Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1)

by Mark Tufo

  Slamming his thick hands into the ground, Blake roared in the direction of his adversary. Goliath stared back and shook his shoulders. The massive monster opened his mouth and released a deep growl that quieted both groups. He lumbered forward on all fours and as the crowds parted, he used his well-muscled rear legs to propel himself into the air.

  At the same time, Blake also went airborne and the two Alphas collided, sending them into the wall. He quickly scrambled to his feet and before Goliath had a chance to steady himself, Blake swung with a right and a left, opening up the beast from shoulder to hip.

  Stepping back, Goliath howled in pain and looked over his injuries. Although superficial, just the sight of his own blood enraged the Alpha even further. He slammed his left arm into the wall, dislodging a hail of broken tile as he moved on Blake yet again.

  Blake stepped back, planted his right foot, and leaned away, using Goliath’s momentum against him. As his larger opponent stumbled forward, he swung down and away, slicing through a large section of Goliath’s back.

  The larger Alpha rolled to his feet and quickly turned back to Blake. He growled, slamming his fists into the concrete floor, but didn’t move from where he stood. Turning and looking out over the station as the two groups fell back, Goliath dipped his chin and motioned with his left arm toward the tunnel that led away from the platform.

  The Variants that had brought him here and fought for him slowly filtered in around, some leaving small pieces of their victims at his feet. They watched as the others hung their misshapen heads and marched further into the Bryant Metro Station and then finally out of sight. For now, they’d taken back their home. However, they also knew that this wasn’t the last they’d see of the group led by the biggest Variant anyone had ever laid eyes on. This was only the beginning.

  Stepping to the center and reaching to the blood splattered floor, Blake scooped up a handful of discarded body parts—ears, noses, lips—and then stringing them together, made himself a trophy necklace. He held it above his head and let out a victorious roar before sliding it over his head and around his neck.

  Looking out over the crowd and across the empty platform, he was able to force through one word.

  “Ours.”

  — 15 —

  They’d fought for rights to the station for what seemed like weeks. With every day that passed, he lost more of his warriors to the nonstop battle with Goliath’s group and the intermittent explosions that leveled every part of the city above. He now sought reinforcements, not only for himself, but also for the survival of his following.

  If they were to continue, they’d need to explore beyond the walls of the cramped station. They’d need to find more food. With the city nearly extinct of humans, they’d have to head back into the smaller cities and somehow draw out those who had survived…and add them to the wall.

  He’d finished his body of armor with the help of two of his most trustworthy warriors less than three days before. Covered from the neck down in a patchwork of human bones, he’d left nothing to chance. If Goliath came for him again, he would definitively have the upper hand.

  The final piece, a cloak made from the dehydrated flesh of his most recent kills, hung over his back as he waited for his human collaborators to move through the agitated crowd of Variants. The two men stared at the ground as they walked to the edge of the platform and stood at the foot of his throne made from the bones of those who’d gone before them.

  “We have good news,” said the desperately thin man on the left. “We know where they are.”

  He nodded and held out his hand.

  “Plum Island…there are more of them at Plum Island. Probably more than fifty. We can be there in a few hours, but it won’t be easy to get in and out.”

  Again he nodded, this time, however, he turned to the second man, looking for confirmation.

  The continued silence pulled the second man’s eyes from the floor. He paused for a moment and then spoke quietly, as if he was unsure if he was allowed. “Yes…there are people there, but they also know about this place, that we are here.”

  The first man turned and shook his head. Furrowing his brow, he began to speak, but was cut short as the quiet man continued.

  “They also know about you, they’ve started calling you The Bone Collector. They’re afraid of you, but are still coming. They’re already in the city.”

  The Bone Collector. He’d forgotten most everything from before three weeks ago and at times even his name sounded unfamiliar rolling around in his head. But The Bone Collector was a name he found to be fitting. He even liked it, and if he ever had the chance to meet those who’d given him the name, he’d be sure to show them just how insightful they really were.

  He attempted to vocalize his new moniker. “The…Bo—”

  In the distance, the sound of multiple Blackhawk helicopters interrupted. He turned back toward the men at his feet and motioned toward the stairs leading to the street.

  “How…long?”

  The first man stepped forward and without looking him directly in the eye said, “Maybe ten minutes, maybe less.”

  He motioned toward the back of the station, away from the platform and toward the gruesome web of humans bodies set along the rear wall. Most were either already dead or incapacitated. Their dwindling supply of food, as well as what was left of his army of warriors, needed to be moved into the tunnels.

  The Bone Collector stood from his throne and roared.

  “GO!”

  The horde skittered away, joints clicking and popping as they moved off the platform and back into the tunnels. The men standing in front of the throne also ran off searching for a place to hide.

  As the whop-whop-whop of the Blackhawks’ blades faded, he stepped down and followed the others into the darkness. But before disappearing into the larger tunnel, he noticed one of Goliath’s scouts standing at the stairs leading to the street. When the Variant noticed he was being watched, he scampered back up the stairs, shrieking as his reached the street.

  Working his way through the cramped passageway, the Bone Collector reached the opening that led into three additional tunnels. Stepping from the larger opening into a small stream of blood and trash, his rear legs were taken out from under him.

  The unmistakable thundering of the F-18 Super Hornet only narrowly preceded the earth shaking detonation that had him clinging to the walls of the underground corridor. Chunks of concrete were dislodged, the ground under his clawed feet shifted, and as he dropped down onto all fours, a dense wave of radiating heat tore through the network of tunnels.

  As the dust settled, the world was calm. He dropped into the alcove between the two sets of tunnels and just listened. The soft wailing of injured Variants could be heard from the streets above and the hissing of a pressurized pipe that had severed now blocked one of his exits. He’d have to go back the way he came, if that were even possible.

  He waited, and as the seconds turned to minutes, another explosion sounded in the distance, and then another. And after the area had gone silent once again, a fourth detonation rocked the city, although the last three appeared to be moving away from the station.

  It was time to move, time to follow his humans out to the island they’d described. He leaned into the tunnel that he had come through only minutes before, and as the tiny hair-like spikes rose from his hands and feet, he hung upside down waiting for movement from the other end.

  From somewhere deep in the station, probably not far from his lair, the high pitched wail of a Variant rang out. He dropped from his position and galloped quietly toward the platform at the end of the tunnel. Before he’d covered half the distance, four quick gunshots broke the tension-filled silence.

  Again he advanced, although slowing twenty feet before the drop, another round of bombs fell over the city. Again much closer to the station than he was comfortable with, the ensuing fireball lit the tunnels at his back. Glancing over his shoulder, the shockwave tossed him into the air.


  Thrown to wet concrete, he rolled onto his side and quickly dug his right hand into the wall. Waiting for what was to come, he lowered his shoulder and crawled forward on all fours, breathing in the ash-filled air as he moved.

  Nearing the end of the tunnel, he heard a howl from somewhere deep inside the station; however, it wasn’t one of his. It also wasn’t one of Goliath’s. The sound wasn’t a Variant at all. It was something familiar, but also something he couldn’t quite place, it was something from his former life, one he didn’t care to remember. Whatever it was, he was going to kill it.

  He moved to the edge of the tunnel and scanned the area below. Scorched bodies of multiple Variants lay in awkward positions for as far back as he could see. Spot fires peppered the landscape, still burning a path from where the fireball must have torn through the station.

  Another round of gunfire broke out, closely followed by three deep thuds and the wailing of humans. They were shouting, crying, and calling for help. No one answered, but the sound of Variants skittering through the tunnels battled with the voices in his head, demanding he eliminate the human threat.

  Off the edge and onto the platform below, he turned to see six of the juveniles packed tightly together in the tunnel. These child Variants watched him for a sign of what they were supposed to do. With the street above an all-out war zone and the station erupting in gunfire, there was only one way forward. He was going to kill anyone who stood in his way.

  To his right, four men stood with weapons trained in his direction, at least three of which were Marines. Within the fraction of a second it took them to squeeze off eight consecutive rounds, he was on them. One in each hand, he pulled the first two off their feet and tossed the small man in his right hand out toward the station platform. The man’s body summersaulted through the air and slammed into the ground with an audible thud.

  The second was tossed before the first hit the ground and crashed into the side of an abandoned train car, breaking out the only remaining window. The body dropped to the tracks and slumped forward.

  More shots tore through the smoke-filled station as he twisted left and clutched the other two. One by the neck and the other around the waist. He launched them simultaneously toward the rapid crack-crack-crack of the automatic weapons.

  The flailing bodies ripped a path through the smoke and ash, giving him a glimpse of what lay directly ahead. Three more humans, maybe four, weapons ready and turning his way. Their hushed voices spoke quickly as they attempted to move one of the injured men he had thrown.

  One of the remaining men moved away from the others and was running toward him. He couldn’t understand why. He’d given these Marines every reason to go the other way; however, this soldier continued to test fate.

  Waving his clawed hand through the smoke, he saw that the man moving toward him was running on prosthetics. Jutting from his lower legs were thin metal blades that propelled him forward much more swiftly than the others before him. He was going to make sure that young Marine would never forget this day.

  “Help! You have to help!” Another human voice boomed from somewhere further in the station.

  The man on the blades moved to the platform deck just below him and began to climb. While the bladed soldier was occupied, he scaled the wall at his back. He’d come at the Marine from the opposite side of the platform, give the small human a few seconds to see his face before ending his life.

  Down onto the open floor, he scanned the bottoms of the stairwells leading to the north and east. Nothing moved. The remains of dozens of bodies—both human and Variant—lay in a perfectly formed ring at the bottom of the stairs, beyond that two more Marines leveled their weapons at a group of armored juveniles and began to fire.

  Over his left shoulder, another four Variants clung to the ceiling watching over the Marines they’d captured, as well as their human collaborators. The two aggressively thin men, with a thick layer of ash hanging from their beards, avoided eye contact with the Marines and only stared at the platform floor.

  Taking the pair of Marines, he dragged them toward the man with the blades. He dropped them within feet of his new target, raised his thickly muscled arms and roared through the fading smoke. As his thunderous shriek echoed through the rest of the station, he stood over the Marines, pointed down at them with a long hooked talon, and turned his eyes toward the solider with the metal blades.

  Humanity was lost to him long before this moment. Over the last several weeks, he’d come to view the much smaller and weaker entities as little more than a source of fuel. And although very few had managed to survive in his presence, this insignificant human with metal sticks for legs was different. He didn’t appear to be frightened, and was also the first he’d come across who not only didn’t retreat, but actually had the audacity to run toward him.

  To his surprise, the Marine leveled his weapon and fired off a shot that narrowly missed the right side of his head. Two more shots quickly followed, both shattering the femur and sternum bones that made up the heavy armor covering his chest and ribcage.

  Wailing in pain, he twisted to the side as the Marine fired a fourth shot that slipped in between a small gap in the armor near his right shoulder. The projectile tore through his shoulder, sending fragments from the hipbone he wore as a shoulder pad into the thick column at his back.

  He raced across the scorched concrete, dropped his head, and plowed into the bladed man. His shoulder caught the Marine in the chest and drove them both into the platform. The smaller man flipped backward and then skidded to a stop as his helmet ripped free and rolled out of sight.

  The Marine was fighting to breathe as he rolled onto his back and reached for another weapon. The soldier took aim and fired three quick shots, the first penetrated one of the trophy ears on his necklace and the next two dug into the thick muscular flesh just above his collarbone. A wave of warm discomfort quickly ran through his neck and down into his chest.

  He quickly realized what this was and knew he didn’t have long. His vision began to blur and his legs felt unstable. He stepped forward, grabbed the Marine by the right blade and launched him into the air. He watched as the man’s body came to rest alongside one of the other soldiers who had attempted to drive him from his home.

  The Bone Collector lowered his eyes, and attempting to focus, pulled out the three bloody darts and threw them aside. The small man who he was about to kill had tried to sedate him, attempting to use a few tranquilizer darts to bring the confrontation to a quick end. Little did the bladed man know that this was far from over.

  Stumbling forward, he turned to check on the juveniles. His eyes now betraying him, he was only able to make out their translucent silhouettes as he moved toward the bladed Marine. Parting his engorged lips, he only managed a single word.

  “K-ill.”

  He extended his right arm and pointed at the Marine. The drugs now racing through his body had begun to eclipse his will to fight. He was no longer able to control his lower half and dropped to his knees. He blinked twice, and still struggling to fight the inevitable, fell face first to the concrete platform.

  As the sounds of battle faded and the Marine with metal blades moved away, he was finally overcome by the powerful sedative.

  — 16 —

  Awakening on the asphalt, his mouth was dry and his arms and legs heavy. He moved to his knees and then pulled himself up using the open door of a torched police cruiser. The metal frame was still warm to the touch, and as he moved out into the street, the Bone Collector surveyed his devastated city.

  The landscape along 42nd was much different than the last time he’d come to the surface. Too many to count, the broken bodies of Variants littered the sidewalks and streets as far as he could see. Abandoned vehicles sat dying underneath large chunks of concrete, while their interiors still glowed with the illumination of waning spot fires.

  The area beyond the station crawled with activity as Variants skittered out from behind the decimated buildings along 6
th Avenue. Others crept slowly away from Bryant Park, their badly fractured bodies clicking and popping out of sync in awkward fits and starts. They appeared dazed, and under the darkened sky, to have lost their natural sense of direction.

  He looked out over the confused and somewhat frantic crowds, finally noticing what he was searching for. His only remaining human collaborator was closely following two large Variants who dragged a screaming Marine by the arm through the middle of the burned out street.

  He moved to them, took the Marine by the ankle and ignoring the absolute chaos, started down 42nd toward the water. Blood had run from the shoulder wound he’d suffered at the hands of the bladed Marine, although it had already begun to seal itself off behind a thick layer of scar tissue.

  On the move, his cape of dehydrated human flesh flapped in the driving wind, and crossing alongside the New York Public Library, the panicked Marine he was dragging began to scream.

  “I’ll show you, I’ll take you there!”

  The Bone Collector pulled back and quickly dropped to all fours. He leaned over the Marine and attempted to speak; however, he was only able to utter a few incoherent syllables. He slowly breathed out through his nose and started once again.

  “W-here…where are the others?”

  The Marine’s voice shook. “Plum Island. They’re at Plum Island.

  From further back in the crowd of trailing Variants, the remaining human collaborator moved in close. “I know where that is. I’ve seen it—”

  The Marine interrupted as he stared up at his captor. “There are doctors there who’re creating a weapon to kill you.”

  The Bone Collector moved up onto his rear legs and howled as he clutched the Marine with one hooked claw and motioned toward the end of 42nd with the other. He waited as the human collaborator slipped in behind and then the riotous crowd of more than sixty started toward the East River.

  ***