Pale Rider:
Zombies vs Dinosaurs

James Livingood

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 James Livingood

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One: A Bargain

Chapter Two: Too Easy

Chapter Three: Hunger

Epilogue

Meet the Author

PROLOGUE

An article from the New Eye City Government

Titled “Janus”

Published on the network

Date unknown, Author unknown

Blue brains, blues, or zombies as they are commonly referred, did not happen overnight. Like most medical issues, the problem started with a child. Janus Sands, a young toddler from a rural farm community, had trouble walking. Janus’s parents took the child to their pediatrician who then referred a developmental specialist. After extensive and expensive probing, the prognosis was “Metachromatic Leukodystrophy”. A genetic disorder and the second biggest misdiagnosis in history. Faced with mounting medical bills, Janus’s parents chose to wait and try home remedies.

While Janus gained some semblance of mobility, he often shook like a Parkinson's patient. Janus’s parents filled the home with walking bars and canes to help ease the child’s progress. Perhaps surprisingly, speech is thought to have occurred during these formative years. Most agree that mumbling did take place, but the idea of Janus creating fully formed sentences is unknown.

The first real clue came from a cat scan near Janus’s 7th birthday. The scan was repeated several times to verify the accuracy. Janus’s grey brain matter was increasing while his white brain matter did not increase. Unfortunately for humanity, this was the largest misdiagnosis in history. If they had been able to open Janus’s skull, they would have seen blue brain matter, not grey. No one knows if a parent was a carrier, or if both parents were carriers. What is known is that Janus’s myelin, the “white matter” had mutated. Fearing an auto-immune disease, Janus’s doctors began a regimen of drug sampling. Some focused on the symptoms while others were wild guesses at the illness.

When Janus was reaching near 12, his parents tried a bone marrow transplant. After a year of looking for compatible donors, they found a match. History is no longer sure if something went wrong in transplant, or if puberty was a factor. What is known is that shortly after that procedure, the first blue entered the world.

Janus began to crave flesh and started hunting small animals. As his little victims increased, his humanity shrunk back. Nearing 16 Janus attacked and killed his parents. After eating them for a week solid, he disappeared into the woods.

Mislabeled a psychopath, the hunt began for Janus. During the days that followed, it is well documented from the police report that:

“I shot him in the mid-section, beneath the navel. Instead of slumping over he kept coming at me. The wound appeared to stop bleeding nearly instantly. He bit me, but I was able to push him off. It took almost the entire squad firing several dozen shots to finally kill him. The brain was blue.”

As others turned, it was thought that Janus was the start of a rare virus. A virus that allowed a near instant coagulation of blood from wounds and increased rage. We now know, after extensive DNA mapping, that Janus’s kiss is both a DNA defect and a spreadable virus. Furthermore, while rare, there is film of blues mating. Blues often form in small packs of 4-5.

Blues are easy to mistake for human. While human in appearance and movement, they rarely use tools and hunt like wolves. Young blues do not take part but are often spectators. Those exposed to the virus through blood or saliva lose their humanity. We refer to this event as “the clearing” and the process can take 3-4 days. Symptoms often involve shaking and short term memory loss within a few hours. As the days progress, long-term memories are wiped out. The victim becomes more aggressive and agitated. Speech moves from short sentences, to grunts, to nothing at all. By the end of the process, feeding and mating appear to be the primary motivations.

We do not understand the virus or genetic mutation Janus encountered, but we do know that blues appear to focus on eating humans. Blues have been seen feasting on small prey, but only when human hosts are not available. It is not known why “Janus’s Kiss” does not spread to other animals. Testing with chimps would be helpful, but there are none in this part of the world. Several enterprising young minds have tried rats, but they are not changed by the saliva or blood from a blue.

If you encounter a blue, follow this advice:

Don’t Run, Stun!

Blues often hunt for weaker and sick humans. Standing your ground and appearing strong will scare off blues. In the beginning, we had become so used to being the top of the food chain, that the thought of being hunted was frightening. Most of the population ran, and that led to massive feasts. Furthermore, our distaste for mandatory physicals meant pockets of blues formed. Gun owners and others brazen enough to stand their ground often kept their ground. Yet, as humans became replaced, the blue’s tactics became more complex. Soon, only standing your ground with a gun was not enough. The practice still works in isolated regions, but the best escape from a blue is to retreat to a safe city.

New Eye City was formed for just that reason. Survivalists knew how to build flash communities, which would then focus on walls. As many of you know, gasoline fuel was no longer an option as the infrastructure collapsed around humanity. Cars, trucks, and farming equipment gathered rust from disuse. Humanity needed a new approach to surviving.

An enterprising young man noticed the size of birds increasing every year. With the idea of combining a carrier pigeon and package delivery service, he captured several birds. He manipulated DNA from the birds and added in sequences found in Janus’s myelin deformity. A multitude of generations of experimentation later, a series of useful franken-monsters were created. Because of their small brains and massive sizes, these beasts make quick work of farming and clearing land. These large creatures are immune to Janus’s kiss and perform excellently in loud conditions. They are easy to train. They behave like war horses, prone to help charge in and defend our livelihood.

In honor of the past, and to help build our future, we named these creatures dinosaurs.

CHAPTER ONE
A Bargain

I am often left to wonder why a zombie, walking around in the sun, smells better than a pooping dinosaur. The fecal smell always reminded me of an industrial strength cleaner mixed with expired milk, then put into a wood chipper. Perhaps I am a purist, but poop should smell like poop.

Such are my thoughts as I watch the half ton green stegosaurus pull my steel plow across the meadow while also using the bathroom. The plow churned up the earth and jumped when it hit a rock. Even though this was a secure area, I hated the extra noise when I hit a rock. Additional noise was the most common way to attract blue brains. This area was farm classified land, and as such, protected by one of the best containment fences. Still, I had known many other farmers that died from a blue that had been hiding. I paid little attention to how thorough of a job I did, as it made more sense to watch the tree lines.

This crop was simply a test harvest. All the food I produced would be thrown to the dinosaurs. It was “unfit for human consumption”. Once the land was reclaimed from those zombie blues, the soil was considered a bio-hazard for at least a year. Spilled blood could carry the virus for up to 2-3 weeks. People were always paranoid that blue brains would start their harvest in our fields. That is why I took the job, because I didn’t have to do much but keep watch. I knew that the professional farmers viewed what I did like their “canary in a coal mine”. If I died, then only risk hardy fools would work this land. If I survived a season, I would have a chance at selling this sun filled plot to a professional farmer. What they grew would be sold for a premium.

It was a good life, so long as one wasn’t complacent. Relaxing or taking naps had undone many unprofessional farmers. Other new farmers didn’t have the stomach to extract any lingering blues. Sometimes fishing out a rotting blue from a well or a half collapsed wall was hard work. After the heavy work was done, followed by the gruesome work of killing, came the tedious work of purification. Scrubbing blood in a full hazmat suit three times, followed by spreading dirt and salt over the spot. I am not sure if the salt had any effect, beyond a psychological one. Throughout humanity, there was the idea that salt made the perfect purifier.

I had spent yesterday rationing my salts on a blue that decided to hide in an outhouse of sorts. It was the last structure I needed to check, and I had been dreading the task for weeks. The blue was firmly trapped, but you don’t half complete a job. After I had scrubbed for several hours, I made sure to add two coats of dirt and salt, just in case. The next few months would be smooth sailing on this job. With all the outlining buildings being cleaned up, the only tasks left to do were to till the land and keep an eye on the tree-line. The land was nearly finished being reclaimed. By this time next year, a professional would be pulling vegetables and fruits from the ground. It was hard work, but it was almost complete.

As I neared finishing turning up a section of ground, I heard deep thunder claps that did not originate from the cloudless sky. The solid rhythm of thuds announced a dino rider. These guys were worse than the tax collectors, always causing so much damn noise. It would serve this brash bastard if he were the first to be eaten on my farm, so long as I wasn’t the second. The triceratops pulled up a bit away from where I was working, then halted. This practice was only polite. If those shambling monsters wanted a day-time snack, they would walk to this man. That might give me a chance to retreat and live another day. After 20-30 minutes of everyone standing still I made my way over to the rider.

“What is it?” I hissed at the rider.

The man was dressed in a red pea-coat, minus the sleeves. The color was a simple statement to those around him. Blood, the single most lethal thing in this world, was nothing to him. Death and life were both to be mocked openly. Below his pencil thin blond mustache, his lips flexed into a practiced smile.

“Are you the farmer of this land?” He swept his hand across the horizon as if that simple gesture set the land and containment markers.

“I am” was my quick reply. I don’t waste precious sound on frivolous people. His red coat seemed a waste, but the sun glistened on a simple armor underneath. I knew that was not a fashion statement.

“My name is Jean. I am a rider as you can see.” A few loving pats on the dinosaur’s neck helped illustrate the bond he felt for his ride. “Are you Paul, the lower farmer?”

I hated when people said that phrase ‘ lower farmer ‘. The proper terminology was ‘ unprofessional farmer ‘. I didn’t farm lowland like a pure idiot. Blues with high ground were always a problem.

“I am Paul,” I said with a cautiously, slow manner.

The man dug into his side satchel and picked out a small handful of papers. He then began to read them … out loud, like a moron.

“Paul, the pale rider, please sell me the land under your feet right now. I will pay you half of the professional rate and will include unclaimed land adjacent to this area. It is twice as large as what you have now. If you agree, please sign these papers. Jake Fruilton”

Jean handed the documents to me and I read them to verify. Part of me wondered if this pompous rider was surprised I could read. I then signed and passed the papers over.

“Just like that?” Jean said in a shocked manner as he fumbled to grab the papers back. “You're not going to send a counter, or tear up the offer, or think on the matter overnight?”

I nodded and looked away. I was hoping the brief gesture would shove him off my now former property.

Unfazed by a lack of manners, he had the stones to ask me why. I didn’t say anything back to this man, keeping my silence. I don’t waste words on the frivolous. I didn’t reply that I knew Jake Fruilton had a family now. He needed something stable to start on, but was too proud to beg. This trouble was all he had to offer.

Jake was an extra cautious unprofessional farmer. He had taken few risks, including over-manning his land to help prevent any surprise visits. That extra man power always came at a cost. Jake’s sense of worry only appeared to grow as he got married. He spent extra money on safety precautions for his wife, including iron doors and window frames. He never went outside at night, evening, or morning. I was going to call him a recluse and invite him to beer when he told me that his wife was pregnant. He expected me to be happy, overjoyed. That night was rough between us. I told him that family men don’t farm; we farmers die. He resented how much that scared his wife and a shouting match began.

I was left pondering what insanity drives a man to farm with kids, when the messenger started to ride away. His mounts loud footprints kicking up dust and twigs with every thud. The excess of noise snapped me out of my daydream. I had a field to finish, and then I would plan to go into town for the local bar. In addition to being a way to relax, men often went looking for work there. I would need to complete a lot of planning for this new land and gather a crew.

A dank bar in the sun somehow looks worse than at night. Maybe the cracks in the plaster walls show better. Perhaps the floating dust vibrating off cobwebs makes the place feel extra dirty.

So far I found a crew of containers. The containers never worked in groups less than three. While each set of men had a different method, the manner was still the same. Containers put up the fence quickly, followed by putting a more permanent fence behind that one. Some would put up a third fence while others would reinforce both fence lines. The first containers learned how important temporary fencing could be in a life and death struggle. A few seconds could be the difference between staying clean or becoming infected. After the agreement, I ordered the men a round. We drank, making polite conversation and discussing minor details.

Across the bar a man was laughing loudly and slapping the table. The other patrons looked frustrated they were not having as much fun. I had come to this bar for this man. He was a rider, and wild man, named Avant. Like myself, he was an unprofessional farmer. He farmed for all the right reasons. After losing his family to blue brains, he became reckless. He was known for charging in and crushing blues repeatadly when clearing land. I was worried that he would lose his head in the heat of things, but I knew he had done some work for Jake. I knew Jake to be cautious, so I was willing to take the chance on the upstart. I excused myself and began walking over.

“…the poor sod told me I was on the wrong land!” Avant quipped to his tipsy conversation partner. The conversation partner looked away and appeared to be having trouble paying attention. It was only after Avant slapped the table and laughed loudly that the man began laughing.

“Anyone sitting here?” I asked Avant.

“Go ahead! Perhaps you’d care to exchange a glass of beer for a tale? I’ll supply the tale.” Avant turned up the corner of his mouth and pushed a near empty glass toward me.

“I have a different job for you.” I ignored his offer since I didn’t have time to waste chatting all night. “You up for some rough farming? Got a lot of yards to cover, and I can’t cover them myself.”

“You need more than just me,” Avant leaned back and started counting on his fingers, “A crier, a crew of containers, and as many riders as you can find.”

I squinted at his hand and noticed he had reached his fourth finger. Perhaps his drinking pal wasn’t the only one drunk. “I have the containers, you are the other rider, and I still need a crier."

“Hold on… I haven’t agreed to anything yet” Avant tilted his head in a slumped position. “We haven’t even discussed pay.”

“Percentage deal” I replied “You get an equal portion of what the land sells for when it goes pro.”

He looked back at his hand and saw four fingers sticking up. While I wondered if he was estimating a quarter, I didn’t push the point.

“And I’ll buy you a round,” I said to sweeten the conversation.

“You got a deal. And I’ll introduce you to our crier too…” He seemed to suddenly sober. “First drinks first!” he announced shaking his nearly empty glass “Then you can go over some topography details.”

Two beers later, the last crew member to aquire was the crier. There might only be one in the whole settlement and I needed him for this to work. Why would someone yell for blue brains? It was so backwards to cause intentional sound to stir the blue brains up and to their feet. Often these young men dreaming of adventure found themselves hip deep in a nightmare. I didn’t understand them, but understanding was not required. All I had to do was hire one. Right now, I had a “resume” that the crier sitting across from me was good. Item number one on his resume was that he was still breathing. Resume item number two was Avant’s word.

The crier looked straight at me. “Don’t doubt me. I will set off three noisemakers then hide. Each noise maker is scheduled to run for ten minutes. I then leave those and set three more noise makers in a new area. I repeat this cycle for as long as it takes. After that, it is up to you to clean up.”

The man opposite to me had a darker shade of skin that wrapped around bulges of muscle. His arms reminded me of large soft balls stuffed in a sock. I was pretty sure that the muscles were not just to impress women. A crier’s ability to pull themselves up and away from danger was how they stayed alive. That required fast thinking and strong arms.

“Solomon, I think I can use you. I assume the typical deal of a percentage works? Do you have a wife or girlfriend to give your share… just in case?”

Solomon snarled a little at me. It was just a lip twitch and squint of the eyes, but those signs showed a storm underneath. I was reminded that I didn’t understand town criers. If I lost this one, my whole plan would blow up.

“I’ll collect. I haven’t died yet, pale rider” Solomon hissed. “Plus, I always pack a plan D.”

I nodded, unsure if I heard B or D but not wanting to ask. Everything I asked him appeared to somehow offend. I could not lose this man from my crew. I began to tell him about my plan. He would start by drawing all those shambling monsters towards the center. Avant and I would then mow down these creatures. When we felt comfortable, I would hop up on the T-Rex and finish the surrounding area. While I mopped up, the containers would build the permanent fence. After fencing and cleansing the whole property, everyone got paid in beer. In a year, we all got paid in cash.

“So you need a signal when I’ve started crying” Solomon asked me with a stern face. That was such an odd phrase to hear from this huge man. I needed to be careful to control my urge to smile, as I did not want to insult this man.

“I have a flare gun. Once we see the signal, we erupt toward the center. Your nerves are critical here.” I leaned toward him and lowered my voice, the small smile dissipating on my face. “Too soon and we lose momentum. Too late and they fade into the background again.”

“I’ll make sure it is timed right” Solomon said as he took the flare gun from my hand. His grip tightened quickly and I thought he might break the gun right there. “You better not be as dumb as you look, Pale Rider. Do not hesitate when I launch this. If you wait too long, the blues won’t be the only ones out for blood.”

I frowned, nodded and leaned back. I kept my eyes locked on his to show him I understood his words. Tomorrow afternoon we would start. With my crew assembled, I finished my drink. Lucky for me, as it was last call.

The night slipped into the morning and the morning into day. Everyone sat on their dinosaur mounts, tense with the task at hand. I had a triceratops while Avant had a stegosaurus. No words were exchanged, which I felt was the correct way to do things. Once we saw that flare bloom fire petals in the sky, we would charge towards the center. The plan was to just sweep through several times and then the t-rex would clean the surrounding area. Quick, easy, and then beer all around.

CHAPTER TWO
Too Easy

Avant was massaging his temples when the plan was thunderously shattered by a panicked dinosaur. Clearing land rarely went to plan, but it was rare that it went off course so soon.

The vegetation deeper in the forest was the first sign of trouble. The commotion started with cracking trees as a large animal thumped out of the nearby forest. As if being saddled in a giant rodeo, the brontosaurus kicked and bucked with its back legs. The beast kept jumping from left to right as if something were riding it. Our simple plan gave way to my bellowing commands between the bleating roar of the long-necked dinosaur.

“Re-group point! Re-group point!” I yelled to my crew, pointing down the fence line. This order would cause a lot of noise, but a quiet operation was no longer an option. We also had to continue the plan. Solomon was still preparing for our sweep, though I couldn’t imagine a better crier than a loud, pained dinosaur. Were there ants on its back? No. Those were zombies. The brontosaurus must have been foolish to stop for vegetation or bed down nearby.

It took me a few moments of staring to realize that I hadn’t been moving. Instead, I was transfixed on the scene slowly coming up closer and closer to me. When I realized how near the dinosaur was, I kicked my ride into action and got away. The others had already left long ago. They needed little prompting when a crazed dinosaur was involved.

I followed the broken trail of bushes and trees to where the others in my crew had gone. I stopped up near the center of the group, who looked even more nervous than before.

“Did anyone see a flare?” I asked a little more shrill than I wanted. A darting of eyes told me that we had all forgot to keep an eye out for it during the dinosaur rampage. “Let’s keep an eye out for it. Solomon is counting on us.”

Had we missed the flare? Was Solomon being slowly suffocated in a swarm of hungry blue zombies? Why had there been a brontosaurus out here? Something wasn’t feeling right. Something about the way the dinosaur panicked just didn’t feel right. Clearing land gives you a sixth sense for an expired situation, and this felt downright sour. With each passing brainstorm, I grew more and more queasy. I almost missed the small bloom of light, a little off from where I had been looking. I realized I forgot to calibrate for the new location.

“Alright. Time to work gentlemen.” I told the group as I grasped the reigns.

We kept pace together going through the brush toward the source of the flare. As expected we saw crowds of blue brain zombies trying to swarm a tree. Our crier almost appeared bored. He made a show of yawning as if getting chased up a tree by blues were an everyday occasion. Perhaps for him it was.

The blue brains crunched and flew apart as the dinosaurs ripped through. They had been taught to swing their heads as they plowed a field, giving them a dual advantage. Not only would blues find it harder to cling, but it would clear more blues from the path. The group broke apart to complete another pass through the pale flesh. I was surprised we hadn’t found more of the blue brains. Maybe this crier survived by being soft spoken.

“Solomon!” I yelled at the man in the tree. “Is this all the zombies you could find? I am used to doing several dozen passes, not just two.”

“I did my part, Pale Rider.” Solomon spun the words with contempt down at me. “Maybe you got a good deal on the land?”

“Maybe” I replied half-heartedly. I was looking around for more blues to clear. Sometimes they come in herds or flocks. Perhaps this group was just the start of the full assault. When I didn’t see anything moving I mumbled to myself. “Maybe too good.”

“Solomon!” I yelled up to the tree. “Come down, let’s try again further down. Maybe we just picked a bad spot.”

“You didn’t pick the wrong spot, Pale Rider.” Solomon was leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of something. “Here comes some company now. I can see the trees moving. Best prepare yourself!”

I looked the direction he had been leaning towards. Nothing came to view. I was holding my breath, though out of instinct. As if preparing to drown myself in the next few upcoming moments. The mind had to be clear and ready. I tightened the reigns in my hands, making sure they wouldn’t fall to the ground. I have to be clear and ready… clear and ready… clear and ready.

CHAPTER THREE
Hunger

A giant green something poked above the trees and then was gone again. I hadn’t been looking up, so I didn’t catch a good look at whatever that was. Maybe it was some bird or something. Something turned out to be the correct guess, as the same brontosaurus from earlier crashed through toward us. The blues still bit at the animal, but the dinosaur was distinctive in its pattern. The beast focused on stamping us out of existence. As we fled to either side, the lumbering giant swung its head like a club. Avant was knocked back 15 feet and collapsed in a heap. The sickening crunch of him landing told me he would not be getting back up. His sudden death was a stark reminder why men like us shouldn’t have families.

I then saw something I shouldn’t have. Something I knew was impossible. The zombies were not all biting. Some were just clinging on while the ones on the other side were biting. Several detached and ran towards my friend's corpse, devouring him. Were they riding the dinosaur? Dumb, mindless killing machines had figured out a way to ride a dinosaur?

Perhaps they tapped into some predatory instinct. Perhaps they knew how to make the dinosaurs flock.

“Move! Move!” came a distant voice.

Perhaps they had a way of motivating the beasts in a way no sane person would ever try. After all, who in their right mind would try biting a dinosaur?

“For all the peace! Move Pale Rider!” came the voice again. It was Solomon up in the tree.

I snapped out of my curiosity and pushed my beast away from the brontosaurus. I chose a path to the left that was cut when we first swept through the blue brain zombies. The brush was clear and perhaps the beast wouldn’t pick up the sound as much as cutting a fresh path would. My hands tightened on the reigns until my knuckles were white. I had a feeling my name, Pale Rider, was well deserved at that moment. I broke free to a valley, hoping to have a moment to think.

As I turned to look back, a head above the trees was looking at me. Of course! The dinosaur is tall enough that it can look above the trees to see where I was going. I decided to bail into some brush and try my luck at not getting stepped on.

It took little persuading my triceratops to flee. I forcefully chose a path with lots of bushes and hedges. When I felt the tree canopy was thick, along with the brushes, I leapt off the dinosaur. I landed on a hard rock that felt like a punch to the ribs. If I were lucky, I would escape this encounter with just a few bruised ribs. I ran away from where I had landed. I only had moments before my landing spot was stamped down into the earth. I froze in place, eyes wide looking at where I had just been. If I had been even a half second later, I would be human paste. I froze like a statue, partly to minimize sound, partly from panic.

The brontosaurus caught up to my ride and I heard a brief squeal as it got clubbed on the side. Not sure how blues figured out this trick, but they had done so in spades. They knew these dinosaurs far better than we ordinary humans. A chill went up my back at that moment. Maybe they were clearing the land of us. I knew that this land was too good of a deal.

Cursing myself, I moved through the trees and brush as quietly as possible. I wanted to reach where Solomon was last at. Perhaps his plan B or D or E or whatever, was something we could use. Perhaps he just had a way to escape and leave this land. It would be a long trek to get back home.

It took the better part of a tense hour to get back the ground my triceratops had made in minutes. I discovered the tree he had been up in. Thankfully, the tree was still upright. Yet, he was nowhere to be seen. There was only one option left open to me.

I kept sneaking down the path we had cleared previously. Perhaps if I was quiet and consistent with my pace, I would get out. Soft groans came from behind me. Of course! The blues who were eating my fellow rider. Apparently they wanted a taste of both of us. There weren’t many, but I didn’t know if they had a way to signal more dinosaur riders. We knew that their moans attracted more, but would it bring those riding the dinosaur? I tried to move quicker and made some darting movements around shrubs. Hopefully, I could lose the zombie tail I had gained. When I thought I was far enough away, I zipped into a small dark cave. It was risky because I wouldn’t know who was inside. Still, zombies liked shambling in the daylight. More prey outside than in caves. I took a vantage point near the opening of the cave to look out.

I saw my tail break through the brush. They had a pretty good scent for me. They didn’t appear to know where I was at for the moment. The only thing near me was the dripping of water. I knew that light sound wouldn’t cause suspicion, so I kept still. They pawed at the ground in an odd manner. Why did they touch the ground? Perhaps they saw a squirrel or an unusual indent? The dripping water behind me seemed to get a little louder. I looked back, but couldn’t spot where the drip was coming from. I didn’t see any streams or rivers near here, so I wasn’t sure why there would be dripping water. I heard it again, this time right beside me. An injured blue had been slowly scraping closer to me, and I had assumed it was water. The creature swung its jaws in my direction just as I moved my leg. That was close.

The other blue darted their heads in my direction. It was time to move again. I got about ten feet away from the opening of the cave, when the whole thing collapsed. A giant bang had caused the ground to move. Some distant boom toward the left was causing things to shake. I froze again. It couldn’t be…

The green dinosaur head appeared in the distant trees. It looked like the creature was head banging to music. Or perhaps it was fighting something off. I didn’t want to know what was going on. This time I used my adrenaline to the full advantage and moved out of there. I no longer cared about how much sound, or lack of sound, I was making. I had to get out. I had to get safe. I had to get home.

I zipped by several blue eating a deer. Only one looked up at me as I went past their feast. I didn’t care if they tailed me. I could outrun the blue horde for now. My legs started to burn from all the movement. I knew that I needed shelter and quick. I also knew that any idea of shelter would mean death. Zombies clung to the idea of shelter as if it were a ripe fruit. They just grew their numbers around any shelter and slowly clawed their way in. I didn’t know how long I could hold out this pace though. I stopped for a second and panted. My head began to swim as I saw white fuzz cloud my vision. If I passed out now, I wouldn’t wake up. Had to fight that white fuzz in my head and my eyes. I can’t pass out. I decided that a tree would be my best bet. Perhaps I could get high enough to hide under the leaves. Once I was sure I could move without passing out, I found the closest tree and began to climb. My zombie tail decided my shoes were not meant for climbing and pulled them off. They then went for my socks, hoping to get the foot next. I got up in the tree far enough where I could be safe, if just for a brief moment. I kept climbing.

I had found an excellent spot where two thick branches met and made a natural seat. I sat there, breathing hard and doing my best to keep conscious. If I passed out now, I would fall, and the zombies wouldn’t be the cause of death. That notion struck me as funny, and I laughed. It was a crazy hopeless laugh. That being surrounded by zombies and attacking dinosaurs, my death would come from falling out of a tree. The chuckle grew louder in my throat. To anyone listening it would sound like a mad cackle. Some crazed fool was laughing at the top of his lungs. I didn’t get long to enjoy this new flavor of insanity before the next one came crashing through.

I didn’t notice the branches above me thin out; I just saw them violently shake. I then saw a green flash and the branches near my feet disappeared, snapping and breaking free. The brontosaurus had heard my laughter and was now eating the tree I was in like corn on the cob. I scrambled into the middle of the tree, hoping to both escape notice and consumption. The pace set by the dinosaur felt hurried and unnatural. I saw most of the branches were not being eaten, but rather broken and spit out. My cover started to dwindle quickly. Once I was exposed, it would be a simple matter of a forward bite to end my life. With few options left, an idea came to my head. If I had blood left in my face, it would have drained at the idea. However, with all the desperation, massive risk was no longer something to be weighed out. Finding a way to live was going to take a lot of risks, with steep consequences. I inhaled, squinted, and jumped blindly into the air.

The brontosaurus snatched branches where I had been. I clawed at the creature's neck, trying to gain a finger. I got a hold but was swinging violently with the creature's momentum. This movement felt like jumping onto a moving car. A dinosaur is not meant to be saddled in this manner, let alone with all the beast’s power and momentum being flung around. My arm curled in the wrong direction and snapped.

High on adrenalin, I ignored the pain as best I could and had enough presence of mind to grab hold with the other arm. I held through the swing but would not hold through the dinosaur swinging its head again. Luckily for me, the dinosaur didn’t swing its head again. Unlucky for me, the zombies that were controlling the brontosaurus took note of me and were advancing fast. I had found myself at the base of the neck of the dinosaur with mere yards before the zombies were upon me. I looked down at my broken arm. I flopped the appendage against my body several times. Again, a mad chuckle burst through my lips, and anger filled my eyes. Disgust filled my heart. Primal blood lust pounded in my ears like a war drum. These blue brain bastards had awoken the actual threat. I ran… at them.

As I neared, I leaned back and did a small jump towards them. The dinosaur moved almost immediately after my feet were off the rough green skin of the brontosaurus. My feet, held together, led my momentum and hit the lead zombie in the chest. It was a death move, falling on your back around zombies. If I had time to calculate a strategy, I would have never chosen such a crazed stunt. I was tired, hurt badly, and running on adrenaline alone. My feet connected squarely with the lead zombies chest. It got pushed back into the crowd. The shifting of position, and the dinosaurs movement ,threw a small crowd of zombies off. I was in a perfect position to one arm hug and hold the creature. It was an utterly horrible position, as the panicked dinosaur saw its opportunity to roll and smash the threat on its back. The ground came up quickly. I tried to release my fingers but found they wouldn’t let go.

I released too late and was thrown sideways into the air by the downward fling. It was enough to avoid most the damage. Unfortunately, my leg got caught under the dinosaur rolling on the ground and was crushed instantly. Blinding pain from both my arm and a leg crashed in. I passed out.

I don’t know how long I was out for. When I woke up, I didn’t understand. I knew something bad had happened. What was going on? Why was I outside again? Nessie?

A giant explosion fired above me, and blood rained down. The brontosaurus gave a death roar as if cursing the sky and fell on its side. Every inch was quickly soaked in the falling blood. I was amazed at how salty this blood was. Such an odd thought to think when your dying, how salty blood can be. I laid there, smacking my lips in a daze, breathing raggedly. Did I have to know what was going on? Such a beautiful day to fade off into.

“Pale Rider!” came a voice from a red tree. Wait, that was no tree. The head poked out from the tree trunk and revealed a giant red t-rex. Sharp teeth and fiery eyes looked around in hate and hunger. Upon its back was Solomon. He was letting go of the reigns around the t-rex and was holding a red baton. I stared at him approaching off the t-rex and passed out again.

“…Light, if I had not seen it. I hope one of us survives for this tale.” Solomon’s voice came through the fog.

How had he made up so much ground? He was just a tiny dot a moment ago. Now he was holding me and dragging me onto the t-rex. I looked at his hand and saw the red baton. It had string attached to it. Why was such a strong buff guy holding onto such a feminine baton? It took my mind a few seconds to connect the dots, but I had lost a lot of blood.

“Dynamite.” I croaked out, “Your plan D? Or was the D for dinosaur?”

He looked down at me, smiled, and said with calm care “Yes”.

“Crazy bastard” I commented to the sky.

“Says the man who leapt from a tree, did a wrestling move against zombies on a dinosaur, and somehow is still talking” Solomon retorted. “But that is not what baffles me. Men will do what it takes to survive. What baffles me is that you were laughing the whole time. Like this chaos was a fun enjoyable experience. If anyone is a crazy bastard, your it.”

He had a valid point. Maybe not. I wasn’t sure. What were we talking about again? Wrestling? Who was wrestling in the woods?

“I’ve patched your arm and made a stint for your leg. The bone didn’t rupture the skin, but I can’t guarantee you're not bleeding out inside. Let’s remove a path home.” Solomon then tied me to a makeshift chair he had created on the back of the t-rex. It looked like a lawn chair with the legs ripped off and missing most of the backing. Dark red stains and mud covered the tattered, cheap chair. I could not have picked a more glorious battle throne.

“Mush Doggie, Mush,” I told the red hulk of power beneath my legs. Solomon looked at me and a smile tweaked his lips.

“Crazy bastard. You are having fun.” He shook his head, took the reigns and slapped them hard against the t-rex.

I was out for several hours. The first time the t-rex’s foot fell on the ground, and the pain rattled through me, I passed out. Night had fell around me while I was in an endless black dream. I opened my eyes to the night and a fire nearby. The silhouette of a man sitting and sharpening his knife was evident. The slick sound the blade made on the sharpening stone reminded me of teeth on bone. Grinding, but with a wetness. My mouth was dry. I went to stand up but stumbled as my leg decided not to work. Foolish action, as I just remembered that I had a broken leg. My brain was on some sort of auto-pilot.

“Where…” I mumbled out. As I got a clear look around a saw a young blue standing and watching Solomon. The strong man appeared to not care about the young blue.

“Deeper in the forest.” He replied while keeping his eyes shifting around. His eyes darted to the side. He jumped up with a raised knife and started yelling incoherently. I then saw the blue running toward him turn around and run back into the night. He turned and shouted at the blue child, who also ran off into the night.

“The T-Rex decided to stop moving without a proper meal. Some blues were eating a deer, so I am letting the T-Rex eat that dead deer. They are testing us while their main force sleeps. They want us weak enough to slaughter easily. Or perhaps they hope we will draw more help and give them more to eat.” Solomon sat back down and resumed his watch. The T-rex scratched an itch on its belly with a leg.

“Are you.. Watching the dinosaur?” I asked him. My eyes darted over to the massive creature.

“Why would I watch that?” he asked with venom in his voice.

“Because they know how to ride.”

Solomon’s eyes stopped darting and focused back on me for a few seconds. Perhaps he was testing how lucid I currently had been. Realizing I was coherent, he then eyed the massive creature. His head moved around, trying to look from multiple angles to make sure the T-Rex was clean. I noticed movement behind him.

“Behind!” I yelled.

He twisted and screamed incoherently again. The blue brain ran back in the forest.

“This is going to be a long night, Pale Rider. Good thing I am smarter than you give me credit for.”

I didn’t remember ever insulting this man, but somehow he had taken offense. If I were unbroken, I would argue, but right now I enjoyed being alive thanks to this man.

“Do you have something planned?” I asked with a bit more pleading in my voice.

“If you don’t die from injuries and the blues don’t catch me off my guard,” Solomon said, “I have my plan E.”

“Plan E?” I asked. Maybe he was much smarter than me. I had only figured out one contingency, and we used that in the first few minutes. My re-group point was a last resort.

“Everyone” he replied back, smiling, but still darting his gaze around. “While you were drinking yourself stupid with Avant, I went to most of the bar patrons and made them a deal. If I see them the next night, I will buy them all a drink. If I am not back in the bar, I will give them part of my share to come rescue me the next day. I haven’t stayed alive by being greedy.”

Rage filled me and I tried to stand up. Again, my broken leg refused to cooperate, and I shambled toward him.

“Some of those people have families!” I yelled up at him. “You may not be greedy, but you may have just broken families with this hellish plot of land.”

He didn’t reply. I couldn’t tell if he was feeling guilty or thinking of something else. If I could stand, I would punch him. The blues would surely see us fighting and take the moment to swarm. I wouldn’t have cared. You don’t risk family when farming; that’s the rule. I tried to sit and glare at this coward of a man. Saving his skin by risking others was not something to be casually thrown around. If we survived the night, I would no longer do business with him.

A giant bellow of a roar broke my gaze. The blues had the T-rex panicked, and the beast was stomping trying to squash them. The T-Rex broke its lead and started a frightened dash into the forest. Solomon looked scared. If that T-Rex came back through here, he wouldn’t have a chance against the thing. Yelling incoherently may be enough for a blue, but not for a panicked dinosaur. I could see Solomon’s posture shrink into a crouch and his grip on the blade tightened.

My rage not fully suppressed by surprise, I said “They stole your ride. Did you plan that? Plan T?”

Solomon tensed as if I had struck him. He turned toward me with murder and madness in his eyes. The stress had finally brought him up to the tipping point, and I had shoved him over with my comment. In the distance, moonlight showed trees swaying from the T-Rex’s attempt to shake its new riders. I could see the monster had failed or was trying to outrun them. Unlucky for me, it was circling back this way. Seeing the trees sway, the truth sank in. I had blues, dinosaurs, and a crazed man out for my blood. Here I was, next to a fire, with a broken leg and arm. A funny thing happens when you accept death. You can mock the process. I started laughing again. Loudly and without care. Who would kill me first? Who?

As Solomon raised his knife to thrust into my chest, the T-Rex stomped where Solomon had been standing. Solomon was knocked off his feet and stumbled to the ground. He looked up at the giant beast, about to squash us both.

It was then a second dinosaur, my original ride - the triceratops- broke through the brush. My dinosaur also had blues infesting it. Neither set of blues knew about the other. The horns of the triceratops dug into the side of the T-Rex. Out of a killer nature, the T-Rex ignored the biting blues and ripped the hind quarter out of the triceratops. The large red T-rex snapped its head firmly in a direction and threw the chunk into the night. The triceratops fell immediately. The T-rex staggered a few steps, then fell over with a loud thud. What blues didn’t get crushed disappeared into the forest.

Solomon and I were both lying on the ground watching in amazement. The power of these beasts was far from what we even could imagine. He looked over to me. For a second, I saw the murder return to his eyes. He then started laughing in my face. I joined in and we laughed together. I am not sure what the blues thought. Two men were laughing wildly in the night. Two men inches away from death multiple times.

It was then I saw a group of trees shifting in our direction. I could hear men screaming and coming toward us. It looked like Solomon’s plan “everyone” was working.

EPILOGUE

I hobbled up wooden stairs on a pair of crutches. Stairs and crutches were not a good combination. The process took me 10 minutes, so I hoped that no one was watching me make a fool of myself. I looked at a large wooden door that was carved with a deliberate care and determination. I would need to steady myself before knocking, so I didn’t pound myself off the porch. I realized, shortly after knocking, that I didn’t give enough room for the door to swing open. In a slight panic, I maneuvered away from the swinging door.

Solomon answered shortly. He had a broad grin on his face and beckoned me inside. Inside was much like what I would have expected from a man like Solomon. The cabin walls had skulls from various animals. Old soda signs hung from the ceiling, put up there with care. I was a little nervous walking underneath them, but was reminded that Solomon rarely did things halfway. He went over to a table and pulled out a chair for me.

“Thank you,” I told him politely.

“Did you want anything to drink? To eat?” He asked me with brightness in his voice. It was weird to see him smiling. I wondered what he was hiding from me. Rough men like this are not polite, and they don’t smile this much. The thought of a trap soured my stomach.

“No” I replied back his direction. He had already turned his back toward me and was heading for the kitchen. He disappeared for a half a minute, then returned, two beers in hand. He set them on the table with a clink.

“You could have killed the bar patrons, you know.” I reached for my beer and watched how he took my statement.

“But I didn’t. My plan got us out. Well, all except Avant; rest his bones.” Solomon grabbed my beer before I grabbed it. He popped the cap with a bottle opener and handed the beer to me. He then took his beer and opened it.

I raised my beer and repeated “rest his bones”. We drank in silence for a few moments. I then heard a sound behind us. Were there more men here? Did Solomon have company over?

A woman appeared from a doorway and moved gracefully toward Solomon. He tilted his head back and kissed her as she passed by. Her hands grazed over his jawline as she kissed with passion. After the warm embrace, she walked to the other side of the room. His eyes lingered hungrily on her curves.

“Girlfriend?” I asked.

“Wife” he replied.

It took me a few seconds to connect the word wife in my brain. Solomon had a family. He was a family man that had just gone with me on the craziest clearing I had ever been on. I calmly took a pull of my beer, then got up. I hobbled over to him and punched him as hard as I could in his mouth.

I showed myself out the door. That was easy to do. A ranting woman behind me was all the motivation I needed to find some quiet. In the middle of her yelling, I also noticed Solomon had remained silent. Solomon was staring a hole in my back, smiling as he watched me leave.

Meet the Author:

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James Livingood was born in Montana, raised with three brothers, and provided trouble for two parents. In his 20's he fell in love with the Pacific Northwest. He moved out to Seattle after college and started a life by providing IT Consulting. In 2014, he started the writing adventure.