Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 by Yeager Steve R

Author:Yeager, Steve R. [Yeager, Steve R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2015-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

-22-

WALKING DEAD

JESSE STIRRED. IT was dark outside. Nighttime. Hand shaking, he touched his brow. It was hot and dry. His entire body felt crusty, beaten down, and his shoulder was throbbing like a real son-of-a-bitch. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to bend forward. That hurt even worse. Sucking in air, he sat back up and looked around.

A sound split the air. He recognized it. Perhaps that was what had woken him up.

The tortured screech repeated.

Raptors.

They were hunting.

He lolled forward and found he was sitting in the passenger seat of the Dodge pickup truck, buckled in tightly. He shook his head to clear it and glanced out the side window. Outside, it was too dark to see more than the tips of the weeds glowing under the moonlight. Stars dotted the horizon. There was a blueness to it all, too.

Near dawn.

He saw something flicker in the rearview mirror. Another screech reached his ears, coming from a different direction, off to his right.

A man jogged across the street to the passenger side of the truck. He stopped in front of a small campfire burning about ten feet away.

Jesse could see the silhouette of a shadowy figure dressed in a long black coat.

Cory.

The white gauze wrapped around Cory's head was enough to trigger the memories of what had happened. All began to make sense again, a blurry, stomach-churning sense.

Jesse rapped his knuckles on the glass and flopped back against the headrest, slurping drool into his mouth. Thick bandages covered his left shoulder and caused him to come to rest twisted toward the passenger window.

Cory came alongside, checked, and opened the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Jesse breathed.

A moment passed between them. Neither had to say a thing, and yet, Jesse felt a deep understanding and camaraderie with the man. The guy had saved him when he could have very easily left him to die.

Jesse drank from a canteen Cory held up for him. Much of the water dribbled down and soaked into his torn shirt, but it helped to clear away the confusion and soothe the rawness in his throat.

“You going to be okay?” Cory asked.

“Never better,” Jesse replied.

Cory said nothing. He went to the fire and retrieved a spit of cooked meat. Raptor, thigh meat, probably, heavy, dark, and often laced with connective tissues.

“Here, eat.”

Jesse wasn't hungry. His stomach ached too much to eat. But he knew he should.

“Eat,” Cory repeated, this time with more emphasis.

Closing his eyes, Jesse pictured he was about to eat a giant cheeseburger. Even that didn't make him hungry. He took a bite and began to gnaw on it. “Thanks,” he said between chews.

“Want more?”

“No.”

Jesse tried to raise his hand to point but couldn't.

“Hey, Cory,” he said.

“Yes, what?”

“Behind you.”

About fifty feet away, raptors were coming through the weeds with their heads poked up above the tall stalks and swiveling back and forth. They hissed and spread out. Jesse tried to free himself from the seatbelt, but his muscles would not obey. He fumbled, reaching for the release, trying to press the button to unlatch himself but could not seem to mash it down.

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