Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  She withdrew a VisoNote and handed it to me. I quickly shouldered my rifle and snatched the automatically unraveling Note. A blue glow emitted from the thin tablet.

  “It was open,” she said, pointing to the time meter right in front of the boarded window. “Just waiting for us.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was holding in my hands. I read it multiple times. The crisp, black letters would be forever branded into my eyes:

  Ellis Island will hold the answers. You can thank me there.

  15

  “Well?” asked Tara. “What should we do?”

  Tara and I stood in the middle of the street, blanketed in dim twilight.

  Ellis Island? This had to be some kind of sick joke.

  “Mark?” she asked again.

  I shook my head and looked toward the Turnmont.

  “Why didn’t you show me this?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know . . . how you were feeling. I’m sorry, I should have showed you right away.”

  I puffed some hot air and looked at the message again.

  A look of shy anxiousness flooded her face. “I think we should do it.”

  Of course she does.

  To be honest, I was pretty upset. We were already being targeted by killers, and now this mysterious guy was trying to pull us along on his string. I just wanted to go home and call it quits. I think I was starting to understand why Tara had kept this from me.

  She caught my hesitation and pried. “Think about it, Mark. It couldn’t possibly be the ones trying to kill us.”

  “Tara,” I said, disbelieving, “Ellis Island is a Sterile Community.” By now I was dismissing the idea. “What answers could be there?”

  “I don’t know. But at least it’s something. Whoever this is, they saved us. They want to help. I feel like we can trust them.”

  “Trust them?” I said. “They left us a note, Tara. Why didn’t they just reveal themselves?”

  “I don’t know. And honestly, we have no one else to trust. It’s the only lead we have. Maybe they’re victims too? Don’t you want to figure out why this is happening to us? Because when someone tries to kill me, I think I would want some answers. And if it takes going to Ellis Island to do it, then I’ll go, regardless of what could happen.”

  Despite wanting to throw the Note to the side, I knew she was right. We had a lead, even if it was peculiar.

  “Damn your courage,” I said, giving in. I shoved the VisoNote into my pocket and readjusted the strap of my rifle.

  She vaguely smiled in the moonlight and said, “At least we’re used to being so close to death.” She readied herself and fixed her ponytail.

  The circumstances were a little different . . .

  “If we’re going to do this,” I said, “you need to promise me something.”

  She looked up at me, waiting.

  “If we see any more of those armored men, we run. We run and we hide. Okay?”

  “I promise.”

  We both stared at each other for a minute before I stepped aside and said, “After you.”

  As crazy as it sounded, we were heading back. My insides bubbled with worry. What if we encountered another set of those “metal-heads?” What if I couldn’t keep Tara safe? What then?

  For now, I just tried to keep a cool head, and deal with the hard questions later. I watched her traversing the dark street in front of me, determined and hardheaded. Tara Tracer. Beyond the stress she invited into my life, she was the most stalwart person I had ever met. I never used that word. She was a good compliment to my pessimism. I continued to envy and marvel at her traits as we trudged down Pearl Street at its eeriest.

  “Okay,” I said, stopping at the Hanover Square intersection, “we better cut down to Water. Or even down to South Street. What do you think?”

  Tara stopped. “Water would lead us straight to Battery Park. Then to the bridge.”

  She furrowed her brow and smirked.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s just funny,” she said. “We’ve gone in a huge circle. Back to Battery Park.”

  Just as I was about to comment, my shin blasted a current of pain throughout my leg. I buckled and fell to my hands, hearing the MLM clang against the sidewalk. I gritted my teeth as Tara rushed over to me.

  “Your leg!” she gasped. “I completely forgot!”

  “So did I.”

  The pain didn’t stop its rampage through my shin, wrapping itself around the bone and firing mini missiles to each nerve. The makeshift bandage Tara made must have fallen off during the fight, because I realized how unrestricted my leg felt. She hovered over me as I pulled myself to a nearby building.

  “What exactly happened again?” she asked, grabbing her rifle for the torchlight. She stuck the weapon in between her legs to illuminate the wound and tried peeling apart my ripped jeans.

  “It—ow!—I don’t know. It appeared right after the explosion.”

  As she opened the stiff tear, my heart dropped. The laceration looked like a broiled hot dog, cut up and bubbling.

  “Mark, we’ve got to fix this.”

  “Let’s just get inside somewhere, I can still walk,” I defended, positioning myself against the wall and pushing up.

  My leg was burning like a Dutch oven, but I could manage. I didn’t know for how long that would last. We needed to find an old hospital or else this road trip could turn south.

  “Okay, okay,” said Tara, grabbing both of our rifles. “Here,” she took my arm and put it over her neck, “we can do this together.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hated being on the receiving end.

  We shuffled our way down the rest of Hanover Square and took a right turn at Water Street. More skyscrapers lined the sides of the road, like monstrous stone men watching a procession of lepers. The urban valley mocked us as we strained to find a good place to hunker down. It was extremely dark, my vision was starting to defocus, and who knew if we were going to get lucky with another boarded up window.

  Even though most buildings in Manhattan had been ransacked and trashed, the majority of the nicer ones had been closed indefinitely. GenoTec’s plan was to cure the world, then restart it.

  Tara became impatient. She spotted a humongous building on the other side of the street and turned sharply, pulling me along with her.

  “I don’t care how we do it, but we’re getting inside,” she said, more determined than I had ever seen her.

  As we approached, I read the huge lettering on the facade. “Neurolics?”

  We took the front steps, which led to a massive glass entryway. Behind our reflections, a consuming abyss stood ready to receive us. Tara attempted to wrench the doors open, but both were locked tight.

  “It’s got to be Vinciglass,” I said, as Tara started looking around for something. Suddenly, she stopped and turned toward the door. She pulled off my rifle and set it on the ground, then swung her own weapon upward and pointed it at the glass.

  “No!” I exclaimed, quickly lunging to push the barrel down. “It’s too loud!”

  Her determined eyes scalded my bones, but she dropped her stance.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Let’s look around for a second.”

  I grabbed my rifle and we rounded the building, each taking a side. Glass panes lined the entire first floor, wrapping around the squared edifice. Marble columns were staggered in front, supporting the overhung ceiling like a giant wrap-around porch.

  “Mark, I’m not seeing anything useful,” called Tara, as loud as she would dare.

  My route had been equally unsuccessful, as each marble column was followed by more unfettered glass. I began thinking there was going to be no way we would ever . . .

  “Tara!” I whispered. “Over here!”

  The brunette rushed around the building and caught up to me between the last two marble pillars.

  “Looters?” she asked, staring at section of broken glass, just big enough for a person to fit through.

  “
Wouldn’t doubt it,” I said calmly, trying to fend off the pain in my leg. We approached the small hole and looked at each other.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “After you,” she said.

  I gripped my rifle and clicked the light, showering an incandescent cone in front of me. Tara copied, and the two of us took the plunge into the hollow beast.

  The shattered remains of glass crunched underneath my sneakers. My shin bellowed to my nervous system, and I quickly stood again. A cavernous room lied before us. I felt small below the thirty-foot ceilings. Four incredibly thick columns stood tall in symmetrical positions throughout the floor. With both of our lights zipping around the cold, dusty room, it was still hard to get a full grasp of the chamber.

  An immense, circular information desk made its home in the center of the pillars. Different combinations of furniture and decayed or false shrubbery dotted the entire place. Old advertisement boards and overhead displays were cracked or completely devoid of what were once flashy eye-catchers. Five elevators lined the back wall, crusted with dust so thick that they looked animated.

  A tarnished map of Manhattan spanned the width of the two rear pillars. Tara and I rounded the circular kiosk and approached the dusty thing.

  “Any idea what this place is?” I asked, plotting our route to Ellis Island with my eyes.

  “Neurolics sounded like something medical. It’s pretty damn fancy. Or it was.”

  I turned around and looked over the top of the huge desk, packed with sticky notes, pen holders, monitors, and other various supplies. I pulled one of the notes off of its base and read the superimposed design.

  “Neurolics: Manhattan’s premier Neuroscience Exploration Center.”

  “Wow, I chose a winner, didn’t I? Let’s get you something for that shin.”

  Something snapped to our left, echoing throughout the giant chamber. Both of us whirled around and tensely shined our lights toward one of the hallway exits.

  “What was. . .” started Tara, but I silenced her with a firm hand to her shoulder.

  Before I could take another step forward, the sound of pattering feet on cold marble rebounded off of the walls. The footsteps darted to our right, moving toward the broken glass.

  We hadn’t moved an inch. I was frozen silent, taking short, controlled breaths. Tara’s grip wavered, her eyes wide.

  Another creak whined from behind one of the couches, about thirty feet from our position. With both of our lights shining heavily on our guest’s location, I figured playing the silent game wasn’t going to help anything.

  “Hey!” I shouted, getting a shocking look from Tara. “Who’s there?!”

  The room remained still, recovering from harsh echoes.

  “Please,” I said, “we just need a place to rest. We’re not looking for trouble.”

  I didn’t know if this person was a homeless guy trying to get as far away from the world as possible, or if it was some kind of psycho addict. Or both. After Edge took over, a lot of these places became infested with drug fiends trying to escape the pain of the virus. But the lobby seemed so undisturbed—so maintained and untouched.

  Judging from the metal-heads’ recent performance, I knew it couldn’t have been one of them. Thank God for that; I could relax a little. But I didn’t rule out any threats. I looked over to Tara, who was holding her wiggling rifle to her shoulder. I had to protect her, no matter what. I was willing to do anything to accomplish that.

  I thought back to what she had told me at the car. I needed to a make a choice.

  As I took a step forward, an earsplitting siren screeched into the air. Tara and I dropped to the floor, writhing as the high-pitched reverb nearly incapacitated us. The overwhelming shriek calmed down and all was quiet again.

  “Tara!” I yelled, barely able to hear my own voice.

  A rumbling filled the room, the sound of shattering glass and intense flames shook from the ceiling, and a female voice pierced the lobby.

  “Your death is imminent. Your heads will become my toy. Writhe in my passionate anger you fools! Writhe!”

  I opened my eyes in confusion as the woman’s voice became extremely loud. It was a terrifying, haughty voice, with a proper, light English accent to it.

  “Your thoughts will be shrouded in my power! Die! Die! Die! Die! Let your brain become mine!”

  I whirled around, trying to get a clue as to what in the hell was happening. I poked my head above the information desk, only to be targeted with flashing red lasers. I ducked under the desk’s overhang and pushed myself against the cherrywood finish.

  “Mark!” yelled Tara amongst the deafening profanities. “What’s—”

  “You heathen monsters! Come to destroy the planet! You took what was mine! You must pay for your sins! Retribution! Suffering! Terror! Rage! Death! Are you trembling?!

  Just as I was about to give up from irritation, I heard something else above the tumultuous dialogue. It sounded like . . . no, it couldn’t have been . . .

  “Tara!” I shouted to her, above the robotic woman’s voice. “Do you hear laughing?!”

  She was crumpled up beside me, fear emblazoned in every feature.

  “What?!” she responded.

  As the random death wishes repeated over and over again, I began to realize that nothing harmful was actually happening. The red lasers were moving erratically around the room, the voice was going berserk, but Tara and I were safe. Something told me we this was all a big joke.

  “What are you doing?!” shouted Tara, grabbing at my pant leg as I stood up.

  I rose above the countertop of the information desk and stood in the midst of the chaos. The lasers focused on me, but nothing happened. They shined on my chest, coming from each of the four marble pillars.

  “Nothing’s happening,” I showed Tara, who was now more confused than before.

  I grabbed my MLM and decided to end this.

  “Mark, wait!”

  In a storm of fury, I stomped over to the sofa, placed my left foot on the armrest and shoved the couch backwards.

  Everything stopped. The lasers turned off. The voice disappeared into thin air. I sidestepped to my right, revealing what was behind the dust-encrusted sofa and blasted my LED light onto our perpetrator.

  16

  I stared into the hyperactive cyan eyes of an emaciated boy. Curly, maple syrup hair matched his freckles, matted and frayed like a dirty mop. Around his neck were three sets of work goggles, all different shades of neon. He was wearing gray jeans, ripped and sprayed with mud. His baby blue sweater was sleeveless, revealing bony arms. Athletic tape was wrapped around his biceps and wrists. Grasped in his hands was a small electronic device, with a see-through interface window hovering above.

  “Who are you?!” I blurted out, wondering why in the world a kid was alone in an abandoned Neuroscience facility—let alone, being responsible for nearly giving us a heart attack.

  “Why. Aren’t. You. Running?!” asked the little child, crab-walking his way backward. He shielded his eyes from my blinding flashlight.

  “What?” I asked again.

  Tara remained motionless; she couldn’t conjure a coherent sentence.

  “My perfectly designed alarm system should have made you go away!” he yelled, continuing to move backwards.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  The boy was as eccentric as a rabid mouse. “Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, finally hitting the glass wall behind him. “Or am I gonna hurt you?!” He stood up abruptly and bore his chest.

  “What? No—what are you . . .” I trailed off, realizing I was pointing my high caliber machine gun at a child. I slowly lifted the rifle, creating an umbrella of light that doused our little gang.

  “Whoa . . .” said the boy, furrowing his brow. “You guys definitely aren’t them. Or maybe you’re just spies! No, because you’re too ugly,” he pointed to me, “and she’s like a-a-a twig insect or something!” He snickered loudly.

  Tara
and I stood in awkward silence. What the hell had we gotten ourselves into? It didn’t make it any better when he started to sing.

  “Two little creatures drop-into my arms! What can-I-do, but make them feel s’warm! I’ll give them something nice! Oh, what a great delight! But then I’ll rip their fuggin’ heads right off!” He pranced around, stopping to glare at us on the last stanza.

  He must’ve been using. It wasn’t uncommon for kids to be messed up with drugs, especially out here in the deserted parts of the city. Whatever he was on or wherever he came from, I doubt he was going to help us.

  “You’re just like everyone else that comes in here,” he said, waiving us off. “Well, except dead, I guess”

  “Look,” said Tara, “we just need some help. Mark’s leg is badly—”

  “Oh! Eentsy weentsy, wittle little leg!” he retaliated, jumping onto the sofa cushions.

  I tried to pair him with an age, but I couldn’t decide on twelve or thirteen. He was about four and a half feet tall and probably weighed a little more than a cracker.

  “And what if you are spies?” he growled, bracing his arms. “Are you?!”

  “Do we look like spies?” I said.

  He mimicked my phrase in a higher voice, which made me boil with anger.

  “No . . .” he said to himself, tapping his chin, “you’re definitely not Tarmucks.”

  “Tar—what?” asked Tara.

  “Tarmucks! You’re holding their weapons! Those big, metal, bag-holes!”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “You’ve seen them before? They’ve been here?”

  “Not here, idiot!” he said. “But I’ve seen ‘em.”

  “Where?” I asked, stepping forward.

  “In the streets, dude! What’s up your ass?”

  “Are you all alone here?” Tara asked.

  He shot her a look, as if she were clueless. “Um, yeah?”

  “How could they have been all the way over here?” I asked Tara.

  She shook her head. “Do you have anything that can help Mark?”

  “Hold on,” he snapped, hopping off of the couch and whipping out his handheld. “I have to ask Jones.”