The Rat Collector: A Dystopian Thriller (Age of End Book 1) (2 page)

He plummeted past his friend and slammed into the side of the cliff, bouncing off the ice and back into free fall. His body spun violently. The deafening wind slapped across his face. He adjusted his arms to stop the spinning. Below him, the platform of ice had shattered into small shards and was falling in pieces. In front of him, the rough cliff face whizzed past his head as he hurtled down towards the ground. He reached his hand out, touching the jagged ice with his finger. A vicious pain shot up his arm.

He drew a knife from his bag, gripped it tightly with both hands, and raised it up over his head. When he thrust the blade into the ice, it cut through with ease. The upward pull swung his body around and slammed his torso into the hard surface. His arms pulled up as he held his grip, but his momentum pulled down. His shoulders felt like they would rip out of their sockets. His body stretched out with excruciating pain. It was a pain he could endure. He just prayed the knife would as well.

As he dragged down the side of the cliff, he pressed his feet against the wall to alleviate the stress on his shoulders. The skin on his soles tore off in chunks as they scraped against the uneven ice. Blood streaks smeared along the wall as he slid down. His feet were numb, so he felt no pain, but he cringed at the sound of his own tearing flesh. His descent slowed, and the stress on his shoulders lessened, until finally, he came to a stop.

He sighed with relief and let his feet dangle over the vast nothingness below. Thick blood oozed from his toes. Still gripping his knife with one hand, he reached for his bag and pulled out a second one. It was his father’s. Old and beat up, but still durable. He struck the ice with the dull blade, but only partly broke the surface. With a few more strikes the knife was firmly planted.

He pulled himself up and rested on the stump of the handle, leaning against the other for balance. There were two options. Climb back up to the spot where he fell, or climb down to the base and walk up the trail again. Going up would be far less trouble.

Slowly and carefully, he folded his leg over to look at the damage. His soles were completely shredded. Blood gushed from large chunks that were torn off. An intense dizziness washed over him, and he leaned against the knife so as not to fall. He was losing too much blood. He ripped off strips of his coat, forming long rags, and wrapped them tightly around his feet. The light brown cloth quickly darkened to a deep crimson.

He carefully lowered his body back to a hanging position. Using both knives, he climbed his way up, stabbing the ice hand over hand. When he needed to, he took a short break. The hollow winds chilled the air and dried the sweat from his brow.

Nearing the top, he took one last moment to rest. The bandages on his feet were now sodden with blood. Thick fluid dripped from the saturated cloths. A strong headache crept up and progressively worsened. He panted heavily, grasping for whatever oxygen was left in the thin mountain air.

When he reached the top, he slammed both blades into the ground and used his last bits of energy to pull himself over the edge. He laid on his back, looking up at the sky. His arms splayed across the snow, and his chest vigorously pumped up and down. He lifted his head to look around. As expected, Saul was gone.

He sat up, grabbed both knives, and placed them back in his bag. Attempting to stand up, he stumbled and fell to the ground. He tried again, but his mind was overwhelmed with dizziness. He fell again, this time slamming his cheek against the ice. The last of his energy seeped through his skin and his body went limp. The white snow turned to black as his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

FOUR

LET’S STOP HERE for a moment,” Rupert said. Fred gave him a puzzled look, “I want to stretch my legs.”

He dismounted his horse, gently digging his boots into the heavy snow. Fred watched in silence as Rupert stretched. She was perched atop a thick pad on Rupert’s right shoulder. She was a falcon and an excellent hunting bird.

At a young age, Fred was separated from her mother and came dangerously close to death. Luckily, Rupert spotted the helpless young bird and nursed her back to health. Of course, her name was not initially Fred. Rupert had no name for her. He was awful with names. He brought her back to Snow Peak, where the children were ecstatic about their new pet. They threw names back and forth, and eventually landed on Fred. They later discovered that Fred was a female falcon, but the children insisted that she had the face of a Fred, so the name stuck.

Over the next five years, Fred became close with Snow Peak and its dwellers. They loved her, and she loved them. She was especially fond of Rupert. He decided to train her in the ways of hunting. He noticed her strong hunting instincts early on. She had keen eyes and sharp talons, perfect for tracking and killing prey. She learned quickly, showing off her impressive skills after only a few days, and she very much enjoyed it. Maybe it was animal instinct, or perhaps she just liked showing off. Fred was a pompous, arrogant bird, after all, …in the best possible way.

So as Rupert dismounted his horse and dug his boots into the snow, Fred displayed a burning confidence. Today was the season’s first hunt day. They usually went to the woods to hunt, but this time, they tried the snow plains. He looked around and observed his surroundings. To his right, the endless snow-covered plains. To his left, the large mountain range. He had never crossed over to this side of the mountains before. The hunting trip was a good excuse to explore these new grounds.

“Okay,” he said, as he mounted his horse. “I’m all stretched out. Let’s go.” They galloped along until the mountains were out of sight. Now there was only flat snow all around. He pulled on the reins and dismounted again. “This looks like a good place to set up camp.” He reached for his bag and began to unpack.

As he worked on the camp, Fred watched from a lonely tree stump nearby. Rupert pitched the tent and built a fire using logs they had brought. The cold would worsen come nightfall, and snow was on its way. If they wanted to get through the night, fire and shelter were necessary. Anything else was a luxury. When the modest camp was complete, Rupert took Fred’s spot on the stump, and Fred returned to his shoulder. It was time to hunt. They both peered off into the horizon, waiting for movement. Fred was ready to pounce.

Before sundown, Fred had gathered twenty kills. Satisfied with her performance, Rupert called it a day. They huddled in their small tent as the sun lowered, and the wind and snow picked up.

“You did well today, girl.” The wind howled outside as Rupert spoke. “We’ll hunt a little in the morning and head back by noon. We should be back to Snow Peak by sundown.” Fred responded with a blank stare. “You know, you’re good company, but sometimes I wonder if you understand a single word coming out of my mouth.”

They slept undisturbed, Rupert on the ground, Fred perched in the corner. Their tent blocked the harsh weather outside.

*****

By morning, the snow stopped, and the wind lessened. The sky was clear and blue. Rupert and Fred awoke at sunrise, spending the entire morning hunting. Satisfied again with Fred’s performance, he decided to call it a day. He marched back to the tent, as Fred relaxed on his shoulder, admiring the scenery. In the distance, she saw a small cluster of birds. She sprung from Rupert’s shoulder towards the flock to investigate. And maybe to kill.

“Fred!” Rupert yelled, “What are you doing? Come back here!”

She ignored him. Her wings spread out wide as she glided with confidence. Her eyes locked onto a single bird. The wind roared past her head as she gained speed. Her talons opened, ready to snatch her prey, when suddenly, a mysterious figure emerged from the horizon. A man.

Her wings went stiff. Her heart raced as she stared at the approaching man. Something about him struck fear into her very soul. Her head spun in circles as she tumbled into the snow.

She quickly recovered and jumped back into flight, headed in the opposite direction. She fled towards the protective hands of Rupert. Rupert caught her and immediately knew something was wrong.

“What is it, girl? What did you see?”

He looked up and caught sight of a man wearing a black coat and wool hat, marching through the snow. He dashed back to camp, collapsed the tent, placed Fred on the ground, and laid on his stomach beside her. He stayed low and watched the man, who was now standing among a flock of birds. A loud whistle cut through the silence, and the birds fluttered away.

The man continued walking in the direction of Snow Peak. Rupert hopped to his feet and packed the rest of their luggage, making sure to stay low. When he finished, he glanced back. The man was gone. There were fresh footprints leading towards the mountain range. Rupert mounted his horse, and Fred returned to his shoulder.

They galloped along until the mountains were in sight. Rupert could see the mysterious man at the base of the trail. Rupert approached the mountain, moving slowly to keep his distance. As he got closer, a hollow crack echoed from above. His eyes darted up. A large section of ice tumbled off the mountainside and crashed to the ground.

They rode up the path, both curious and cautious of what happened. Who was this man and why was he here? When they reached the top, they did not find the man they expected. Instead, they found someone else, lying helplessly in the snow. Red footprints climbed up and over the edge of the cliff, leading straight to his bloodied feet. His eyes, wide open, were rolled back in their sockets.

Rupert dismounted and approached the body with caution. Fred flew over and landed on the side of the stranger’s head, looking down at his face. She twisted her neck and curiously pecked his cheek, breaking the skin. A thick drop of blood trickled from the small cut. She pecked him again, this time on the nose.

“Fred, stop that!” Rupert said. “Get back over here.”

Fred obeyed and returned to his shoulder. He knelt down beside the body and placed a finger on his pulse. The skin was rough and cold. He was nearing death, but his heart still beat. He rolled the body onto his back and lifted him up in his arms, hoisting him onto the horse.

“Come on, girl. We’re going back to Snow Peak. This fellow isn’t dying on my watch.”

FIVE

ELLA STOOD AT the center of the room. She stared out the window, watching the snow float gently to the ground. She turned her head to see where she was. It was the Snow Peak library. A single, vacant room with shelves lining the walls. Why was she here? She inspected the shelves, but they were all empty. There was only one single book sitting on the center shelf, in the middle of the room.

She grabbed the thick, brick-like book and read the title on the dusty cover;
The Wonderful World of Animals: Volume 5 — Reptiles
. She flipped to a random page. There was a large picture of what appeared to be a turtle. Its skin was dry and flaky. Dirt smudged its enormous shell. There was a short caption below:

Giant Tortoise

There are numerous species and subspecies of the giant tortoise, all spread throughout various parts of the world, but they are typically found in a tropical island setting. Their diet consists of various plants, including grass, flowers, and other greens. As their name suggests, these specimens are very large, weighing as much as 600 pounds and growing up to 4 feet long. Once very prominent around the world, their population has significantly declined. In the days of pirates, many considered tortoise meat a delicacy. Their slow movement made them incredibly easy targets. Tortoise meat is highly resistant to spoiling and has a unique taste. Docked sailors would often capture these creatures in large quantities before setting out on long voyages. Nowadays, giant tortoise sightings are very rare. The giant tortoise can live for over two hundred years.

She stopped reading.
The giant tortoise can live for over two hundred years?
She clapped the pages shut and placed the book back on the shelf before turning around to exit through the front door.

The doorway led to a sandy beach. That’s when Ella remembered, Snow Peak was not on top of a snowy mountain range. It was on a tropical island. She shaded her eyes from the sun to get a better view of the shore. The beach was empty, and the waves rolled smoothly over the sand, crashing down just short of her feet. The tide quickly rose, and she soon found herself waist-deep in ocean water. She gently fell back, letting the water hold her up. A strong current swept her floating body away. She shut her eyes and let the cool breeze gently blow across her face.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying in bed. There was a light breeze coming from the window across the room. The air was stinging with frost. She tensed up and bundled her sheets tightly over her shoulders. She glanced out through the window, at the full moon. Outside, there was the silhouette of a slender man. His features were hidden by the darkness of night, as he moved towards the cabin across from hers. “Martha and Patrick,” she whispered to herself. The unknown figure entered the cabin. Her eyes stayed fixed on the front door until the figure exited, carrying a body.

She sprung out of bed, but when her bare feet touched the hot sand, she remembered she was not in her bedroom. She was in the desert, and her bed was not a bed at all, but a giant tortoise. The large desert creature inched forward one foot at a time, leaving a trail of crater-sized footprints. She left the tortoise behind and wandered into the vast fields of sand. She reached the base of a large sand dune and looked up at the towering peak. Bits of sand crumbled from the top as the ground began to shift. The movement grew more violent, knocking Ella off her feet. She fell onto her back and lay still, waiting for the shaking to stop. But it persisted. It grew faster, louder, more intense. It was more than she could handle. Her insides felt like bubbles about to burst. She opened her mouth, ready to scream.

But then she was back in bed. The window across the room was still open, but the full moon was no longer there. It was morning. Ella’s mother, Tamara, sat nearby. She shook Ella’s shoulder, trying to wake her up. Ella lightly pushed her hand away. “Okay, okay. I’m awake.”