The Extinction Series | Book 1 | Primordial Earth Read online

  Baileigh Higgins

  Primordial Earth - Book 1

  The Extinction Series - A Prehistoric, Post-Apocalyptic, Sci-Fi Thriller

  Copyright © 2020 by Baileigh Higgins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Baileigh Higgins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Baileigh Higgins has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7 - Bones

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13 - Bones

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23 - Bones

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Glossary

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  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Christian Bentulan for the stunning book cover design. You can check out his portfolio at http://www.coversbychristian.com. He’s an amazing artist.

  Plus, a huge thank you to Graham Rintoul for his tireless dedication to my books, his research, and his input. A big shoutout to Mike Hansen for his support and help, and to all the fans and readers out there. I truly appreciate you all!

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Shelly Blalock, a fellow author and a good friend. It’s thanks to her wonderful imagination and help that I was able to complete this project in the first place. Thank you for always being there when I need to chat, Shelly. You’re one in a million!

  If you’d like to check out her books, you can view her Amazon page here:

  https://www.amazon.com/R.L.-Blalock/e/B01IRTRC1K/

  She is an amazing writer with oodles of talent, and you won’t be sorry, I promise!

  Chapter 1

  Rogue leaned against the rough stone wall of the alley with her arms folded around her aching belly. It growled, and the sound reminded her how long it’d been since she’d last eaten. Three days.

  In front of her, the market was in full swing, a rough square filled with stalls heaped high with goods. It was a bustling hive of activity where the residents of Prime City traded for food and other supplies, haggling over each item’s price until its worth was established. The lucky ones, those who had jobs, could pay with a coin.

  She was not one of the lucky ones, nor did she possess anything valuable enough to trade. Except, her body, and she was not desperate enough to go that route. Not yet, anyway. A wave of dizziness swept over her, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. I need to eat.

  Rogue dragged herself upright, clinging to the shreds of her pride. On unsteady feet, she left the shelter of the narrow alley she’d occupied and entered the market square.

  A wall of sound washed over her. The cries of vendors hawking their wares, citizens complaining over the cost of a loaf of bread, street urchins and pickpockets screeching as they ran through the crowds, blank-eyed prostitutes calling for clients.

  With the noise came the smells. Scents that had her empty stomach convulsing until she nearly collapsed once more. Salted meat, sweet oranges, freshly baked bread, and overripe tomatoes. Underlying it all was the stench of humanity—a potent mix of urine, feces, and sweat.

  Above their heads, sheets of metal and cloth hid the people from view because flyers of all kinds were an ever-present threat to the city.

  Rogue kept her head down, and her hood pulled up as she walked, her rough cloak blending into the crowd with seamless ease. Her eyes swept from side to side, looking for an opportunity, a moment. That was all she needed.

  A loud-mouthed hag drew her attention. The woman waved a flatbread in front of the owner of a stall piled high with the crusty rounds. “Three coins for this? Are you crazy? I’ll report you to the Watch.”

  “Madam, I…”

  “Don’t Madam me,” the woman cried, slapping the man with the bread. “This is an outrage.”

  Rogue sidled closer, one hand snatching a still-warm loaf from the edge of the stall. It disappeared underneath her cloak, and she hurried away, heading toward the fountain.

  Its cool steps beckoned to her, and she sank onto the cracked tiles with a sigh of relief. With shaking hands, she tore pieces from the bread and swallowed them nearly whole, too eager to fill her belly to chew. Bit by bit, the small loaf dwindled until nothing remained but crumbs.

  The food revived her strength, little though it was, and Rogue leaned over the edge of the fountain to drink from the spout in the wall. It tasted stale. Each drop in the city was processed over and over again, along with the sewage. Not even the rainwater collected on the roofs in huge drums could make it any fresher.

  With her thirst sated, Rogue took to the market once more. A loaf of bread would only take her so far. She needed more, or she’d starve. Thievery was against the law, however, and carried a hefty penalty. She had to be careful. The Watch was everywhere.

  Haunches of meat swung in the breeze, rinds of salt crisscrossing the fatty flesh. It was dinosaur meat, of course. They were hunted by the raiding parties that scavenged around the city’s outskirts whenever it was safe. She didn’t dare try to steal it, though. Too bulky.

  A small hand tugged at her pants, and she slapped it away with a warning glare at the little boy who’d sought to empty her pockets. He stuck his tongue out before melting back into the throng, and she turned her attention to the fruit stalls.

  The oranges were small and wrinkled. The crop this year had been poor, but to her hungry eyes, they looked delicious. She was about to snatch one when she spotted it. A woven basket padded with soft white feathers. Inside, it cradled a cargo more precious than gold. Eggs.

  Rogue smothered a gasp. She hadn’t seen an egg in years. Memories of a previous time flooded her mind. The smell of burning toast and scrambled eggs. Bacon and coffee. The clink of cutlery and the low hum of conversation as
her parents discussed the coming day of work and school.

  Rogue shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts, but the feelings they’d invoked lingered. Longing rose within her breast, and without realizing it, her hand reached out and plucked one of the precious eggs from its nest. She cradled it to her chest with one palm, the smooth shell warm against her skin.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Give that back.” A large hand clamped over the wrist of her free hand, squeezing the bones until she thought they would snap. “Nobody steals from me!”

  Rogue screamed in pain as the hand raised her arm high in the air until she stood on tiptoe. Her eyes widened at the sight of the vendor, a brute of a man. His face was broad, and a coarse beard as black as sin covered his jaws, mirroring his beady eyes.

  Acting on instinct, she tucked the egg into her pocket and pulled out her small knife. With a flash of silver, she opened a cut on the stall owner’s cheek. Blood poured from the wound, and he stumbled back with a hoarse cry.

  The moment he let go of her, she was off, darting through the stalls with every bit of speed and agility she possessed. Behind her, the vendor recovered long enough to shout for the Watch.

  His angry bellows tore through the air, raising an answering cry, and Rogue knew she was in trouble. Serious trouble. Within seconds, the Watch was in pursuit. Their runners pushed through the crowd without a single care for those who got in their way.

  Rogue ducked behind the nearest stall, hugging the wall as she sprinted toward an alleyway on the other side of the square. It was far, but if she made it, she could escape into the labyrinth of passages that wove through the heart of the city.

  A wall of baskets blocked her way, and she turned her face aside as she plowed through, angry shouts following in her wake. She tripped over one, and a hand reached out to catch her, the fingers hooking in her hair. Long strands ripped free of her scalp, and hot tears filled her eyes as she regained her feet.

  “She’s over here!”

  “There she is!”

  The Watch had spotted her, and several runners converged on her location. Rogue pushed her body into overdrive, using every ounce of energy she possessed to outrun them. She leaped over a cart, shimmied between two poles, and rolled beneath a table, all in a frantic bid to escape.

  Her body turned on her, becoming the enemy. Each breath was a struggle, every muscle screamed in protest, and her knees burned where she’d skinned them. Blood trickled down her shins.

  “Halt!”

  Rogue ducked beneath the arms of a Watch guard and upended a table covered in apples. The fruit tumbled to the ground, rolling beneath the feet of her pursuers and slowing them down. With a grateful cry, Rogue headed for the alley that beckoned. Only a few more steps.

  A terrifying screech rent the air and sawed into her eardrums. Rogue stumbled, casting a horrified look over her shoulder. A gigantic shadow swooped over her head, followed by another screech. It was a sound that awoke an ancient fear within anyone who heard it. A call as old and primal as the earth itself. The triumphant cry of a predator that had found its prey. Pterosaur!

  As soon as the knowledge registered, the gigantic beast plunged toward the market, its taloned claws ripping apart the sheet metal and canvas covering the square. The noise caused by her chase must have lured the beast in, rendering their flimsy camouflage useless. Screams rose as people surged to get out of the way, a tidal wave of panicking humanity trampling each other in a bid to escape.

  Rogue fell to the ground and crawled between their legs and feet until she found shelter beneath a small table. Two sets of terrified eyes met hers, street urchins hiding from the chaos. Same as her.

  The monstrous flyer plunged into the hole it had created. Its great beak snapped at the people running away from it in panicked terror. Rogue watched in horror as its great crested head dipped in and out of the crowd. A veritable smorgasbord of meat was at its disposal.

  “Oh, my God,” Rogue whispered. “It’s a Quetzalcoatlus.”

  The very name of the flighted dinosaur inspired mind-numbing fear. It was the largest of the pterosaurs, a carrion eater and an opportunist. Its wingspan alone numbered thirty-odd feet, and its serpentine head flashed yellow and red as it plucked the limbs from a man like he was no more than an ant.

  Crimson blood sprayed into the air, and agonized cries cut through the noise. Rogue crouched in her spot, frozen by the knowledge that she’d caused this. Guilt coursed through her veins like acid.

  She jerked upright when the alarms sounded. Horns blown by sentries stationed in guard towers across the city. Their deep, mournful wails shivered down her spine and vibrated through the stones beneath her feet. They signaled the call to battle, drawing out every man of the Watch. It meant one thing to all of them.

  The city was under siege.

  Rogue curled up into a little ball, a sob of despair leaving her lips. There would be no escape for her today. Not after the mess she’d created with her thoughtless actions. Once they’d dealt with the dinosaur, the Watch would tear the city apart looking for her. Stone by stone. They’d find her. There was nowhere to hide—no one to turn to. Not even Moran can help me now.

  Rough commands rang out as soldiers stormed into the marketplace, their heavy armor gleaming in the sun. Bows were raised, and arrows sang in flight as the soldiers aimed the Quetzalcoatlus.

  Many glanced harmlessly off its thick hide, but a few found tender spots and buried steel heads into soft flesh. The pterosaur screeched, its massive wings battering those on the ground as it sought to take flight.

  With ponderous strokes, it rose into the air. Gusts of wind pummeled the ramshackle market stalls. Baskets flew, awnings came loose, and dust swirled in thick clouds, tinting the air dark yellow. Grains of sand stung exposed skin and eyes alike.

  The heavier ballistae and crossbows mounted on the walls let loose. Bolts as thick as her arm slammed into the flying beast’s body. It wailed in agony as a missile crushed the fine bones of its wing and tore great rents in the delicate membrane.

  The flyer slewed mid-air and crashed to the ground, plowing over stalls, carts, and tables. It raised its head and let loose an ear-splitting shriek, by no means defeated. Folding its broken wings and using them as arms, it attacked anything within reach, its enormous head reaping a harvest of corpses.

  Rogue pressed shaking hands to her mouth to prevent herself from crying out at the sheer horror of it all. She watched as the monstrous bird tore apart a man of the Watch, his armor no defense against the frenzied attack. One colossal wing slammed into the ground not far from her, and the two children next to Rogue screamed. Within seconds, they were on their feet, scrambling to get away from the pterosaur’s thrashing limbs.

  Rogue longed to follow but remained frozen in her corner until the same wing swept across her head, turning the table into matchsticks. She screamed and covered her head before scurrying away on her hands and knees. A glancing blow tossed her into the air, and she flew several feet before crashing into a wall.

  She fell to the ground with a grunt of pain, every bone in her body protesting its abuse. Through tear-filled eyes, Rogue spotted a sheltered nook created by two adjoining walls and crawled toward it on her belly, each movement an effort of will. Her lip was split, and blood filled her mouth. It drooled from the corner of her lips to the rough stones beneath.

  The nook she headed for was tiny, nothing more than a gap between two overlapping brick walls. An architectural mistake, no doubt. Yet, it was big enough to fit her body. Even fully grown at twenty-five, she barely topped five feet, a side-effect of constant malnutrition. She curled up inside with the fervent hope it would keep her safe from the rampaging creature. Without realizing it, she began praying for Moran to find her, to save her. Though not her mother by blood, the fierce woman who’d raised her and become the Rebel Faction leader was the only person, she truly trusted. But Moran was nowhere to be seen. Rogue was on her own.

  Even as she looked, the
flyer stormed across the market square, causing mayhem and destruction until a squad of soldiers stormed in and surrounded the beast. As one, they opened fire, wasting precious ammunition in their bid to bring the creature down. Each bullet cut into the Quetzalcoatlus until it slumped to the ground in a pool of blood, its body shuddering as it took its final breath.

  The remaining soldiers lowered their guns and took a step back from the corpse. The screams that had filled the square moments before faded away. They were replaced by an awful silence broken only by whimpers and sobs. People picked through the debris, looking for loved ones while others keened next to the bodies of friends and family.

  Despite the horror that pulsed through her veins, and the guilt that threatened to destroy her, Rogue knew she had to move. If she was to stand any chance at escape, she had to run. Now. While the Watch was still occupied.

  She knew what awaited her if she was caught. Death. There’d be no mercy for her, a street rat, and a thief. A murderer. Every mouth in the city would call for her execution.

  This knowledge spurred her on, and she emerged from her hiding spot with furtive looks in every direction. With the palms of her hands, she wiped away the sand that clung to her clothes. With her hood in place once more, she turned toward the alleyway.

  It was close. So close, she could almost taste freedom. Its dark, smelly interior beckoned with the promise of escape and anonymity. If she could get away, burn her clothes, cut her hair, change her appearance…maybe, she stood a chance. The rebels could hide her. Moran would see to it. “Now or never.”

  Rogue took three steps, each lighter than the last before an iron fist closed on her shoulder and swept her around. Brutal fingers clamped onto her throat, crushing the tender flesh even as it cut off her air supply.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” a low voice asked. It came from a man dressed in the full regalia of the Watch Command. His chest gleamed with medals, and his manicured looks spoke of a life of ease—a life of privilege.