Flashing #46: Prehistoric Fantasy

Monday, June 01, 2009

And we’re back after a week vacation from the concept. Here’s the story, not much set-up, more Flashing at the main page. Enjoy!

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The raptors charge the line, their feet pounding the ground, a sound like thunder filling the air. The riders clench the reigns with white-knuckled fists, guns and swords held at the ready in the event they’re needed. The enemy rides Iguanodons, have trained a few Nodosauruses, and despite the fact that they have superior weaponry their ammunition stockpiles have run low. The raptors should make quick work of the remaining German troops; this battle could be finished without a single bullet being wasted.

The Germans are anxious and they look back to their commander. Despite the fact that they don’t understand a word he says beyond “hold”, “charge”, and “retreat” his cold stare and calm posture relaxes them.

“Winds not right yet,” he tells his troops, “Hopefully the traps’ll slow ‘em down.”

As if it was rehearsed a handful of raptors fall into the spiked pits. The Germans hear the raptors’ cries and their spirits are lifted – it is possible to stop a raptor without heavy weaponry, after all. Some raptors are hoisted into the air; some are catapulted back to the Confederate fort, their riders screaming as they’re launched towards certain death. Underground bombs go off as some of the raptors get closer. The wall of fire resulting from the explosions causes the remaining raptors to pull back, despite their riders instructions to carry-on.

Esau watches the smoke that’s slowly creeping towards his line. He looks to his troops and says, “Winds still not right. Hold tight.”

Meanwhile the Indian line, the only soldiers in this fight with a legitimate hatred of the enemy, lobs flaming arrows at the Confederate soldiers and their raptors. A courier runs up to Esau and hands him a note. It’s a request from the Crusaders, they’d like to charge in and finish the battle. Esau tells the courier to hold tight, the raptors are incredibly dangerous right now and if the winds shift they can end this entire war right here and now without directly engaging the enemy. The courier runs back to the Crusaders with the news – several seconds later the winds make a noticeable break towards the mess of Confederate troops. Esau signals Jerry Moore and the doctor hits the chem valve as his assistants work the pump. The stuff that comes out is mainly liquid and mostly unpure, but enough of the sarin vaporizes and drifts downwind, towards the unsuspecting Confederate troops.

The first raptor drops within thirty seconds. Within a minute the remaining raptors and their riders are on the ground – convulsing and gasping for breath. Within five minutes the elite raptor riders are all dead, no back-ups in sight. The gates to the fort are wide open and the war is all but won. The Germans and the Indians and the crusaders mount their dinosaurs and make their way to the gate, eager to execute the few remaining Confederate troops.

Esau, on the only hand, only has one target in mind. His brother.

The Alliance soldiers enter the fort and put bullet, sword, or arrow to anyone they come across. The Confederates offer little resistance; they resign to their fate and die with dignity. They’re almost in an enviable position, leaving this world devoid of technology and comfort and women behind. As the Alliance makes quick and bloody work of the remaining combatants, Esau heads up to the South tower where he imagines Marcus and Jacob are hiding out. He kicks in the door, his six-shooter at his hip, and smiles at the site of his long-lost brother.

“I told, you, Marcus, there’s the easy way and the hard way and the hard way wasn’t gonna be pretty.”

Marcus has a shotgun on his lap but he doesn’t even attempt to use it. He hears the clamor and the screams coming from his fort and he slumps his shoulders and sighs. “I guess I didn’t realize how much of a crazy son-of-a-bitch you was.” Marcus points to Jacob, who stands in the corner, visibly shaking. “There’s your piece of shit brother. Not even worth protecting, if ya ask me.”

“I only got two bullets in this gun, Marcus, so if you don’t mind I’d appreciate it if you go on downstairs and let my boys kill you.” The suggestion makes perfect sense to Marcus so he stands up, dusts off his gray frock coat, and heads down the tower to be beheaded or scalped or shot or a combination of the three. “Well, Jacob, I guess this is it.”

Jacob begins to say something, explain himself or apologize or something, but before two words get out he has a bullet lodged squarely between his eyes. He’s on the floor in less than a second.

Esau kicks him over to make sure he’s dead. Sometimes you can’t tell – he’s seen guys shot in the head, heart, and lungs that all came back from it. Satisfied with his kill he turns his gun on himself. “I told you I’d get him, Margaret. I told you he couldn’t hide from me. I told you I’d follow him anywheres. And I told you I’d come and see you as soon as I was done.”

Esau pulls the trigger. The sound of the gunshot is buried amongst revenge and victory.

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posted by Jason at 2 Comments


2 Comments

Blogger Billy Blight said...

Oh man. I love this. <3

10:06 PM  
Blogger Jason said...

Glad you dig it and thanks for checking out the site - feel free to spread the word.

8:53 AM  

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