“Stunning, dude,” Tim answered.
“Are you being a dick?” Lucas asked.
“No. You look good.”
“Yeah. I thought so,” Lucas sighed. “I look like an idiot.”
“Naw,” one of the other guys said. “I look like the idiot!”
He wore canary-yellow-and-black-striped trunks with a #18 NASCAR logo. Kyle Busch’s signature was stitched into the fabric. The boys all howled, including the kid who was wearing the yellow bathing suit.
They gathered near the door that led outside, each grabbing a towel and cooler.
“Let’s do this,” Brett said.
They pushed and elbowed their buddies as they passed through the narrow hallway, joking, and poking at each other. They came out into a pine-shaded backyard. The thin grass was littered with the trees’ droppings.
The boys hustled to the lakeshore, dodging the pinecone landmines that littered the lawn and bit their bare feet. Their goal was a sandy beach that had been weeded and groomed by the hotel proprietors.
The girls were nowhere in sight.
“I told you we were early!” Tim complained.
The boys all stood around, unsure what to do, until Lucas snuck up behind his brother and body flipped him into the cold mountain water.
“Oh! Crap!” Tim cried. “That’s cold!”
Their testosterone kicked in at that point, and a giant version of king of the hill began. Each one tried to pull, carry, or throw the others into the frigid water. They were acting like teenagers at a frat party. Within moments, all twelve young men were splashing about, each trying to outmuscle the other.
Their rowdy behavior got louder. After several minutes of non-stop action, Brett stopped to take a breath. He looked to the shore and grabbed the boy next to him, shaking his shoulder.
“Hey!” he hissed, pointing back to the beach.
They all turned to look onshore. The women had arrived. They were standing in a line, watching the young men wrestle and toss each other about. The change was stunning. The lakefront beach went silent as the girls quietly walked to nearby chaise lounges and dropped their swimsuit coverups.
Like a choreographed dance, the women slathered each other with lotion and were lying on their towel-covered lounge chairs within moments of making their appearance. It was an impressive presentation, and the boys neither moved nor spoke throughout the display. By any estimation, they’d never seen anything quite as beautiful in their young lives.
It took several hours for the ice to break, but in the end, nature took its course. The rest of the day went by like a dream as two dozen young people rediscovered what life was ultimately about—creating a bond with someone else and finding that person who seemed to make time stand still.
Given the horrors of the outside world and the lost friends and family that came with the viral apocalypse, their time at the beach felt like heaven on earth. For those young folks, any thoughts of the Variants evaporated, at least for those blissful few days.
Parker’s Ice Cream
Big Bear Lake
Brett handed the vendor fifty cents in old, silver coins. Using pre-1964 quarters and dimes, along with silver dollars, seemed to be a good solution when it came time to restart a functional economy. Silver had been the currency of exchange for thousands of years.
“Thanks,” Hanna said as she accepted the cup of vanilla ice cream.
“I’d love to have strawberry,” Brett said. “The farm is going to try and grow them. But beggars can’t be choosers. We’re lucky they had any ice cream at all. I hope it’s good.”
Hanna spooned the homemade frozen treat into her mouth and closed her eyes. Brett watched every move she made. Her lips pursed and a smile creased her perfect cheeks. He couldn’t stop watching her.
She sighed. “It’s more than good. It’s perfect.”
The options in town were slim, and Brett felt lucky that there was anything to do other than swim and eat at one of the two restaurants that had been established.
By the end of their first day, the groups had paired off and everyone seemed to be content with their partners. Four of the twelve had gone to a restaurant that specialized in freshly caught, local fish. Rainbow trout had been introduced into Big Bear Lake many years prior. With no one harvesting them over the last half decade, they’d thrived in the cold, mountain water. He and Hanna had chosen this for their meal. Brett would have preferred going to the other restaurant, where fresh venison was being served, but Hanna had made the decision on where to go. He couldn’t remember a better meal.
They walked quietly down the dark street. The light from the few buildings that had electricity soon faded, and they found themselves strolling by moonlight.
“We shouldn’t go too far from town,” Brett said.
“We’ll be fine.” Hanna tapped the battle rifle that was slung over her shoulder.
“Awkward,” Brett joked. “I’ve never been on a date with an armed girl before.”
Hanna laughed. It was intoxicating.
“I like your gun,” she said, turning to Brett while patting the shotgun that was sheathed in a scabbard on his back.
Brett blushed at the double entendre. Hanna had moved danger-close to his body. He breathed in her smell, which was a gentle scent of lavender and mint.
“I’m glad you like it,” he stammered.
She moved her hand from the blaster’s pistol grip to his shoulder. Her touch felt small on his muscular frame. She was tall for a woman, but at six-foot-two inches, he towered over her. His height and size advantage meant little as she ran her hand down his arm, stopping to wrap her fingers around his bicep. She had him under her control. He couldn’t move until she continued and enfolded her fingers in his. They held hands as she moved closer.
Her breath, warm and moist, blew over his neck. She raised her face to his and gazed into his eyes.
Brett had never been with a girl. In fact, the only lips he’d been kissed by were from women twice as old as he, usually on his birthday and always on the cheek.
He had no experience with a situation like this, but he instinctively leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers. He felt Hanna fold into his arms. A tiny gasp escaped as she breathed. She looked unsure and frightened, but somehow, he knew exactly what to do. They melded together and spent the rest of the night as if the world had never changed. When their vacation ended, Hanna moved to Lost Valley. There was no way they’d ever allow themselves to be separated again.
— 15 —
Under Los Angeles
There are over eleven miles of service tunnels crisscrossing the city of angels, and the Variants were using every last inch. They stayed dry and provided a dark haven for the massive population. These subterranean passageways were the perfect place to hibernate. They were also an ideal nursery, and newborn Variants were the horde’s most valuable asset.
The alpha recognized this, and since Charlie had become its most trusted servant, he was tasked with maintaining the birthing chamber. His primary job, once a week, was keeping the expectant mothers fed and the infants nourished.
Most of what Charlie did was instinctive. Nurturing newborns is genetically encoded in most mammals’ DNA, and Charlie was just following his gut. Through his residual intelligence, however, he recognized that the most pressing problem facing the horde was food. It was doubly important for the growing infants, whether in the womb or the newly born.
Charlie lumbered across the large chamber. The offspring of the Variants scurried about, agitated at his presence. They all knew that feeding time was approaching.
The spacious stone room was filled with the creatures. They looked nothing like their parents. The virus had mutated their infected mothers’ wombs. That led to these abominations.
The armored offspring snapped their claw-like appendages, many scraping their carapace against the floor and wall. They followed behind Charlie with an amoeboid movement that mimicked a single-cell organism. Pseudopods of the be
etle-like creatures would rush forward, then pull back into the main mass, their progress arrested as they fought and shoved each other in an attempt to be the first to eat.
The mass reacted as if it had a common intelligence. It didn’t. The creatures were driven by just one instinct. Kill and consume.
Charlie traversed the length of the chamber and stopped at the entrance to another passage at the far wall of the room. He turned to find the children silently waiting.
He sniffed the air flowing from the dark entrance. Nothing.
Charlie screamed up the tunnel, his call echoing back a second or two later.
He sniffed again.
Ah. The smell.
Then the sound of scratching and squeals began to drift out of the opening. It was almost time.
Charlie turned back to the throng, raised his katana, and roared. The front of the mass backed away, creating room for the oncoming meal.
He turned back and looked intently into the black opening. His enhanced eyes pierced the gloom. He strained, focusing well down the passageway. It only took a few seconds before he saw it. Tiny pinpoints bouncing toward him. The little sparks of light swelled into a large mass, scurrying down the concrete floor, while some moved toward him on the side walls.
Charlie stepped to the side just as hundreds of sewer rats rolled into the chamber. The nursery’s meal had arrived. The children pounced.
Charlie moved along the wall, letting the infant Variants fight over their food. True to Darwin, the strong scooped up the rats, taking the largest for their own. The rest fought over the remaining rodents. Several of the smaller Variant children were thrown out of the scrum of ravenous creatures, their deteriorated or genetically frail bodies condemning them to a slow death by starvation. Natural selection provided no quarter for the weak.
Charlie returned up the tunnel and turned into a smaller chamber. Dozens of pregnant females were reclining against the wall while other Variants attended to their needs. These were the fertile ones. The remnants of the first generation of infected. Once human and now infected, they were capable of reproduction. It was their community job.
Charlie continued through the room and strode further down the passage. He came to their farm, its walls covered with cocoons. Most of the crusty, sticky tombs had already been broken open, while some still contained their human victims.
The dark was complete, the victims shrouded in a blackness that was impenetrable to their uninfected eyes.
Charlie could see just fine. It was exhilarating to walk up to one of the encased humans, lean down, and breathe in their face. The reaction was almost always the same. They’d scream in terror. Some of them wouldn’t react at all, their minds long ago gone from the sensory deprivation and constant risk of death.
Charlie found one of these catatonic victims plastered against the left wall. He’d already tried to elicit a response just the day before but got no reaction. If the human hadn’t drank their daily ration of water, Charlie would have guessed that they were already dead.
This human female would be next. She was losing too much weight, which would deprive the expectant mothers of nourishment. He approached the cocooned woman and drew his sword. He didn’t play with her, nor did he make enough noise to warn her of his presence. He simply cut off her head. The blood spewed out of her neck, coating the wall of the room. Several liters splashed and puddled before the bleeding stopped.
Charlie heard the flutter before he saw them. The offspring of the flying creatures had arrived after hearing and smelling the bloody sacrifice.
Years prior, the male and three females roamed the skies, helping the horde find more food. Their offspring were an impressive force as well.
During the unification battle, when the alpha defeated the Los Angeles horde’s leader, one of the females and many of the offspring were killed by the humans. Their flying weapon was too formidable, and the alpha made them retreat to their lair. Since then, the male and two females had remained mostly underground, producing many dozens more of their flying, armored children. Unfortunately, their offspring were sterile.
Like a mule, the infant flying creatures lacked the ability to reproduce. But they were deadly weapons that the alpha was collecting for his final assault on their most hated enemy. Carver.
Charlie ripped the beheaded body from the wall and carried it to the birthing chamber. It was the pregnant mothers’ meal, providing nourishment for their developing offspring.
The children of the flying Variants swarmed the fresh, warm blood, lapping it from the concrete floor. Afterward, they would wait for Charlie to return. He’d deliver another pack of the small, crawling rodents to them as well. After eating their fill, they’d returned to their lair deep under the city and fall into their hibernating trance, waiting for the call to take to the sky once again.
They would dominate the air above the decaying town. Los Angeles would be no more, and the city of the angels would become Los Diablos, the city of the devils.
— 16 —
Dare Mighty Things
(Logo at the entrance to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory)
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, CA
Two Months Later
Pito led the group into the front of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. One of Shrek’s offspring had accompanied them. His handler sent the Malinois-Terrier mix into the building, clearing the way for the humans in the squad.
It was difficult to be out on a mission without Shrek. The faithful dog had been a real trooper, putting up with the constant pain and tenderness in his joints. But the last year had seen a dramatic deterioration in his condition. Doc Maxwell had warned Carver that this would happen, but it didn’t make it any easier to see.
Watching the Malinois-Terrier dog work muted some of the sadness. Even if Shrek couldn’t be here himself, his kid was carrying on the tradition.
“All clear,” the handler called out when the dog returned and sat quietly at the man’s side.
Carver felt small as they walked through the shattered glass doors and came face-to-face with an untouched display of the Martian Rover. Its boxy camera, retracted mechanical arm, and tubeless, thin tires reminded him of what humanity had achieved. The mechanical probe was the result of decades of accumulated knowledge.
Unfortunately, it looked like mankind’s stupidity was going to end modern science. It seems humanity never learned how to follow one simple rule. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. The Army made a virus they couldn’t control, and the world was paying for that hubris.
The fifteen-man squad stopped at the reception desk, where Pito pulled out a map that had been provided by the scientists on Catalina Island. Since they’d set up a fax over IP machine on their satellite phone system, the requests for more salvaged knowledge increased exponentially. FoIP was a simple setup once you had the appropriate machines. It took years to find the right components, and the eggheads on the island were using the technology to its fullest, sending detailed maps and drawings to Lost Valley.
“I swear to God, sometimes I feel like an errand boy,” Carver had complained to Kinney several weeks back.
The growing list of “chores” being sent from Catalina had become annoying.
“Hey, I wanted my house back. But no, you decided to stay,” Kinney had replied, goading his friend about his wife’s decision to not relocate.
“You stayed too!”
“I couldn’t leave Shrek,” the retired Marine had countered with a smile.
Carver grinned as he thought of Kinney. He would have liked him to be with the group now, but the big lug was off on another mission.
“Okay. We need to take the sidewalk over there,” Pito said, interrupting Carver’s daydream. “That’ll take us to the Space Flight Operations Facility.”
Pito droned on about the facility as he described their path to the computers. No one really paid attention to his talk about the history of the place and its accomplishment
s.
“Are we ready?” Carver interrupted. “You’re not a tour guide anymore.”
“Yeah. I’ll take it from here.” Pito checked the map one more time then folded the paper and tucked it into his front shirt pocket. “This way,” he said.
The large squad followed, their rifles up as they scanned their assigned field of fire. Pito led them down a paved pathway between six-story-high buildings. The structures’ glass facades were streaked with filth, and several windows were missing or shattered.
They arrived at their destination without a problem.
After breaching the solid metal doors, the team moved slowly and smoothly through the facility. The flashlights mounted on their rifles illuminated the space. The beams of light were speckled with floating dust. The air was stale with a tinge of mold.
They passed by the facility’s famous control room, where moonshots and missions to Mars were monitored. The dusty computer workstations, all facing large, dark screens mounted on the far wall, looked ready to resume their sentinel of satellites and space craft.
“I wonder if Voyager 1 is still sending data back,” Pito absently commented.
The probe had been transmitting data back to Earth since leaving the planetary system many years ago. Launched in the late 1970s, its original mission was to fly by Jupiter and Saturn, collecting information and taking photographs. That mission ended in late 1980, when it shot past Titan and flew toward the stars. It is now the most distant human object anywhere, continuing to hurtle out into interstellar space.
“How far is it from Earth now?” Carver asked.
Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate Page 17