Dinosaur Red by Edward J. McFadden III

Author:Edward J. McFadden III [McFadden III, Edward J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2021-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

17

Psycho whistled and Judge came awake in the dark, his hand going to his M9. Branches creaked and cracked, leaves rustled and ripped, and grunts and growls echoed through the jungle. Judge put his back to the fallen tree trunk that made up the main wall of their lean-to, and Charlotte grabbed his arm. His first impulse was to shake her off, but instead he patted her hand.

Norms. Pain in the ass, always around, confusing and precedent setting norms. They ruled all societies, and when he’d put out his arm to Charlotte, comforted her, he’d crossed a line and established a norm. Suddenly he felt new pity for Psycho. His boisterous friend was an alpha male pig, and made no attempt to hide it. He was an open book, and any woman—person-that chose to get involved with him on a personal level, knew what they were getting. On a professional level, Psycho was indispensable, and Judge worried at the fine cracks forming in his friend’s normally smooth facade.

Whatever was working its way through the forest was getting closer, the sounds of breaking branches and snarls becoming further apart.

“I think it smells us. It’s moving slower, being more careful,” Psycho said.

Tisa held out her M9, her hand shaking slightly. Lack of food and water had wasted her face, her normally round cheeks sunken and darker than her eye sockets.

Seok held his knife at his side, eyes shifting with each sound of movement.

“I’m gonna go see what’s what. Take it out before it gets here if need be,” Psycho said.

“Why is it always you?” Judge said. “I’m coming.”

Nobody protested, so Judge followed Psycho out of the lean-to into the pale artificial moonlight. In the northeast, the light cone marked the center of the biosphere, the corpse light finding every crack, dark shadows hiding under every branch and behind every tree.

Psycho put up a fist and got low, bringing up his rifle.

Judge fell in next to him, M9 held in a two-handed grip. He almost felt like he knew what he was doing.

Almost.

A creature launched from the shadows, talons forward like an eagle attacking.

Judge saw it in his peripheral vision and went limp, dropping to the hardpan as the beast sailed centimeters over his head, crashing into a bush with needle-like thorns. The creature thrashed and wailed as the knife-like prickers stabbed and tore at the beast. Feathers flew, and the thing howled, squawking as it gyrated and struggled.

Judge swung the M9, sighted, and squeezed off two shots.

The first tore through the beast’s left leg, severing it, and the second shattered its skull, the creature’s head exploding in a hail of blood, bone, and brain. The corpse continued to thrash, then slowed, spasming every few moments before falling still.

The night symphony had gone silent, and was slowly coming back to full strength.

“We’ve got no business being here,” Judge said.

Psycho said nothing as he eased forward, examining the corpse. “Looks like a giant eagle.”

Brown and red feathers floated in the air.

“A type of raptor, maybe.

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