http://www.familysecuritymatters.org/publications/detail/edward-cline-a-review-of-rael-isaacs-roosters-of-the-apocalypse?f=must_reads
Imagine:
A caveman sits at night in front of his hole in the hill, at the edge of a cliff, absently stroking his lice-ridden beard, shivering even in his polecat and skunk coat, hoping his little fire won’t attract the attention of the growling, carnivorous beasts that roamed the forest below. He is hungry. Today’s hunt netted him nothing but some berries he picked from a bush, and a few grubs. Small animals had fled his approach as he lumbered noisily through the brush. He silently prayed to the weather gods to send more raccoons and squirrels his way. But the only answer was the cacophonous, deafening racket of birds, insects, and other creatures as they sang to the night.
The gods were fickle; sometimes it rained endlessly, other times weeks went by without a drop of rainfall. They were also unpredictable with the seasons; the sun god was sometimes hotter, sometimes did not warm his skin; oft times it hid for days behind a rainless canopy of clouds. There was a season when it snowed; this was when the caveman was able to drink cupped hands of ice water without worry of getting sick. When it rained, he stood outside his cave, head thrown back, mouth open, to catch the drops. There was a stream somewhere below. He had drunk from it, but the water was foul and made him ill, as it had made his family ill.
The caveman was born in his cave. He had never ventured far from it. He was alone. His family were all gone, perished from illnesses he did not understand, or stricken down by one or another angry god. His son was the last to go. He had lost him when the giant finger of the god of wind had fallen on him during one of their rare excursions to the outside world. The caveman had looked at the crushed figure beneath a long, round rock-like thing, cried in dismay, and scurried in terror back into the wilderness. What had he done to incur the wind god’s wrath? He could not fathom the mystery. The universe he knew was hostile and unknowable.
The forest below was strewn with strangely shaped, overgrown objects, big and small, made of materials alien to the caveman, some encased in flaking red crusts, others of a baffling, impenetrable nature, bizarre in shape and to the touch. They were not rocks. His father had told him they were the bones and offal of the sky gods’ food. A wise man in his father’s youth had told him that.
He heard twigs snapping below. He leaned cautiously over the edge of the cliff and espied the slinking, shadowy form of a beast of prey moving beneath the disturbed foliage. The caveman gasped and froze.
It was a Jin, one of the earth god’s angels of vengeance and punishment and a merciless guardian of the earth. Jins were human in form, his father had told him, and stalked only careless cavemen who revealed their outlawed existence by building fires which offended the god of darkness and who otherwise despoiled the earth with their presence and appetites. The Jins killed men for the sake of killing. The caveman’s father’s own father years ago had warned his family of these Jins, called “purifiers,” select stewards of Gaia and caretakers of the planet, he said, and then he had disappeared into the forest on a hunt and he was never seen again.
Neither the father nor his son, now the lonely caveman, had understood half of what the old man had said. But they knew enough to be afraid of the half they did.
The caveman reached over and grasped his club, which he had fashioned from a limb from a dead tree, against the will of the wood god, using sharp rocks from the stream below….
No, this story is not set 100,000 years ago in prehistory. It is set late in the next century, or in the one after it, after environmentalists and “climate change” acolytes and their useful idiot allies in politics and academia have destroyed Western civilization. There is no more history, because those born in that kind of world would have no memory of the world that perished long before their own world had risen up among the caveman’s surviving ancestors to smother them. The caveman is sitting among some ruins of a forgotten, even unknown world.
His son was killed by a toppling wind turbine whose foundation had finally crumbled.
Of course, the caveman perishes under the club of the “purifying” Jin, a caretaker environmentalist. What a great subject for another apocalyptic movie. If one examines the root motive of environmentalists – discarding all the guff about “saving the planet,” “saving the polar bear and the snail darter and the smelt and the wolf,” saving the “scenery,” “conserving natural resources for our children,” eradicating pollution, “reducing CO2 emissions,” and so on – one will discover the dark, venomous bile of pure nihilism or a profound hatred of man. The cavemen’s world is a Utopia – to the glassy-eyed environmentalists.
The caveman’s Jin could also be called a “rooster,” as Rael Jean Isaac calls them in her marvelous little book, Roosters of the Apocalypse: How the Junk Science of Global Warming is Bankrupting the Western World.