And then Glauber’s window broke open, and he too was covered in bird, a terrible mass of tiny bodies breaking across his face, and he realized – too late – that more than anything else in the world, he finally wanted to scream.
4
SIRENS BLARED IN the background, almost deafening James Carter as he addressed the television camera, which picked up the scenes of chaos surrounding him – storefronts smashed and broken, people still escaping with clothes and sneakers from the sports store behind, and with wide-screen TVs and computers from the electronics store to the side. One of the buildings was on fire, along with several of the cars which lined the normally peaceful street, the flames licking perilously close to Carter as he gave his report.
‘I’m here on Hudson Boulevard,’ he announced over the din of rioters and looters, ‘where chaos is running rampant. After the giant statue was seen to move last week, there have been more strange incidents all over the world – domestic pets have attacked their owners, birds have destroyed large passenger airplanes by flying into them in huge numbers, zoo animals have gone on the rampage, fish have been dying in their millions. And some people believe that these unexplained incidents are heralding the end of the world, the Apocalypse.’
Carter flinched instinctively as one of the cars behind him erupted in a huge fireball, then continued, ‘Already, apocalyptic cults are emerging, driving people into a frenzy, claiming all sorts of things – but the bottom line is that we are all doomed.’
Carter looked around to survey the carnage behind him, then turned back to the camera. ‘Whether that is true or not,’ he went on, gesturing to the destruction of the neighbourhood, ‘it is clear that their words are having an effect. Earlier this evening the first riot broke out, here on these streets. The police managed to arrest the main offenders but now the looters have moved in.
‘It starts here, but mark my words,’ Carter said gravely, ‘it will spread. This is only the beginning.’
PART TWO
1
‘THEY’RE BEHIND US,’ Leanne Harnas whispered urgently across the cabin of the fast-moving SUV, almost as if she expected her pursuers to be able to hear her.
Karl Janklow could see the headlights in his rear-view mirror. Three vehicles, approaching fast. Gaining on them. His nerves threatened to get the better of him as he manoeuvred the vehicle down the treacherous, snow-covered mountain road. Huge trees veered up on either side of him, cutting out all natural light from the stars and moon and making the route seem all but impassable. And yet he knew the road was just fine; indeed, he’d driven this way home for the past three years. He tried to rein in his paranoia. So there were vehicles behind them; so what? Plenty of other people lived off base, many of them in the same small town as Janklow did.
But this time, Janklow had no intention of ever going back; he and Leanne had discussed the matter at length, and both had decided that they needed to go public with what was going on at the base. And now that they had made that decision, and acted upon it, the fear that they had been discovered was running cold through both of them.
‘If they knew,’ Leanne said, ‘why didn’t they stop us at the gate?’
Janklow increased speed, the big SUV threatening to tilt over and go spinning into the trees at every turn. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered, knowing it was a lie. He knew the reason. Colonel Anderson had let them leave the base so that they could be killed out here, in the wilderness. Away from prying eyes.
His foot pressed the accelerator harder, and the wide tyres struggled to keep a grip on the icy forest road. He saw the headlights fall away behind him and allowed himself a grin of triumph.
It was short-lived; the lights were back again just moments later, closing the gap even further. Should he risk turning off into the treeline? If he could just get round the next bend fast enough, break through a gap into the trees and turn his lights off, Anderson and his men might go shooting straight past them.
It was worth a try, he decided, increasing his speed even more as they shot towards another corner.
‘Slow down!’ Leanne screamed at him, as she felt the tyres giving way under the heavy vehicle. ‘We’re going to—’
The sound of automatic gunfire drowned her words. In the mirrors, Janklow saw flashes of light erupting from the vehicles behind him. He felt the impact of bullets hitting his car, heard the windows shatter. He struggled to control the car as one of the tyres was blown out.
He turned to Leanne to tell her to hang on but saw only her lifeless body sagging in the seat next to him, head lolling uselessly on her chest, a round having blasted straight through the back of her seat into her body. Only then did he realize that the windscreen was covered in blood, pierced and webbed where the bullet had passed out of her body and carried on forwards.
He felt instantly nauseous, and vomited over the steering wheel and dashboard even as another tyre was blasted out and his car finally, spectacularly, went spinning off the mountain road into the trees beyond.
Colonel Easton Anderson stepped out of his jeep and smelt the air, picking up the scents of gun smoke and leaking gasoline. Good. This business would finally be put to rest.
Not so very long ago, Karl Janklow had seen the computer of a technician who had been working on the base’s covert sub-programme. The technician had gone straight to Anderson to tell him. Anderson had chastized him for his lack of attention to security but was happy the man had had the balls to admit he had messed up. They had put surveillance on Janklow straight away, and Anderson was perturbed, although not entirely surprised, when the computer expert had started to hack the internal system. Anderson had ordered some files to be moved, others to be changed, but there was still enough to alarm anyone looking.
Anderson had allowed Janklow to probe, all the while monitoring his every step. Although it appeared that he had stumbled upon the covert project by accident, there was always the possibility that he was working for someone else – the police, the government, a foreign government. Anderson was responsible for the programme’s security, and he had to know if there was someone behind Janklow.
It soon became apparent that there wasn’t, but then the man had confided in one of his colleagues, Leanne Harnas – a woman Janklow was having some sort of on-again, off-again romance with – and Anderson knew the moment was coming when he would have to act.
The very next day, Janklow and Harnas had announced their intention to take a weekend trip together. It was a trip Anderson could never allow to happen, and yet he didn’t want to take care of the pair back at the base; there were too many people, too many questions that would be asked.
And so here he was now, having followed them from the base and gunned them down. He would have liked a cleaner method, but Janklow had to be stopped in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. Things would be much easier to tidy up this way, arranged to look like some sort of unfortunate car crash.
His attention was caught by one of his men, waving from the wreckage of Janklow’s SUV.
‘What is it?’ Anderson called over.
‘Janklow’s not here, sir!’ came the immediate reply.
Anderson sprinted towards the car until he could see the bloody remains of Leanne Harnas, half thrown through the bloody windscreen.
‘Check the area! Maybe he was thrown clear.’
Men moved off, torches up to illuminate the snow-filled woods. If Janklow had been thrown through the windscreen, there was no way he would have survived at that speed, and yet . . .
‘Sir!’ came another cry, over towards the other side of the road.
Anderson went over, saw the tracks the soldier was pointing at with his torch. They were the tracks made by a man on skis, and led downhill, away from the mountaintop and down to the small civilian town at the bottom.
Damn it! Anderson restrained the urge to punch the trunk of the nearest tree. He called over to the crew of one of the vehicles which had come with them, a big ten-ton truck.
‘OK,’ he shouted, ‘get the snowmobiles deployed, right now!’
As Janklow veered in and out of the trees, the pitch dark was almost all-enveloping, causing him on more than one occasion to nearly ski straight into one of the huge trees that made up this sub-arctic forest. He managed to adjust his course every time, at just the right moment; the darkness wasn’t quite complete, sufficient light filtered down from the moon to aid his progress.
His head throbbed from the crash, but the airbag had deployed and probably saved his life. He had known there was no point in checking but he had felt for Leanne’s pulse nevertheless, having to suppress the urge to vomit again as he held back the mop of bloody hair to feel for the carotid artery at the neck. There had been nothing.
He choked back his tears, bitterly regretting that he had got her into this situation in the first place.
Janklow kept skis in the back of the SUV. Shorter than conventional skis, they were designed for cross-country use, a sport he enjoyed and one of the reasons why he had chosen this remote posting. He’d made it across the road with his skis and boots just seconds before Anderson’s team had arrived on the scene, and was off down the mountain before Anderson reached the annihilated SUV.
But now, with the cold wind whipping against his face as he shot down the mountain, weaving in and out of the trees, he heard the sound of engines behind him, high-pitched, straining. Snowmobiles.
He knew they would be able to catch him but he would not give up. The will to survive, to live, overrode his fear, adrenalin pushing him further and faster than he would have thought possible. Part of his mind wanted to give up, to just sit down in the snow and wait for the killers to finish him off. But a deeper part, one he never knew existed within him, spurred him on. And so he continued his run for freedom.
Colonel Anderson piloted the lead snowmobile, leading a squad of four vehicles down the mountain, powerful headlights letting him see all obstacles long before he reached them.
He knew Janklow had a head start, but against engine power, the man had no chance. And the tracks in the snow were as clear as day.
Anderson admired the man for his efforts, and the evening’s action was certainly a diverting change from the normal routine, but it would soon be at an end.
The sound of the snowmobiles was louder now, and the snow around Janklow was lit up by the snowmobiles’ headlights.
And then the terrifying sound of gunfire penetrated the still air once more, and Janklow watched in terror as the soft snow was ploughed up around him, missing his skis by inches.
He swerved in and out of the trees faster, cutting down at an angle across the mountain to a narrow pass that he thought the larger vehicles might not get through.
He saw the lights turn to follow him, bullets ripping up more of the snow. He hit a shelf and jumped, flying through the cold air for what seemed an eternity before landing, taking the shock through his knees and hips, careening up on to a single leg before regaining his balance and carrying on down the steep slope.
He heard gunfire again, felt something hit the back of his arm. Looking down, he saw a gaping wound in his coat at the bicep, and realized he’d been shot, the bullet passing straight through his arm. He felt dizzy, started to lose balance, but then his peripheral vision caught movement, and he momentarily forgot about the pain and shock and turned to see what it was.
His eyes went wide as he saw two small bear cubs. They stopped playing and watched him. Even as he carried on down the hill, his mind processed the information that the bear cubs were scared. And that would mean—
The adult bear came charging towards him, snow churning up behind it, teeth bared and reflecting dimly in the faint moonlight. Janklow’s heart almost stopped, but he aimed himself towards a log with a drift of snow lying up its side. He sailed up it just as the huge animal reached out for him. He flew off the other side in a high arc, hit the ground and stumbled, blood loss from his arm making his coordination suffer, and then he was rolling, the skis striking the ground and flying off into the trees beyond, his body curling into a pain-filled ball as it shot down the mountainside.
Anderson recognized the sound and knew he should avoid the area but he simply didn’t have the time, and before he knew it his headlights picked up the ferocious image of a bear charging through the snow towards him. He pulled off left at the last minute and his snowmobile slammed straight into a tree and sent him sailing through the air.
The bear brought its great paws crashing down on to the front of the second snowmobile, crushing it instantly and sending the pilot tumbling across the snow. The huge beast ignored the man, now curled into a ball on the ground in a last-ditch effort to protect himself, and launched herself at the last two snowmobiles which were trying to take evasive action. One swipe of the bear’s huge paw sent one driver flying into the trunk of a nearby tree. Directly behind, the driver of the fourth snowmobile piloted the craft straight into the animal. The driver was thrown from the snowmobile, but the bear was propelled backwards, letting out a roar of pain and anger as she came down on to all fours.
Anderson, covered in snow, used the momentary distraction to get to his knees. Using the broken snowmobile as a rest, he laid his rifle on the top and aimed at the bear through the weapon’s night sight.
The bear, recovering and still protecting her cubs from the perceived threat, reared back once more on to her hind legs, raising her arms above her head, ready to smash them down into the body of the driver which had hit her. And then her chest erupted in a spray of blood as Anderson opened fire, peppering the thousand-pound mammal with an entire magazine of high-velocity ammunition.
Anderson watched in wonder as the bear stood still for several moments, as if contemplating her injuries. Anderson was halfway through reloading his rifle when finally, with a deep, rumbling groan, the huge animal fell to the ground, dead.
Moments later, ignorant of the danger, the two cubs came bounding over, nuzzling the dead bear and emitting wailing cries.
Anderson ignored them, anger taking over. The snowmobiles were out of action, and who knew what state his men were in.
With a sigh of resignation, he accepted that Karl Janklow had escaped.
Janklow finally came to rest at the bottom of the mountain. Even though the snow was thick and deep, he had still smashed into fallen branches, rocks and stones on his way down. He was badly battered and barely conscious. He staggered to his feet, half falling through the last of the trees, and stumbled out of the forest on to the dark grey asphalt of a road.
He turned one way, then the other, and saw lights heading towards him.
He held back, worried it might be more soldiers from the base, but then he saw the multi-levelled lights and realized it was a commercial truck. Almost delirious with the joy of a survivor, he stepped out into the road, waving his good arm frantically.
The truck sounded its horn, and Janklow wondered if it was going to hit him and end everything right there and then; but then the brakes were applied, and the huge truck started to slow down.
By the time the truck driver got out of the cab to help him, Janklow had passed out and lay unconscious on the icy road, his head filled with a single thought before oblivion.
I’ve made it.
2
ALYSSA DURHAM’S FINGERS pinched the tiny outcrop of rock with a vice-like grip, the sides of her painfully tight climbing shoes pressed against the almost sheer surface for added traction.
She was free-climbing a one-hundred-foot granite cliff face, a short climb for her but made difficult due to the low temperature, which ensured the wall was covered in a thin layer of ice.
In earlier years, she would have done the climb as a free solo, without ropes for protection, but now, as the lone parent of a beautiful eight-year-old daughter, she was not willing to risk making that child an orphan. And so she used ropes, but only to save her if she fell – she wouldn’t use them as an aid in her climbing.
Her daughter, Anna, was higher up the m
ountain, skiing. Alyssa was a good skier herself, but Anna was something else – she’d started at the age of five and shown a natural aptitude for it. They went to the mountains every opportunity they got, which wasn’t as much as Alyssa would have liked. Her job was demanding, and there was only one of her, after all, but it was enough for Anna to have become pretty incredible for an eight-year-old.
The trips had started after the death of her husband, Patrick. He had contracted a rare form of degenerative disease at a shockingly young age, and Alyssa had nursed him for twelve painful months before – mercifully for him, agonizingly for her and Anna – he had quietly passed away one night. She had cried for hours – helpless tears, hopeless tears – but had gathered herself before Anna woke. She needed to be strong for her, and although both Alyssa’s parents and Patrick’s parents were a huge help, the fact of the matter – at least as Alyssa saw it – was that Anna was her responsibility, and nobody else’s. And she was now all that remained of Patrick.
Anna herself had found it hard to deal with her father’s death. He had been ill for some time and had not been involved in her upbringing during that final, painful year, but the gap that he left was difficult for a young girl to deal with. Where’s Daddy? she would ask incessantly, especially before bedtime, when he used to read stories to her before kissing her goodnight. When’s Daddy coming home? It was hard for Alyssa to explain, and Anna had cried for days, for weeks, and Alyssa had cried along with her.
It wasn’t until their first trip into the mountains, a few months after Patrick’s death, that Anna had started to come round. The magical quality of the snow, the serene peace of the valleys, the majesty of the mountains themselves had shown Anna another view of the world, perhaps of something beyond it, and given her hope; and Alyssa had felt it too, the pull of something beyond, the first faint rays of a life beyond the one that had been wrenched so terribly from them.
Extinction Page 3