The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  “I don’t know it just doesn’t feel right somehow.” Lindell twisted his neck to make his shoulder click.

  “What about the shiners on the females who served us our food?” Lindell stated.

  Terrance shrugged his shoulders. A month ago, a black eye had a different meaning. Now it was just part of living in a violent world. There was a hundred ways someone could get a shiner.

  “Did you notice, apart from the soldiers, we haven’t seen one other male in the whole complex?” Terrance questioned.

  Alex had wandered over and heard the conversation. “What do you plan on doing?” Alex asked the King brothers.

  “You and Troy see if you can find out where they have taken the truck. Terrance and I will have a poke around; see if we can put our minds at ease. If they have nothing to hide they won’t mind us wandering around.”

  Down the end of the long corridor, a small hidden camera zoomed in on the group huddled at the end of their ward.

  41

  Doctor Bachman

  Underground military facility

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Bachman didn’t know where he was going, or why someone hadn’t stopped him from wandering around. After he stormed away from the three scientists, he randomly headed down the nearest corridor and now found himself heading down a deserted concrete tunnel.

  Apart from the caged fluorescent lights above, the walls, floor, and ceiling were unadorned. There were no doors to either side of the long corridor. There was a slight slant to the floor, heading down deeper into the mountain. He did notice every thirty or so feet, there was an indentation in the ceiling, as if some kind of barrier could be lowered in the case of an emergency.

  Then he heard a click. Conversation followed. He could see the end of the tunnel. Two men in dark-green boiler suits were walking towards him with a person tied to a large portable rack, which was on a sack truck that was set at an angle.

  Bachman couldn’t turn around without causing suspicion. He put his head down and continued forward. He didn’t know why he felt like he was doing something wrong.

  Luckily, he was still wearing his lab coat, and looked the same as every other scientist in the bunker.

  The two men were close now. Apart from their muted conversation, his ears picked up heavy breathing, like a struggling asthmatic.

  “Good-luck Doc,” one said. “They’re playing up today, more so than normal.”

  Bachman looked up for the first time since noticing them in the distance. He had to stop himself from taking a step back. On the portable rack was an infected. It was a teenage girl, possibly fifteen or so. Her naked body was strapped down with thick belts with metal mesh bags over her clawing hands. A thick collar held her head in place around her neck. A mask, similar to one worn by Hannibal Lector in the film, covered the lower half of her deformed face. Her large, bloodshot eyes locked onto Bachman. The veins throbbed around her cheekbones and forehead, pulsating a blackish blood.

  “You okay Doc, you look a little white?”

  Bachman gulped and wiped his forehead. “I’m good thanks. Just need another coffee, you know?” He gave a wane smile, while trying to block out the infected girls stare.

  The strapped down naked torso started to twist and turn in her restraints. A low growl started issuing deep from her inflamed, wide throat. It made the bloated skin on her neck vibrate and undulate.

  “I hear you on that,” one stated. “Soon as we drop her off, we’re off for a break.”

  That was the end of the conversation; the two men gave a nod and continued on their way. The infected girl tried to twist her head, to follow Bachman with her large, blood-red eyes.

  The two men started up their conversation again.

  “Shit!” Bachman whispered. He stared down the corridor. He could see a double door at the end. Slowly, he headed towards them.

  The distance seemed to stretch, like in a movie where a person is running down a corridor, and it just keeps on getting longer.

  The double doors looked solid. There was a simple pad to push to get them to swing open. With a tap, the doors whirred wide open.

  Bachman stepped into a vast chamber. It had a domed ceiling over fifty feet high with bright halogen lights beaming down. He was on a wide balcony encircling a pit.

  Around the circumference of the trench was thick glass chambers, full of scientific equipment and personnel and one person sealed chambers. Inside the chambers were comatose infected, and some bloated ready to explode. On the far side was an open area with cattle in a large metal pen. They were all pressed up against the far wall, as far away from the fence as possible, while they all made a strange lowing, whining noise that he had never heard coming from bovine before. The floor was covered in their waste and mixed with blood.

  When Bachman looked over the edge, down into the chamber, he understood why the animals were distraught. It was a large circular pit sixty feet wide and forty deep.

  The sound was deafening. Animalistic cries and screaming – a cacophony of noise. Inside was hundreds of infected of all ages, thrashing and running about, fighting each other and dashing themselves against the walls in a frantic effort to reach the food they could sense was just out of reach.

  A metallic sound echoed throughout the chamber. As Bachman looked up, he noticed a metal arm extend from the ceiling in the cattle pen. The claw latched onto a struggling cow. The animal was then dragged across the concrete pen, with the other animals bucking and racing around in panic, while MAAawwuuuuering at the top of their lungs. The claw pierced the animal in numerous places and left a streak of blood as it dragged the screeching animal to the side of the pit, where a section lowered allowing the animal to be dropped over the steep side.

  The sound of the infected magnified now food was within their reach.

  42

  Juan, and the others

  Mole Town hospital

  A military installation outside New York City

  Juan was left to look after those remaining while the King brothers checked the town out, and Alex and Troy tried to locate where the truck was taken. They were not told to stay put, so they hoped they weren’t stopped at the first corner.

  The main problem was, when they were first surrounded by the military, all their weapons were confiscated. They were told they would get them back when they decided to leave.

  Juan felt vulnerable and naked without a weapon. He had been holding on to one for dear life for so long, it felt like an extension to his body. Now he felt like an appendage had been cut off.

  He looked around the ward.

  Bonnie was asleep after having a long shower. She changed into some fresh clothes. She had washed some out in the bathroom, and they hung from the metal railing around their section, dripping small puddles of water onto the shiny blue floor. He watched her breathing slowly. She was everything to him. Everything he had left in the world.

  They were only nine when their mother died from birth complications. The child, his new sister, also died three days later. While their mother was waiting for a caesarean section, and attached to beeping machines that upset the twins, she held Juan’s hand and told him that Bonnie was his responsibility, that she would need him to be strong. She knew what their father was like. Knew Bonnie would need protecting if she wasn’t around to keep a watchful eye on him.

  He couldn’t understand how she could have stayed with a man she knew was dangerous to her children?

  People do stupid things for stupid reasons.

  For eight years, Juan had been keeping his sister safe from the monster who was their father. Eight years of vigilance. Eight years of sleepless nights. Eight years of building anger. Then the right opportunity presented itself.

  Juan looked around the room.

  Naomi was out cold. She was covered in sweat. She was fat, but even that amount of sweat seemed excessive. He knew what she was. Growing up around a gang, he saw his fair share of junkies. She showed all the signs. He would keep
an eye on her. She would be unpredictable.

  The priest was leaning forward, hands on his knees, staring at the cold floor. He hadn’t moved since they arrived. Juan couldn’t understand how a person could continue to believe in a god that had abandoned the world a long time ago. The world was bad enough before, now all hell had broken loose. With the things Juan has seen, and done, he reasoned the gods were a figment of mans needs, and wants. Someone to blame for everything. Someone adults, who should know better, and take responsibility for themselves, used as a scapegoat. God knows best. All in Gods due time. God is testing us. God will save us... all bullshit!

  Where was god when his mother and newborn sister were dying? Where was god when their father had lust boiling in his blood? Where was god when the pandemic encircled the globe, infecting hundreds of millions? Where was god indeed? He knew where he wasn’t, here, where he was fucking needed.

  He looked across towards Tierra with her hand resting on her sleeping son. It was a nice change not having to listen to the child cry. He looked over Tierra.

  He used to fancy her as they passed in the apartment block; she used to live four doors down. He knew she was a pole dancer, or aerial dancer, which was the new politically-correct way of describing a stripper. She was always so hot, with her tight, revealing clothing, and perfect hair. Now she looked just like any other woman. No makeup, with unbrushed hair, and baggy jeans and a loose jumper. Her face looked tired and aged. It was as if the butterfly had reverted back to the caterpillar.

  He flicked over to Jessica, who was curled up asleep with a book beside her. She was Little Miss Perfect. Even with everything that has happened, she still clung to her beliefs that everything would work out just fine, and she was treating it like a slight inconvenience. She complained about Naomi’s smoke, about Phyllis’s snoring, and Dante’s crying, as if any of that mattered anymore. She didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. She fulfilled all the blonde stereotypes.

  Very soon, something is going to happen, to rock her perfect view of the world, and the bubble that surrounds her is going to pop, and her eyes are going to stretch wide-open, and she’s going to realize the world has turned to shit while she was complaining she has run out of hair conditioner.

  Juan got up from his bed and walked over to the large arch that opened up onto the long corridor.

  Everything seemed too quiet. Where was everyone? The soldier said there was about a hundred and fifty people in the seven block area, but so far he had only seen a handful of soldiers, the women who served them food, and the two females in the hallway when they made their way to the ward.

  He could hear muffled crying from down the corridor. He had no interest to see why they were crying; he had enough problems of his own.

  Juan jumped when Reverend Clark ambled past.

  “Jesus!” Juan barked.

  “Taking the Lords name in vain?” He then mumbled, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Frank headed for the toilet.

  Fuck the Lord, Juan wanted to say. Stupid priest and his antiquated ways.

  Behind, Dante started to whine.

  Juan turned.

  The kid was still asleep and yet already he was kicking into gear ready for when he woke up.

  We gotta get away from these people. They are weights around our necks. Apart from the King Brothers and possibly Troy, the others are useless meat – Eater fodder. The sooner we get on our way the better.

  43

  Alex and Troy

  Mole Town hospital

  A military installation outside New York City

  There was no one around.

  Alex and Troy wandered the corridors as if simply out for a stroll to stretch their legs. The hallways were empty. Every now and then, they could hear someone talking in an undertone, which halted when their footsteps echoed on the floor. Or they could hear crying just within earshot, but they never saw the people the voices belonged to.

  As they descended the three floors, they expected the wards to be full. Was the soldier lying when he stated how many people were in the town?

  It was as if everyone had up and left, and forgot to tell them. Then again, they reasoned; seven blocks are a big enough area to find a large number of people. It was just after midday, so they could all be working somewhere.

  Alex missed his baseball bat. They were both weaponless. They looked around as they descended the different floors via the stairwells, due to the elevators not working. There was no medical apparatus that could be pocketed. No short length of pipe. Nothing, as if the area had been swept clean of anything that could be used against someone else.

  Troy hadn’t said a word since they left the King brothers. He was all eyes. Always weary. He seemed to spin at every imagined sound. His thin, sinewy body was tense like a coiled spring.

  Alex wished he had one of the powerful brothers with him, who would be more use in a fight than skinny Troy. The King brothers looked like they could punch through a wall. Troy looked like he would have trouble taking a lid off a jar.

  As they turned a corner, Alex saw a back of someone shoot into a ward at the end of a corridor. The person looked thin, possibly female.

  He wondered why everyone was so jumpy. Surely they were safe from the infected? So why so nervous?

  Troy placed a hand on Alex’s arm. A warning. Footsteps echoed from around a corner. They both scuttled into a small door and pulled the door too, leaving a small gap of an inch. It was some kind of store cupboard. It was bare; whatever it used to hold had been moved elsewhere.

  The footsteps got closer. It sounded like something was being dragged. Then as Alex stared out the small gap, two soldiers strolled passed, while they dragged an unconscious man between them. The man looked like he had been badly beaten.

  44

  Terrance and Lindell

  Mole Town hospital

  A military installation outside New York City

  The hallways seem too quiet as the two brothers headed down the levels. They were empty corridors, which should have been bustling with activity. Dust covered everything. Computer screens were dark and unresponsive. Phones were silent. Corners were filled with shadows and stillness.

  They tread as quietly as they could as they stalked the hallways and stairwells, always conscious that anyone could appear around a corner at any time.

  Lindell wondered how Alex and Troy were doing? They headed in the opposite direction, that way they could cover more ground.

  Up ahead someone was coughing. Then silence. It was hard to tell where sounds were coming from. The empty corridors made everything echo and become distorted.

  The section they found themselves in had walls riddled with bullet holes. Dark browny-red stains were splashed up the walls and ceiling and pooled on the floor – now long dried and cracking. Paper was scattered everywhere, with towels, sheets, and equipment kicked to the sides. Lights hung from wires, with ceiling tiles hanging at odd angles. The wind blew in from smashed windows. The blue separating curtains flapped in the cold breeze. Some were shredded and covered in dried blood.

  Terrance kicked some cardboard piss-pots and sick trays out of the way.

  “If it’s empty on the lower levels, then why were we put on the third floor?” Terrance whispered to his brother.

  “Good point Bro.”

  Even though this area was ransacked and destroyed, there were plenty of wards unaffected.

  They only had one floor left to reach the street below. They could have gone straight down, but they wanted to see who was around. They expected more people, and even though there always seemed to be someone crying or coughing in the distance, they have yet to meet anyone.

  “This just doesn’t make sense,” Lindell commented.

  “Tell me about it. Where is everyone?”

  There was a loud bang behind them. As they spun, all they saw was a computer monitor fall off a reception desk onto the floor. No one was there.

  “Creepy!”

  �
�I wish I had my shotgun, right about now.”

  Terrance wandered into a ward. He walked past eight made and ready beds that made a mockery of the destruction and bullet holes in the corridor, to reach the large cracked window.

  Below was a car park area, or more appropriately, a loading bay, with large, bright-red signs announcing in was the ER section. Two ambulances still sat in their bays. To one side was an army truck, with military personnel swarming around it.

  From a door, off to one side, a line of men and male teenagers was being taken to the truck. Soldiers stood at a distance with weapons raised. The men were joined by a long chain that connected to a strap around each of their necks. They weren’t infected, they were just normal civilians.

  45

  Doctor Bachman

  Underground military facility

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Bachman couldn’t understand it.

  Why try to mutate the infection into a biological weapon? Wasn’t the original virus bad enough, destructive enough? Did they really think they would be able to control it?

  The cattle were settling down. The section of railing raised back into place.

  Bachman scanned the walls. He needed to get out of this place and return to the surface. Take his chances out there. There was probably more infected in the underground bunker than in the miles surrounding it. He couldn’t believe they would have a horde kept merely in a deep pit. Yes, they had infected at Groom Lake, but only a small handful, and always held within shatterproof containment pods.

  He wasn’t interested in seeing anything else in this chamber. He turned and exited the area, and started running up the slight inclining tunnel. He didn’t care if he met anyone else on the way down. He didn’t care if they questioned why he was running.