Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  We had stationed ourselves inside the abandoned Central Railroad Terminal above the Liberty Vista, and planned to stay there to conduct our operations. Unfortunately, GenoTec really covered their bases. We were ambushed and scattered, having to postpone Tara’s mission for a few days. I’d never been more exhausted in my life. Luckily for us—and thankfully for my teams’ brilliance—we found our way across Manhattan, all the way to the very lovely, extremely affordable Dustslum.

  What was once known as Brooklyn, the Dustslum was the line—the border—of current civilization. It wasn’t just one place per se, but a general term for the outskirts. We were east of the Hudson, east of our target, and east of everything living. The Dustslum was a panoramic rabbit warren—a true favela. Every nook and cranny was filled with roads sprouting vegetation, wildlife prancing around like it was the friggin’ outback, and skeletal buildings as far as the eye could see. Everything was covered in rust and mold, vines and weeds. Best of all, you could find the lowliest forms of life here—the true outcasts; the ones who couldn’t even cut Edge society. Mostly on some form of illicit drug, those lunatics hoarded junk, pillaged homes, and vandalized anything to do with GenoTec. That was the Dustlum, our new home.

  The only good thing about the godforsaken place was the cloak of invisibility it lent. For the better part of a week, GenoTec hadn’t touched us. We were hidden like rats—very cunning rats—constantly on alert. We had found this great townhome, raised above a bunch of other makeshift hovels, covered in aluminum and rusty metal. The place had already been a ghetto before Edge. We kept calling it a nest, because the roads were literally thirty feet below.

  The window I checked every morning, mid-day, and evening, was a small slit that overlooked a large blanket of rooftops, nestled in the heart of the broken city. Far away, on the edge of the Jersey bay, lied out goal. Sticking out like a sore thumb, glinting and majestic, was the GenoTec Headquarters skyscraper. It glared at us every single day, reminding us of its victory. Reminding me how I would never forgive myself for letting them take Justin. No matter how much I hated him.

  Today was a particularly muggy day in July. The streets seethed with fumes of stench and death, and everything just baked. I was thankful for our Undersuits being able to breathe so well, otherwise I would be like a potato out there. I scanned the hazy courtyard, hundreds of rigged rooftops that spanned most of the slum. Nothing moved. Nothing spoke, sang, or creaked. It was always a little eerie.

  Dodge was cleaning a weapon behind me. “Don’t worry dude. She’s gonna be okay. Bollis’ll take care of her.”

  “More like she’ll take care of them.”

  “You’re right,” he chuckled.

  He set the weapon down and joined me at the slotted window. I could still hear Celia tinkering away behind us. In fact, that was the only thing I could hear. The more I thought about it, the more I came to realize how silent it was. Usually, something could be heard from the metal depths below our little nest, but something was up. Something was wrong.

  I saw him. A tiny black dot, lifting his body over a small barrier and landing lightly onto a roof, fifty yards away.

  “I guess our luck has run out,” I said, to which Dodge responded by collecting his Ramrod and opening a smaller hole in the siding.

  “Celia,” he said, adjusting the sights. “We’re leaving.”

  She emitted a frustrated curse, but went to work. I grabbed my gear, shoved my helmet onto my head, and opened the trap door in the corner by the small hallway. My hand rocketed backwards as a barrage of bullets came from below.

  Damn it. So much for hiding.

  As Dodge picked off a few targets, I dropped a grenade through the secret chute. The small shack quaked and tilted after the blast. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Three, four . . . five!” shouted Dodge.

  “Celia! We gotta run!” I exclaimed, rushing over to help.

  We grabbed the last interface device and zipped up the three backpacks. There was only one more way out of the crow’s nest—a small opening that drained into another townhome below us. We could use it as a slide.

  I lifted the piece of metal covering the hole and saw two soldiers laying a booby trap at the bottom of the chute. I quickly unloaded my rifle, clipping one, while the other was blown away by his own explosive. The bomb ripped off the bottom of the chute, leaving a wide mouth into blackness.

  “We’re blocked in!” I yelled back to Dodge.

  “They got smart,” he said, running into the tiny room, magnetically planting the Ramrod onto his back and snatching his M580 from the corner.

  “We’re not all out of options,” said Celia, shouldering her pack and ripping off a sheet of metal, covering a window.

  Crap. The window?

  Dodge helped her remove the metal and continued to break the glass, alerting the posse of guards below to our next plan. It didn’t take long before a new lashing of bullets whipped the tiny house, crumbling the surrounding metal. If all of the exits were blocked or demolished . . . what the hell were we going to do?

  That was when I heard the whistling sound of an RPG.

  The house rocked side to side from the RPG’s blast. Dodge was sent flying down the hallway. Celia managed to find herself underneath the table, while my back smashed against the nearby wall. I turned my head to see the large hole where the window used to be. More bullets showered the gape, so I quickly moved.

  The nest was now no more than a loose tooth in a mouthful of razor sharp, metal teeth. Celia crawled out of hiding and wobbled to the other room, motivating me to follow. Before I could clear the threshold to the hallway, the house lurched forward, causing me to fall onto my back and slide down the length of the main corridor. My attempts to grab anything failed and the last thing I saw was Celia’s look of horror as my body smashed through the shabby wall and flew through the air.

  42

  I withdrew the pronged piece of glass from my cheek and spit my own blood onto the roof’s dusty floor. My mind produced thick, black storms, and it took me a few seconds for my eyes to fully adjust. I could move my limbs, and nothing felt out of place. I looked up from where I had fallen, seeing the rickety shack hanging by a thread fifteen feet above, dust still pouring out of the hole I’d fallen through. The sun’s glare made my eyes tremble as I tried to locate Dodge and Celia. They were either still up there, or dead, somewhere far below on the Dustslum floor. I wondered what was worse.

  I looked at my demolished helmet, discarded at my feet. The visor was completely shattered and pieces of the plating material were scattered everywhere. It saved my brain from becoming new shingles, but it was gone now. My communication was cut off. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. I took five more seconds to let my fears take me before I turned into an animal.

  I still had my rifle, five clips of ammunition, two grenades, and a backpack full of supplies. I didn’t waste any time and began to scope the area. I was on the roof of the two-story row of homes separated from our row of three-stories, where the “nest” was perched—well, more like hanging now. In between each row of complexes were deep alleyways, overgrown with makeshift housing, ramps, and bridges of metal and wood.

  On the other side of the three story row was an immense, circular courtyard, rimmed by similar two stories. That’s where I guessed most of the metal-heads were. That’s probably where the RPG was launched.

  Once I had my bearings and a clear sense of the urgency, I withdrew my rifle and tore down the right side of the roof, trying to find out what happened to my friends. Being as quiet as I could, I approached the distorted bridge connecting the roof to a balcony of the second story across the gap.

  Two levels below our old hideout was an archway, allowing access to the courtyard from the alleyway. The road was stricken with grassy veins and more debris than a city landfill.

  I wasn’t surprised to see a metal-head stealthily moving into the ravine from the archway, weapon aloft. He was a prowling panther, leaving noth
ing but the reflection of his armor to give him away. I lied prone on the edge of the roof and lined up his head with my reticle.

  I watched his limp body fall to the ground. I felt nothing. I didn’t flinch.

  I waited. Sure enough, two minutes later, a small ball rolled into view, sprouting legs and crawling all over the dead body. They weren’t that stupid to come barging out in the open. That’s when I decided to throw my usual instincts out the window. I was done playing hide and seek.

  I withdrew one of my grenades, pressed the button, held it for two seconds, and lobbed it toward the archway. It only bounced once before detonating a foot away from the mapping bot. The blast created a shield of smoke, allowing me to retrace my steps and flank their position from above.

  I crossed the roof, protected by the smoke, and saw three soldiers, pressed against the archway’s tunnel wall. I kneeled, steadied, and fired. My bullets struck the first one in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. I refocused on the second, catching him miraculously in the face, spraying a nice gesso of blood all over the brick wall behind. The third finally caught on, retaliating with a few blind shots. The bullets were so scattered that I didn’t even bother moving. I finished off the first soldier and flew down the length of the rooftop.

  I came to another bridge, which was the roof of a makeshift wooden home. I crossed the gap with just enough precaution to avoid slipping through cracks. As I was about to scale the next row of houses, shots fired from my right. The boards beneath my feet shattered and I fell into the room below, practically bouncing off of the floor. Planks and drywall crumbled around me, and more bullets broke into the fragile wood. I thought I was going to fall another twenty feet, but the rigged home held together.

  I fired off a few shots in the direction of my foe through the porous wall to my right. Like a rabid beast emerging from a dense swamp, I came forth out of the broken debris and powered my way through to a new room. Giant windows welcomed light into the small living area, overlooking the courtyard. I crouched and slid my way through the room, approaching the windows.

  A few houses down, I began to hear gunfire, and their subsequent echoes. They were distinct and hollow—a terror that could only originate from a Ramrod.

  Well, that’s Dodge, all right. I had to believe Celia was with him.

  I poked my head above the windowsill and caught a grand view of the courtyard below. A valorous statue stood in the center of the circle, wearing a thick layer of graffiti. A black humvee was parked a few feet away from the obelisk. I continued to scan, finding a few scattered soldiers, pinned against the walls. Most were too far for a clean shot, and who knew if there were more behind us.

  For a moment, I drew a blank. How was I going to get across the courtyard? Dodge and Celia probably thought I was dead. But they must’ve heard the other gunfire. I sighed and nervously checked my ammunition. I still had more than plenty left. Plus five more clips. I focused and calmed my mind. We were going to get out of this alive. Tara and the others were counting on us. Hell, the world was counting on us even if they didn’t know it yet.

  As I plotted my route, movement came from the connected room to my right. My gun was up quicker than my brain could register the impulses. It didn’t sound like heavy, metallic boots, but more like . . . bare feet?

  I felt a sway of annoyance and anger inside.

  Degenerates.

  I quickly breached the room, swinging my rifle and locking on to a boney, nearly hairless woman. Her skin was covered in mushy, brown Edge splotches, barely clothed by old, ratty rags. She was hiding behind a dusty armchair, eyes wide as if stitched open, and fingernails clawing into the high back cushion. Her mouth had traces of foam and her head bobbed back and forth. She was definitely using.

  She giggled as I aimed at her skull.

  I didn’t want to kill her just because she would make noise. For hell’s sake, I had done enough killing. What made me more disturbed was the fact that it probably wouldn’t matter in the end if I shot her or not. Maybe I could slip by without having to deal with her at all.

  A small doorway was at the other end of the room, leading down to the archway tunnel. That was probably my best bet.

  I ignored the disgusting woman and pressed my body against the windowsill, peering over the courtyard again. The soldiers were moving into the tunnel giving me a chance to flee once they passed through. All we needed was a car, but I didn’t want to make a scene driving around in their appropriately ambiguous, military-style humvee. We needed something a little more covert.

  My neck snapped around just as the woman whispered, “D-d-d-e-demon.” She was like a ghost on cocaine, starting to laugh to herself while mumbling indistinctly. I shook my head. It was time to move. I crept below the window, and started to make my way to the stairs. Dodge’s gunfire had ceased, so I hoped they were on their way.

  Just as I crossed the threshold, the atmosphere behind me was filled with an earsplitting shriek. Outside, deep voices called out to one another.

  Before I had a chance to silence the worthless piece of trash, she was already gone, bumping her shoulder on the way out. The soldiers caught on quicker than I thought as a bullet grazed my shoulder pad. I slid into cover next to the doorway, hoping that Dodge and Celia took advantage of the attention I was getting. That was the only good thought I could muster.

  Bullets penetrated the metal around me while I chucked my last grenade down the chute of stairs. Three seconds later, smoke and debris flew out of the stairwell like a mouth spewing chunks of food. After firing a few blind shots, I heard the Ramrod, farther away, reverberating across the courtyard like a siren of death. Huge metal clanks rang from the base of the stairs, and I was glad Dodge hadn’t deserted me.

  I took a chance and spun around, seeing an empty staircase in a gray haze of smoke. I took each step with caution, barely grazing the landings. Dodge’s cover seemed sufficient enough, and I was able to make it down, stopping before the entrance to the tunnel.

  I poked my head out into the road and pulled it back in. I captured a few straggling soldiers running away from the wrath of the Ramrod, leaving the exit to the courtyard wide open. It was the only chance I had. I stormed out of the doorway, and sprinted through the archway’s mouth. The sun hit my face as I cleared the threshold, taking a sharp right. I followed the curve of the circular courtyard, keeping my eyes peeled for Dodge or Celia, feeling the surging power in my legs with each stride.

  Just as I was about to pass by a broken window, I heard the unmistakable voice of Dodge commanding me to duck. I did as I was told, sliding as if into home base and smashing into a dumpster. No sooner had I cleared the window than a .60 caliber sniper rifle shook the ground from within the structure. My head turned to see where the bullet was headed. An armored body slammed into the dusty road, taken from his mounted gunner position.

  “Inside! Now!” snapped Dodge.

  I took two seconds to catch my breath and refocus, and then bolted inside the home, happy to reunite with my friends.

  “Thank God!” exclaimed Celia as I found them together, by the windowsill. Dodge was dissembling the Ramrod and Celia gave me a distressing look. I was surprised her glasses remained intact after all of that.

  “Glad you two made it out in one piece,” I said.

  “Wish I could say the same to you,” Celia replied, noting my lost helmet.

  “There’s a car behind the building,” said Dodge. “We’re meeting up with the others. Let’s move!”

  43

  SIX YEARS AGO

  “Right you are, Jen,” the anchorman laughed, tapping his papers on the sleek desk. “Well, yesterday was a very special event for Jersey—the annual Tech Fest made its final tour to the city, bringing along everything fans anticipated. The event was all day yesterday, and will continue throughout the weekend. The two-story warehouse in Jersey City can house up to 100,000 people, which has been quite a sight to see. So, if you like those electronics, get downtown and see what the big deal
is about.” He smiled wide and turned to his partner.

  Everyone was smiling.

  “You still here, Jordan?” spoke a voice from behind the cubicle. Jordan Dabbs broke away from the television and whirled around, her beads making a racket.

  She sighed. “You know me, Eric. I’m surprised you’re here.” She played with her lip ring, something she always did when she was apprehensive.

  He leaned up against the partition. “Oh, I’m just grabbing some things from the office. I’ve got a big project tomorrow and I—er—misplaced some files.” He folded his arms, his coat wrapped within.

  The sun was sending its final rays of golden light into the office. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to the clock—a regular occurrence.

  “Well, I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile, adjusting her glasses.

  “I hope you can get outta here and have some fun for once. You work too hard,” he said, getting ready to leave.

  “Well, there’s just too much to do sometimes.”

  “Hey, are you going to that?” he motioned to the small Fuse attached to her desk displaying footage from the Tech Fest.

  “I was planning on it, yeah. Why?” Jordan had a problem with flirting. She wasn’t too savvy with the whole dating scene.

  He paused for a moment, wishing she would be a little more outgoing. “Well,” he said, “maybe we could go together? I could swing by at five tomorrow evening—we could grab some dinner and then head out there?”

  Jordan realized she had just been asked out, something that rarely happened.

  Eric? she thought. He’s so . . . not my type. She was incredibly picky. About to make up an excuse, a thought suddenly erupted into her mind. It was an image of herself, going home to her boys, sitting with her freezer burnt dinner, watching her shows—all alone.

  She audibly sighed and said, “You know what, that sounds great. Five works.”