“My God!” she said, looking back the way she had come. The ground had risen a hundred meters or so, and now she was looking down on the depot and the swarm. It was like looking at a lake of silver light collected around the front of the building. The pool embraced the depot’s front and sides and was gradually creeping over the roof, slowly swallowing it whole, like some amorphous snake.
Time was running out. At some point, the swarm was going to find a way into the building, and then it was only a matter of minutes before it discovered Rhiannon and Thor holed up inside.
She had to beat feet right now.
Reorienting herself toward the freeway, Emily started off at a brisk jog. Moving this quickly was a calculated risk that had to be taken. The sky was as black as the ground around her. The memory of the moon, distilled to nothing more than a smudge, glowed dimly overhead, the thick layer of cloud denying even its measly assistance to her. She kept going, putting one foot in front of the other. She was almost to the point of thinking that somehow she had managed to miss the freeway—How the fuck do you miss a freeway? her inner voice chided—when she felt the hard surface of the I-40 beneath her boots.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she turned to the west and started up the freeway. She had no idea where she was in relation to where she wanted to be, but, as if the gods in all their capriciousness were finally willing to cut her some slack, even if it were only to prolong her agony, the clouds thinned sufficiently to allow a sliver of moonlight to bathe the ground. And in that light she saw the shadowed outline of twisted wreckage that had once been a tractor-trailer about five meters ahead of where she stood. The moonlight lasted a few seconds longer before being swallowed up by the cloud again, but it was long enough for Emily to see that she was almost on top of the crush of vehicles at the head of the line of rusting trucks that had led her to this place.
In the daylight it had been relatively simple to pick her way through the field of debris strewn across the freeway, but under the cover of night she was soon kicking and stumbling over pieces of metal and broken truck parts, slowing her search down considerably. By the time she had almost tripped and fallen headlong for the third time, her mind was made up: there was no way she was going to be able to find the truck she needed in such complete darkness. She was just going to have to risk turning on her flashlight.
Emily took a deep breath, pointed the flashlight uphill, and flicked it on. She played the beam of light over the nearest truck carcass; it rang no bells in her memory whatsoever, so she moved the light to her left and saw that she was about three trucks up from the jumble of twisted metal that had brought this convoy to a stop . . . and her heart seized.
A tributary of white light had broken away from the main body of the swarm and was now snaking its way diagonally toward her. It would be here in minutes.
It took all her willpower to turn her back on the approaching threat, but if she had any hope of surviving this situation, she was going to have to move her ass right now. It was pointless turning off the flashlight; the damage was already done. She played the beam off the side of the ruined trucks, searching for the wreck she was looking for as she jogged up the line.
No . . . No . . . No . . .
Then, there it was, the beam of her flashlight glinting off the side of its brushed aluminum tanker, the name “Bryant Gasoline” barely visible along its side. She ran to the tanker, glancing briefly back over her shoulder. Through the space between the trucks in front of her she could see the glow of the approaching swarm marching toward her like ghosts through the night. She had to hurry.
Of course there was more than enough of a chance that her plan was already doomed; the tanker could be empty, or the gasoline she hoped was inside could have long turned to sludge, or the flare might be useless.
But there was only one way to find out.
“Come on, come on. Where is it?”
Emily searched along the side of the truck and finally found the bank of three valves the driver would have connected the hose to when making deliveries to gas stations. Each valve had a metal handle pointing upward, the plastic grips brown and crumbling from exposure to the elements.
Looking back toward the depot, it was plain to see she had a couple of minutes at best before the swarm reached her.
I have to move fast.
Emily stepped to the side of the valves, away from where she guessed the gasoline, if there were any, would flow. She slipped the flashlight under her right armpit, clenching it tightly, then with both her hands free took hold of the middle handle and pulled downward. The handle was stiff, but she repositioned herself slightly in front of it and allowed her body weight to help in the effort. She felt the handle give, stepped back to the side, and pulled the handle toward the ground. Before the handle was horizontal, a thick stream of liquid gushed out of the valve and began to pool on the road, flowing down the incline of the road back toward the depot and the oncoming lights of the swarm. The unmistakable smell of gasoline reached Emily’s nostrils almost immediately. If she had had more time she would have done a little jig; instead, she reached over the spurting stream of gasoline and pulled the second lever, but this one would not budge at all, so she quickly shifted her hands to the third, and, with a couple of short tugs, had that valve wide open too. Now a veritable lake of gasoline had begun to form on the ground around the tanker.
Emily felt her mind fuzz over for a second as she breathed too deeply from the vapors. Staggering, she fell lightly against the side of the truck.
She felt wetness against her leg. Pointing the flashlight down at her feet she saw both her boots and her jeans were now soaked in gasoline. Shit! She was going to have to be extra careful when she lit the flare.
The lake of gas flowed across both lanes and quickly spread beneath the tanker.
A flash of light zipping past her head made Emily realize she was out of time; the first of the swarm had arrived. It was now or never.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the flare. Looking behind her, she spotted a mass of swirling lights only a couple of trucks away. Several of the swarm had broken away from the mass, flying out in front like scouts. One dived directly at her, barely missing her head, startling her enough that she dropped the flashlight to the ground. Before she could stoop and grab it again another of the light bugs made a beeline for her, forcing her to duck under the truck, putting the body of the tanker between her and the advancing creatures. She splashed her way through the pool of gasoline to the other side of the truck.
Another of the creatures flew under—the others seemed more interested in her flashlight—and headed straight for her, but its wing must have clipped one of the rig’s metal struts, because it made an odd whirring noise and spiraled away to her right, bouncing off the ground until it was nothing but a rapidly dimming light in the darkness.
She scrambled out from under the tanker and began to run for the edge of the freeway, her hand grasping the flare as if it was all that stood between her and the devil himself. There was no way she was going to be able to perform the next part while she was moving. She forced herself to stop, the instinct to run overwhelming, and risked a look back at the tanker, which was about ten meters or so away from her now. The glowing creatures swirled around her flashlight, but some must have spotted her in the eerie glow of their light and were rising over the top of the tanker. Emily popped the plastic endcap off the flare, exposing the striker surface, and held her breath as she struck the flare across the igniter.
A bright-red bloom of light appeared at the end of the flare, turning the ground around her blood red, before vanishing behind a blossom of acrid smoke for a moment, then sinking back to a steady hissing red flame.
Jesus! It freaking worked. She had fully expected the flare to simply fail and was actually struck motionless for a second.
Now throw the damn thing!
She lobbed the flare overhand like a hand grenade, watched it arc through the air, spinning end over end until it hit
the side of the tanker and dropped toward the pool of gas. Before the flare even hit the ground she saw the first flicker of blue flame as the gas vapors ignited. She allowed herself a second to watch as the flame quickly spread out across the pool, frying some of the creatures midflight. The flames spread quickly under the tanker toward the valves. The last image she saw before she turned and started sprinting back across the desert toward the depot building was a gushing waterfall of flame as the fire reached the trailer’s valves.
Emily allowed herself a smile as she chased her shadow across the ground back toward the depot.
Couldn’t have asked for a better re—
She did not hear the gas tanker explode; the shock wave had already hit her, and, for the brief couple of seconds before she hit the ground again, she was too concerned with figuring out how she had suddenly learned to fly.
Emily opened her eyes to a world of flame. All around her fire raged, and the acrid smoke of burnt fuel filled her nostrils.
She looked down her body. Someone’s boots and jeans were on fire.
It took a few seconds for Emily’s muddled mind to make the connection that it was her feet and her legs that were burning.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she hissed, flailing at the flames. The heat from the burning gasoline was already beginning to singe the hair of her legs through the thick denim. She began batting at her jeans, but all that did was scorch the soft flesh of her hands. She pushed her hands into the pool of cold, wet mud she had splashed down in, and began scooping up huge handfuls of it, slathering it over her burning clothes. Her flames died quickly. Not so for the hundreds of tiny fires that still burned around her.
Thirty meters from where she lay, where the tanker had been, a huge pool of fire now burned in the shattered remains of the tanker, a heavy plume of smoke rising up into the night sky, spreading southward. A mist of light flowed all around the inferno, dancing through the smoke and circling the fire like a sentient fog: the swarm. The ground was littered with charred and burning debris, more remains of the gas tanker, and probably several of the wrecks that had surrounded it. A stream of burning fuel still leaked from what was left of the rear portion of the tanker, running down the slope toward the depot.
The plan worked! Holy crap, it actually worked.
She had no recollection of what had happened after she’d thrown the flare and started to run; her plan had obviously worked a little too well. She looked down toward the depot and could only identify it by the reflection of the fire dancing in its windows. The swarm had left the building completely, the final stragglers zipping toward the burning wreck of the gas truck like earthbound shooting stars. The main body of the swarm seemed fascinated by the fire; they danced and weaved around it, the occasional unlucky one getting too close and falling into the flames. She could hear the pop of their bodies boiling and exploding in the heat as they fell to the ground, sizzled lumps of goo.
Emily eased herself to her feet, her legs still unsure they were willing to hold her up. She patted down the last smoldering spot on her jeans. She was so going to have to get a new wardrobe when all of this was finally over, she told herself.
The fire cast long shadows over the landscape, its light pushing deep into the surrounding darkness. Emily began to stumble her way back toward the depot, picking through the scattered fires that burned like tiny funeral pyres. By the time she reached the rear entrance of the building, her legs felt leaden and a dull pain, like she’d been punched hard, pulsed in the muscles of her right shoulder.
She was pretty sure she had lost consciousness, but there was no way for her to gauge exactly how long she’d been out. Long enough for the swarm to have made its way to the fire, at least. But that could have been minutes or half an hour. Either way, it would mean that Rhiannon would have followed her instructions and left in the truck with Thor. Emily had instructed her to head east and put some space between the swarm until daylight, then double back and try and make her way back to Point Loma. Rhiannon would have to come back along the I-40 eventually, so all Emily would need to do was stay on the road. They would inevitably run into each other at some point. She pushed through the rear door and headed straight to the office and was instantly blinded by the beam of a flashlight in her eyes.
“Emily!” Rhiannon yelled and ran to her friend, throwing her arms around her and hugging her hard.
“Are you kidding me? Do you ever follow my instructions?” Emily said, too exasperated and bone weary to do anything but speak.
“I couldn’t,” Rhiannon said. “I couldn’t leave you here. I love you, Emily.”
“I love you too,” Emily said eventually and hugged her right back. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
Emily led Rhiannon and Thor back through the depot.
“Let me take your flashlight,” she asked Rhiannon at the door to the vehicle bay. “I lost mine out there.” Pausing, she pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sign the swarm still waited beyond it. Hearing nothing, she eased the door open and swept the beam of the flashlight through the room.
The opposite side of the door, its wooden frame, and the wall it sat in were a cratered mess. Crushed bodies of the swarm were piled around the doorway like dead autumn leaves, and many more were scattered over the concrete floor.
“Stay away from that, Thor,” Emily whispered as the malamute sniffed inquisitively at the bloodied pulp of a dead bug, prodding it with his nose. Emily stepped out into the bay. “Come on, stick close to me.” They walked in single file toward the truck.
The windshield of the first dump truck looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to it; squashed bugs were splattered across the windshield, bodily fluids streaked across the glass. More bodies lay around the tires of the truck, and Rhiannon gasped in horror when one of the creature’s legs twitched convulsively as they passed it. Emily stopped any future movement with the swift application of the heel of her boot.
The other vehicles had suffered less damage, and their own truck just had a few dents and bangs; aside from a spiderweb impact crater that dripped a glowing blue ichor on the passenger side of the windshield, the damage looked minimal.
“Get in,” Emily ordered Rhiannon, opening the passenger door while she scanned the shadows for any movement. When Rhiannon was safely strapped into the passenger seat, Emily made her way to the back of the truck and ushered Thor up and inside. Their gear was still where they had stowed it. She slammed the rear door closed and flinched as the echo reverberated around the silent room.
At the roller door, Emily began pulling the chain as quickly as she could, not caring how much noise she made at this point; they would be gone and on their way before the swarm could react to the sound anyway.
At the halfway point, she ducked her head under the opening and looked outside.
The gas truck still burned brightly back along the freeway, the swarm still apparently entranced by the flames. Good. When the door was fully retracted, she kicked as much of the broken glass out of the way of the tires as possible and jogged back to the truck. She was about to climb up into the driver’s seat when a blur of motion snapped her attention to the roof space.
It had probably been resting on one of the metal girders, she thought in the split second she had to register what was happening. The light bug swooped down from the ceiling like some kind of dive-bomber, its abdomen igniting suddenly within the darkness.
Emily instinctively batted at it with the hand holding the flashlight but missed, and it swept through the open door and into the truck.
Rhiannon screamed as the creature zigged and zagged inside, bouncing off the interior walls.
Thor snarled, flecks of foam flying from his mouth.
Rhiannon screamed again, throwing up a hand to protect her face from the creature. It whirred around her head for a second, then dived at Rhiannon again, fastening itself to her wrist with its tentacles, its wings wrapping around her arm in an unwanted embrace.
Rhiannon screamed ag
ain, this time in shock and pain.
Emily lunged into the cabin, but, as her hand reached for the bug, the creature released Rhiannon’s wrist and headed toward Emily’s face . . . only to disappear in an explosion of glowing blood as Thor plucked it from midair and shook it to pieces between his jaws.
“Shit! Holy shit! Rhiannon, are you okay? Let me look,” Emily said, leaning in to inspect the girl’s arm.
“It bit me,” Rhiannon said, hot tears spilling down her face, her voice full of anger and disgust rather than fear.
“Give me your arm.” Emily unfastened the buttons of Rhiannon’s shirt cuff and rolled the sleeve up to her elbow. There was a single puncture wound just above the inside of her wrist. A spot of blood had welled up and now trickled down the girl’s arm.
“Ow, ow, ow,” said Rhiannon, her fingers rubbing at the spot.
“Quit rubbing it and let me take a look.” Emily shined the flashlight on the wound and saw that in the seconds since the bug had bitten Rhiannon the wound had swelled and reddened deeply, but the bleeding looked like it had stopped, at least.
“It’s okay,” Emily said. “How do you feel?”
“It stings a lot,” Rhiannon said, “but I don’t think it—”
Rhiannon’s body curved like a bow, her arms snapping to her side, her head arcing backward as the seat belt engaged, the only thing, Emily realized, that stopped her body from flying from the seat as a convulsion exploded through Rhiannon’s muscles. The girl’s jaws clamped shut, and Emily saw a thin splatter of blood—Oh God! Oh God, please, please, no—fly from her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and a low hiss, like escaping gas, whistled from between her clenched teeth.
“Rhiannon?” Emily yelled, taking the girl’s shoulders with both her hands. Rhiannon was completely unresponsive, her back arching, then relaxing slightly before snapping back against the seat belt again. “Rhiannon!” Emily yelled again, but there was not a damn thing she could do to help her.
Extinction Point (Book 4): Genesis Page 20