Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  “Great!” he beamed, “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Try to get some sleep, eh?” He gave her a wave and marched to his office.

  Jordan swiveled back around, thinking about her last date, and the disaster it had been. Of course, that was months ago.

  She took another glance at her computer screen, exiting out of files, and saving things she needed. It was getting late, her eyes were starting to become irritated. She closed another irrelevant window, revealing something she had been working on a few hours ago. She looked around to see if Eric was still nearby. As far as she knew, she was the only living soul in the whole building. She carefully saved the file into her encrypted folder.

  As she exited the building, images of bloody walls and mangled lab techs filled her mind. The headline echoed across her skull:

  GenoTec Experiment Gone Horribly Wrong

  Her apartment door gave her the usual trouble. She heaved her shoulder into the worn wood and it broke free. Not a second after the door swung open, her boys leaped up, pawing and licking.

  “Ox, Casey, settle down!” She dropped her bag onto the counter and bent down to pet and hug them. The two, large German Shepherds danced around her for a few minutes, getting their excitement out.

  After feeding them and putting some leftover chicken in the microwave, she plopped herself onto the couch and exhaled. She grabbed her touchpad and activated the glass screen Fuse, a 90-inch beast that hung from the adjacent wall.

  Why is it still recording the Spanish network? she thought.

  Flicking through a couple more stations, the microwave dinged, and she got up from the musty couch. Her body ached from sitting so long at the office. Working for the largest computer software company in the United States wasn’t the best thing—believe it or not. Jordan had worked there for five years now, going on six. Things were working out for her, but it was getting old. The monotonous atmosphere made her delve into different subjects.

  Never giving herself any credit, except at the computer station, her life was slowly settling into nothing. She was devoid of friends—unless you categorize work acquaintances as friends—and she hadn’t been seeing anyone since college. Her level of independency was off the charts. When she took a personality test in her sophomore year, the results came back as “Extremely Introverted.” Those words had stuck into a section of her mind ever since then, branding her self-image as a creep. She was starting to accept it, too.

  As she went to open the microwave, her cell phone buzzed in her purse. Judging whether to let it sit or not, she finally decided to leave her chicken and go for the phone. She read an unknown number. A little puzzled, she set it down. Probably another insurance agency. Or worse—mom calling from another phone. While she was rummaging through her fridge, the cell phone buzzed again. The counter vibrated annoyingly.

  “What do you want?” she said aloud before picking up the phone, the same number arrayed on the screen. “Hello?”

  There was a short pause.

  “Miss Dabbs?” said a low, cold voice.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  “Miss Dabbs, we have a job offer for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  It wasn’t so much that someone had her number that made her feel uncomfortable. It was the chilling, breathy voice that caused goosebumps to sprout.

  “We’re very interested in your research. We share a lot of your same . . . interests. We would like to help you.” The voice landed in her eardrum like hot acid. Her body tensed. “Miss Dabbs, I can assure you that we are not GenoTec. You know you’d already be dead if they knew. We look forward to meeting you tomorrow. We will be on the top floor, at the end of the south wing. Come alone. We’ll find you.”

  The phone went silent.

  Jordan pulled the device away in shock. Someone knew she was going to the Tech Fest tomorrow. Ten times more horrifying, someone knew about her research. Her heart was racing, and her palms started sweating. As she reeled over the mysterious call, the microwave made a jolting reminder beep.

  ——————

  The commotion of the Tech Fest was enough to make Jordan gag. Thousands of people were swarming in the Jersey City MetaTapp Warehouse building. Huge floodlights adorned the walls, casting pools of clarity onto thousands of different little stands and shops. Different companies from all over the world were set up in the booths, advertising their goods. Items like phones, tablets, computers, vehicles, housing equipment, and any type of electronic you could think of. Most of it was compatible parts that could be made into personally designed merchandise. The customization was phenomenal. Behind all of the tech glamour, Jordan was sweating.

  She had decided to come, despite her fears. Inwardly, she was a wilting social being—but in her heart, she had once shown signs of courage. It was that little seed of guts and hardheadedness that drove her to come. She wanted answers.

  They had to have been tracing her computer for years. They knew her skills. She was even semi-flattered by the proposal. Her brain was sizzling from so much thought.

  Eric led her down the walkway, sifting through a cacophony of people too smart for their own good.

  “Did you see the news last night?” he yelled over the tumult.

  “No, I didn’t get a chance,” she mumbled, not really paying attention. She was trying to find an excuse to get away from him.

  “They said some virus broke out in Nova Scotia—they said it’s killed a ton of people, and they’re worried about the possibility of spread.”

  She nodded her head in acknowledgement. Yeah, yeah, there’s always something new going around each year.

  “Hey, I have to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.” She had no idea where the bathrooms were, but she knew the elevators were at the back end of the building.

  “Hey! Meet at the food court when you’re done!” Eric called to her, barely audible.

  Jordan was lost in the crowd of people. She pushed past person after person, trying to forge her way to the elevator. Of course it’s at the end of the freakin’ place. Boarding the elevator full of sweaty, raucous people nearly sent her into a coma.

  After another ten minutes, she was nearing the south end of the second story. She found herself amongst a theme of booths that were advertising sporting equipment technology—things to help you play a better game. The more she moved, the taller the back wall became, and the tighter her spine coiled. There were a few end booths set up, none of them depicting anything remotely close to what she had in mind. She wandered for a little bit, then slowed to a stop.

  They’ll find me, she thought.

  Someone bumped into her from behind, making her jump and swerve around.

  The person was gone. It had just been a passerby. She relaxed and continued to pursue the moving wave of bodies and faces.

  “Miss Dabbs?”

  The hairs on her neck spiked and her heart palpitated. Turning around, she met eyes with a barrel chested, bespectacled, jet haired man. He could easily have passed for a professional football player. From the looks of him, Jordan thought he must have been Italian. He was eerie standing still amongst the fluctuating crowd.

  “Are you the one that called me?” she asked, feeling slightly more comfortable with all of the bystanders moving around.

  “I didn’t call you, no,” he said without expression. “But I can show you to the man that did. Follow me, this won’t take long.” He was wearing a baby blue t-shirt and blue jeans, strangely accompanied with red sneakers. The only thing that was even remotely unique about this man was the crimson tattoo of a cog on his left tricep—a gear.

  “Where are we going?”

  The mysterious man kept walking.

  Reluctantly, Jordan followed the shiny black hair through the crowd, dodging the multitudes. With every step, she became more anxious, wondering why she had answered that phone call.

  They finally arrived at a booth. There was no name attached to the top, nothing to identify what kind of station it was, just red
drapery falling across the stand. Puzzled, Jordan continued, this time to the left of the booth, into a tight corridor.

  The man ushered her into a sectioned off area. Nothing occupied the quarantine except two chairs, facing each other. Jordan spun around to find that her guide was barring the exit, folding his arms and giving her a distasteful look.

  “You decided to show up,” said a voice from behind her. It was cold, and mildly raspy—giving an aged feel. It was the same voice she had heard last night.

  Startled, Jordan whirled around to see a man in a black suit coat and slacks. His collar was undone, his cuffs were loose. His shoes were polished and he wore an expensive looking gold watch. As she eyed him further, his facial features lured her. He had receding white-blonde hair with a very prominent widow’s peak. His lips were noticeably chapped, and his eyes were dilated. A nasty scar occupied his lower left cheek.

  His pointed nose flared at her. “I was worried you weren’t going to show.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Please, sit.” He motioned to the chair closest to her.

  She sat, her body like a torsion spring.

  “You can call me Vane.”

  Jordan furrowed her brow. “Okay . . .”

  “We have been monitoring your research, Miss Dabbs. It’s very articulate.” He noticed she was a little hesitant at the words. “You’ve dug deep.” He read her like a book.

  “How can I be certain you’re not GenoTec?”

  “You see that’s what I like about you, Miss Dabbs—you’re to the point. I know you’re nervous, but you act well under pressure, isn’t that right?”

  How did he know all of this?

  “Look, either I start getting some answers, or I’m outta here. There’s someone who’s probably really angry with me, wondering where I went off to.”

  “I thought we told you to come alone?” his eyes flashed above Jordan’s head, to the Italian.

  “It was just a date I could ditch easily. Obviously.”

  He smiled again; things were starting to get a little weird. Weirder than they already were.

  “All right, Miss Dabbs,” he began. “We’re not GenoTec. We represent a group of minds. A group of ideals. We are called Genesis.”

  “Genesis?” she repeated. “Just the two of you?” Her tone came with a little sarcasm.

  He smiled. “It appears that GenoTec isn’t exactly who they say they are. It appears your research has been correct.”

  She stared at him, listening intently.

  “Now.” He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “I told you we had a job offer for you. It’s . . . slightly more covert than what you’ve been up to lately. We are in need of an analyst—someone who’s good with computers et cetera. You would be that analyst, Miss Dabbs.”

  Wide eyed, Jordan readjusted her glasses. As much as the word “covert” left her ears stinging, she found herself wanting to know more. She tilted her head and asked, “I’m sorry, but what exactly will we be doing?”

  Vane smiled. “Let’s just put it this way—we’re going to make the world a very, very safe place.”

  Jordan knew for a fact that these guys, though initially shady, weren’t playing around. Even with the information available to the public, no one would take the time to organize all this just for a few laughs—especially that guy, who looked like he was in his mid-forties. She began thinking about her life. Maybe this is my chance to do something spontaneous and adventurous for once. She looked at the ground, caught in a daze of imagination.

  She lifted her head and put on a confident face. “What are you paying? What are the benefits? I’ve already got a great job right now, why should I be convinced to do this?”

  Vane scoffed and said, “There’ll be pay, Miss Dabbs. But an opportunity to uproot and destroy GenoTec is the best payment I can offer.” He took a few steps toward her. “Think about it.”

  He handed her a piece of paper with something scribbled upon it. After reading, she looked up. “An address?”

  “Yes,” he said, before stepping out of the cubicle, “it’s correct. When you’re ready, meet us at the old Central Railroad Terminal.”

  44

  I couldn’t stop the bleeding coming from my cheek. And the horrible roads in the Dustslum weren’t helping.

  Dodge had led us to a compact, silver Mazda still miraculously intact. Judging from the empty packages of medicine and used paraphernalia littered inside, it must’ve been a drug wagon. I noticed a familiar parcel on the floor, partly concealed by the passenger seat. I didn’t need anyone to remind me what it was. I felt for my forearm and turned away.

  “Where did they say they were meeting us?” I asked. I gave up trying to stay the bleeding, and tossed the damp piece of fabric to the car floor.

  “Some building near Verrazano,” he replied from the passenger seat, reloading his M580.

  Celia held the wheel as steady as she could, careening through abandoned roads.

  “Tara’s got the codes,” I reaffirmed softly. I looked out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of something recognizable.

  The car remained silent. My words meant a whole hell of a lot more than a simple thought. With the Headquarters’ surveillance codes in our possession, there was only one more thing left to do. And it was about damn time.

  “Justin’s probably got the whole place ready to commit suicide,” said Dodge after a long stretch of silence.

  Celia and I couldn’t resist letting out soft chuckles. I began to long for Dodge’s humor. I missed the happy-go-lucky Dodge, who teased Bollis until morning, who made Vexin sprout bulbous veins, and who made my journey through the Underbed more enjoyable than it probably would have ever been. Being constantly on edge was certainly taking its toll on all of us.

  A good half hour passed as we swerved through deserted cars, asphalt in upheaval, and a maze of ghostly skyscrapers. The more we made our way closer to the heart of the city, the more live cars started to pass and the more people began to walk the streets. Dodge and I slunk down into our seats, trying to remain hidden in our possibly incriminating attire; I was afraid someone might mistake us for the infamous soldiers who attacked the Turnmont.

  “I always dreamed of this,” said Dodge, looking up at Celia with puppy-dog eyes. “It’s so romantic.”

  She ignored his comment. “So many people are out and about now . . . it seems so unnatural.”

  “Just try’n avoid an accident,” he replied, pushing his rifle between his legs.

  I closed my eyes and felt the vibrations of the car take me away. If this was the only time I was going to have to myself, then I was going to take advantage of it. Thoughts of Justin and Vane entered my mind. Were we too late? Would we have to finish this without them? Vane had always brought a sense of security to our goal, but with him out of the picture, could we function? I tried reminding myself that this wasn’t about Vane. This was about justice, and whatever happened, we needed to stop GenoTec. I pictured Tara. I pined for her warm embrace. Watching her tiny red dot go inside of the Manhattan Branch felt like a year away. I never wanted to be separated from her again.

  We had come so far, Tara and I. I still couldn’t get her stoic attitude out of my head ever since her solo mission. It was like she had truly embraced the new role we played. That didn’t mean I hadn’t changed either, but somehow I always felt she was way ahead of me. She was just better at accepting things. Maybe that’s what drew me to her. I needed that in my life.

  The car jolted violently and bounced for a few more feet.

  “Sorry,” Celia apologized, correcting the vehicle, and turning onto another abandoned street.

  I lifted my head just enough to see we were traveling west, toward the Hudson.

  After a few more terse miles, the buildings started to decay once more.

  “Here. Turn here,” said Dodge, getting ready to exit the car.

  Our small Mazda toddled into a vacant lot positioned between two humongous skyscrapers. Beyond
a cankered, chain-link fence at the end of the space was the Hudson in all its glory. The view gave us sight of the lion’s den: GenoTec HQ and Axxiol. In the distance, Axxiol expelled steam and continued its day-to-day operations as if mocking our progress.

  When we climbed out of the car, I saw a black SUV parked behind a blue dumpster, concealed from the street’s view. As we were gathering our supplies, I heard the crunch of gravel coming from the building.

  “Back from vacation already?” said a playful voice.

  I jerked my head to see Bollis, leaning against the dumpster, smiling.

  “Don’t you even start,” said Dodge, shaking his head. The two friends approached each other and embraced, smacking spines like happy apes.

  My heart dropped a little when no one else came from behind the building. I resumed collecting my things and shut the car door. The mini reunion commenced afterward as Bollis greeted Celia and me after a long four days. The relief of having Bollis leading us again was like having our very own Fabric Shield towering overhead. The burdens holding me down were starting to ease.

  As we conversed, mostly informing Bollis about our recent run-in with GenoTec, my eyes sprung above his shoulder, locking onto the moving body emerging from the back of the skyscraper.

  “There she is!” shouted Dodge triumphantly, and everyone turned to see Tara slowly walking toward us.

  She glided along the dusty floor with a cute smile, happy to see everyone. Her hair was cut short, styled with baby bangs and longer strands coming off her temples. The back was done up in a ponytail stump, frayed and spiky. She had taken off her Oversuit, leaving the curves of her body to be strangled by her Undersuit’s spandex-like material.

  As everyone went to see her, I fell behind, watching from a short distance. In my mind, I had imagined a much more dramatized gathering, full of daisy fields and cliché embraces. Although not what I had anticipated, I felt at peace.

  Once everyone had their fill, Bollis led the pack inside, while Tara shyly waited around, glancing at me. This time I moved in, stepping only a foot away from her. First, we exchanged curt greetings, taking in the moment of respite.