Location: Hidden Survivalist Compound, Central America
Marques had been lucky the day the meteors decided to strike and
wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting and unprepared world. His job was
not only his specialty but also his lifelong hobby. He and his family had
always believed the world would end in a disaster. While others went
about their days frivolously, he spent his time looking toward the future
he hoped to control—one that he and his father before him had always
believed would be dark and ugly.
Since he was sixteen years old, he had been working with his father.
Back then, his father had believed the world would end in 2012. And
believing that—like his father before him had—Marques’ father had built
an immense underground survivalist shelter, equipping it with all the
tools, supplies, and aid kits he might one day need.
When his father was alive, he was the leading bomb shelter builder and
contractor. He helped build or create more than two thousand shelters
in four countries. And of most of those, Marques himself had helped in
the design and construction.
He and his father had been fluent in six languages, which helped them
immensely with their contracts in other countries. And just about all the
money they made from building their shelters, they used to build their
own and improve upon them.
His father had died nearly eight years ago, and Marques, now fifty-
six, had taken over the entire bunker business. His shelter could now
house—with food, water, and air, let alone other necessities—over two
thousand people for a couple of years if need be.
The only problem Marques now had was one he had not believed
possible: the loss of total power. He had planned for it to a certain
degree. With today’s advancement in technology, he had bought all the
latest gear in stealth technology that any of the bunkers he had built had
wanted installed. But he knew it was still possible that an enemy might
be able to find his compound, using some kind of device that could
detect energy use. So he had made plans designed around being unable
to use technology for a certain amount of time.
But he had not planned for something on this scale. His backup generators
had all exploded. No batteries worked anymore. He had absolutely no
power. Gas seemed to explode with any heat or fire. And while he had
plenty of candles for light, lighting them was a chore in and of itself.
He was lucky when the meteors fell because his government had
informed him it was coming. He had been able to choose a thousand or
so people he had wanted in his shelter, over half of whom were women
and children, and those of the two hundred and fifty men whom he
trusted the most. All of them were militants he had grown up around,
and each knew how to fight, having pledged to him their loyalty in
return for sparing them and their families. With these men, he had plans
to make an army strong enough to rule all of America.
But he had made another mistake, too. Two days ago, one of his main
men had challenged him for control, not liking Marques’ plan. And of
course, he had acted as he was used to. He had pulled his pistol, put it to
the insubordinate’s head, and pulled the trigger.
It had all happened in the blink of an eye, faster than a normal man
could react. Only nothing had happened. No shot, no head exploding.
Nothing. So he had repeatedly pulled the trigger, only to get the same
result.
Dismayed and seeing the other men finally drawing their pistols, Marques
had pulled his machete and ended it that way—a bloody massacre that
left all of his men trembling in fear of him.
After that, it had taken some research to know that he had taken a
significant blow. Gunpowder was essential in all of his plans, calculations,
and simulations. Over the years, he had collected hundreds of thousands
of guns, grenades, missiles, road and off-road vehicles, boats, and
planes. All of it was now useless. His modern technology—phones and
communication networks—were all just worthless hunks of junk now.
He had spent millions upon millions on now-meaningless stuff. He knew
he could find a way to use some things like gas, but it was so volatile
now that using it for anything would be tricky.
So now he had to sit and recalculate and simulate his plans. The loss
of firepower changed everything. For the last two days, he had been
studying. During this time, his government’s hidden shelter was ripe
for the taking. It was only two miles to the east of his own, and he had
already sent three of his men—equipped with survival gear, masks, guns,
and machetes—to his government’s shelter with a message from him,
and he had just barely received word that his men had returned and
were being escorted to him.
For this, all of his plans relied on surprise. If his government did not
know their guns did not—and would not—work for them, then he would
be able to capture their whole shelter with relative ease and add it and its
supplies to his own. But with it, time was of the essence. The longer it
took him, the more likely it was for someone to find out the same truth
as he had. Then, the surprise would be a lot harder to obtain. If his men
brought him back good news, he would send his troops tonight.
He watched with eyes like a predator as the door to his office slid open.
It was so heavy, being of thick protective metal, that the sound of it
sliding open on its tracks was almost like rolling thunder—a door he
could easily lock from the inside, and with no more electricity, no one
could get it open again.
His office, though, was sparse and devoid of too much stuff of personal
value. He had stripped the room of anything electronic that no longer
worked. Now it was full of atlases, books, and maps. Each wall now had
a full-scale map plastered to it. They were marked with red circles and
green writing. Each circle was a bomb shelter he had a hand in building,
with or without his father. Some were marked in purple—those were
ones he had nothing to do with but had found where they were hidden.
The green writing was each shelter’s logistics: how many people it held,
how it was defended, and its weaknesses. All the stuff he had studied
for years.
Most of the shelters had no relevance to his plans; some were so far out
of his way that they made no sense to go after. But it was the limit of
his accumulated knowledge. Now that every computer databank in the
world was gone, this was the only record of his business and plans.
The other maps he had scattered around on desks were all local maps
showing him all the areas of business that he needed to raid. For some
of them, he had already sent men to raid; for others, he would have to
wait. But so far, he had met no resistance on any of his raids. Everything
was like a ghost town. Few people were still alive, and of them, they
were sick.
Four heavily armed men came walking into his office. The least
impressive-looking one left, shutting the door behind him at a nod from
Marques.
Ringo was the most impressive of the three. He smiled with silver teeth
at Marques, and Marques nodded for the man to tell him how it went.
“It went just as you suspected, Jefe. The government types were thrilled
to see us alive and hear any communication. They have been in the dark
since the storm. Not one has ventured outside. They all hope the power
will be restored and have no inkling that their guns no longer work.
But I am not sure for how long, Jefe. I believe we continue with the plan
before they get wise to their true situation,” Ringo told him, continuing
to grin at the government’s misfortune.
The other two nodded their agreement with Ringo’s assessment. Marques
leaned back with a confident smile.
“Good, good. Give the signal, then,” he told Ringo before staring at the
other two.
They both were guerrilla warfare commanders.
“Both of you, go back to their shelter and tell them you have an important
message from me on restoring their power. I want you both inside before
we strike so you can get in close with their commanders. After you have
been inside for twenty minutes, strike. That will give us enough time to
breach all the main areas and force their surrender. Don’t kill those you
don’t have to, but none of their commanders can survive. We don’t want
anyone rebelling.”
Just then, he was interrupted by the thunderous sound of his office door
sliding open, and Marques stared in anger at the interruption as a young
soldier entered, looking excited.
“El Jefe,” the young soldier announced as he entered. “One of the scouts
just returned with something so weird that you must see it.” He began,
then faded off as he saw Marques’ face.
Marques raised a hand for silence that shut the young soldier’s mouth.
Then he turned back to Ringo, who looked amused.
“You all have your orders—see to them. Return when they are complete,”
he told them in the way of a dismissal.
Ringo nodded, looking serious, and the other two followed him out of
the office.
Then Marques turned his whole, angry nature upon the young man who
had rudely interrupted him. The young soldier went pale.
“The next time you show ignorance of your commands, it will be your
head. Do not interrupt me when my commanders are in here,” he
threatened his young aide.
With a frightened look, the young soldier gulped.
“Yes, Jefe,” he replied in a shaking voice.
Marques gave the boy a second to let it sink in, then gave him a deadpan
look.
“Now what was so important that you had to interrupt my meeting with
my commanders?” he demanded.
The young soldier blanched, then stuttered before he could control his
fear.
“Jefe, a scout returned with an object that he swears fell out of the sky
when the meteors fell. I have seen it, Jefe. It glows brightly and gives off
heat, but it is so hot no one can touch it without protection.”
Marques looked confused.
“A meteor?” he sneered. “You interrupted me for a stinking meteor?” he
demanded angrily.
The young soldier’s fear got the best of him again, and he began to
tremble under his leader’s look.
“Jefe. You must—” he started before he wisely changed the words he was
about to say, choosing them more carefully as he continued.
“Let this meteor, if that is what it is, be brought to you, Jefe, so you can
see it. It must be some kind of alien device. Maybe you see how it has
power when nothing else works. I swear to you on my mother’s grave,
El Jefe, you have never seen anything like this.”
Surprised by what he was hearing, Marques could not deny that he
was slightly intrigued. Maybe it was an alien device. If he had a power
source, he could figure it out. Perhaps everything he had would not be
so useless after all. But he seriously doubted it.
“Okay, bring me this ‘meteor’ and the scout who found it,” he told his
aide curiously.
He watched his young aide, Dwain, leave his office, then return a minute
later with one of his scouts. The scout was pushing a wheelbarrow that
instantly lit up the office more than all of his candles did.
The thing in the wheelbarrow instantly stole Marques’ attention. It
produced light and heat, making his office quite cozy, bringing on
instant sweat.
The scout who had brought it wore thick, sheet-metal gloves. They were
singed and lightly smoking, and smoked even more as he picked up the
glowing green object. The scout was covered in fine ash, and his face
looked stark white from the protection of his mask, compared to the
black ash that coated the rest of him.
When the scout picked up the glowing meteor, Marques did not fail to
notice the scout’s wince in pain as the thing burned him through the
thick gloves.
Intrigued, Marques motioned his aide out of the office and got up,
walking around his desk, thinking there had to be a way to use this to
help him with his plans. He walked to his scout—a soldier he trusted
named Julio.
The object Julio held was almost green with small silver strips, and to
both of their amazement, it began to vibrate as Marques approached it.
Curious about why it did so, he put out his hand to feel the fierce heat
coming off the object. By the sizzle of the gloves, Marques could tell it
was getting even hotter as he got closer, and he could only take that in
one way: it was a warning for him to stay back. And that intrigued him
more than it brought fear.
Julio looked positively scared as the thing vibrated fiercely in his hands.
Marques could see he was straining to hold it away from himself without
dropping it, even though it was obviously burning his hands through the
thick protective gloves.
Seeing Julio’s look was all the answer he needed to know that he was
being warned to stay back.
“I take it this thing has not acted like this before?” he asked curiously.
His eyes wide and fearful, Julio shook his head. “Never!” he replied to
Marques, wanting to drop the meteor so he could blow on his hands.
“Hmm,” Marques mused as he moved closer, his hand hovering above it,
feeling the now blistering heat that threatened should he touch it.
“Either the thing positively hates me or it is pleased to meet me,” he told
Julio with amusement as he studied the green and silver metallic object.
“And seeing it vibrate like that, I will bet it is not the second.”
To see what would happen, he took a couple of steps back, and like he
had thought, the thing began to stop vibrating. Seeing it, he wondered if
that meant this thing—whatever it was—was sentient and alive.
“Interesting,” he mumbled as he studied it some more. “I don’t think this
is some kind of alien technology,” he told Julio after a second. “If it is,
then why would it act differently to me than it does to you?”
He frowned thoughtfully before continuing with his thoughts.
“No, its actions can only be based upon a discernible threat. Obviously, it
doesn’t feel threatened by you. But when I approach it, it feels threatened
by me for some reason, so it warns me as I approach it.”
“That is an animalistic behavioral trait—much the same thing a
rattlesnake will do by rattling its tail when it feels threatened—to give
you a warning not to threaten it, or it will defend itself with a strike.
I think this thing is giving me a warning in much the same way as a
snake would.”
While he talked, he moved closer to the green, glowing metallic object.
It instantly began to vibrate fiercely again. He leaned his head a little
closer to it.
“But I do not take well to threats or warnings. A rattlesnake may be
poisonous if it bites you, but all the same, it can only bite you if you do
not kill it first,” he said, sticking his face even closer to it than before,
his voice turning deadly. “Don’t you threaten me, or I will kill you like
I have hundreds of snakes,” he threatened.
As if it had heard and understood his words or tone, the metallic object
stopped vibrating, and seeing it, Marques looked up at Julio with a smile.
“Not only can it discern a threat—it can understand what we are saying,”
Marques began.
Just then, Marques gasped in alarm and a little fear (though he would
never admit it to anyone), for the whole top of the green, glowing object
exploded outward. Something that Julio thought at first was a green and
silver metallic snake launched itself out of the meteor—right at Marques’
face—with its sharp, crystal-like teeth glistening as they tried to bite
him.
Honestly, Marques had expected something to happen—just not what
did. So he was not caught flat-footed; his hands streaked through the air
as he jumped back. One hand closed around the hot, scaly neck of the
creature that had launched itself at him, and the other caught the hard
tail.
All he saw for a second were long, crystal teeth and claws trying to
rip into his flesh, but unable to do so because Marques had caught
it perfectly. Its teeth snapped while its four clawed legs raked the air
ineffectively as he held it aloft so he could study it with a look of awe
and amazement.
The creature was much heavier than he thought it should be for its size.
It was almost three feet long, head to tail, stretching and growing a little
as he held it away from him. It was the perfect replica of a dragon. It had
one small nub of a crystal horn over each of its silver eyes and a row of
smaller crystal horns that ran from its snout down the back of its head,
and he could feel others down its spine and tail.
Its teeth looked lethal and were wickedly sharp crystals. Its skin was
covered in shiny green scales, which were metallic silver under its neck
and belly. Each of its four legs had four sharp crystal claws, and to
his surprise, under each leg was a small crystal spur. Seeing them, he
knew they were poisonous, and he was suddenly glad he had caught the
creature as he had, because it was surely trying to use everything in its
deadly arsenal to attack him.
The spurs reminded him of a platypus’ spurs on their hind legs. And
on the creature’s sides, tucked close to its body, were two light metallic
green wings with crystal nubs along the ends.
“So…” Marques drawled. “You have teeth and want to bite,” he told it
humorously. “So do I,” he jested with a laugh.
Hearing him speak, the dragon viciously snapped its jaws and turned
its head to face Marques fully. When it opened its mouth again, it spat
sparks toward his face.
The sparks did not reach too far—at least not far enough to touch
Marques. But seeing them coming toward his face almost made him
drop the dragon. His eyes widened, and he tightened his grip on it
instinctively, knowing that if it got free without them coming to an
understanding, then in all likelihood, it would kill him. It was faster
than any snake, and he had no gun to shoot it.
Seeing that the sparks could not reach him, he relaxed a little bit and
gave the dragon one of his winning smiles.
“You’re as vicious as I am,” he told it in a flattering and approving tone,
and looked it over in an admiring way as he turned it in his hands to
face him fully, being careful not to let it catch him with its claws or
poisonous spurs.
He spoke in a calm, commanding voice when he had its full attention.
“It’s obvious that you feel threatened by me—that you feel I am a threat.
Means we both have much in common. We are both vicious creatures
that want what we want when we want it. But I will tell you this much,
and I know you can understand me—you have already proven that. You
don’t threaten me or what I want, and I won’t threaten you.
“You are very young in a world as harsh as I am, and it will kill you long
before you can grow old enough to become its top predator like I am.
But with my help, I will ensure you live to get old. I feel that you and
I can become good companions. But first, both of us must have trust. I
will keep you alive, and you will help me with what I need help doing.”
Marques looked the dragon in the eyes and slowly loosened his hold.
The dragon instantly clenched onto the arm holding its neck with all
four feet of its claws. Once it had a good grip, Marques let go of its neck.
It never took its eyes off Marques’ own as the dragon grabbed onto him.
Marques broke the tension by ignoring the dragon and turning to the
wide-eyed and pale scout.
“Have you ever seen anything so majestic?” he asked in an awe-filled
voice.
Julio, who had not dared to move since the meteor he had found had
exploded in his leader’s face, now looked nervously from the mythical
creature to his leader. His awe of his leader’s unfearful handling of the
dragon was plain in his voice when he answered.
“No, I have never seen anything like it, El Jefe,” he replied.
“How did you find it?” Marques asked curiously as he felt the dragon
moving around on his arm. He looked down at it to see it looking
around the room. When it heard Julio’s voice, it turned its head sharply
and began to growl in a surprisingly deep rumble for how small the
dragon was.
Seeing it threaten Julio, Marques snapped his fingers in front of the
dragon’s face to distract and get its attention. The dragon flinched, then
glared angrily at him.
Feeling the menacing focus directed toward him made Marques smile at
the dragon patiently.
The green and silver dragon snapped its teeth angrily but stopped its
growling rumble and glared at Julio instead.
Julio ignored its look. “Jefe, it was easy enough to find with it glowing
as it was. I found it close to a mile from Diara’s place,” he explained
helpfully.
Marques smiled with a sudden idea.
“Alright, I want all of our scouts informed. Suppose they see anything
unusual about any meteor. In that case, they are to notify me immediately,
and if it is another of these egg things, they are to bring it to me without
touching it,” he told the scout in dismissal.
When the scout had left, shutting the door, he moved to his seat, staring
down at the magnificent but very deadly dragon, envisioning the
possibilities of a world without technology and guns being ruled by him
with a giant, ferocious dragon by his side.
Not just one, he thought, shifting through his plans. There must be more
than this one. Without guns, bombs, and planes, who could stop him
with a full-grown dragon—let alone an army of them?
Catching his thoughts, the dragon clenched onto his arm and glared at
him.
Seeing it made Marques laugh.
“Glare! That is your name. For your look does not just threaten—it
promises death.”
To his surprise, the dragon began to rumble—but this time not in a
threatening way. This time, he was shocked to realize it was purring
with contentment.