Doomsday Man Ch. 01: Primal Scream

"It's lively out here today. The people love the sunshine. After a maddening winter and torrential spring, it's good to feel the heat. It's just about the only thing worth living for nowadays. It's been close to five years now. Hard to imagine how well Humanity has thrived considering the Hell it's had to adapt to. Before then the world was normal. Teeming with bill collectors and stock brokers, bike couriers and dog walkers, now it's the other way around. I'll get to that in a bit. That was before the greatest mistake Mankind ever made. Upsetting the balance of God.

"Archaeologists down in the Yucatan unearthed a frigging spaceship if you can believe that. Laying there dormant since life began. Somehow they figured out the ship was more a machine that was encouraging life to evolve at a gradual pace. The wrong person touched one simple button and a tiny wave of energy turned into a nightmarish typhoon. Suddenly, the entire damned world was engulfed in evolution gone mad. Darwin's theory would have changed to AW FUCK!

"Who knew that God was a few dead aliens on a starship? Scientists determining the course of creation. Word is that one of the aliens is still alive. Suspended animation if to be believed. Trust me when I say anything is possible. They say the Central American government is holding him captive and attempting to fix our mistake. Communication of course is next to nothing. Who the hell speaks Alienese?

"That energy wave altered the whole planet right down to the nutrients in the soil. Plant life has matured and in some areas even became sentient. Chlorophyll is blood to a plant so why not. Who knew that talking to our plants would one day lead to them talking back. Now that's what I call a greenhouse gas. You have to laugh and watch Little Shop of Horrors, that Ghostbuster guy's a hoot.

"Some of the world's inhabitants have remained unchanged. The CDC determined that blood type was the beneficial factor in keeping things as it was at least in Homo Sapiens. TypO's they call them. Anyone with a Type O Negative blood type stayed characteristic to what God had in mind. At least I like to think so, we really have no clue.

"Of course, I'm not a Type O. I'm an APOZ. A Positive, means I evolved physically. Mutated in ways the CDC can't even explain. You see, each blood type has a different effect on the system.

"BNEG's or B Negatives are psychotic mindless zombies that thrive on killing to survive. Right out of a Romero film, Night of the Living, style. They're not dead just making everyone in their way dead. They run in riot packs. Cannibal's all the way.

"BPOZ or B Positives are literally animals. Whatever genetic code was near them at the time of the wave determined their breed. Humanimals is the best way to describe them, Island of Dr. Moreau shit, but that term was copyrighted. If you were near a Raccoon, you now wear the bandit's mask. In most of the BPOZ nation the animalistic side has taken over. They move about the world as scavengers or carnivores. Depending on the mammal. Some of these bastards retained their human intellect and cashed in making a New World Mafia if you will. Gangs emerged. Doing their best to claim the world as theirs. We humans, well almost humans too, do our best to survive and pray we find a way to remedy out affliction. Trouble is, some of us like the results. Guy's like Me.

"See, I'm what they call a perfect specimen. My blood type conceived the notion to make itself better. My cell structure blossomed into pure muscle that never tires when exerted. Estimates say I'm as strong as ten men rolled up into one body. This includes reflexes and bone density. My brain has the capacity to adapt to what it see's. Essentially a photographic mind with a response that brings along the body. Ultimate soldier they say. I fight the good fight. Soldier of my own free will.

"Not only that but my DNA can somehow mimic animal characteristics without even being near them. Now that's the fun part. Try wearing fish gills and having your lungs reroute to breath underwater. Fun but ruins my dashing good looks until I no longer need to be a freakin' fish stick out of water. There's so much more to tell you. But, for now, let's just get through the introductions.

"My names Hector Horatio Hostile. Don't ask, my Mom was an English Lit Professor, my Dad an Archaeologist at New York State University. Both of them were wrestling fans back in the day. Say they got the idea for my name from some powerhouse called Triple H. Why the hell not! I'm a survivor. So far!"

********

New York City, Queens. Mostly Kings though!

Day fires waned along the street corners from the final embers of burning barrels that warmed the homeless against the night chill. Flicker mostly, the remains of sifting ash. The beasts skulk in the shadows of tenements, and car shelters. Pretty much wherever they can call home. Barricades noting territorial traits block off streets making it nearly impassible. That is unless you're prepared for it. Hector Hostile always came prepared. In this case he guided his favorite mode of transport.

RAMROD was a massive Monster truck of chrome titanium steel modified for all terrains. The colossal tires alone were solid steel coated with rubber that were virtually void of ever going flat. The glass was shatterproof unless it were hit with a rocket launcher. It's fuel injectors were based on recycled nuclear waste and well contained to avoid radioactive exposure. Needless to say running out of gas was impossible. His transport was specifically built for survival. Even food and shelter were accessed in the extended cab should something cripple it. The trucks bed had a retractable canopy topper to house either himself or any retrievals of TypO's in the field fighting to reach safety. Salvaging humanity was the top priority. At least that's what President Harvey Cadbury dictated, he being part Rabbit was not a vote of confidence.

Pulling over to park, Hector from inside his cab surveyed the area by more than mere eyesight. Radar and heat signature scanners probed the surrounding block. The radar was honed to embrace TypO cell structures. A tracking device for the normal. Today's mission led him to Queen's in search of a radio transmission from an old Catholic Church. A ham radio at that. Someone was making a distress call to the outside world.

In Queens the ratio of breeds were more Animal driven than human, humans taking risks primarily. We won't get into the Mutate pop, those fuckers are as unpredictable as Hades. Missionary's at best trying to bring God back into the equation were the targets. Not many knew of the existence of the safehouse Hector had helped establish in the Bronx, one of multiple Safehouses with labs and provisions throughout the city and the world. Only that they wanted to live. Hopes remained a dream. Heaven on Earth!

"Hector to Fort Apache. I've located the transmission source. St. Malachi Church. I'm getting ready to leave Ramrod. I'll keep in touch." Before he departs Hector Hostile ties back his long red hair into a pony tail and grins at himself in the rearview mirror. Handsome devil was getting ready to go to Church. Time to repent! Attaching a forearm gauntlet to his left arm and a headband that contained a lowered microphone attachment over his jawline for communication he opens his truck door and climbs down as a voice returns from his dispatch. "Copy that Hector. Be careful out there Love." Hector frowns at the feminine voice, not his favorite ally, "I'm good, Morgana. Just maintain radio silence until spoken to. Never know who's listening."

"Good luck Handsome." Her only response, led Hector to kneel down and tie his left boot while scanning the Church from top to bottom. He winced at the steps leading up. "Fecal matter everywhere. Gotta love it." A bandana used to mask the scent really didn't help. Unsheathing a .44 Magnum handgun from beneath his left armpit holster he stands erect at a full 6 foot, 2 inches in height. Taking his steps cautiously he moved forward up the concrete staircase.

At the top he cautiously opened the Churches front door and peered inside before daring to enter into the outer lobby. Leaving the door ajar he journeys deeper into the cathedral. It was beautiful inside even with shattered stained glass windows. The remaining shards offered a brilliant array of color as the sun's rays filtered in. Moving down the center aisle toward the pulpit he monitored the tracking signals fluttering light on his arm gauntlet which covered the spectrum of even a Geiger counter should it be needed. Each step the light flickered faster, not from radiation but from motion.

Reaching the dais he notes the light stop cold. He was literally right on top of them. Narrowing his eyes he surveys the floor in thought, "Baptismal chamber. Nice hiding spot. " Stomping his boot on the floor as if in Morse code he listened for fearful activity.

"I'm a friend. My people heard your call for help. Come on out." Long moments of mistrust expel until a lock is opened from within and a door built into the floor rises an inch. Stepping back Hector gave them space enough for whoever was inside to get a better look at him. Catching a glimpse the door opens further to reveal a beautiful set of steel blue eyes.

"Pardon the pun but do you make a bad habit of flirting with those soul stealers?" A Nun glares up cautiously prepared to drop the door back down in a heartbeat of distress, his flirtations did not assist belief in her human savior. If not for God in her heart guiding her she might have locked herself back in. Knowing his flirt was badly timed Hector smiled at her youthful face warmly to distill her distrust, "Hello, Sister. I'm the cavalry. My name's Hector. How many of you are there?" He knew already but hoped conversation might calm her nerves.

She swallows hoarsely from dehydration then coughs up, "Only two of us. Myself and Father Timmons." The door opens totally tilting back to be held by hinges as she crawls up to embrace Hector's withheld open right hand. Hector notes white hair all over her black robe. "Who's shedding?" He brushes her off getting a tad too close to her breasts.

"That would be Father Timmons." Hector withdrew his palm and peered down into the baptismal pool to find a curled up old Priest. A BPOZ by the look of it. Merged with a common house cat. "Here Kitty, Kitty." Hector couldn't help himself as the Nun scowled.

"Please be more respectful."

Hector nods knowing she was right, his humor almost always offensive, "Sorry! Come on out Father. Let's get you two to safety before any scavengers come calling."

With a shrill hiss the Priest rises and literally jumps out of his hiding spot to lurch forward and stand on all fours. Hector squints at the Priest's feline nature as the Nun kneels to calm her mentor. "He is a friend. Remain calm." She looks back up at Hector almost tearfully, praying he truly was a friend. "It has been so long hiding here. We had nearly given up hope. I recently managed to piece together an old radio and had hoped God would send someone to find us." Hector nods with his hands at his sides expressing swagger and ego.

"God works in mysterious ways, Sister-?"

"Sister Mary Valentine." She smiles vaguely. Her savior was suave and charming in a rugged kind of way.

Hector muses at her name, "Gotta love that. Well this is your Be Mine day Heartbreaker!"

She blushes when a shrill crackling noise coming from the walls haunts them. Hector puts a hand up to be silent, his .44 Magnum poised for action. He scopes out defining cracks in the walls of the church that almost appeared as if breathing.

"We need to go." He whispered with a finger to his lips, "Come on."

She helps the Father move forward in his nervous stature, his back arching upwards at the enigmatic sounds around them. Coaxing the Priest to follow her as she steps ahead with Hector she reacts with a whisper of her own, "What's causing the walls to do that?"

Hector reaches the lobby threshold and turns, "Termites! Safe bet there's half your congregation, hiding out behind the scenes. Luckily, they're not carnivorous."

Suddenly, the ceiling above the lobby turbulently collapsed between they and the front door. As the rubble dust clears a blackened beast stands in their way shaking off the falls shock to his system. It's head raises with deadly black eyes and whiskers that whip about at it's overactive sinus cavity. It had smelled dinner. As it swiftly turns to face a gun in it's face its eyes bulge.

"You dirty rat." Hector mimicked James Cagney! Little known fact Hector loved the classics.

Before He could even fire off a shot he hears the Priest squall and pounce around him. The rat had just been attacked by the house cat. Hector raising an eyebrow reached out to clutch the Nun by her wrist, "We don't have time for this. If there's one rat there's a hundred. Let's go!"

Tugging his arm Mary Valentine resisted, "No. Wait. That's Old Mister Carver. He had a pet rat named Seamus". Hector shakes his head at her recognition knowing it was too late for her concern in saving him, "Seamus on him! He's converted to his beast side. There's no going back. Come on before it's too late."

Cat and Rat tear into one another in a frenzy that neither would survive, as wounds sink deep into vital arteries. Both would bleed to death in minutes. Forced along behind Hector, Sister Mary Valentine could only cry at their fates. For over a year they had survived this cruelty of God's creation trying to save those poor souls that they could amid the chaos. Yet, she could never resort to blaming God.

Racing down the steps she spots the monster trucks drivers door fly open on their own. She had very little time to be amazed. Out of the recesses of every building came a herd of vermin. Some rats normal, some monstrous. Some even humanoid in appearance. All hungry and vicious just the same.

Hector yanks Sister Mary in front of him and grabs her waist to hoist her up into the truck. On the way up she felt his hands on her butt and squealed. She had never once physically been manhandled by a man. The thought made her shiver even under the circumstances. Scooting over impulsively to the passenger side she allowed Hector to climb in and slam his door. No more than settling behind the wheel the outer body of the truck was engulfed in a blizzard of fur. Hector growled under his breath when an even louder pair of snarls came from the canopied truck bed behind them. Sister Mary reacted in terror hugging the dash, "What was that?"

Hector flips switches on his dash to deafen the interior of the cab from the outside noise. "Don't worry about the roars. They're the good guys. I just put us in a sound proof room. This next switch is gonna emit a hypersonic shrill that's gonna make the rats head for cover. My buddies in back won't be harmed by it."

As he flips it she looks outside to witness the rats screaming and falling all over themselves to run away. In five minutes the beasts had vanished beneath the streets. It was rather humorous seeing large rats, even the humanoid kind trying to squeeze through drains along the curbs. In awe Sister Mary exhales loudly pointing to their left, "There's Father Timmons."

His eyes diverting toward the Church doors Hector sees the feline Priest bleeding out but defying the echoing sound as he crawls toward them in a bloody mess. Knowing his fate Eustis Timmons sits up and recites his vows to God in a flurry of hand gestures and waves at Sister Mary before falling to the concrete in a final gasp of air. Silence!

God be with him!

In honor Hector shuts down his amplifier and utters his own prayer, Sister Mary joining him fell into tears. Eying her for a moment as she continues praying in her own self taught way, he reaches behind his seat for a bottled water.

"Here, drink this. You need to hydrate yourself. I can tell you're weak." She claims the bottle opening it and guzzling it down without stopping until it was empty. Wiping her chin on her wrist she sighs, "Thank you Hector."

Nodding with respect he started the engine, "We're not home yet. The sonics probably got the attention of every BNEG within ten blocks. They're not so easily swayed by sound. Psycho's are mindless."

She hesitates, "BNEG's?" That sounded ominous!

As he sets RAMROD into motion he relates what he knows about the Genetic conflict, "BNEG's are B Negative blood types. That blood order basically wipes out everything human in them. No emotions, no pain centers, pure primal! Literally, no thoughts on anything but survival."

She stares in disbelief, "How did we survive so long? It must have been God protecting us."

He glares her direction, "Could be! But, dumb luck most likely! While I give you folks credit for trying it was only a matter of time before you would have been someone's dinner or worse."

"Worse?" She turned pale.

"You could have been turned into someone's ole' lady. Gangs out here as much as man eaters Mary. That or turned into a hooker."

"I would never...!" She looked appalled.

"I don't think you understand the law of the land Sister. You're at the mercy of what co-exists with us these days. Feel fortunate I found you. Again...I'm sorry for Father Timmons. I'm certain he was a good...Man!" He wanted to say Cat. Both technically!

"Thank you Hector. He was!"

"You're a TYPO." He changed the subject to avoid sadness, "Meaning a TYPE O blood type. Human by all means. I don't think Father Fluffy was keeping you alive."

She lowers her gaze, "I think up until last week it was Mother Superior who kept us alive and safe. She exhibited some sort of power that made anyone around her protected. As if our scents and sounds were nulled to the world around us. She died last week of heart failure. She was 83. She lived a good life. Definitely deserving of Sainthood!"

"You were lucky to have her." He puckered, "Did you bury Momma?"

"No." Sister Valentine shook her head, "The only casket we had was a toppled refrigerator. We sealed her inside and turned it upside down to protect her remains from predators."

Hector screeched his brakes realizing an error in judgment, "Now you tell me. Morgana?" He taps his earpiece mic breaking radio silence, "Tell Dr. Stone I'm bringing back a specimen of special interest. I'll explain later."

A returned British accent made Sister Mary find curiosity in her tone, "Can do. Dinner tonight in my room? Hot tub and Chardonnay my own speSemen of interest?" Not well timed! His silence made her groan with disappointment. Hector swiftly shut the volume off knowing Morgana was going to flirt heavily and keep him distracted. No need for Sister Valentine to overhear her drooling nature.

"You're not going back there are you?" She looks at him hauntedly as he backed up down the street returning to the church.

"I have to. If Momma Superior had that kind of power, then the Doc's need to find a way to mimic it by viewing her genetic makeup. To harness that power could aid us in the future. I'm sorry if you feel I'm being disrespectful of the dead." He swivels RAMROD around smashing cars along the street under it's turning radius, the loss of a few good rats in the process. Thrown from side to side directly into Hector's arm, he glances at her, "Seatbelt might help. It used to be the law."

Swiftly gaining her bearings she snaps herself in tightly. Again she hears a roar from the bed of the truck, that defied the sound proofing. He sighs and yells back at the rear of the vehicle, "Quiet back there. You can stretch your legs in a few."

She offers a puzzled look as Hector reaches the Church grounds and comes to a halt. "I'm leaving RAMROD running. Do not under any circumstances touch any button unless I tell you to. This things a nuclear reactor on four wheels. One mistake and this city is toast."