine's porcupine-like design. Sebastian lowered the window next to him and painted his face with the most genuine smile he could manage. He waved at those who worked hardest to get a better glimpse of him. Most of them would probably shove a dagger in his back if given half a chance.

  An event stage had been erected at the far end of the parking lot. Above the stage, painted in yellow on black fabric curtains three stories tall, was the Solar Nation logo. A drum kit sat on a raised platform off to the left side of the stage, and twin speaker towers ran along the back. Two thick steel poles to either side of the stage supported an array of solar panels.

  Later, after his speech, a heavy-metal band made from those few left who could play instruments would take the stage. They weren't
very good, but he was counting on them to whip the crowd into a wild frenzy. Because tonight, the first roundup of the year would officially begin, and those participating needed to believe they would not die. They needed the fearlessness that came from comradely and groupthink.

  In the middle of the stage, a solitary man sat on a roadie case meant to house the amplification system. Heavy chains shackled his wrists and ankles.

  Sebastian climbed out of the back seat of the Humvee. He waved at those cheering him loudest and let David precede him onto the stage, where he joined up with another group of men. They were his personal bodyguards. Each man wore a gold armband that marked him as the most elite of his soldiers. They had been hand selected and would fight to the death if he so commanded.

  As David and the men came to attention with their chests out and hands rigidly at their sides, Sebastian stepped forward on the stage and raised a clenched fist high in the air.

  The crowd roared.

  -5-

  IN STITCHES

  JESSE SMASHED HIS eyelids together to clear away the sticky dregs clouding his vision. In his mind, afterimages of his suburban Texas home floated by. The last thing he remembered was driving.

  Had he been fleeing?

  “Wake up,” someone said. The sound echoed and wavered as if the voice were coming from some far off place.

  Blurry. Pain. Stabbing pain.

  A woman's voice?

  The woman spoke again. “He's gone.”

  Who? Who was she?

  “Bastard,” the disembodied voice said.

  Jesse's mind changed gears and sifted through the presented details. With growing awareness, he recognized the voice, and his time sense rapidly shifted from the past to the present.

  Yes, he knew her. Eve. Evelyn. She showed up soon after he'd found the girl. The girl! Kate? That meant, that meant. He closed his eyes and held his breath. He did not want to see the horrors of his current existence. He wanted to reenter his dreams of home and family. Here, was only death.