Breathe in. Pause. Slow, steady squeeze on the trigger. BANG! Steady release. Flames shot forth from the rifle as a pale blue mist exploded from the eight legged monstrosity.
The enormous monstrosity began shrieking an ear wrenching curl that broadcasted for miles through the air as its body started spasming. The monstrosity legs gave way and the great beast crashed into a white oak. There it lay propped up in a sort of fetal position sprawled facing upward lying against the face of the tree. Michael looked up from the scope of the rifle. Scanning from left to right, he paused, waiting for any more of these abnormalities the woods might contain. Seconds turned into minutes before he relaxed with a sigh, not fully releasing the tension that gripped his body, but a little knowing there were none close by.
The woods had an uncanny way of making the most tense person at ease. The beautiful assortment of white oaks and tall evergreen pines shading the ground assisted by a gentle westwardly breeze gave the world a peaceful sense of relaxation. It was the devil's deceit giving the unfortunate wanderer who is entranced by its beauty the feeling of security. A person had to learn quickly that razors were always waiting in the shadows for the slightest hint of weakness. By the time the person would find out they were being watched it was far too late.
This was the fifth one just today Michael thought to himself. He remembered a time when these beasts were just stories a few wanderers would tell about and even less took their threats seriously. Hindsight always seemed to brighten a man’s senses. Sightings began to be more frequent, once every year, once every few months, and it was then people knew they weren't fables you told children at supper time. It was too late, they were a plague on the land. The wildlife scarcely seemed to exist after the swarms would devourer the surrounding landscape. People always had wild stories on where the beasts originated. The theories varied. A lunatic would spew they were a government experiment gone wrong and the mishaps were kept hidden from the public by a secret organization. There were others who proclaimed the bombs in the cities caused the creatures to expand at an abnormal rate, and then there were the prophets. The preachers were claiming it was the wrath of God bringing forth the revelations. The preachers always seemed to cause more harm than good.
Michael reached the body. It was more of a conundrum on how they retained their size. Creatures with exoskeletons could not support being larger than a certain size unless the oxygen levels in the environment permitted it, but they were the same size as a Grizzly bear. The body consisted of two parts with the first being a small head with 4 large mandibles larger than a man’s thigh and just as wide. The head was on average 18 inches across, with 8 beady black pupiless eyes and two daggers protruded from their mouths. Both were clear, translucent, and when bitten a neurotoxin that would enter the body paralyzing the nervous system rendering the victim immobile. There were claims from survivors they wouldn’t feel anything after the initial puncture, but the images from clearing their nests that housed rows of clear, puss filled sacs holding bloated remains of the unfortunate souls flashed in Michael's brain. It was not an something anyone would wish to experience.
The base of the body was barrel shaped with eight shaggy legs that could dwarf a fully grown man extending outward. The body itself was covered in black and brown furs with a silver razor blade the size of a watermelon directly in the center of its back. The common name these creatures were given came from the aforementioned sigil. Razorbacks.
Michael grabbed his bolt action rifle with his right arm and with his left swung a camouflage backpack over his back. Razing his rifle he countinued to look in every direction for any hint of movement. Hearing nothing he lowered the rifle slightly. Michael walked to the creature’s head and poked it with the barrel. Could never be too careful. Pulling the machete from his belt its head fell away from the body after a few hard strokes. The body was going to be burned. These horrors would have eggs inside of them. Sensations of the swarms crawling up his legs, forearms, his whole backside flickered through his mind. It was not a sensation anyone would yearn to remember.
Grabbing a lighter from his pocket out he began igniting the body. The hairs burned instantly as a single flash turned the gigantic beast into a swallowing inferno in a matter of seconds. The corpse began to wildly whistle and screech as the exoskeleton began to collapse in on itself. It was truly bewildering. These creatures would survive multiple gunshot wounds without the thought flowing through their minds of stopping, but the smallest hint of fire would completely stop them in their tracks.
He picked up the severed head, not a clean cut, but it was usable. While it wasn’t going to fetch the highest price, there was certainly a market for the meat. The body contained most of the meat but there was no way Robert could haul the miles it would take to reach Wilson’s Store. He lost his pace count a while back, so there was no telling how many miles it would take. It was going to be a long couple of days.
“I say it’s a nice catch we got today, don’t you think” with a smile on his face Michael looked to Robert for approval. The mule seemed unamused. He rarely did. His grey mane with streaks of white were shaking in the wind as Robert turned to show his rear to the man.
It’s going to be like this today, shaking his head Michael attached the head with the others on the back of the grey mule. Robert’s age seemed to be catching up to him. The old man used to have a beautiful shade of caramel brown, and with gorgeous black hair that rose like great plains of grass above his neck. You couldn’t see it now, but thirty years ago Robert had a step in his foot. He would whimper for hours on the whimsical chance of adventure; always wanting more food, wanting to travel, explore, meet new people, animals, things, the naive thoughts of youth. Now he’s an old man and I think he’s tired of seeing mainly my backside for the past 20 years Michael laughed to himself. “Well old timer, you can get your hopes up. We're heading back today,” Michael told Robert expecting a reply. Somehow he always knew what he was saying. Separating every strand of hair Michael’s hand brushed down the mules grey mane in a seemingly futile attempt to calm his nerves. Robert always seemed to know if a Razorback was nearby and seeing so many today definitely put him on edge, well the news of their leaving should definitely help ease his tension.
Michael pulled back the bolt and caught the round that flew from the ejection port. There were just five rounds in his rifle. Nothing more.
Hopefully luck is on my side he grimaced as Robert was dragged along.
Michael remembered his father always talking about luck. He would say “Luck is simple son", spinning the coin between his calloused hands revealing two different sides. The man loved gambling, whenever he wasn't working at various welding sites he was there. Catching the coin on the back of his hand he lowered it to Michael’s face. Grinning he asked,” What will it be son". Putting a finger up to his youthful face pondering the question, “Well it could be heads, but it could be tails. I don’t know Dad, its' equal." His father smirked, standing up straight, brushing the dirt off of his worn out jeans. “Remember this son, when it comes to chance. You either let the odds rule you, or you change your odds”. He put the coin into Michael’s hand. It weighed heavier on one side, just slightly but it was noticeable to him.
Rummaging into a pocket he pulled it out. Rust skirted along the outskirts of the coin but George Washington's face showed clear in the afternoon southern sun. The year showed 1985, the year his dad was born. For all the man's faults, Michael was glad he had this coin. It was a token of his father. The only one he had left.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Putting it back into his pocket Michael continued to delve deeper into the forest. Stopping only once to fill his water sack from a stream and letting Robert get a well deserved drink. There would need to be a place to shelter for the night, at least to hide from the razors who always seemed to appear after the sun goes down.
The line of trees began to give way to a short grassy plain. A raised stonework spanned for endless miles in either direction. The lifeline of nations. The roads. There was a time when roads were simply just that, a means for transportation. People would take them for granted. True they were now used for the same reason, but there was another means the roads gave. Control. Whoever controlled the roads controlled the resources necessary to survive in this world. However, at this very moment, it provided Michael a sense of direction of where he needed to be heading before the sun sank below the trees.
A yawn crawled out from Michael’s throat, and Robert steps began to teeter with every one draining the life out of him. It had been longer than a day since they last slept.
"I know, I know you're tired, but just a little bit further". Michael stopped and turned toward the old man. "I'm being too rude aren't I, and I know better than to run you ragged.", he let out a sigh turning towards Robert. Cupping the dirt covered mouth tenderly and scratching behind the ear he stared directly into the tired Grey eyes. I've pushed him too hard today.
"I'll make a deal with you, we go to the edge of the road and that'll be it. No more walking tonight and as a symbol of my word you'll get some sweet feed. How does that sound?" The sound of sweet feed always perked up the mules' interest. Robert stared back with eyes that glared of mistrust but slowly, and very begrudgingly, took the few steps further to the road. Night would come here very shortly and there was much need they would be able to stay warm tonight. Robert stood standing as Michael began to rest his head on the camouflage backpack. The old habit never seemed to die when it was just the two of them on the road together. Old people are just a different breed, Michael smiled to himself, Just let them keep on living the life they want.
Fatigue swept throughout his body as he steadily relaxed and slowly Michael closed his eyes. The darkness swallowed him. A single ball of light stood before him. It seemed to rotate without any meaning of gravity. Michael touched the ball. The night quickly enveloped him. And as quickly as the darkness devoured the landscaped it vanished. What replaced it was a single green hill that had a small creek flowing clear blue water softly down the edge spilling into an endless basin. A small tree standing 5 meters high sprouted a wide range of different colored apples. Bright green ones, dark red ones, and a multitude of every color in between hung from the tree's youthful limbs. Suddenly laughter came from behind the tree. Michael turned to the noise, and to his bewilderment a pair of ocean blue eyes stared through him behind long lush thick eyelashes, an uneasy smile appeared upon its face. The shadow started to speak in a rabble of indiscernible speech, and as dread began to fill Michael he yearned to hear of what the figure would say. What would the siren even say? This creature seemed human, but there was just an uneasy feeling that perfumed from the creature. He leaned in to hear what the creature would say when immediately it looked up. The two eyes looked like a raging storm destroying even the old pre war metal ships. It stared at Michael, almost curious when it opened its mouth and the shrieking whines of a mule blistered into Michael's ears.
In an instant the world returned to him. Robert was braying loudly as trees began to fall and bushes were swept away from a seemingly giant gale storm.
Jerking up immediately, Michael had the uneasy feeling it was no storm. He picked up his rifle and grabbed the rope pulling Robert to the road. Frantically stroking Robert trying in vain to calm the mules nerves, but the old man’s nerves were already off the hinges. The woods seemed to fall apart in the distance with hundreds of branches breaking every second. The razors were getting closer. A small light glowed in the distance, but nothing other than the stars gave any light. Michael began to jog along the hard blacktop in an attempt to get some distance between them and the razorbacks.
“Robert desperately needed to quit crying”, he told himself, “I can’t lose him yet”. Michael jerked the Mule’s face with all the force he had to come face to face with the pale eyes that showed vast amounts of terror. It was all his eyes spoke, but Michael kept staring at the mule petting his mane. Robert was going to understand he would protect him. He pulled the mule with him and began to run. They were going to need a great deal of space between them and the forest if they were going to make it out alive. They just needed space.
Their feet together pounded the pavement, pieces of gravel and rock crunching under every step. The noises surrounding them bellowed closer. The razorbacks called to one another with a screech that sounded like a train whistle bellowing as if departing from a station, except the calls were coming closer and closer. Michael saw the faint light again in the distance, it seemed larger every second that…
He was flying, a concrete wall knocked him several feet in the air. He came crashing down, sliding several feet and collapsing onto the ground. Michael felt compressed as if a building had collapsed on his chest, and desperately pounding his chest for oxygen to fill his lungs. Blood coated the pavement as if a young artist had just completed a splatter paint project and blood pounded his ears with a chorus of drummers and that's when the heaves of coughing bouts started, spurting from his mouth the pools of warm, red liquid. Michael stood up forcing his body with every ounce of strength he had left and moved the strap that held his rifle. He placed the stock against his shoulder, square and firm, and fired at the massive figure sprinting towards him. The muzzle’s flash revealed only for a split second the head of the razor jerking upwards as the bullet split the skull straight through. Michael collapsed on one knee bearing his weight forward; spitting out the blood that flooded his mouth. The moonlight showed his ten fingered hands shaking trying to cling onto the two rifles that he held in his hand. He turned his head slowly upward for a moment at the sounds of another razor that was closing the distance. It seemed like instinct but he picked up the rifle and fired the first shot. It was off by five feet but Michael readjusted and let two more bullets fly bullets fly.
His body gave way again and crashed into the hard ground letting go of the rifle as it skidded far out of reach. A dreadful chorus of angels filled his ear with the cries of high pitch screeches blistering and burning his ear drums. Michael slowly crawled his hand upwards to block the oncoming onslaught of tortuous howls when his mind slowly began to level out and decipher where the cries came from. It was Robert. Crying for help and here he was trying to block it out. He clawed for his rifle slowly scraping his chest across the ground willing for the legs to move, but his body seemed to fight against him. Still Michael grinded himself forward with all his might it would take death to catch him for him to stop.
The ground before him turned to a soft color of gray to bright white as the soft sound of an electric engine began to fill his ears. Tires screeched to a grinding halt as doors swung open. A browning M2 machine gun was cocked back and the clicks of multiple safeties going off rang through the darkness. Multiple flashlights began to laser the area looking for targets to shoot. Michael slowly pulled his hands to cover his ears as the world began to ignite.
Razor after razor began to fall as the bullets flew massacring the relentless razors. The controlled steady stream of lead continued to fire as men were shouting orders to maneuver and fire. The machine gun never stopped firing quickly shooting all targets that were rushing towards the vehicle.
"CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE" the order was yelled by a man moving his right arm up and down above his head. Just like that there was an eerie silence. The command went for a head check. Michael couldn't comprehend the names his mind seemed to slip from his body, but he knew what they were. The prewar military hand and arm signals and commands gave them away. Michael grimaced to himself as his body began to shake from pain. He attempted to get up but his body failed him. He was going to grab Robert and get the two of them far away from this place, yet he could not move. The image of Robert being thrown by that filthy monster did not leave his mind. His breath quickened, he had to save him no matter what, but he couldn't move. The desire to slam his fists against the concrete and scream at the air began to consume him. He wanted to do that more than anything else in the world except he couldn't. Michaels body refused to budge. "I failed him", he choked on the blood still forming in his mouth,"I promised I would protect Robert and I couldn't". There were far off sounds of boots coming closer *blink* a beautiful woman in military fatigues was pushing him onto his side *blink* pain roared through his body as he was lifted into the air *blink*.