Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2

by Steve R. Yeager

  How much of this sudden recall of new memories had come from his bad dreams over the years and how much was reality he had no way of verifying. The only thing he knew for certain was that his mother and father were both dead and his sister had gone missing.

  As he thought about his parents again, a new memory surfaced. Just a flash, but he slumped against a countertop and let it play out. His father might have been shouting, “Cory!” And maybe it had been weeping that he had seen, not threats coming from the man.

  Or was it pleading?

  Cory shivered. He could almost smell the blood that had spattered on his pajamas. It was his mother's blood. He also saw the axe on the floor before him. The shiny metal axe head was huge, and red, and deadly. It was covered in blood, so much blood.

  If this was the truth, then things made a little more sense. He remembered what came after. How he had run from his father, the gunshots, the face of a police officer, the others who had coaxed him out from under his father's work truck. How he had not been allowed to see his father's dead body but had seen the bloody axe near where his father had fallen. He must have picked it up when he had chased him out of the house. Then the police had shot him.

  Why? Why had they shot him?

  But then he released he did know why.

  He pinched the doorjamb and scraped at the paint with his fingernails. The rest of what had happened was mostly a blur. He remembered being rushed away, talking to some people in suits, being put on a plane, and somehow ending up in New York State. He became just another child lost in the system. There, he had learned how to deal with the darker side of humanity, and it was there where he had truly learned to hate.

  He was sent to New York and his sister was sent to California, or so the records he had discovered later in his life had told him. While he was in college, he borrowed enough money from his mentor, Professor LaPaz, to travel to the West Coast to locate her. He had discovered that she had become involved in prostitution and pornography. The police records obtained by the professor said that she had been arrested multiple times for solicitation and drugs. The records also stated she had died at the hands of some John in the heart of Santa Monica. She was just another nobody and had died a nobody. This, at least, had given him closure. After that, he had worked tirelessly for the professor in gratitude.

  It was something that Professor LaPaz did later that was completely unforgivable. Something that brought out Cory's hatred front and center.

  Soon after the bunker had been unsealed, the professor handed Cory a letter written by his sister. In the three-page handwritten letter, Cory had found out that his sister had not been killed as the police records had stated. She was living in Idaho and had been searching for him too. The story of her life in California and all the associated records had been fabricated.

  He had wondered why at the time, but later came to find out the truth.

  How the professor had come by the letter from Carina and why he had not shared it until the bunker had been unsealed was now unknowable, because the professor had not said anything when Cory had beaten him bloody with a wooden practice sword. He also had not said anything when Cory had broken his right arm and both legs below the knees. This was unusual, too, because Professor LaPaz was normally a very talkative man. Though, he might have found it difficult to talk when he was missing most of his teeth, but he did, and the man who had spent his entire life built on lies died choking on the truth.

  Cory lifted his hands from the countertop and examined them. Bits of paint and plaster had become embedded under the nails. He flexed his fingers. They were the same fingers that had wrapped around the professor's throat and squeezed until the professor's eyes goggled, face turned purple, and body began convulsing in a desperate struggle to continue living.

  Later, he had dumped LaPaz's body in the trees outside the bunker and let the raptors take care of the rest. No one had ever connected him with the murder, either. Instead, they had sent him on a cross-country mission to save the world.

  Fate. Destiny.

  It was all so crazy.

  He shoved a hand in the pocket of his jacket and retrieved his skull and crossbones Zippo lighter. Coming here had been good, he decided, worth the effort, worth picking off the scabs. He began to breathe easier, and his tempo was naturally more relaxed. With this now behind him, his path ahead was clear. Crystal clear. His quest was not about all those billions who had died. Most had deserved what they got. This was about his sister. She did not deserve what life had done to her. He was doing this all for her. She was out there somewhere. She had to be. And when the raptors were dead and dying, he would go find her and tell her that she had been the one responsible for saving the world.

  He cleared away the broken debris from a section of countertop then hopped up and sat there. From inside his jacket, he fetched a pack of cigarettes and tapped out a precious smoke. He hung a cigarette on his lips and lit the tip with his lighter. Inhaling deeply, he held in the stale-tasting smoke in his lungs and closed his eyes. Exhaling, he opened his eyes and sent the smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him.

  It had been a long trek to get here. He had come halfway across the country, most of it on foot. So many miles, so many deaths, yet, what happened in this house growing up had affected him more than anything else in his entire life had.

  This was where it all began.

  He finished the cigarette and reached inside his jacket again. He withdrew a yellowed photograph that he had carried since he was six. The people in the photo mesmerized him each time he viewed it. A proud man in a neat white-collared cotton shirt and red tie. A woman with straight black hair, soft face, and a big smile. Him, a mop of curly black hair, dressed in slacks and a sweater. Finally, his sister, pretty, grinning, and dressed in a plaid dress. All four stuck out against the mottled blue backdrop of the cheap mall photograph, the only memento he had of his family. It was how he wanted to remember them.

  He carefully refolded the picture and stuffed it back inside a special place in his jacket. He scooted off the countertop and sparked a new flame on the lighter. Bending at the waist, he held the flame under a section of peeling wallpaper until the aging paper caught. Then he flicked his cigarette away and watched with detachment as the flame on the wall slowly inched upwards, licking its merry way along the peeling wallpaper. The ceiling soon blackened, and the fire grew ever larger as it found more fuel to consume. New flames sprouted and rose, creating orange tendrils that danced their way across the ceiling.

  He covered his mouth in the fold of his arm and returned to the living room. Through the outside doorway, he saw the others waiting for him in the front yard. He wiped smoky tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and went to the entryway.

  Flames crackled behind him. Black smoke boiled out around him. It seemed as if the fires of Hell were now shoving him out of the burning house. So, he obliged and stepped across the threshold and walked into the sunlight.

  -17-

  BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE

  JESSE WAITED WITH Eve and Kate outside the small single-story home. Cory had been inside for almost an hour, and they all needed to get going soon and find a shelter large enough to conceal the pickup truck. Jesse was feeling better overall, but was fighting some sort of mild infection and knew he would need more time to heal before they could push south past the gang-controlled territories.

  Physically, he felt better, stronger, more agile, but mentally, he wasn't sure he was there just yet. He knew things were wrong but not how to fix them. He wanted to return to the city. Though, after a couple of days spent soul-searching and some hard realizations, he knew he couldn't return, at least not yet. During the brief downtime, he had learned a lot about Cory, and a little about Eve, but Kate remained a mystery.

  He planned to lead everyone south then east to skirt the areas infested by the various gangs. This detour of Cory's would now add at least two days to the journey. He'd argued about it as it put them in direct danger, but th
ere was no changing the guy's mind. Something about this house was critically important to him.

  Jesse bent to pick up a rock. He skipped it down the road. It felt good to be able to move so freely again and be out in the open. The truck, laden down with supplies, had almost half a tank of diesel fuel left, plus fifteen gallons more in red containers inside the bed, which should be plenty to get them to their final destination. Cory had given him the approximate whereabouts of Bunker 12, but had not provided an exact location.

  Standing on the former lawn, he watched Kate. She was sitting on a green utility box in the front yard with her back to him. Her feet were banging against the metal box in a rhythmic thump-thump-thump. The baseball bat lay on her lap. He did not trust her yet with one of the guns they had taken from Rose, but he did plan to teach her the proper skills soon. The way she had just shot that woman so easily disturbed him. In the time they had spent together, it seemed that the shooting hadn't affected her. She was nearly the same as when he had first found her. He was the one having difficulty with the woman's death, and he realized that. He also considered how he could teach this girl right from wrong. But that was hard to do when Cory had so callously killed those other men and was actually fine with it.

  If anything disturbed him, it was that.

  Collectively, they had decided to keep a close eye on Kate. So far, she had only spoken with Eve privately. Each time he had approached her to talk, she'd turned away, refusing to even make eye contact with him. But she had remained with them and had not run off again, so eventually, he hoped she would come around, and do so without pointing a gun at any of them and pulling the trigger.

  He shuffled about on the lawn like an old man, burning time. The skies were azure blue and outlined the mountains in the background. No clouds in the sky. No raptors, either. But that did not stop him from again rechecking his shotgun by making sure there was a shell loaded and ready to go. He now had more rounds for each of his guns. He'd even picked up a scoped, bolt-action Remington hunting rifle and three boxes of ammunition for it. Those made him feel at home again, armed and ready. He only needed to find some raptors to shoot at.

  Hannah was no longer talking to him in his waking moments and spoke to him only in his dreams now. He knew she was gone, and what that voice in his head represented. So each time she did speak to him, he paid attention.

  Squatting on his heels, he bumped his baseball cap out of his eyes with the barrel of the shotgun. From the growing weeds, he plucked a long stalk and stuck the pointy end between his teeth. The neighborhood reminded him of his own in Texas, only smaller. A graying redwood fence stood opposite a patch of green lawn. The lawn was long overgrown but remained recognizable. It was some sort of tall fescue blend with maybe a little buffalo grass mixed into it. Or that is what it had been. Now it was mostly weeds.

  “I'm going in and pulling him out of there,” Eve said.

  He motioned her to sit back down on the curb. “Not yet.”

  “He's been in there too long. Maybe he's—”

  “Leave him be.”

  “What about these houses? Should we go check them?”

  “Been thinking about that. Don't think so. Don't need to chance it until he comes back.”

  Eve rose and brushed the dirt off her backside. Jesse did not fail to notice the action nor did he look away as he probably should have. He was unsure what business Cory had here. Why was he here? What was so special about the place? This damn house was the middle of nowhere.

  Just odd, he thought as he meditated on it while he picked his teeth. It seemed odder still now that he saw Cory walking out of the house being followed by a trail of thick, black smoke. He stood and tossed away the weed stalk.

  “Finally,” Eve said, then, “What did you do?”

  Cory's head was down, and his thoughts were unreadable. Behind him, smoke billowed out in dark sooty clouds from the house. He went to where Kate sat and knelt on one knee before her. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She didn't seem surprised by this and did not pull away, either.

  Jesse marched over, grabbed Cory under the arm, and pulled him to standing. Cory's eyes were wet, and there was a hint of sadness in them.

  “We done here?” he asked. He had all kinds of things he wanted to say to the guy, but suddenly it didn't seem right to do so.

  Cory nodded once.

  “Good. Fine. Whatever.” Jesse dropped his hold and went to the Dodge truck. He pulled out a brand-new map, unfolded it on the hood, and they all gathered around it.

  “If we go east from here,” he said, “on 86, we might find a place to spend the night, here. Or here.” He pointed to a small area about two-finger widths away. “This bunker of yours better be damn well worth it. This is a very dangerous place to be traveling through.”

  “Yes,” Cory replied curtly. He said nothing more.

  Shaking his head, Jesse folded the map and put it in the truck. “Might as well get going. Daylight's burning. We should be able to make it a good ways before it gets too dark. And I have an idea for a spot that might work tonight, but we'll have to hustle to get there before sunset.”

  “What was that?” Eve said.

  Jesse listened. He'd heard it, too. Cory stiffened and put a hand on the sword on his back. The sound was mechanical, distant. Jesse glanced up and watched the black smoke twirling into the air. He heard the crackling and growing roar of the flames, but he still heard that mechanical noise. Like the rattle of a diesel engine. It was not coming from the house.

  Realization of the new threat came quickly.

  “We have to go. Now!” he said. “Get in the dammed truck.”

  “Why?” Eve asked.

  “Just go. Hurry.”

  They ran across the driveway and threw open the truck doors and began climbing into the cab. The doors all slammed shut at once. Jesse turned the key. The engine cranked over but did not start.

  “Come on,” he said. “Start!”

  He banged his hand on the steering wheel.

  Cory touched him on the shoulder and pointed.

  Eve was leaning out through a rolled down side window. “It's getting louder.”

  “We have to run for it,” Jesse said.

  “Why? Can't you start it?” Eve asked.

  “Maybe,” he said as he jumped out of the cab, “and maybe not. This way, hurry.”

  Jesse got about ten feet from the truck before he had to turn and wave for everyone to follow. Cory quickly caught up and passed him while Kate followed closely behind. Eve was the only one trailing behind.

  “Come on, hurry.” Jesse stopped. “Listen? Can you hear that?”

  “Yes.”

  “That means we have to go.”

  “You are not going to stay? What about all our supplies? The food? Guns?”

  Jesse looked back at the truck and thought of going back for the rifle, but it was buried deep and would take too much time to fetch.

  “It's just stuff,” he said. “Run, come on, we gotta go. If we can protect it, we will. But now we have to hide.”

  At the end of the street was a group of houses that formed a cul-de-sac. Two homes were still intact, and one had a collapsed garage door, as if someone had purposely driven through it. Jesse led them into the one with the open garage then scanned the cluttered floor with his shotgun.

  No raptors. No nests. No moldy onion odor.

  He motioned for the others to follow him deeper inside. “In here. Hurry.”

  Cory entered last. Jesse watched the street from the cover of the garage while Cory went to check the door leading inside. A GMC Suburban came rolling down the street and stopped in front of the burning house. On the door of the Suburban was a yellow painted symbol set against a green background. The symbol showed a half circle with the rays of the sun pointing upward.

  It was the symbol of the Solar Nation.

  Fear chilled Jesse. He gripped the shotgun and held his breath. Three men got out and began sweeping the area. All three he
aded down the street toward the cul-de-sac. Two of them were armed with rifles. The other one had a long wooden pole with three prongs affixed to the end. A pair of vehicles followed and pulled to a stop behind Suburban. The first was a Ford truck and the other was a smaller SUV that Jesse could not identify. More men got out of those vehicles and went to investigate the burning house.

  “Dammit!” he said under his breath, chastising himself for being caught so unprepared. He should have gotten everyone out of there as soon as the house had started burning.

  He continued to watch closely, hoping the men would ignore the truck, but knew that would be unreasonable. It was the first thing they had seen, and the first thing they had gone to. One man tore off the tarpaulin covering the bed, and dug into the supplies piled inside. Another guy barked orders and pointed down the street.

  Jesse had the shotgun up and ready. He also had his Beretta M9 on his hip. Each had full magazines, but the extra boxes of ammunition were in the cab of the truck, right there alongside his newly acquired hunting rifle. There was nothing he could do about it now.

  He sniffed the air, detected nothing.

  “Inside the house,” he whispered. “Go, go, go.” He indicated to Cory and motioned him to take a position on the opposite side of the garage. Cory did not move and instead started adjusting the straps holding his sword on his back. Jesse did it again, this time using his index and middle fingers. First pointing them at his eyes, then up the street.

  Cory did not move. Eve and Kate had not yet opened the door.

  “Go!” Jesse whispered.

  Cory did nothing. Eve opened the door. She and Kate rushed inside.

  A second after the door opened, he smelled the telltale stench he was all too familiar with.

  “Raptors. Get inside. Make sure they are okay,” he whispered to Cory. “I got this.”

  Cory did nothing.

  The men from the Suburban were coming down the street, each walking near the curbs on opposite sides. Jesse started counting heads. There were too many of them. He and Cory could probably take them out, but the rest? That was too much. How had they responded so quickly? He shook his head to clear it. Didn't matter now. All that mattered was not getting himself killed. He turned to run into the house and stopped.