The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  Pots and pans lay discarded on the floor. Piles of china plates lay in a smashed heap, with cutlery scattered everywhere. Doors were left open with the content’s spilling out.

  So far, every cupboard or drawer they looked in was empty of food.

  “Abigail, could you help me here please,” the Reverend asked as he tried to lift a wide metal cupboard that had tipped onto its side, resting up against a metal wall. He had a feeling it wasn’t just a wall, it had a groove around one section.

  Abigail moved to his side.

  “Together,” she said, as they both gripped the edge and tipped in over. It was heavy and hit with a resounding thud as it tumbled onto its back. Pots clattered from the vibration.

  “Do you think they are okay?” Abigail asked for the tenth time since the booming sound was heard resonating throughout the building.

  “They will be fine. A fine bunch of capable men, and woman.” He gave her a reassuring smile, showing stained teeth. He wanted to add, The Lord will protect them, but that was the last thing people wanted to hear at the moment. He was also dying for a gulp of the amber liquid in his pocket – for courage.

  “Goodness me, what have we here?”

  As they opened the door of the metal cupboard, they found it was filled with dried packaged goods – rice, pasta, spaghetti, and pasta sheets for lasagna. There were boxes full of tomato sauce base, puree, and dried herbs.

  “Bingo, praise the Lord,” the Reverend muttered, unable to help himself. He removed rosary beads that had a small silver cross on the end from his pocket and kissed them. He said a silent prayer with his eye shut. He then replaced the beads and took the bottle out. He turned his back slightly while he took a long gulp.

  Abigail was knelt, pulling the large plastic packages free and stacking them to one side with arms that looked too skinny to be strong enough.

  She gave him a sly glance. Then decided, why not, and went ahead and asked what was on her mind. “Do you still believe in God, after everything that’s happening?” Abigail questioned while not looking at him as she struggled with a box of tomato sauce.

  “Of course. It’s at times when we are being truly tested that our faith shines through the strongest,” he said as he lifted the box onto a chrome countertop. He used the sleeve of his grubby black jacket to wipe his forehead. He chewed his bottom lip, which made his beard change shape, like a moving sea urchin.

  Abigail said no more, now wasn’t the time to talk about theology. She simply nodded at his response, to show she heard. She also had to turn away because of his rancid breath.

  She remembered the news before the channels started going off. There were large groups of people convinced it was all a test from God. People turned their backs on science and humanity and returned to their spiritual calling. Thousands took to the hills, stacking hay bails and lighting immense fires and bowing down in supplication. Fires burned across the country. Chanting drifted over towns and cities. They walked the streets with handmade crosses and thorn crowns, while singing at the top of their lungs, calling for salvation. As the weeks drew on and the situation became worse, they realized, like so many before them, that their calls were in vain. Sacrifices had to be made. God must need a sweet incense to drift to his heavenly abode. They started burning buildings and the homes of the rich, thinking greed had caused Gods anger. Then once they got a taste for it, they started sacrificing animals, but it soon progressed on to humans. Bodies were burned in piles, and hundreds were crucified at once. All to no avail. God gave no answer – no salvation poured down upon the faithful.

  Some shouted that God had his back turned on humanity for thousands of years, why would he turn around now?

  “Look,” Abigail said, pointing at the handle. The fallen metal cupboard had been blocking a walk in chiller, and with it tipped over to one side, there was now room to open the large metal door.

  Abigail gripped the metal handle with both hands. It was stiff, but with a hard tug, the door opened a fraction.

  As the door opened a musty smell escaped, followed by a blood-covered hand that lunged out from floor level, and gripped Abigail’s ankle.

  15

  Captain Julian Vaughn

  Piloting a Boeing C-17 Globemaster III

  Flying over Tikaboo Mountain, Nevada towards the Groom Lake base

  Captain Vaughn scanned the vast array of controls. Everything was reading perfectly – the flight is running smoothly. He was slowly lowering altitude, readying for the approach to Groom Lake. They had just passed over Tikaboo Mountain. He was piloting one of three large Boeing C-17 Globemaster’s from Nellis Air Force Base, just nine miles outside of Las Vegas, en route to Groom Lake to help with the evac.

  The cargo was forty-eight soldiers to help the scientists pack their equipment on board, and one metal container, strapped in the center of the planes decking that held a nuclear device. The other two planes were empty.

  Captain Vaughn found it strange that they would put the weapon on the same plane as the soldiers. Then again, he reasoned, if it did explode, it wouldn’t matter what plane they were in.

  His copilot seemed a little distracted. He could understand why, having the most powerful weapon created by man in the hold behind them. He also knows that without it being armed, even if they crashed it wouldn’t detonate. Nevertheless, there is always that nagging thought in the back of your mind.

  He tapped his copilot on the shoulder. “Problem?” he said into the microphone as the drone of the engines muffled his voice.

  Instead of answering, the copilot indicated for Vaughn to look out of the window.

  He wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting a simple shrug and a wane smile.

  At first, he couldn’t work out what Mike was on about. Then his eyes adjusted to the light radiating off all the sand. There was something moving across the desert – a lot of something.

  Captain Vaughn informed the two planes in formation behind them that he was lowering altitude to check something out. He got a confirmative from both pilots, to state they understood.

  Vaughn adjusted the throttle and pushed on the yoke.

  As they lost altitude, Vaughn was amazed when he realized what the movement was. He got straight on the radio.

  “This is Air force cargo plane Golf Alpha Kilo 173 out of Nellis Air Force Base, for Groom Lake Base, over.”

  After a few seconds.

  “Reading you loud and clear, Golf Alpha Kilo 173. What’s your status, over?”

  “Groom Lake Base, be aware there is incoming, over.”

  “Golf Alpha Kilo 173, please repeat, over.”

  “Groom Lake, there are hundreds of naked, infected people, running full pelt across the landscape, all heading in one direction – towards the Groom Lake Base. Over.”

  PART TWO

  False Hope

  16

  Alex, Terrance, Cody, Lindell, Troy, and Jessica

  Stairwell of the Marriott Hotel

  New York City – Saddle Brook

  As a group, they raced to make the door for the next level before the Eaters reached them first. It was too small a space to make it an eloquent retreat, as they jostled and bounced off the walls as they raced against time – each more of a hindrance to the other than helping.

  Fear is a powerful motivator; it makes the muscles work harder.

  Terrance got to the section first and stood covering the stairs. The others started to pile through the thick fire door that Troy held open.

  A shotgun blast deafened everyone, as Terrance opened fire as a deformed head came around the stairwell. The blast plastered brain, flesh, and bone all over the pale wall. The limp body tumbled backwards into another creature.

  “Bro, move it!” Lindell shouted to get his brother’s attention, to inform him they were safely through.

  Terrance started walking backwards as he pumped and fired again. This time he hit a naked teenage boy in the chest sending him flying backwards into another frenzied figure behind as
his chest and lungs exploded.

  At his side, Lindell pumped a round into a middle-aged man who only had one arm. Half the man’s face vanished in a spray of gore.

  As one body fell another quickly filled the space, climbing over the previous.

  The others made it into the corridor.

  Above the resounding noise of the shotgun blasts, some sixth sense made Alex turnaround.

  A figure was moving out from a room three doors down. A skinny naked woman, with matted blonde hair, and streaked with feces and blood stood staring, as if comprehension was sinking in. Her oversized, bloodshot eyes locked on to the group. In a blur, she rushed at them, her dirty hair trailing behind her.

  “Guys! Guys!” Alex shouted as the woman raced down the carpet with bare feet, hardly making a sound.

  However, the others were concentrating on the fight in the stairwell. They had enough problems of their own to contend with.

  Alex took a few steps forward and raised the baseball bat. He tried to ignore the fear and panic that was screaming at him. His hands felt the solid, reassuring wood. He twisted his neck from side to side, imagining someone was about to toss a ball. He positioned his feet. Then as the woman was almost upon him, with her arms stretched out in anticipation of warm meat, Alex swung with all his strength and accumulated anger.

  Anger that his life had been getting better. He had raised himself above what his father had failed to provide, and he was living a better life. He had a better job, earning good money. He had an apartment full of good things, things he only ever dreamed of owning. Then the world turned to shit, and his dreams along with it.

  Life is so unfair. Then again, he thought, whoever said it wasn’t?

  The woman was slammed in the side of the head with the chunk of wood, changing her forward momentum instantly to a sideways one. The body hit the wall with a sickening crunch, making both her eyes bulge out of her head, and blood gush from her nose. She hit the floor in a twisted heap.

  Alex lifted the bat and swung downwards, as if he held a sledgehammer, and he was pounding a nail. With the second blow, he crushed the skull. The naked female lay twitching, as black blood pooled around her head soaking into the carpet. Alex rained down more blows.

  He then stepped back and stood staring. The sound of the shotguns behind him faded away. A buzzing filled his ears. He had just killed someone. A life had ended because of his actions, regardless of whether they were even human or not anymore. The blood smeared bat hung limply from his bloody hand. He could feel a glob of her flesh peel and drop from his wet cheek.

  However, he had to admit; it felt good to hit back for once.

  Better them than me.

  17

  Abigail and Reverend Clark

  The kitchen, on the ground floor of the Marriott Hotel

  New York City – Saddle Brook

  Reverend Clark was on his knees and scrabbling across the floor to Abigail’s side. He dropped his bottle of Jack that shattered on the floor, spilling the amber liquor everywhere.

  Abigail was twisting and turning, having already fallen to the tiles. She was thrashing around, hyperventilating, trying to get free from the vice like grip.

  The blood-soaked hand was trying to pull her towards the thin gap that the arm was thrust from.

  Abigail’s screams filled the kitchen.

  Frank was searching for something to use. Objects were scattered everywhere. A rolling pin, a spatula, a saucepan, but nothing capable of severing an arm.

  Abigail wasn’t screaming for help; her mind was incapable of using coherent words; she simply hollered primal sounds that emerged from the deep recesses of her panicked mind.

  A cleaver!

  It was under the metal counter.

  The Reverend scrambled to grip the handle as he ignored the broken glass from his bottle. He swung around, hoisting it above his head as he knelt next to the kicking form of the hysterical Abigail. In one powerful swing, he cut clean through the forearm and embedded it into the tiled floor.

  Abigail crawled away, kicking the severed hand free.

  Frank gripped her under the arms and dragged her away and leaned her up against a metal cupboard.

  She fainted.

  That’s when the sound registered. Now Abigail’s screams died away, Frank could hear a young woman screaming, coming from inside the chiller. It wasn’t the sound of a mindless creature; it was the sound of a female who had just been injured pleading for help.

  18

  Juan, Naomi, Phyllis, Tierra, Dante, and Bonnie

  Storeroom, on the ground floor of the Marriott Hotel

  New York City – Saddle Brook

  Juan stood close to his sister as he watched the door shake under the impacts.

  Tierra was over by a large pallet, holding the crying Dante in her arms. She held the back of his head and tried to calm him by rocking him back and forth. He was having none of it. He clawed at her face, and screamed and kicked as if his life depended on it.

  Phyllis had wandered over and stood next to Bonnie, holding her hand. The loud banging coming from the large metal shutter confused her.

  Naomi lay on her sleeping bag, still listening to her iPod, complete oblivious to the danger. It was almost as if she was in another world.

  The large metal shutter wobbled from the repeated impacts. The wooden door sounded like it was about to split asunder.

  “Everyone into the kitchen,” Juan shouted, while pointing his gun at the vibrating, wooden door. He didn’t want to shoot and waste bullets, or riddle the door with holes and weaken it.

  They were aware of Abigail’s scream only seconds before, and no one wanted to be the first through to find out what had caused it.

  “We have no choice, the doors not going to hold for much longer.”

  They scrambled to grab their belongings, while trying to grab as much as possible, including the gear left by the others who were in other parts of the hotel.

  Tierra kicked Naomi in the leg, harder than necessary.

  “What the fuck do you thi–” her words faded after she opened her eyes and realized everyone was running around. She pulled the earbuds out.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Get your ass into the kitchen,” Tierra shouted. “We have incoming!”

  Naomi didn’t bother helping to collect other people’s belongings; she picked up her own and rushed in through the kitchen door before anyone else.

  The sound of the metal shutter being collided into echoed around the loading bay. It was accompanied by howls and groaning.

  Tierra waited for Naomi to run through first. After a few seconds, she poked her head through. Naomi was dumping her belongings onto a counter top. She could also see the Priest and Abigail next to a tipped over metal cabinet.

  “Help me!” Frank was shouting, now the others were running in.

  However, for the moment, they ignored the bearded priest and focused on securing the thick fire door that led into the loading bay.

  19

  Doctor Bachman

  Government Biosciences facility

  Groom Lake, Nevada

  “You can’t be serious? Only twenty minutes to be topside with everything we need to take with us?”

  “You did hear what I just said, didn’t you Doc?” the soldier asked. “We have incoming.” He swept an arm around the large medical bay. “Grab what you need, and be topside ready for take off in fifteen minutes.” The Soldier turned and headed off to check to see if other groups were being more compliant.

  Doctors and scientist annoyed the soldier; they all thought they were better than him because they had degrees, with letters after their names. But he was the one with the weapon, and he was the one they always came running to. Their precious doctorate degree couldn’t protect them then.

  Doctor Bachman looked around at the equipment. There was no time to load everything they needed. They were originally given hours, then suddenly it was announced the situation had changed.
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  Around him, lab technicians and scientist scrambled to fill their arms with equipment and boxes filled with samples. They would only get one trip each to the surface. There would be no time to return for a second armful.

  As he contemplated the mess the situation had turned into; he wondered why thousands of infected people were heading straight for them.

  Is it a coincidence, or were they being controlled? Did the Director and General have it right, is the pod sending out signals, controlling the hosts? If so, why bring them here? Did that mean the pods are sentient, a thinking organism?

  There were so many questions needing answers, but they had simply run out of time.

  Area 51 was overrun with soldiers. The three large Boeing C-17 Globemaster’s, carrying the forty-eight army personnel was lined up. The base has three main runways – one was the longest in the world, measuring almost sixteen and a half thousand feet long. The three planes would have no trouble taking off in a rush.

  As Bachman was shouting at an assistant to collect all samples in the chilling cabinet, behind him four soldiers headed towards the elevators. Between them, they pushed a military trolley, which held a metal box containing a thermal nuclear device, capable of turning the whole valley and mountain range into a smoking crater filled with floating atoms.

  20

  Alex, and the group.

  The kitchen of the Marriott Hotel

  New York City – Saddle Brook