Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2

by Steve R. Yeager

  “Don't. Please, don't,” she pleaded. “I know where it is. I do.”

  He let go, and she pointed at a bookshelf. He went there and shoved aside a stack of books and a pile of rolled-up maps. Buried behind the maps, Jesse saw the handle of Cory's sword.

  Off balance, Cory bent forward and used a hand to brace himself against the bookcase. He picked up his sword and withdrew the blade then held it a few inches from his face, inspecting it in the dim light. He gripped the handle in both hands and smiled wickedly.

  Andrea had stopped to watch Cory, seeming confused, but she recovered and motioned everyone to gather in the center of the room.

  “Here is how it is going to be,” she said. “We need to work quickly. David and I have been planning to kill that piece of shit for months now. We just needed the right opportunity. This was not exactly what I had in mind, but we can't really take it all back now, can we?” She turned her attention to him.

  The scar-faced man took over. “Ryder is on our side. We can use him to convince the rest. We also have Thompson, Kaller, and Gatt. Tyrell, I think. They will all support us.”

  Andrea nodded. “Good. It will be difficult, but possible. Now, other matters. This virus,” she said, turning to face Cory. “I know what it means.” She pointed at him like a teacher about to call on a student to answer. “And you will take me to it.”

  Cory backed away from her, staggering like a drunk. He kept one hand on his sword and slowly raised it.

  “No,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, you most certainly will,” she said. She held out her right hand and rubbed her knuckles with her thumb. She then held her hand out for him to inspect.

  Under the dirt and wrinkles were a series of tattoos, most likely letters, but Jesse could not tell for certain.

  Cory stepped forward to examine her hand. Then in one quick motion, he drew his sword and placed the edge of the blade against her throat. His hands were trembling, and the sword blade shifted up and down, but never touched her.

  “How?” he asked.

  Jesse and David moved toward Cory simultaneously. She held out her hand, palm facing them. They stopped.

  “I can't say,” she said. “But, I know about the virus.”

  “What? What do you know about it?”

  “I know it won't work.”

  Cory's arms stiffened. He tried to push the sword edge against her throat. He seemed to be wrestling with something big, thinking hard.

  “Why?”

  “I know about the raptors. I know where they came from. I know about the lies that were told. I know it all.”

  He shifted on his feet. “Tell me.”

  “Not yet, but you'll have to trust me. I know far more than you do about this. Yes, there is a virus, but it will not destroy them on its own. There is something you probably do not know. Only a select few did. I happen to be one of them.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Take me there and I will show you.”

  “No, tell me now.”

  “I can't,” she said.

  “Why? Why not?”

  “I just can't. I was there. I was in Bunker 12 when it was betrayed and overrun. I know what happened. But I have not been able to go back. I certainly wasn't going to tell Cyrus about it, either. I had hoped someone would come through that I would recognize. You happen to be the first.”

  Cory seemed to consider her words. He relaxed then stiffened again, forcing her to tilt her head sideways not to be cut by the blade.

  “How do I know this is not a lie?”

  “Serious? I'm on your side. I want to destroy them just as much as you do, but if I told you now, you wouldn't like the answer. So, I don't think I will. Plus, if I do, you might choose not to take me with you.”

  He flinched. She blinked but did not move.

  “Tell me.”

  “Only if you take me there.”

  He lowered the sword a few inches. She tilted her head back to level. Cory was shaking even worse. She bobbed her head up and down slowly while he was thinking through something.

  Then Cory fell over onto the carpet and started to vomit.

  -39-

  TIDY UP

  JESSE HOVERED OVER the crumpled form of his new best friend. His friend was breathing rapidly. Cory's eyes blinked and his lips were moving, but he was saying nothing. Strings of after-vomit dribbled from his lips and the air above him smelled sour. Andrea was on her knees and wiping Cory's forehead with her hand, brushing hair out of his eyes.

  “What's wrong with him?” Jesse asked.

  “Concussion,” Andrea replied. “His brain has swollen. Not sure how serious it is, but he's still conscious, barely, that is.”

  “Can we move him?” he asked.

  “We shouldn't.”

  Cory tried to push himself up on his own, but his hand slipped and he collapsed.

  “Stay down,” Andrea said. She grabbed Cory by the shoulders and rolled him onto his back, pulling him away from the mess he had made.

  Jesse got down on one knee and helped. Eve handed him a pillow, which he stuck under Cory's head.

  “Kate, go grab a towel and come help me here,” Andrea said. Kate ran into another room and quickly returned with a kitchen towel. She handed it to Andrea and backed away.

  “Good, now go and get some water boiling. We need to clean him up so I can see where the damage is, K?”

  She nodded and ran out of the room again and into a kitchenette area behind the half wall. Jesse backed away and found a chair. He sat and ran a hand through his beard then slicked back his hair. With his fingertips, he probed his cut lips. They were tender, but he was sore all over.

  Relatively, he'd made out rather well.

  Just a few scratches and scrapes.

  A whole lot of things felt numb.

  Nothing serious.

  He glanced at Eve. She was sitting at a table with her chair pulled sideways, resting an elbow on the tabletop. She was crying. He didn't know what to think about her. She'd betrayed them all when it came right down to it. But had she any other reasonable choice? Could he forgive her for making such a stupid, self-serving decision?

  Maybe.

  He'd made plenty of them himself.

  While Andrea continued to work on Cory, Jesse closed his eyes and thought back through everything that had happened after meeting Kate.

  It didn't take long.

  So much had happened in a short few weeks. Everything had ended well, much better than he had expected it to. Whatever happened next, he at least had his new family back, if only for a few precious moments. It also looked as if there might be one new member to add, Andrea. Or she might work out to be only a passing friend. David, however, that was going to take some time to sort out. Jesse's feelings toward the man were mixed. It seemed impossible that he could ever forgive the guy for what he had done. Right now, though, he was just too damn tired to do much about it either way.

  Maybe later.

  He was actually feeling optimistic for once, as if things were finally getting better, as if the universe no longer hated him.

  Maybe things were getting better.

  While he was sitting there thinking, he recalled something his father had once told him, something important, something he had tried to shape his life around.

  Son—his father had said—you have to work to get what you want out of life. You have to be willing to fight for it. Most of the time, you will fail. That’s the time to stop and reassess. Then try harder the next time around. Be smarter about it. Because, the absolute worst thing you can do in life is to stand around with your thumb up your ass doing nothing.

  THE END

  Read on for a free sample of Hard Time: A Dinosaur Thriller

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  The Red Asphalt is the second 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 that I felt needed to be broken into three book
s to tell properly.

  This book was an attempt to bring in a different type of opposition in the form of Sebastian Cyrus. He was modeled from an amalgamation of crazy people I have met during my lifetime, and I wanted to explore what would happen if someone like him obtained true power.

  The other objective was to deepen the characters of the first book and expand the world. If you have read this far and still don’t care what happens to any of them, then whatever I do in the third book probably won’t matter.

  One book left to go.

  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 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.

  I hope you have enjoyed reading this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  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 – Time Served

  The door to the warden’s office flew open. Looking up from his desk Randolph Walker looked surprised. People knew better than to interrupt him. Jumping to his feet he floundered, springing up from behind his desk as his trousers fell around his ankles. His face was red from exertion, and the shade only deepened with his embarrassment.

  The young prison guard stood with bulging eyes as the young female inmate got out from under the desk, wiping her mouth as she walked out of the room. She winked at the young guard.

  “Any time you want it, just ask.” She ran her hand down his arm and pinched his behind as she walked away.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The warden roared, pulling the young guards attention back to the office.

  The warden had re-fastened his trousers and was striding from behind his desk, intent on making the young man suffer for embarrassing him.

  “I’m sorry sir, but… but… Captain Jones said I needed to come to you right away.” The boy stammered, flustered by the charging warden and the news which he had yet to explain.

  “What’s your name, boy?” The warden asked. He was close enough for the young guard to feel the heat of the man’s rage radiating from him.

  “We’ve got a parolee, sir.” The man stammered, intent on delivering his news and getting out of the way.

  The warden looked at the man and suddenly his face broke. A laugh escaped his lips, which turned upwards into a smile. It was an expression that made the young man even more nervous.

  “A parolee. Oh of course, that makes perfect sense. How long have you worked in this prison… whatever your name is?” The warden’s eyes bored holes into the young man’s chest.

  “Peter Malone, sir. I’ve been working here almost six months, sir.” Peter answered sheepishly. At nineteen years old, he was young to be on the staff at Kruger Correctional. He had joined the Marines at the age of eighteen, and his placement at Kruger had been at his own request.

  “Well, Mr. Malone. In those six months, how many people have you seen paroled?” The warden’s voice was patronizing, as if he was talking to a small child.

  Peter swallowed hard. Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. “Several sir, from the light offender’s wing.” Peter felt the sweat run down his back. His heart was racing.

  “Well then, pray tell. What was so important about this parolee that you felt it wise to come barging into my office without so much as a courteous knock?” There was a calm in the warden’s voice that made Peter shiver. He knew he needed to be careful with his response, for there was a chance he would not get the chance to finish delivering his news before the warden finished him off.

  “Well, this one isn’t a light offender, sir. This one is from … there.” He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him at the mere mention of the high level offenders’ institution.

  The warden froze for a second. The wind had been taken from his sails. “Ok. I don’t know why Captain Jones sent you to me. He knows full well how to deal with such a situation. I take it this is your first time. It’s a simple process, just paperwork really. Moving files to archive, and clearing out the lockers, and stuff.” The warden was still annoyed, but the edge of his rage had fallen away.

  “No sir.” Peter interrupted, silently flinching at the sudden gasp the Warden took at being interrupted. He needed to act fast. “It’s not like that, sir. This one is… well, it looks like he is still alive.” Peter’s eyes stung from the sweat that leaked into them, but he stood tall before his boss.

  The warden’s face changed. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened in disbelief. “It’s not possible. It’s a false reading. We get them from time to time.” He moved away from Peter and back to his desk. “Come here, we will check the logs.” The interruption was forgotten.

  “Captain Jones already checked sir. There are clear signs of life and movement. He even checked the second level calculations and can see heart rate and blood pressure readings throughout. They are all consistent with this inmate still being alive.” Peter swallowed hard. Delivering the news about a man’s life should not have been this hard, yet he found himself growing more nervous with every bit of evidence he offered.

  “That’s not possible.” The warden gasped, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice. “Take me to Captain Jones, now,” he ordered, leaving his office at a pace close to a run. Peter remained where was for a few moments, taken aback by everything he had seen happen. “Are you coming rookie?” The warden’s voice called from the corridor.

  Kruger Correctional was the largest penitentiary on the West Coast and played home to four different units all independently contained and centrally controlled in one large complex that covered an area larger than some small countries. The warden´s office was located in the same area as the low level and juvenile corrections. Low level offenders were typically those jailed for repetitive violations of simple offenses. Drunk and disorderly or driving while under the influence being the more common items, although parking fines was a close third.

  Leaving the complex, the warden got into the waiting car and beckoned Peter to join him. ”Come on, we don´t have all day,” he said hurried. “Take us to Zone One,” he instructed the driver. “And please call ahead and tell Captain Jones that I expect him to be waiting for me when I arrive, preferably with some answers.” Without waiting for a response, the warden closed the partition that separated passenger from driver, and turned his attention to Peter.

  “So tell me, Mr. Malone. What was it that made you want to come here so earnestly?” He looked at Peter with an interested gaze. His face was stern and impossible to read.

  Peter thought about the answer. It came easily to the forefront of his mind, but putting words to it, giving it life, was a different matter entirely.

  “Out with it man. I highly doubt it was for the prospect of blowjobs from Molly Harriot.” The warden barked a laugh at his own joke, the embarrassment of their initial meeting now forgotten. “Not that I would blame you. Out of all of them, she has the best mouth.” He winked at Peter. “Gotta enjoy the perks while they last.” He smiled again and pulled out his cell.

  “Actually sir, it was because of my mother. I always wanted to join the military, but she never wanted me going overseas. I was her only child and she raised me alone. This was a compromise I guess.” Peter lied.

  “Oh, and I was expecting it to be because your father was imprisoned here for so many years.” The warden looked at Peter and nodded at him with a self-satisfactory smirk on his face as he read the young man’s expression.

  “How did you…” Peter began
>
  “How did I know? Just because you change your name it doesn’t mean that you hide your past.” The warden winked at Peter. “Listen, I like you kid. I was the one who approved your application when nobody else thought you could do it. I know the truth about everything around here, so don’t let anything people say fool you. And don’t ever lie to me again. I have big plans for you, alright.” The warden leaned over and patted Peter on the knee. “Lighten up kid. So your dad was a mass murderer. It doesn’t mean you will be too.” The warden scowled. “Unless you have some dark secret?” With a seriousness that could only be taken as an attempt at humour.

  “No sir, I’m not. I never really knew my Dad, and I thought being here, I might, learn a little bit about it.”

  The warden didn’t have time to offer an answer, for their car came to a stop and a few moments later the door was opened for them. Climbing out, they stared at the building which, for all intents and purposes looked no more like a maximum security prison wing than it did a public swimming pool.

  The building was plain and unassuming. It looked like, and in a previous life had been, a large stately home. Owned by a rich family with a heritage going back many years. Their fortune lost or squandered to the ravages of time. The building had been the first acquisition of the Kruger Correctional complex. Back then it had started off as a research laboratory specializing in the analysis of the criminal mind. The problem with criminal activity was growing, and as the twenty-first century neared its midpoint, it was decided that alternative methods were required in order to both contain and control the countries more troublesome and violent inmates.

  Peter walked beside the warden, although he was ready to take the customary, and respectful step back should the need arise. They rang the intercom on the door and a camera immediately turned towards them. A radio mounted on the gate cracked with static and the voice of one of the guards in the house came through.