The Dinosaur Battle Of New Orleans by Dane Hatchell

Author:Dane Hatchell [Hatchell, Dane]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2018-03-07T22:00:00+00:00

*

“Everybody, get away from the windows!” Ritchie Lemoine yelled as he dropped his binoculars and dashed for safety.

A pterosaur hit the glass, shattering an 8x8 foot pane into a million pieces. The creature’s body was larger than a man, and its triangular-shaped head and bat-like wings made it look twice as big.

Mark Chaney and the other three controllers spilled out of their chairs, rushing to the other side of the tower.

Dan Lewis made the unfortunate choice to take refuge by the window where the next prehistoric monster crashed through. The pterosaur’s beak hit him dead center in his back and poked all the way through his chest.

The poor man’s eyes bulged as he flailed his arms. His mouth formed silent words, and his face shook uncontrollably.

“Dan!” Mark yelled and darted over to his co-worker’s side.

The first pterosaur was unconscious or dead.

But the one who had killed Dan was alive and well. It flapped its wings and shook its head, trying to free itself from the dead body. Its right claw struck Mark as he neared—sending the man backward and falling on his butt.

“Everyone, evacuate the tower!” Ritchie commanded.

The window behind him shattered, and the devious supervisor keeled over face-first as the third pterosaur smashed its way into the control tower.

The other two controllers followed orders and dashed to safety down the stairs.

Mark wasn’t a hero, but four years in military service had taught him never to leave a fallen comrade.

Ritchie was at least alive; evident by his cries for help.

Mark’s lip craved for a fresh dip, but that would have to wait.

Looking around, he searched for anything he might use as a weapon. Nothing caught his eye until he saw the cleaning supply storage closet.

He ran over and opened the door. The arsenal of weapons included chlorine bleach, an old-fashioned mop and bucket, two types of brooms, a dustpan, and a variety of glass cleaners.

Wishing he had his AK-47 or his M1 Garand, he had to improvise with what was available. The mop had a wooden handle, whereas the two brooms had thin metal handles.

Mark grabbed the mop by the head and at the other end of the handle, bringing it down over his thigh. The mop handle snapped in two, just as he planned, leaving a bruise on his leg that hopefully would have time to heal.

He now had a three-foot makeshift weapon. The splintered end sloped enough at an angle that it would do some damage penetrating flesh.

Pulling the dustpan from the door shelf, he bounded to Ritchie’s aid.

The creature on top of Ritchie wasn’t moving, but the other who had killed Dan flapped its wings and screeched.

For the moment, Ritchie was better off hiding underneath the pterosaur than getting within striking distance of the other creature.

It occurred to Mark, approaching the pterodactyl, with a stick and a dustpan for weapons, seemed incredibly stupid. The opened door leading to the stairwell beckoned him to run and save his behind now.

“Help!” Ritchie cried.

Dip, don’t fail me now, Mark thought and swallowed a gulp of tobacco spit for a surge of nicotine to make him invulnerable.

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