Sigma Force 10 - The Sixth Extinction

by James Rollins

  He turned to Cutter, his voice low with defeat. “You’ll need the blood from one of the Antarctic species.”

  “Which one?”

  “Volitox ignis.”

  Cutter looked truly thoughtful now. “Those fiery eels. A daunting task indeed. I’ll have to make a call before it’s too late. Seems I might have gotten ahead of myself with my plans. Jumping the gun, as you Americans say.”

  The man began to turn away.

  “Cutter, you promised.”

  He turned back. “Of course, sorry. Which cure do you want? The one for Ms. Beck . . . or for the world?”

  Kendall stared back at the screen, at the small woman huddled in the cage. At the same time, he pictured the wrath of destruction spreading over the mountains of California.

  I’m sorry, Jenna.

  Kendall turned to Cutter. “How do I kill what I created?”

  “It’s the simplest of all solutions. Have you never wondered why that biosphere under Antarctica never spread to the greater world? Surely there have been breaches in the past, small escapes that have leaked out. But it’s never fully broken loose. I suspect it would take great numbers to do that.”

  Kendall struggled for an answer. What was so unique about Antarctica? What kept that world trapped below? Was it the salty seas, the ice, the cold? He had already experimented with such variables in the past at his lab.

  “We’ve tried subzero temperatures, various salinities, heavy metal toxins, like those found in the surrounding oceans,” Kendall admitted. “Nothing’s killed it.”

  “Because you were thinking too small, my friend . . . that’s always been your problem. You look at the trees and miss the forest. You think locally versus globally.”

  Cutter lifted an eyebrow, as if testing Kendall.

  He pondered the significance.

  Globally.

  What was Cutter driving at?

  Then he suddenly knew.

  1:24 P.M.

  Jenna rubbed the nape of her neck, careful not to shift too close to the bars of the cage. The dull ache in her cervical vertebrae had become a tight muscular spasm, shooting fiery lances of agony throughout her skull. Even her eyes hurt, making the dull green glow of the forest seem too bright.

  She knew the significance of these symptoms.

  It’s already starting.

  She began to repeat a mantra, fearing what was coming.

  I am Jenna Beck, daughter of Gayle and Charles. I live at the corner of D Street and Lee Vining Avenue. My dog’s name is Nikko, his birthday is . . .

  She fought through the pain to hold on to every scrap of her identity, testing her memory for any sign of deterioration.

  But will I even know when it’s happening?

  She breathed deeply, taking in the rich perfume of the jungle, trying to find her center, to keep panic at bay. All around, she heard water dripping, the thrush of bird’s wings, the creak of branches, the whisper of leaves.

  One detail struck her as wrong, nagging at the edges of her consciousness. It was still too quiet here. She detected no birdsong, no chatter of monkeys, no scurried passage of something small through the underbrush.

  Then, as if something sensed her awareness, a branch snapped to her left. Her gaze flicked in that direction, but all she saw was a shift of shadows. Her eyes strained to pierce the walls of ferns surrounding the clearing.

  Nothing.

  But she knew the truth, remembering the angry roaring from earlier, along with the extreme caution of the guards when delivering her to this prison.

  I’m not alone.

  1:25 P.M.

  Think globally . . .

  Was that the answer all along?

  Kendall closed his eyes, picturing the planet spinning, the crust riding atop a molten sea, all surrounding a sold iron core that was two-thirds the size of the moon. Convection currents in that molten iron, along with the Coriolis forces from the earth’s rotation, generated an electrical geodynamo that engulfed the earth in a vast magnetic field.

  “Magnetism,” Kendall said. “That’s what keeps that shadow biosphere trapped under Antarctica.”

  “And where on the planet is the earth’s magnetic field the strongest?”

  “The poles.” He imagined that field blasting strongly out from either end of the earth, encircling the globe. “And it’s weakest near the equators.”

  “But where else is it weakest?”

  Kendall knew the answer had to be tied to the location of the Hell’s Cape. He pictured that hot world far beneath the ice, the perfect incubator for strange life. He remembered the sulfur, the bubbling pools.

  He looked up at Cutter. “Geothermal zones,” he said. “The earth’s magnetic field is weaker in regions of volcanic activity.”

  “Correct. The molten magma underlying those regions cannot hold its ferromagnetism, creating a local dip in the earth’s field, an island if you will in a sea of stronger magnetic currents.”

  Kendall imagined Hell’s Cape as that island, trapped within Antarctica’s stronger field. It still seemed a far stretch to assume that magnetic differential was enough to keep life trapped in place. Something had to make life down there especially sensitive to magnetic fields, something basic to its nature.

  “XNA,” he said aloud, sitting straighter in his chair. “All life down there is based on a genetic helix that doesn’t use the sugar deoxyribose as its backbone. It’s unique, unlike any other life. That sugar backbone is replaced by a combination of arsenic and iron phosphate.” Kendall stared at Cutter. “It’s the iron, isn’t it? That’s what makes the XNA life so sensitive to magnetic fields.”

  “I studied that iron structure using X-ray diffraction and photoelectron spectroscopy. It forms ferrous nanorings throughout the XNA helix, somewhat like vertebrae that make up a spine.”

  “And with exposure to the right magnetic signature, it should be possible to shatter that spine.” He looked hopefully upon Cutter. “Have you calculated out what that signature is?”

  “I did . . . and tested it. It’s not all that groundbreaking. Your own FDA has already been testing oscillating magnetic fields to kill bacteria, viruses, and fungi in water and food supplies. I simply modified that study’s finding and discovered the signature that works best in this case.”

  Kendall pictured the organism he created in his lab, shriveling up inside his synthetically created capsids, leaving behind those shells like so many discarded snakeskins.

  “Without this cure,” Cutter said, “I would never have unleashed your organism. Like you, I don’t want the world destroyed by what you created. In fact, if you had chosen to cure Ms. Beck instead of seeking this answer, I would’ve told you anyway. I can’t have the world dying before I can save it, now can I?”

  Kendall glanced to the video feed. A flicker of dismay rattled through him, but he had to force it down. There was still too much at risk. “So you’ll allow me tell the authorities in California about the magnetic cure.”

  “In time.”

  “What do you mean, in time?”

  “From what I hear, your illustrious colleagues are about to ignite a nuclear device in those mountains. Foolish as that may be. As we both know it will do little good, beyond casting your organism over an even wider field, while irradiating much of that area for decades to come. But that is humanity’s penchant: to destroy before thinking. It is why we are doomed as a species.”

  “But you said you didn’t want my organism to destroy the world.”

  “I don’t. Once you give them the solution, it’ll simply take longer to clean their mess up. It’ll keep them busy for a much longer time.”

  “And the radiation? All that damage?”

  “The earth has survived such flesh wounds from mankind before, and it will abide this one, too.” Cutter sighed. “Besides, this distraction will serve me well. To keep humanity looking one way while their doom comes from another direction entirely.”

  From your work here.

  �
��And if you’ll excuse me, I do have to make that call. See about getting a sample of blood from a Volitox before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?”

  Cutter paused. “You’ve been hiding that subterranean world for too long, Kendall, keeping it trapped, stunted from its full potential.”

  He thought he could feel no deeper level of dismay and shock. “What . . . what are you planning?”

  “I’m going to flush that darkly beautiful and wonderfully aggressive biosphere into our world. I believe it’s time they left their tiny island of isolation. Some will perish during this transition, of course, victims of the very magnetic flux we talked about, but as you know Nature is the greatest innovator. In such volumes and varieties, some species will survive by adapting, bringing forth to our world that XNA hardiness and mutability, perfect traits to survive the harsh times to come.”

  Kendall pictured the environmental damage from the sudden onslaught of so many alien species. An entire aggressive biosphere set loose upon the world. The ecological repercussions would be devastating.

  “I plan to pit your ancient world below against the modern above. During that war, I’ll unleash my species from here, casting them wide and far, bringing new and innovative genetic permutations, speeding up the evolutionary process by gifting these traits with the ability to jump between species. It will be the ultimate evolutionary crucible, where survival of the fittest will be the law of the land. To paraphrase the ancient Chinese strategist, Sun Tzu, within such chaos lies opportunity.”

  Kendall must have looked aghast.

  “You can be at my side, Kendall. To witness this transformation, the genesis of a new Eden, free from the degradations of man.”

  Kendall pictured that prion-induced wildfire, knocking humankind back to a primitive state.

  His eyes exultant, Cutter stepped back to the workstation. “Watch a small glimpse of that war to come, where the plague of man’s intelligence is stripped away, leaving humanity bound at last to natural law.”

  Kendal knew which law Cutter adhered to with a religious conviction.

  The Law of the Jungle.

  Cutter tapped a key.

  On the screen, the door to Jenna’s cage swung open.

  1:29 P.M.

  “How much longer?” Painter called up to Sergeant Suarez.

  “Another thirty minutes, sir!”

  Too long.

  Painter shifted in his seat, impatient, his upper arm burning, the pain stoking his anxiety. He was all too conscious of the deadline. The nuclear device was set to detonate in California in another ninety minutes.

  And here I am sitting on my ass.

  After another minute, Suarez shouted. “Sir, you might want to come up front and see this.”

  Glad for any distraction, any reason to move, Painter undid his seat harness and ducked forward. Drake snapped free and followed him up to the cockpit of the Valor.

  “What is it?” Painter asked.

  Suarez passed him a set of binoculars and pointed toward the distant tepui. It was still too far to make out any details, but Painter obeyed.

  Suarez found a second pair of scopes and tossed them to Drake.

  Painter took a moment to focus upon that distant mountain, its flanks shrouded in clouds.

  “Look toward the south end,” the sergeant instructed. He also motioned to the pilot. “Give us a little waggle.”

  Painter concentrated, leaning his bad shoulder against a bulkhead to keep his balance as the pilot shimmied the tiltrotor back and forth.

  At first he didn’t see anything, just wind-sculpted rocks and a scraggly forest at the north end. Then as the plane shifted again, something flashed brightly, reflecting the sunlight, sparking out from the forest of stones along the southern rim.

  Drake whistled. “To get that much flare, that’s got to be something metallic.”

  “I’ve been studying it for the past couple of minutes,” Suarez said. “I think it might be a wind turbine.”

  Turbine?

  Painter squinted, but he still failed to discern enough details to come to that same assessment. But the sergeant had the eyes of a younger man and had logged countless hours of aerial surveillance aboard the Valor.

  Painter took him at his word. And if there were wind turbines up there, then somebody must have set up an encampment atop that mountain.

  That could only be one person.

  Cutter Elwes.

  “Can you make this bird go any faster?” Painter asked.

  This news made him all the more anxious to make landfall.

  “Going top speed already,” the pilot said.

  Suarez checked his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes still to go.”

  1:33 P.M.

  The click from her cage door drew Jenna’s attention out of the fog of pain. Agony stabbed through her skull as she looked up. The persistent red light at the top of the gate had turned green.

  The door fell open a few inches.

  She remained standing, fearful it might be a trick. She used the rubber sole of her boot to touch the bars. There was no discharge, so she pushed the gate the rest of the way open and stepped free of the cage. Her boots crunched onto the gravel outside.

  She froze at this small noise, the hairs quivering at the back of her sore neck. She sensed eyes observing her. She studied the road leading through the forest, picturing the gate and the electrified fence that closed off this level.

  Even if I made it there, I’d still be trapped.

  She faced to the cage again. The safest place might be back inside, locked tightly up, but there must be a reason the pens were electrified. It suggested steel bars alone were not strong enough to resist what haunted this forest.

  Still, steel was better than nothing.

  She edged back toward the cage—only to see the door swing and clamp magnetically closed in front of her. The light flashed to red again.

  Locked out . . .

  She struggled to think, to plan, but her mind had turned slippery, unable to concentrate on one thought for very long. She wanted to blame this lack of focus on pain and terror, but she feared this difficulty was a symptom of a more serious condition.

  She whispered to the silent forest. “I am Jenna Beck, daughter of Gayle and Charles. I live at the corner of D Street and Lee Vine Road . . .”

  Wait. Was that right?

  She pictured the small Victorian with green gables.

  That’s where I live.

  She took strength from this memory. “My dog’s name is Nikko, and his birthday is . . .”

  With each whispered word, she took another step across the clearing, choosing to avoid the road. Though, the decision might not have been a conscious one. Instinct drove her to hide, to get out of the open. She decided to trust that instinct. Her mantra dissolved to a silent internal monologue as she reached the forest’s edge and pushed into the shadowy bower.

  My best friends are Bill and Hattie. She let the image of the older Paiute woman grow more vivid in her mind’s eye. Hattie belonged to the Kutza . . . She struggled for a breath, trying to remember her friend’s specific tribe, her feet stumbling with her frustration; then she found the name.

  Kutzadika’a . . . that was it.

  She reached forward to move the frond of a fern out of her way—but she had forgotten about the unusual nature of the botany here. The plant flinched from her touch, curling its leaves and rolling all its stems into a tight ball.

  Beyond that contracted fern, a massive creature appeared in plain view, only yards away. It stood on all fours, the size of a rhinoceros but as furry as a brown bear with a long thick tail. Its front legs curled atop savagely hooked claws, five to a side. Its muzzle and neck were massive, thick with muscle. Large brown-black eyes stared at her.

  She froze, recognizing enough of the physiology to know that what stood before her belonged to the sloth family, those slow-moving arboreal herbivores that lived in the Brazilian forests. But this example was monstrous in
size, a throwback to a great ancestor of the modern sloth. Though it looked like something out of the prehistoric past, in reality this species had gone extinct only ten thousand years ago.

  Megatherium, she remembered. The giant ground sloth.

  But Jenna sensed this creature was no more natural in form than what she had witnessed during her trip down here. Proving this, lips rippled back to reveal thick, sharp teeth, built for rending flesh from bones.

  This was no herbivore—but a new carnivore born to this world.

  With a roar, it reared up on its hind legs, rising to a height of twelve feet. A short arm lashed out, lightning fast, cleaving a sapling in half.

  Jenna fell back, stumbling away.

  More throaty cries burst from the jungle all around her, echoing off the stone walls, making it harder to think.

  Still, she remembered the goat carcass getting tossed down to the road from above, possibly meant as a warning.

  Heeding that warning now, she glanced up—and screamed as a shadow fell out of the canopy toward her.

  28

  April 30, 5:33 P.M. GMT

  Queen Maud Land, Antarctica

  “How long until this bloody thing is set up?” Dylan asked, pointing the radio clutched in his fist at the partially assembled LRAD dish.

  The lights of the large CAAT shone upon the three-man team working at getting the six giant panels, each weighing eighty pounds, secured in a standing frame. Another two men connected cables from the portable diesel generator. Dylan had chosen a spot as far back into the Coliseum as he could get, facing the dish toward the mouth of this tunnel system, toward Hell’s Cape station.

  So far so good.

  Dylan had left a small contingent of men back at that station. They had successfully blasted and blowtorched a tunnel through the station, opening a gateway to the world at large. Their efforts took longer than expected due to the additional caution necessary not to trigger the bunker buster bombs, which had been booby-trapped to explode if interfered with.

  But everything went well.

  All that was left now was to get this lost world stampeding for the new exit. The LRAD 4000X that was under assembly could blast an ear-aching 162 decibels and had a range of three miles, even farther with the echo-chamber acoustics of these caverns.