Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  Bollis placed a hand on Dodge’s shoulder. “How much did you hear from Mark’s earpiece?”

  Then the blonde noticed everyone’s solemn, distraught appearances. His head swiveled around before asking, “What happened?”

  Bollis proceeded to tell Dodge about the whole Slate encounter, filling in the missing pieces. Thankfully, Dodge obviously hadn’t heard about Celia, and Bollis made the decision not to tell him. When I heard the details of our betrayal the second time around, a heavier weight fell upon me. I wanted to scream and cry and beat myself up every time I thought about it. However, I also wanted nothing more than to find Slate. Never before had I wanted to kill someone with such vehemence.

  Dodge had to sit. His breaths became weak and his body, frail. With a mouth like Justin’s, Dodge spewed more curse words than all of us combined in the last week.

  “Edge?” he said to the floor. “Created?”

  No one said a thing. We shared his confusion and loss of words. There really wasn’t anything to say. The only option to revert our sorry state would be to catch up to Slate and plaster his crimes for the whole world to see. Standing here any longer would ruin our chances of that.

  “We were his ‘prototypes’,” said Bollis with disgust. “If Slate gets in control of GenoTec again, we won’t have another chance to stop him.”

  “Says who?!” I urged. “We’re all still alive. We’ve got a chance!”

  But as I looked around at our small group of renegades, Bollis was the only person mentally ready to commence our final mission. And maybe it was his unfortunate role as leader that made it necessary for him to have a plan.

  I looked incredulously at my companions. They were beaten and torn. Their souls had been exhausted to a small spirit, wheezing and struggling to provide energy and light. Didn’t they want to put an end to this? Wasn’t that everyone’s desire?

  “Mark’s right,” affirmed Bollis. “Slate’s getting away.”

  For the second time, I felt an upswing of bright red courage within my bones.

  “I know we’ve been more screwed than I can describe,” I started, “but we can’t do this now. We can’t fall apart. Slate must have a cure somewhere. We can save everyone. We can turn this whole thing around on him! He trained us, bred us into soldiers, and brought us here. Let’s use that against him!”

  For the most part, my little speech rallied the troops. They started stirring.

  Dodge stood. “I’m ready.”

  Vexin began showing signs of life, as if emerging from a pool of paralysis. He didn’t say anything, but nodded.

  “Grab everything we have left,” commanded Bollis. “We’re not stopping until Slate’s dead.”

  Genesis broke into a scurry, securing weapons, loading fresh magazines, and discarding unnecessary equipment. I unclamped my right shoulder piece, tarnished and split wide open, and discarded it. Most of them left their shattered and battle-worn helmets. The time had come for Genesis to pull out every stop.

  As Bollis, Dodge, and Vexin probed the broken window, Tara, Justin, and I spoke.

  “Are you sure your arm’s okay?” Tara asked for the third time.

  “Do you want to be my mom er somethin’?” Justin looked annoyed. “It’s bandaged. It’s fine!”

  Justin’s freckled face was covered in grime and black streaks of collected dust. His chocolate mousse hair was in a frenzy of curls and grease. I couldn’t help but feel compassion for the kid. What other eleven-year-old could endure so much?

  The outspoken boy had agreed to take up post within the office. He found it useful to be in the com room, so he made his way to the half-shattered table and started to tinker away. Tara barely had a chance to say goodbye.

  “It sucks juggling my soldier mind with my normal mind,” she said, longing for relief.

  “It’s almost over, Tar.” I grabbed her chin so she would look at me.

  She struggled hard to not cry, and I think the adrenaline of the event was the only thing keeping her stable. I brought her into a quick embrace. It felt so warm and comforting, even under the heavy metal slabs of our suits. I almost started sobbing with her, but the tears wouldn’t come.

  I held her tightly until she let go. Her eyes were puffy and her lips were cracked and bleeding a bit. She pulled her excess hair into the familiar spiky ponytail, leaving wavy strands to fall over each temple. Her baby bangs reminded me of her youthful, headstrong determination. Somewhere inside the blood-ridden soldier lived the old Tara I had met a month ago.

  A month. God, it felt like a year.

  Bollis turned to Dodge, perched on the extra-wide windowsill. “Did you see Repik’s men out there?”

  Dodge looked confused. “Repik’s men?”

  “So Repik was bluffing,” said Vexin, double-checking the rooftop below.

  By now, the sun was peaking over the horizon, illuminating the world in vivid color. Everything was visible, from the blackened helicopter remains, to the city surrounding the building.

  “All right,” said Bollis, “then let’s go.”

  Dodge skeptically looked out the window. “Did he just jump?”

  “I see what he did, follow me,” Bollis concluded, stepping out of the window into the morning air. “There’s a little outcrop of concrete here and a ladder—come on.”

  Tara turned to Justin before she joined us. “If anyone comes after you, turn on the kinetic shield.”

  “Worry, worry, worry! You worry!” he yelled back.

  But once Tara left the room, he rushed toward the shattered hole and stuck his head out.

  “Be careful! Remember my promise!” He paused, watching us descend a maintenance ladder in single file. “Grob-loads . . .”

  It wouldn’t be a comment without an insult.

  Before Tara took the rungs of the ladder, she smiled at him and repeated, “Worry, worry, worry!”

  “Touché!” Justin saluted the air and vanished into the office.

  Our feet hit the rooftop with a crunch. Like beasts of prey, we commenced our mission once more.

  For the beginning of July, it was particularly windy. The temperature was warm and the sun shined without hindrance, but in the distance I could see approaching behemoth clouds, carrying their loads of rain.

  Once we rounded the corner to the back end of the building, another obstacle presented itself. A small tram station at the edge of the building stood before us. A screeching sound was coming from the tram’s rail system, as if an excavator was clawing at the metal. I could see the gears and tracks moving underneath the rail, suggesting that Slate was well on his way.

  “Axxiol.” Bollis frowned. “He’s going to Axxiol.”

  “Damn it,” exclaimed Dodge. “This better not turn into a wild goose chase.”

  Bollis broke into a jog. “Maybe we can stop the tram.”

  We hurried over to the ramp leading to the station and infiltrated the metal cylinder. There were two holographic monitors on the ocean’s side, depicting route patterns and timetables. To our left, a retractable gate and bridge waited for the next tram. The actual rail was a single squared shaft, arcing around and going back again, creating a gigantic oval altogether. Out of the GenoTec and Axxiol buildings, enormous struts supported the rail like the bottom of a bridge, instead of obnoxiously running all the way to the ocean. If I weren’t on a life or death mission, I might have considered the tram system pretty cool.

  “Look,” said Vexin, standing upon the loading platform.

  From Vexin’s angle, Slate’s escaping tram was about to reach Axxiol.

  “It has some sort of auto lock system. He’s going to Axxiol and nothing’s gonna stop him—that’s basically what it’s telling me,” replied Dodge, awaiting the command from Bollis.

  “There’s the next tram! How long ‘til it gets here?” asked Tara.

  “Checking,” said Dodge, turning back to the computer and typing some keys in here and there. Within a few seconds, he punched in some crucial commands, and a fema
le voice began to speak.

  “Transportation to Axxiol will arrive in two minutes.”

  “Good. Hopefully he doesn’t shut us down when he reaches the facility,” said Bollis angrily.

  “Looks like the Vista mission was worth it,” said Tara. “We’re actually going to Axxiol.”

  The wind started to pick up as we sat there, tense and ready for war.

  “Who knew what that mission was really for,” speculated Dodge.

  The next track finally approached the station, the five of us waiting in excruciation. The tram was an open-air cabin, big enough to fit at least ten people comfortably, complete with a few Fuse screens and plush seating. As it rounded the corner, it turned on a pivot system and aligned itself with our platform.

  “Here we go,” said Bollis.

  “En route to Axxiol Offshore Research Facility. Estimated arrival time: six minutes.”

  “I hope you’re right, computer lady,” sighed Dodge.

  “Dodge, see if you can get a shot off.” Bollis squinted down the railway.

  Dodge replaced his M580 with the Ramrod and mounted it on the tram’s ledge. He focused down the sights as we waiting behind.

  He pulled his head back and turned to Bollis, “The other tram station’s blocking the way.”

  The tram kept moving at a steady pace. Every other second or two would sport an irregular shake or twitch from the tram, making our sniffles and deep breathing much easier to be heard.

  Everyone was on edge—quiet on the outside, raging on the inside. Dodge was still trying to contact Celia. I met eyes with Tara multiple times, wondering if we made the right decision not to tell him. I thought about my connection to Tara and replaced her with Celia. The more I imagined Tara dead, the more I understood we had done the right thing.

  Not only were we anxious about Slate getting away, Axxiol loomed in our sights like an unpredictable visitor. The one thing I didn’t invest too much study into, Axxiol was a place of uncertainty. Little was even known about the inner workings of the place. Images of our encounter at the Corrupt Vista had been replaying through my mind. I had no clue what we were going to find in there, and I had a bad feeling Slate was going to unleash something horrible upon us.

  My thinking was interrupted by a terse jolt and subsequent halt of movement. The tram had been stopped, just as we had predicted. And we were only halfway there.

  My stomach lurched. Plan B sucked.

  “This is it!” shouted Bollis, already halfway out the window.

  Plan B called for each of us to scale the cabin, then ascend to the top of the rail. A maintenance catwalk spanned most of the length of the track.

  Bollis demonstrated how to successfully climb up to the top, careful to keep his gear away from obstructing his grip. We climbed out of the window, latching onto the roof of the cabin. Once we were safely standing, we had to give Dodge a boost so he could reach the catwalks railing. After that, it was a matter of helping one another up.

  We sprinted down the grated walkway, watching the ocean peel away at our sides. Looking ahead, Axxiol was a force to be reckoned with.

  Shaped like a giant pentagon, the facility had five individual, interconnected structures called Vestibules, surrounding one giant square base. The center building—the Rectory—was significantly taller than the others, and each smaller facility connected to the main hub through open-air bridges. Axxiol was enormous, half the size of the actual Pentagon—the old government building. Each Vestibule of the massive pentagon was designated to different kinds of research and development, while the Rectory remained a mystery to us. I should’ve done more research, but I remembered Celia said even she was kept out of pertinent information.

  In other words, this place was a perfect hole for our rat to burrow into.

  The approaching Vestibule reminded me of a power plant. Large sections of the roof were fenced off with horizontal cables attached to thick orange posts. Inside, advanced telecommunication towers were erected in symmetrical rows, along with numerous electrical boxes and metal crates. In between the various partitions, sleek paths lined the roof, allowing people access to different Vestibules via connecting bridges.

  At the very end of the path leading to the Rectory, I could see a moving body disappearing into a blurry gray.

  The maintenance catwalk stopped near the end of the rail, close enough for us to jump to Slate’s abandoned tram. One by one we leapt over a short guardrail and pummeled the roof of the tram. We didn’t have time to judge our competence in making the gap, we just did it.

  Finally, our boots clanked to the roof of the Vestibule.

  “He’s going to the Rectory. C’mon!” Bollis led the way through a cabled corridor.

  I examined my surroundings, watching the seagulls prey on the faraway railings, dropping their excrement onto unsuspecting grates and bars. I viewed our platform closely, giving it a full 360 sweep as I ran. The Rectory seemed to have grown a hundred feet now that we were underneath its shadow.

  As we cleared the halfway mark, passing an intersection that led to other Vestibules, the world around me exploded into crimson hues and twisted like a kaleidoscope. I hit the metal pavement hard, clutching my ears as a vibrating axe split my head in two.

  Still convulsing, I raised my head to see the rest of Genesis on their knees, barring their ears shut. Those who still had helmets flung them away, as the monotone banshee penetrated the material. Past Bollis, the welcoming committee had arrived.

  A full squad sprinted down the pathway from the Rectory, commencing their reign of death upon our position. We were vegetables, unable to deflect their barrage. The weaponized sound held us trapped and dithering.

  Two bullets ripped into Vexin’s shoulder and upper arm. He fell onto his back. More steel whipped at Dodge and Bollis.

  Is this how it was going to end? Silenced by sound?

  When I started to black out from the consuming resonance, communication towers on either side exploded and sparked. The banshee screech stopped and my vision, coherence, and strength immediately returned. More explosions rocked the Vestibule from within the contained fences. We escaped before they could put an end to us.

  “I can only think of one thing,” I panted, taking cover in between two powerful metal crates.

  “Justin,” answered Tara, slamming into the other side.

  Bollis chucked a few sliderjets in their direction. The jets rocketed down the path, spinning like tiny firecrackers. Once they found their second surface, each exploded with a violent shake. One of the mini-bombs struck a soldier on the toe, completely incinerating his body and leaving two others without legs.

  While our friends kept the first squad occupied, Tara and I noticed a second group trying to flank us, coming from another bridge. We crossed the intersection and found cover behind a damaged electrical box.

  I checked the number of bodies and came back to strategize with Tara.

  “Five of them. Do you have any grenades left?”

  I watched her unclip an apple-sized sphere from her waist.

  “Here.” She handed me the bomb and grabbed the last one for herself.

  “Make ‘em count.”

  I kneeled and provided Tara with a few rounds of cover fire. She hurled the grenade their direction and replaced positions with me. On the other side, the grenade clanked behind the group of soldiers. They tried to scatter, but the blast decimated them.

  “Two left,” said Tara. “They’re behind the first crate.”

  After hearing her three-round burst, I stepped to the side, sized the area, and threw the tiny ball as hard as I could. I watched the perfect arc turn into the worst nightmare. I didn’t cook it long enough. One of the soldiers snatched the bomb before it exploded and chucked it back at us.

  The grenade detonated near us before we could get clear. The blast threw us like limp pieces of raw meat. I slammed into an orange post, feeling my Oversuit groan underneath.

  61

  “Get up!”


  Roger Celement struggled to angle his neck, wriggling on the gleaming floor.

  “Sir!” he squeaked, “what are you doing here?!”

  Repik said nothing and cut Celement’s binds, then approached the communication desk.

  The cockeyed man dusted himself off and joined his leader. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Celement swiveled his head around, noticing two guards at the door’s threshold. He didn’t understand why such a drastic move was being made when their enemies were right in their grasp.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Don’t worry . . . this isn’t the end.”

  Repik didn’t pay much attention to his subordinate and wasn’t especially pleased with his recent failure. The false CEO repressed the urge to slit Celement’s throat, knowing he would need to keep as many people on his side for the next move. Slate’s success today was just another “check” in their giant chess match.

  Celement thought himself in good standing with Repik and added, “I’m going to kill that little—”

  Repik exploded, slamming Celement against the wall and gripped the cockeyed man’s throat. Celement squealed in pain as his still-fresh shoulder wound banged the surface.

  “No, you’ll learn to shut your disgusting mouth.”

  Celement swallowed, realizing the barrier of trust had dissolved between the two. A spider-like fear began to trickle throughout his frame. He blinked away misty eyes and clutched his shoulder.

  “Sir,” he tried, “I had no idea there was another who survived the helicopter crash.”

  Repik went back to work. “Wait outside.” Whenever he spoke in meat cleavers, Celement knew it was time to shut up.

  The wiry, rat-like beanpole waned in a cloud of solemnity. His tail dropped between his legs and he skulked out of the room, wanting nothing more than to rip the eyes out of that interfering little boy. Though he calmed himself, knowing his revenge would surface in due time.

  Repik’s eyes flashed in the reflection of the screen. His backup plan had no room for failure. Slate may have known about the betrayal, but no one—not even Sapphira—knew about what was going to come next. He finished sending data to a secure station in the Dustslum and shut down the system.