"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.
