Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse

by Christopher Lee

  Dr. Pavlov had pushed the reality of whom and how many he’d killed to the far corners of his mind. He pushed it so far back, that any such thoughts of murder were too much to contemplate. But deep down, he wanted to do just that, murder. He wanted to kill the rest of humanity, not wanting a single person to be able to hold him accountable. With no one left, finger pointing would be impossible, only God could do that, if any such deity existed.

  The annihilation of every last man, woman, and child was his ultimate goal - he kept the plan lingering in his subconscious. Pavlov desired it even more than the first emotion that catapulted him into starting this whole thing, that of revenge, but now, more than anything, he wanted the ultimate clean slate. Angry desires to avenge his dead wife turned inward, holding them in for eight searing years, they formed into rage. Now, above all else, Dr. Pavlov wanted to be the last man standing. Kill ‘em all…

  No one will ever know what I’ve done when they’re all gone. They’re won’t be a witness left to cast judgment on me. He kept that thought floating in the outer reaches of his twisted thoughts. Distant… so far away… as if those thoughts were locked inside one of the deep space reconnaissance probes that had reached the Andromeda galaxy.

  “You did all this because someone stole something from you?”

  “Someone? The fucking government! Not someone, you arrogant piece of trash! You! You’re the commander in chief. You are the government!”

  The President mustered courage before he spoke again. “Seems so petty and cruel…”

  “Not just stolen! You killed my wife you goddamn monkey! The innocent people this government has killed… all the governments around the world have murdered… you talk about petty. How many men have died because you gave the order? You’re a murderer and a thief!”

  Dr. Pavlov couldn’t kill the President as he originally intended. This conversation was making him think too much, it was shaking his resolve.

  “Secure him in that office,” Dr. Pavlov ordered.

  One bot released his grip on the President while both machines saluted with their right hands into their chests. The sound echoed through the main floor of the CDC that was now converted into a high-tech, all be it half-assed, assembly line. The robot reached down after sharply finishing its salute and secured the President’s arm. Both machines began dragging the Commander in Nothing toward the office. The bots walked away from Dr. Pavlov as he shouted at them.

  “Wait!” Dr. Pavlov ordered, halted the bots. They stood motionless with their backs to him.

  “You two stand watch over our innocent, pathetic President! I want one guard inside the room and one out.” The Sentinels waited, holding the limp President, listening for further instruction. “Carry on,” Dr. Pavlov ordered. Dragging their man, the bots crisply marched forward again.

  Dr. Pavlov wanted to clear his mind. Bad thoughts were trying to invade like an ancient virus as he slapped himself in the face. Slap, slap, slap…

  “Ahhh!” he yelled as his palm struck his skin over and over, trying to purge out the invading thoughts like a caveman. His eyes fell on a vision that helped occupy his mind in a more productive direction. The new Super Destroyers were almost done.

  Pavlov headed for the main assembly line, cleared by the century Sentinel bot that was stationed outside the President’s new oval office.

  CHAPTER 32 - MONSTERS AND THE KING

  “The lions ate him!”

  -King Osric, Conan the Barbarian

  “Cy?”

  “Something big Dr. Marcus… get down,” Cy ordered waving his hand down toward the ground.

  “What is it?” Dr. Pressfield asked while squatting and leaning against a car. He looked behind him to ensure nothing was sneaking up on them. Nothings there… He turned back. “Cy… What is it?” He asked again in a low voice.

  “Several creatures are moving at a high rate of speed. Coming from there,” Cy pointed off toward the direction of the medical park.

  “Can you tell what they are? Pst, hey, Cy…”

  “Quiet Dr. Marcus,” Cy requested.

  Dr. Pressfield could hear them; they were getting closer. Suddenly, the sounds of whatever was running through the woods quieted.

  Still running, the creatures were inside the medical office park, muffled and hidden behind the buildings. Hearing a roar, Marcus saw the pride appear.

  A decimated lion pride came out from between the buildings and ran across the sidewalk, arriving at the edge of the Interstate.

  It was a surreal vision seeing them running full out. One baby, two females and a male were flushed out as if they were being chased. The lion cub couldn’t keep up and stopped once they reached the middle of the interstate. It was exhausted and flopped down on its side, no longer able to stand. Its tiny ribcage fluttered like a bird while its lungs worked overtime to bring oxygen rich blood to its starving muscles.

  The adult lions surrounded the cub and faced back toward the medical park.

  “Wonder why they were runni…” Dr. Pressfield started to ask, stopping mid-sentence after seeing the nasty ass thing.

  “Ssshhhhaaa!” the demonic beast came out from the same spot between the buildings. Rocketing forward, the monster ran toward the lion pride. It didn’t slow after reaching the interstate and went skidding into a truck. “Slam!”

  Woozy, the creature composed itself, while the dented vehicle continued to rock from the monster on metal collision.

  The male lion roared in a warning.

  “Ssshhhhaaa!” the beast hissed and jumped on top of the dented truck. It looked like an evil spider man, crouching low and staying on all fours while looking down at its next meal. Inspecting each one carefully, the creature seamed to decide which lion would become its first dinner.

  The lions roared and kept the small cub between them. Exhausted and lungs still pumping for air, the baby remained on its side.

  The flesh eating humanoid was hungrier than it was afraid. Fighting the claws that were attached to the tan beasts below was worth the risk for the meals they represented.

  What a scene Dr. Pressfield thought… He watched the cub struggle to its feet through the shadows of its adult protectors only to collapse again. The demonic humanoid was skylined on top of the car and the powerful lions waited below.

  Marcus held his breath as he peered over Cy’s shoulder.

  Losing traction, the creature attempted to jump off the smooth metal roof. It dropped and clawed the air, the monster fell, landing just feet from the pride. The girls readied. Both lionesses pounced, clawing and biting for the monster’s throat.

  The humanoid focused its efforts on one lioness and bit its razor sharp fangs into her throat. As the humanoid ripped out the cat’s jugular, the other female jumped onto its back. Gushing on the ground, the bottom lioness grew cold and her body limp as the blood drained from her arteries, and her life.

  Trying to stay on the demon’s back, the second cat sunk her claws in deep.

  “Sshaa… Reeee!” the monster screamed like a wounded banshee and fought to break free. Sticking like Velcro, the lioness stayed glued to the creature, holding on and biting the monster’s shoulder and neck.

  After hurling backward, the demon smartly slammed the lioness into a truck after. Both beasts fought in wild sounds of a frantic mêlée. The lioness released her grip after the third trip into a steel quarter panel broke her claws free, jarring the cat loose.

  “Ssshhhhaaa!” With blood draining from the lacerations on its dark skin, the creature turned around to face the lioness.

  The cat stayed low and showed her teeth, growling like an outboard motor. After backing herself against the truck, the lioness ran out of real estate and threw her paw up in a defensive gesture. She was trapped and the demon realized its chance to kill was now.

  The humanoid pounced on top of the female and began shredding her open. Sinking her claws in and defending the best she could, losing, the cat’s power quickly faded and her body went limp.


  Looking at the pair of dead females, the male lion roared and stood over the cub.

  The humanoid was ready. The taste of warm blood coursed through the monster’s veins as it swung around to greet the alpha male and the baby. The creature was already thinking where it could hide such a bountiful feast. Cast under a trance, the monster’s thirst for more lion flesh pulled it closer. Its work was half over and it needed more.

  Two cats down and two more to go, then feast.

  Sensing the male lion was stronger than the two it just killed, the creature stalked with caution, keeping low. It had to drink more blood and taste more flesh. The hunger groaned inside the monster’s gut like a raging fire at the edge of a dried cornfield.

  Suddenly, the cub struggled to its feet and wandered off in the opposite direction. The baby meandered as if it didn’t know what was going on, or didn’t want to acknowledge impending death.

  Watching the cub walking away unprotected tripped the monster’s reflexes. It coiled and then shot forward, racing after the baby. The demonic beast attempted to slip by the adult lion. Big mistake…

  He was an alpha male in his prime and wore a full main. Hooking the monster, the big cat reached out with its paw and spun the creature around. The baby was well clear of the fight.

  Staggering and heading due east through the grass as if it were drunk, the cub continued walking until it made its way off the interstate.

  The male lion jumped on top of the monster before it could regain its balance. The cat intended each strike and bite to be a deathblow. The King of the Beasts clawed and fought like a champion. Realizing it was clutched in royal power, the demon panicked to get away.

  Struggling to break away, the flesh eating humanoid only managed to do so for a second. The four hundred pound lion shattered the monster’s neck vertebras with one well-placed swipe of its paw. Roaring like it had been programed to do for millions of years; the alpha male stood over the dead creature and watched the cub get farther down the knoll.

  Dr. Pressfield and Cy stayed put and continued to watch. To be eaten by a lion, wouldn’t that be a son of a bitch, Marcus thought.

  “Something else is coming Dr. Marcus,” Cy stated in a soft voice after pointing toward the lion cub.

  Suddenly, a new monster appeared.

  Like a nightmare, it came out from the tree line, walking on its hind legs toward the approaching cub. It was a gargantuan mutant beast.

  Marcus Pressfield felt a cold shiver run up his spine and his entire body shook with the heebie jeebies. This new beast was over nine feet tall and covered in muscle. Appearing to be deformed, thick slabs of striated sinew rippled over the flesh-eater’s body.

  The lion cub ran directly into the creature’s feet. As if it were a pet, the demonic beast bent down and scooped the baby up. The male lion roared with fury, watching the creature holding the cub from a distance.

  The humanoid gripped the lion’s body and bit into its tiny neck. While it was pulled apart, the kitten squeaked for help. Quickly silenced, it was dead. An eerie hush fell and lingered in the moment.

  Cy and Marcus could hear the cub’s connective tissue and flesh stretching before its spine broke free. The humanoid sheered the cub’s head off as if it were biting into a stick of beef jerky. With no meat on it, the monster spit the baby’s head on the ground like dried cellophane wrapper.

  The baby cat was delicious and the demon felt the consuming lust from its soul. Nutrients seeped down inside the monster’s throat. Becoming excited, it thought of tasting more flesh and blood. Wanting to eat and mate, its instincts shot into overdrive. The humanoid held the cub up by its tiny back legs and let blood drain farther into its mouth. A red river flowed from the cub’s sloppy neck and into the monster’s jaws.

  Drained empty, the creature threw the cub aside, landing on the grass, depleted and lifeless.

  “Roar!” The male didn’t charge, it just roared and stood its ground. The King of Beasts was exhausted. It watched the monster drop down and coil. The bell was rung. “Ding – Ding.”

  “Fight!” Heading for the alpha male, the demonic creature charged.

  Watching the creature scorch a beeline toward him, the lion prepared for combat. The King could smell the nasty ass thing getting closer. Yards shrunk to feet until the foul monster was knocking at the lion’s door. When the evil mutation reached the threshold, it launched to kill.

  The demonic beast bashed into golden royal fur, sending them both slamming into a vehicle. Their viscous howls could be heard for miles. Glass smashed out of vehicles while they fought to kill. It was an epic battle, ebbing and flowing back and forth. The tide favored the monster as it rose, cresting, and then smashing down with power. Draping heavy over the cat, the creature filled the air with rank. Exhausted, the lion finally relinquished.

  Held down, there was no escape for the King, and the massive humanoid sensed the end.

  The King of the Beasts was outmatched and roared in defeat, as much as it did from the pain. Pride ripped out; the lion’s life was next.

  Using its paws and sharp claws, the creature ripped the lion’s throat out. The creature’s dark color contrasted against the lion’s golden fur. King no more; the monster was wrapped so tightly around the cat, beast to beast, they appeared to be one creature. They melded into a black and tan monstrosity.

  The humanoid ripped open the stomach and pulled out long shiny bands of the lion’s intestines. Thrusting dark claws and plunging them deep, the monster pulled out the cat’s liver.

  Its crown was gone.

  At least it died in combat. Lifeless now, its mane the only thing left moving against the blowing wind.

  The monster ate some of the lion’s vital organs and looked around after it was satisfied. At least it was for a short moment, sniffing the air, sensing something. That something was fresh and alive. New meals were close by…

  CHAPTER 33 - NEW DIGS

  “How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.”

  ― William Faulkner

  RMB Pendleton:

  Petty Officer Gary Deines looked around his new home. He gave a silent approving nod to the location of their new berthing quarters. It was ok; didn’t have much of a choice. But the SEALs wouldn’t have a clear shot at the ocean anymore through their windows. That sucked.

  Blocked by mountains, the water was relatively close, and like any good Navy SEAL, Petty Officer Deines could smell the salty abyss. As if conch shells were pressed to them, the sound of the Indian Ocean was always playing in his ears.

  The new quarters formerly belonged to another elite unit. For many years 1st Recon Battalion had called the place home… until the war started. Olympic caliber athletes, the versatile 1st Recon Marines were all dead now. Recon Marines were tough as nails, not that there were any left. Just as the SEALs, Recon Bubbas were skilled divers and also felt at home in the water.

  The thing that made Recon Marines different from other special ops units was this: First you have to become a Marine. Then, if you get through that, you can attempt the masochist’s wet dream of becoming Recon. Such great warriors being snuffed out, what a damn waste, what a shame, Deines thought.

  Most of the Recon Battalion was killed while they lent their skills, doing dirty spy work behind enemy lines on a far off continent. They were fighting in a “non-war,” aka police action in Northern Iran. Thanks to Israel’s, Operation Parking Lot, they were killed in a nanosecond. They weren’t hunted one-by-one until extinction, 1st Recon was wiped off the face of the earth like a wet sneeze. So now, morbidly lucky for the SEALs, the old Recon Marine digs were vacant.

  Recon and SEAL training required each man to become as comfortable in the water as he is on dry land. No recruit ever got used to the cold though.

  Ask any special ops guy this question and you’ll always get the same response: “What was the worst part of training?” Answer: “The cold.”

  The cold… Nothing in the world tests a man’s inte
stinal fortitude while he endures each day, ungodly pain, fighting off the mental and physical torture - hypothermia knocking at his doorstep. Rapping at his chamber… Teeth chattering so hard that if they broke off, surprise wouldn’t break free from any part of the warrior’s amazement. I figured that was going to happen, watching teeth as they bounced off the floor, sounding like wooden nickels.

  Inside the barracks… The handful of SEALs decided which racks they were going to call theirs and went about dibbing in business-like silence.

  Must be getting ready to rain… Petty Officer Deines thought. His foot was acting up again. A nightmare, he thought about the old injury that occurred during “Hell Week,” the hardest week of military training known to man. Forever and always…

  It hadn’t changed much since its inception. None of SEAL training had, just the equipment and sometimes, new tactics were introduced. Any changes over the years caused the teams to get better, faster and sharper. It was the only reason for change. None of that, however, was worth a shit without the toughness of each individual man. Petty Officer Deines’s father used to say: “If you’re going to be stupid, then you better be tough.”

  Gary Deines wasn’t stupid but he was tough. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to loosen his foot, rising up and down on the balls of his feet. Hell Week… He hated those damn logs they were forced to run around with, hated them about a hair less than he hated the Ker. Drifting off, he thought about Hell Week…

  ***

  The first day of Hell Week and a telephone pole, aka a log - dropped on his foot. It crushed metatarsals one through five, along with his middle and big toe.

  Day one, Jesus Christ! How the hell am I going to get through this? he thought.

  The days in Hell Week are like reverse dog years. One day equals a week in the heart and soul of each wanna-be-warrior. Petty Officer Deines envisioned the week ahead of him while enduring the injury to his foot. A real road to purgatory lay before him. His vision of hell spanned over the length of a week, a dog week he quickly pushed out his mind, slamming the door shut on nightmare thoughts.