Age of Monsters

by John Lee Schneider

  Because as near as Tom could tell, it had destroyed it.

  And it was not over.

  The Apocalypse came in waves.

  Over the ten days since detonation, the initial violence had abruptly calmed, as the chemical ran its inevitable cycle and the infected animals simply died – and at the onset, the Food of the Gods seemed to have manifested almost exclusively in the cities. Computer simulations clearly showed the bloom of infection – in time-lapse, it rather resembled the explosion of tactical nukes – spreading outward, playing out, in real-world time, for days and weeks instead of seconds.

  What happened in the cities, however, was only the final manifestation of a much larger infestation – because there were also the uninfected animals – what the literature referred to as 'normals' – and, out in the sticks, they seemed to be everywhere.

  And there were a hell of a lot more monsters out there than just T. rex.

  While Tom's role was intended as a gatherer rather than an analyzer of information, that still gave him clearance to high-level chatter – including the initial breakdown provided for the troops – simple procedure to prepare them for what they were facing.

  Once he'd accessed those files, Tom had found himself simply astounded.

  He remembered the 'myths' of 'Monster Island' – always one of the more unlikely of urban legends.

  But even for a conspiracy-theorist, this was delusional madness.

  The write-ups were very detailed – very concise – and all in plain-text, military dead-pan.

  The creatures had been given code-names – and 'Big Rex' was just one entry out of several pages – there were a dozen species of carnosaur, alone, including the big Carcharodonts – code named 'Shark Tooth'.

  But there were also sauropods, ceratopsians – as well as listings for sharks, plesiosaurs, pliosaurs, mosasaurs – a whole bestiary.

  In its own way, the groupings were very orderly – rather like putting together a zoo – or more accurately, a preserve, filling in artificial niches – even down to those skittering little sickle-clawed scavengers – top-predator down to cockroach.

  And very much like dead elephants on the Savannah, the carcasses of giants didn't last long – and just like on the Nile, what was left always made it into the river, where scavenging lions gave way to crocs.

  San Francisco harbor was crowded with massive floating bodies, branching out into the ocean.

  God only knew what critters might be lurking off shore. The breadth of monsters undersea dwarfed those on land.

  He'd already seen one boat taken by a giant shark – likely a Megalodon. That meant they were out there – just waiting to chow down all that infected carrion – just like a pack of Great Whites after a dead whale.

  The pattern had already begun to repeat, world-wide.

  Once the giants died, they were devoured – and a new infection bloomed.

  It explained why the infected organisms tended to be predatory species.

  The chemical was introduced through ingestion – it was simply too potent for direct injection.

  As it played out on the ground, observation confirmed the literature – it only seemed to affect genetically-engineered animals, as if some key ingredient in their creation was somehow absent in natural life forms – and the higher the dosage, the more rapid the effect.

  The balance point where it killed the organism varied from individual to individual – a rex that gorged itself on a whole carcass would obviously be affected faster.

  As it was presented in the official intelligence report, “In cases of ingestion, the growth effect takes a period of weeks, with the rate of the effect directly influenced by the amount consumed. One could speculate on what effect direct injection might have.”

  Tom looked down at the screen, re-reading the paragraph – all printed in that same deliberate deadpan.

  'Speculate'.

  He glanced at his other screens – all playing and replaying devastation and smoking ruin.

  Yes, he thought, one could indeed speculate.

  Sitting up there, quietly in space, floating before his computer screen like a feather – there was not a hell of a lot else he could do.

  And better to speculate on what was happening on Earth rather than on his own possible alternate futures – not a one that Tom could think of where the carnage below left any possible way for him to get back home.

  Assuming, of course, home still existed.

  So he read his files, he ran his simulations, and he searched for patterns.

  On the third day, he found one.

  During the heart of the initial blitz – in all the cities – something had abruptly changed.

  Three days in, and suddenly there were factions. The beasts had turned on each other.

  Nor was this random – the battle-lines seemed to have broken down into pack-warfare.

  Which was strange, Tom thought, if the mental deterioration was like rabies.

  A closer look, however, suggested there was something more at work than just the Food of the Gods – something more basic.

  Carnosaurs and tyrannosaurs would naturally be at odds – placed into the same geography, both occupying the same niche, without prey animals to complement their numbers, that was nothing but a declaration of ecological warfare.

  Tom noted something else interesting – in terms of demographics, the tyrannosaurs seemed largely out-numbered in the conflict – at least as infected giants – but at the same time, were particularly aggressive.

  Carnosaurs would mingle with ceratosaurs or megalosaurs – T. rex walked alone – there was no instance in any record of a rex tolerating a rival predator species in its territory – and every instance was a death-fight.

  They even seemed to go after those tiny little sickle-clawed scavengers – it didn't seem to like them at all. Or maybe 'like' wasn't the word, because they were eating those little guys just like popcorn.

  And none of it seemed to be an effect of the Food of the Gods – the 'normals' out in the sticks clashed along party-lines, and tore at each other every bit as savagely as the infected giants.

  The pattern endured – three days in, and they had been at each other's throats.

  Just territorial aggression? Aggravated by steroid-rage?

  In any case, it was apparent that the global war wasn't over, just because humanity had cashed their chips in early.

  Tom's eyes turned to a particular screen he had reserved for the young woman still trapped, barricaded inside her cabin in Alaska – where sickle-claws continued to make periodic raids.

  She talked to her camera a lot.

  Tom could relate – it was the sort of thing you did when you were isolated and alone.

  The young woman was currently in relatively good-spirits – she was obviously capable, and well-supplied – but Tom knew that eventually her resources would be spent – even if she'd been stocked for the entire winter – and how much ammunition could she possibly keep on hand?

  To Tom's knowledge, there wasn't even anyone left to help.

  He hadn't heard from his own command since almost the moment it all began.

  Still, if he could just connect with that Eureka tower – constructed specifically to function as liaison to the EITS station.

  If he could get that activated, he might actually be able to restart the Internet out of his own database – most satellites should still be operational.

  If lines of communication could be opened up, that might change things.

  It could at least change the fortunes for a few survivors – the kids in Japan – the young woman in Alaska.

  Her name was Kristi.

  On short acquaintance, Tom found he liked her. And he very much did not want to watch her die.

  Like he had, Rebekah Adams, KAB, Houston.

  In the days since it all went down, Tom believed he had personally seen more death than any human being in history had ever witnessed.

  Perhaps it was optimistic that h
e still found himself fearing for a few remaining lives.

  Or perhaps it was just a defense mechanism to keep from thinking about his own.

  That was better, he decided – it was colder – rational and scientific – at the immediate moment, detachment was his only friend. He consciously knew he was six-ways-from-Sunday past section-eight trauma and would have to adapt his behavior accordingly.

  So he ran his simulations and he collated his data. He looked for patterns, and tried to raise towers on Earth.

  And he continued to read files – following further and further down the rabbit hole.

  Chapter 10

  In the hills just south of Siskiyou Pass, there was a new King under the Mountain.

  It was not a matter of vote, or even primitive ritual. It was simply existential reality.

  The rex stood on the hill, framed by the flickering light of an oncoming storm.

  It towered well over sixty meters. Its eyes glowed green.

  At its feet, the creatures in the valley simply fled.

  A predator would not normally be so high-profile – when stalking, T. rex could move with surprising stealth.

  Today, however, the rex simply announced its presence. It had quickly learned that, these days, that was enough.

  In the valley basin below, lay the corpse of another infected giant – a large sauropod, stretching nearly half-a-mile from head to tail – a mountain of meat that was currently being gnawed on by every critter in the forest.

  The rex uttered an impatient grunt and the scavengers broke like flies, vanishing into the trees.

  Less than two short weeks ago, he had been one of them – skittering around the ankles of the giants. It had sorely tested his tyrannosaur-pride.

  But things had changed. And while the rex itself did not directly associate this change to its battle with the infected sickle-claw back in Siskiyou Pass, or devouring its opponent's corpse, that was when he had felt the first slow onset – similar to the way alcoholic euphoria sets in after ingestion.

  Initially, the sensation was simply an over-caffeinated feeling of power and energy.

  Once its growth topped out, however, all that energy would have nowhere to go, and deterioration would begin. Along with it, would come madness.

  For the moment, however, the rex was only aware of a mild-buzzing in its head.

  At the perimeter of the basin, some of the smaller scavengers were back, and had started to encroach.

  There was no native fauna among them.

  Even all the lions and tigers and bears who might have dared to directly contest the new wildlife, pound-for-pound, soon discovered the toxic taste of these giant, seemingly free mountains of carrion.

  As somewhere up in space, Major Tom had listed among its primary flaws, the chemical killed.

  And while there was nothing in the available text that specifically described the effect of the chemical on a normal, non-engineered organism, there was reference that it was always fatal – and it wasn't pretty – something about that DNA fusion-reactor going into meltdown.

  The rex, of course, knew none of that, but did take note of the remains of a bear, lying along the dead sauropod's haunches, that had evidently tried to scavenge the infected meat.

  Visually, the effect was rather like a systemic, full-body allergic reaction – like every cell swelling into a zit, and then popping all at once.

  The bear was an unrecognizable mess.

  That mostly took care of any competition from the indigenous local predators. And of course, the rex had his own rivals in check – it had already chased most of the sickle-claws out of the area, as it had any lingering carnosaurs. The Siskiyous were solidly tyrannosaur-territory.

  But right now, trespassing stealthily from behind, were a small pack of those little cat-sized beasts – those scurrying, clawed little lizards – no more than ants compared to the infected rex.

  They stayed guardedly away from the downed sauropod, but snapped at some of the scavenging birds – cawing back at them in a mimic of their own squawks.

  The rex jerked at the sound – snorting with a touch of irritation.

  On the ground below, the little lizards turned and hissed.

  The rex actually paused at the cheeky affront, its nose wrinkling.

  Then the rex blinked, its eyes briefly tearing, like with a dose of smelling salts in the sinuses – perhaps some chemical musk.

  Whatever it was, it sparked an instinctual temper response.

  Turning from the carcass, the rex began to stamp the little lizards like yellow-jackets at a barbecue.

  The tiny creatures darted in every direction – one actually made it under a log, hissing balefully, screeching its oddly birdlike warble – but the rex simply stomped the log flat too.

  It turned, somewhat disgruntled, back to its meal, wiping its foot disgustedly on the rocks.

  At the perimeter of the basin, the other creatures faded back.

  And now, along the ridge, in the same direction the rex had come, more giant shadows loomed – a pack of them, framed by the strobing lightning, eyes glowing green.

  His 'gang' – the big rex was not the only tyrannosaur wandering slumber-mountain.

  A procession of a dozen or more – all infected giants – spread out across the crest of the hillside, looking down into the basin.

  The group of them had been more or less traveling together. And they had taken to following the big rex as sort of a defacto-leader.

  They hung back respectfully, of course – mostly females at the moment – although a few scattered males prowled at a distance.

  Dominant females would sometimes tolerate adolescent and even adult offspring – but these were also almost exclusively female – male aggression made them incompatible in a pack.

  In mating season, the dominant female would pair-bond with the dominate rogue.

  The big rex regarded his entourage – particularly the males that postured along the perimeter – alert for any potential challenge. A couple of them had tested him in the recent past – both attempted coupes had been quick and total failures.

  But no one was feeling particularly sparky today – the rex's would-be rivals simply stood down, waiting in regimented formation – and therefore he allowed them to remain. They would chase off any competing predators while they waited their turn at the banquet.

  If Major Tom could have observed this small scene, he might have gained new insight.

  This was ritualized social-structure at work – born of pure behavioral instinct.

  The strictness was a necessity when one was born with evolutionary super-weapons – just existing among your peers was an uneasy state of détente. Fossil tyrannosaurs often showed scars from inter-specific battles – a LOT of inter-specific battles. The breed had, in fact, been described by researchers as honky-tonk bar-brawlers on a Saturday night.

  For the moment, the big rex was in charge, and the others would follow, according to a simple hierarchy, based on the fairest system in the world – anyone who could kill him got to be in charge.

  There were no 'betas' in T. rex socio-biology – once any one of the young males reached sufficient size, they would try for the alpha spot.

  It was not even a real choice – just pure instinct – and because there were very few non-lethals in a rex-fight, they would either be the new alpha or they would be killed.

  But until then, they would follow the rogue – always at a safe distance – and he would tolerate them. Smaller rex were good for rustling up prey, similar to the strategy of modern lions, where the smaller, faster females corralled big herd animals right into the claws of the larger, heavier males, who killed them.

  All this structure had evolved over the hundred and fifty million years it took therapods to get to T. rex. And any violation of these strictures would be met with full-on ferocity, whether the transgression came from giant carnosaur, or tiny scavenging lizard.

  Satisfied his court was in order, the rex bent to
the carcass and began to feed, the massive jaws, calving out massive chunks of flesh, biting cleanly through bone, and swallowing mouthfuls whole.

  On the hillside around him, the pack waited patiently.

  At the perimeter, a few T. rex normals also waited in the wings – likewise spoiling at their own wounded rex-pride – 'Tyrant Kings' reduced to scurrying around a giant's ankles.

  When the rex had eaten its fill, it stood from the much-diminished carcass with a carrion-belch that echoed in the basin.

  Along the ridge, the others all paused to see if the rex would guard the carcass, as he had done in the past, sometimes curling to sleep right up next to it – practically daring anyone to wake him.

  But instead, the big rex slowly turned, staring off in the direction of the coast, its nose curling as if with that sulfur whiff once again.

  Now that its hunger-urge was momentarily appeased, its simple-behavior now directed it to follow its next instinctual impulse.

  In this case, a territorial instinct.

  T. rex did not think things over – it responded to stimuli – and whatever it was, it activated that buzzing kernel that was just beginning to gnaw at its simple mind.

  After a seeming moment of reflection, the rex began to walk.

  Respectfully, the Earth shook in its steps as the Tyrant King under the Mountain left the basin behind.

  Almost as a group, the other rex moved in, swarming on the relinquished pile of meat, and began to tear away massive chomping bites, like a school of Great Whites stripping blubber from a dead whale.

  After another moment, the 'normals' began to sneak in from the perimeter, picking at the long neck and tail that stretched beyond the reach of their giant, rage-infected fellows.

  The massive corpse of the sauropod began to disappear at a remarkable rate, as even the bones were consumed – a gluttonous feeding-frenzy that continued well into the night.

  When the morning came, less than a third of a corpse was left behind.

  In the basin, the predators slept off their over-indulgent debauchery – snoring, belching.

  And as they lay in decadent slumber, the green glow of the Food of the Gods glinted through their slitted eyes.