Age of Monsters by John Schneider (books to read for self improvement .TXT) 📗

heard an echo in the city before.

Or more correctly, a single echo, because the sounds were constant.

This was all by itself.

Rosa had heard it said that if you turned off the sprinklers, every city on the California coast would be a desert in two weeks.

It actually rather looked like that. The ruined buildings were covered in dust – almost appearing fossilized, like some ancient ruins.

Looking around, it was amazing how fast a despoiled city returned to the land.

The footprints of humanity were not so deep as imagined, after all.

In the eerie silence, Rosa and Julie made their way up to the crest of rubble and looked down upon the city.

One of the cars in the parking lot had yielded a pair of binoculars, and Rosa took a quick scan of the skyline.

There was literally nothing standing – not even the beasts themselves.

But as she focused in on one of the carcasses, she now realized its flesh seemed to be moving – rather like dead animals on the Savannah sometimes roiled with scavengers.  But the things that had come out of the nooks and crannies were not your local coyotes or raccoons.

This was more like watching an elephant corpse swarmed by Nile monitors, digging into the stomach, climbing on its back, rooting around inside the cavernous chest-cavity.

Rosa did not particularly know her dinosaurs, but she knew one when she saw it.

While diminutive next to the giant carrion, they were quite impressive in their own right – Rosa estimated many of them scaled upwards of ten tons.

Darting in among them – wolf-sized – were packs of sickle-claws – skittish of their larger cousins, but emboldened sufficiently by the mountain of free carrion to risk proximity.

Oddly, as she focused in with the binoculars, she didn't see any of those little scavengers on any of the giant carcasses – perhaps chased off by the larger carnivores.

But then as she panned down onto the streets, she found them.

Those little guys seemed to be focusing on the leftover human wreckage.

Scavengers were, by nature, opportunistic.  Why risk confrontation with the big predators, when all these travel-size meals were just as plentiful?  Some of the decadent little lizards actually lounged and snoozed luxuriously on half-devoured corpses.

Rosa was already beginning to hate those little bastards.

Worse, as she adjusted the binoculars on the far horizon, she realized the giants weren't all gone either.

It was difficult to see in the distance – dust from demolished concrete drifted like fog – but gathered along the far-side of the city, apparently, in repose for the moment, at least three of the mega-beasts had gathered around one of the giant carcasses.

And as she adjusted focus, Rosa could see what at first looked like birds lined up along the giant beasts' backs.

Then she realized it was more of the little sickle-clawed scavengers – apparently discovering yet another niche for themselves – like birds picking parasites off the hide of a buffalo – they scurried over the giant scales like lice.

The giant beasts were standing, but seemed almost dormant – like a horse sleeping on its feet.

Their eyes were slitted like a dozing cat's.  Rosa could see just a sliver of that strange green glow spliced under the lids.

Then Julie was patting her urgently on the shoulder.  When Rosa turned, she pointed over past the ruined hospital.

The plume of smoke reaching over the make-shift ridge of rubble was not a random fire.

Turning her binoculars, Rosa saw the fighter jet that had crashed two-days before.  The engine was still smoking.

“You think that guy's alive?” Julie asked over her shoulder.

Rosa lowered the scopes.

“Only one way to know,” she said.  “It's not far.”

She nodded to the pistol in Julie's hands.  “You've still got bullets, right?”

Julie nodded.  “Six. I think.”

Rosa hefted her ax, setting her feet like any good cavewoman who had never swung an ax in her life.

“Okay,” she said.  “Let's go take a look.”

Chapter 7

The jet had not exploded, but had left a trail of fuel that continued to smolder.  The plane was perched at the end of an impromptu runway that had taken it over nearly three city blocks.

Fortunately, the architecture in its path had been mostly single buildings and strip malls, catering to the hospital and commuter area that bordered on the nearby park – not exactly a runway, but better than the side of a skyscraper.

Rosa could see the pilot, still in the cockpit.

He wasn't moving – either dead or unconscious.

“The hatch is open,” Julie said.  “That means he tried to get out.”

“And couldn't,” Rosa finished.  That didn't bode well.  Nevertheless, they began to climb the slope of broken concrete.

Their first efforts sent loose debris rolling and bouncing noisily into the street, sending more echoes ricocheting into the eerie, dead silence.

This time, the ruckus attracted gawkers.

A quartet of sickle-claws appeared on the ridge behind them.

No little scavengers here – these were the big wolf-sized beasties – and neither did they waste time once they spotted them – all four came bounding like sprinting greyhounds.

Struggling for balance on the chancy slope, Julie fired her remaining shots.

And perhaps she was a little rattled, because they all missed.

The claws would be on them in seconds.

Feeling almost ridiculous, Rosa brandished the fire-ax.

Then four shots rang out in quick succession, ringing in their ears.

All four beasts pitched over forward into the gravel, blood and brain-matter spurting out the backs of their lizard-like heads.

The largest of them flopped spasmodically at Rosa's feet.

She turned, and above them, the pilot was sitting up in his seat, his pistol muzzle still smoking.

“Evil sons-a-bitches, ain't they?” he hollered down.

Rosa and Julie exchanged glances.  All four bullets had hit targets less than four inches across – fired within