Extinction Cycle (Kindle Worlds): Extinction [Isolation]

by Brian Martinez

  Will sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but his mind was a thousand miles away.

  He thought a lot about his little brother, even if he didn't talk about him much. He'd tried so hard to keep Stan on the straight-and-narrow, but Stan acted like he was allergic to it. Bringing Stan to hockey practice every chance he could. Teaching him how to box. As a last-ditch effort, he bought the kid a full-sized drum set, figuring he could at least become a musician and channel his anger into something constructive.

  Nothing worked. The first time Stanley was arrested, he was only thirteen- the same age Ryan was now.

  "I have to think about this," Will had said to Donegan on the phone.

  "An hour is all I can give you, boyo. My cousin's itching to take the job."

  "I understand," Will said.

  He'd never been in this situation before. Donegan had known about Stanley since the first day he and Will met. He ran a background check on all the guys he employed and, to Will's embarrassment, his brother was one of the first things that came back. Luckily their line of work was accustomed to dealing in gray areas, and Will had been able to assure him that his brother's issues weren't his own.

  But this. Going after Stanley, taking him in. It never would have flown if he'd been a police officer, too much conflict of interest. Bond Enforcement didn't go by those rules.

  It should have been simple. It was either take the job or don't take the job. Get the paycheck or don't get the paycheck. But he needed someone else's opinion before he answered, someone who mattered and who could see it from another angle.

  "Damn traffic," he grumbled to himself.

  At the campaign headquarters of Sam Harmel, there was a buzz in the air. Election season was in full-swing, and the entire team was energized by how well he'd been doing in the polls. Harmel was a small-time State Senator looking for a shot at the big leagues, but everyone who worked at the campaign headquarters believed in him. They believed in the difference he could make in the lives of the regular people.

  Tanya was one of his believers. She'd followed his career in the State Senate for three years before approaching him. They'd talked for close to four hours on everything from civil rights to football before she asked him if he ever considered running for U.S. Senate.

  His response had been, "With you on my side, maybe."

  Bonnie came over to Tanya's desk with a wide-eyed, panicked grin on her face. "What's wrong with you," Tanya asked.

  "Did you hear?"

  "What, is there cake?"

  Bonnie shook her head. "Jan Ringgold is here."

  Tanya was taken aback. "As in the Secretary of State?"

  Bonnie nodded vigorously. "The rumor is she's supporting our campaign."

  Tanya jumped to her feet. "Holy shit, Bonnie."

  "I know."

  "Why didn't Sam tell me?"

  "I don't think even he knew."

  Tanya smiled. "It's probably Sam's work with the Human Rights Campaign that did it. She's a strong advocate of theirs." Her mind reeled at the possibility. But still, why hadn't Sam told her about this? He told her everything, and this was huge for them. Beyond huge.

  Just then the Senator's door swung open, giving both women a peek at Jan Ringgold. She was a fierce-looking black woman, whose very demeanor commanded respect. "She's amazing," Tanya said. "She should be the one running for President next year."

  "I wish. This world isn't ready for a black woman in the Oval Office."

  "Then the world needs to change," Tanya said.

  Someone had the ceiling-mounted TV a little too loud. Channel Two news was showing footage of some kind of attack that had taken place in Chicago. O'Hare Airport was on lockdown, with reporters standing outside it talking about a connection to the Zaire strain of Ebola that had dominated the airwaves in the last few months. A few people were crowded under the TV, and Tanya was about to shoo them off when something caught her eye.

  A man stepped through the front door seeming a bit lost. It took a few seconds for Tanya's brain to click and recognize the face she knew so well.

  "Will?" He looked over at her and half-smiled, making his way over. She met him halfway. "Is everything alright? Is it Ryan?"

  He kissed her on the cheek. "He's fine. I need to talk to you about something." He glanced at Bonnie and the others. "In private." His voice sounded strange. She rarely saw him like this, at least not in public. It worried her.

  "Sure, of course." They went into one of the small offices and closed the door. "Of all the days you decide to visit me, you show up on the day the Secretary of State drops by," she said.

  "Should I leave?"

  "No, don't worry about it. Talk to me."

  He told her about his conversation with Donegan. About Stanley. About the paycheck they needed so badly. She knew every detail about Will's troublesome younger brother, how Will resented him yet felt somehow responsible for how he'd turned out. At the end, he looked at her with those eyes she knew so well and said, "So what do you think?"

  "I think it's your decision."

  "I know that."

  "So why are you asking me?"

  "Because I want to know what you would do."

  "Who am I, Jesus?" She took his hands in hers. "I would do what I always do- trust your judgment." Will's features softened, but he still looked conflicted. "If you really want to know my opinion, I'll give it to you, you know I'm always happy to put my two cents in. But to be honest, I think you already made your decision."

  "Which is?"

  She tilted her head at him. Without another word he took out his phone and dialed Donegan's number.

  "It's Will," he said. "I'll do it." He talked to Donegan briefly, then hung up. "He thinks Stan skipped town. I might have to leave D.C. for a few days."

  "I know what the job entails."

  "Thank you."

  She smiled. "Come on. Let's get out of here before they think you stopped by for a quickie."

  They left the small office and rejoined the main room, where even more people were crowded around the TV. Sam's door was closed now. Maybe the conversation had steered a little more private.

  "I just wish you didn't have to leave with all this crazy stuff going on," Tanya said, motioning to the TV.

  "What crazy stuff?"

  "Will. I know you don't like watching the news, but sometimes you come across a little dense." They watched some of the report. A female reporter explained that two Homeland Security Officers had been taken to Northwestern Memorial Hospital after being infected by an unknown passenger. Details were hazy, but it appeared to be some kind of attack. At the bottom of the screen, a report of a second suspected case of Ebola crawled by. "I really hope this stuff doesn't like to travel," Tanya said.

  "Donegan was going on about this, too. Chicago is how many hundreds of miles away?"

  She did some quick math. "About seven."

  "Seven hundred miles. With the amount of containment they're throwing at this thing, there's no way it can reach us here."

  "There's a thin line between being an optimist and just plain ignorant."

  "Hey. You said you trust my judgment."

  "I also called you dense."

  He kissed her on the cheek. "Like the mighty oak."

  -7-

  Will knocked and waited. The sound of a man's agonized screams was all he could hear on the other side of the door. Ryan called out for him to come in. He opened the door and stepped in.

  He was always amazed at how Ryan had managed to cover every inch of his walls in posters, to the point where he sometimes wondered if the kid had planned it out first on paper. Most of them were for horror movies, a few of them science fiction. One poster, though still for a movie, prominently featured a nearly-naked woman. It was a reminder to Will that his son was currently ensnared in the hormonal claws of puberty.

  Ryan sat Indian-style in bed, wearing red sweatpants and an old t-shirt with a book in his lap. Behind him his pillow was folded in half, the way he always slept
on it. It was a habit he'd had since he was a toddler. On the opposite wall, an ornate metal box shot hooked chains out at a shirtless man on screen, tearing into his flesh as he continued to scream in agony.

  "It doesn't give you nightmares watching this?"

  "Sometimes. Is it true you're going after Uncle Stanley?"

  Will sighed. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and frowned at Ryan. "I told your mother not to say anything about it."

  "I'm not a little kid. You can tell me things."

  "Maybe not a little kid, but you're still a kid." Will contemplated how to explain the situation to his son. "Things between your uncle and I are...complicated, to say the least. He makes me angry, angrier than anyone else I know, but he's still my brother. If someone has to bring him in, I think it should be me. Does that make sense?"

  Ryan nodded. "When you find him, are you going to punch him?"

  Will chuckled. "Do you want me to?"

  "No, not really. Only bad guys should get punched, and he's not a bad guy. But if you have to, I get it."

  "I appreciate you giving me permission. I'll try not to hit him." On the TV, a pillar of living body parts spun at the center of a blood-covered room. "Do these movies have stories, or are they just people dying in horrible ways?"

  "They have stories. Not all of them are great, but they have them. Do you want to know what this one's about?"

  "Maybe later." He stood up and messed Ryan's hair. "Enjoy the nightmares," he said as he headed to the door.

  He looked back at his son as he stepped out, thinking again of his brother. Stan used to watch those movies, especially anything to do with Science Fiction. In fact, he was the one who had put Ryan onto them. Ryan reminded him of Stan more and more every day, but he'd be damned if he was going to let Ryan follow in his footsteps. The kid needed to see that Stan had chosen the wrong path, that there were consequences in life. Jail. Loneliness. Losing family.

  For all of that, Ryan needed to see Stan behind bars more than anyone else.

  Calvin had been out of it after leaving the airport. There was an entire hour of his day that was unaccounted for. He knew he'd been on the Kennedy Expressway for a while, driving half out of his mind. When he finally snapped out of the haze, he found himself parked down some random side street. He'd had to use his GPS just to find his way home.

  Today he hadn't woken up until noon, and didn't get out of bed until two. He laid under the covers the whole time and thought back on the previous day's events, trying to come to terms with what he'd seen.

  He had managed to get out of O'Hare before they detained him, and just barely. They would have questioned and quarantined him and who knows what else, the same they did to all those people he left behind in that God-forsaken place. It's not like they could blame him for anything that had gone down; he hadn't gotten his chance to break the law, and he certainly didn't make that man go insane and attack the Homeland Security officer.

  Calvin shuddered. What a sight that had been, seeing Pinkman-thing's jagged sucker full of teeth tear that man's face apart. With a little time and a lot of distance, he could think clearer about the whole situation now. What he started to realize was this: he was angry.

  GhostBot had sent him to the airport with nothing but a name and a mission. He'd given no warning about what Pinkman had become. And yes, maybe GhostBot hadn't known anything about it, but then why was he sending Calvin after him in the first place? The chances of it being unrelated to what he saw were so close to zero, they were zero.

  Calvin took a long, hot shower, trying to scrub away the image of jagged-toothed suckers tearing hunks of flesh. When he stepped out, there was a message on his phone from GhostBot.

  I need you to go to Northwestern Memorial Hospital and gather intel. It's where they took Pinkman and the two Homeland Sec officers.

  Calvin stared at his phone for a full minute. Then he typed a response.

  Fuck off.

  As he finished getting dressed, he heard the notification sound.

  This is the last job. After this you're in, GhostBot's message said.

  It was still his dream to become an elite hacker, nothing in the last day had changed that. He hated the thought of doing anything else for the guy who'd sent him to that airport. At the same time, he didn't want what he went through to be meaningless, without some reward.

  Just one more job. He would fake going if he didn't think GhostBot could tell he was lying, track his phone and who knows what else.

  That was the thing. He wanted to know what else.

  Alright, he typed. But just this.

  -8-

  Will had been on Stanley's trail, working every contact he had. The courts only had a P.O. box on file, and Stanley didn't have much in the way of known work associates. At least none of the real life, offline variety. That Will knew of, he had even less friends.

  His brother had suffered a lifelong inability to keep friends. Stan was the typical computer type, spouting about "non-hierarchical activist groups" the way most guys talked about getting together for pizza and beer. It turned most sane people off after about a week.

  After a few dead ends, he finally found someone who knew where Stan lived.

  The apartment building in Brentwood was a long, white building near the train tracks. Will went in and knocked on the door his source told him was Stanley's. There was no answer. He knocked again.

  "I don't think he's home," a voice said from down the hall. He was a bald guy, middle-aged and harmless-looking.

  "How do you know?"

  "His van's gone." The bald guy took a few steps closer. "Are you a friend of his?"

  "Brother, actually."

  "Oh. I didn't know he had a brother. Then again, I don't know much about him. He's, uh, pretty private."

  "Believe me, I know."

  The bald guy chuckled. "I got one the same way. The guy could be married with six kids and I wouldn't have a clue."

  Will could tell by his demeanor that he was either the landlord or the super, but he decided not to let the guy know he knew. His instincts told him the brother angle would yield better results than the big, scary bounty hunter angle. In truth, once Stan had signed a bail bond he'd handed over the right to have his residence searched, with or without a warrant. But for the moment, Will wanted to play nice with the man in front of him. "Hey, do you know where I can find someone with a key?"

  "Well that would be me, but I can't let you in there. Building rules. I can get in a lot of trouble."

  Will held out his hand. "I'm Will, what's your name?"

  "Ed." He shook Will's hand hesitantly.

  "Listen, Ed, I'm worried about my brother. He's been really weird on the phone lately. Then a few hours ago I got this...unsettling call from him. I came over here praying, well...I hate to say it, but praying I didn't smell a dead body."

  Ed frowned. He looked half-concerned, while the other half of him hoped he didn't have to clean up after a dead guy. "I feel for you, but I can't lose this job."

  Will pretended to look distressed. "I don't know what else to do, Ed. What would you do if it was your brother?"

  Ed's face softened. "Probably bust the door down." He looked over his shoulder, then back. "I'll give you two minutes, but don't tell anyone."

  "You're a life-saver."

  Ed pulled out his big set of keys and fished through them. "I had to tell your brother I didn't have a spare key." The door unlocked and Ed pushed it open, revealing the dark room beyond. "He's a bit paranoid."

  "I noticed that." Will stepped inside while Ed waited in the hallway, pretending to fix a broken doorknob.

  Will turned on a lamp that looked like it hadn't been used in a year. The smell of burning dust wafted into the air as he began looking through his brother's things.

  The small apartment was full of typical conspiracy theorist stuff. Books and various hand-printed newsletters- the kind he didn't think anyone made anymore- on everything from Scientology and Illuminati to the pro
cessed food industry and the Catholic Church. There were combination locks and a surprising number of drug testing kits around, the meaning of which eluded him. Hanging on the wall was a poster of a flying saucer with the words I WANT TO BELIEVE. The image looked familiar, like it was from a movie, but Will couldn't place it.

  Stanley's bedroom was tiny. Clothes were strewn in every direction, like the place had been ransacked, or more likely someone had been packing for a trip in a hurry. By the side of the bed, Will found a garbage pail.

  "Times almost up," Ed whispered nervously from the hall.

  Will dumped the pail on the bed and started sorting through the contents. He was looking for names, dates, places, anything that would point him in the direction of where his brother might be hiding out. He pulled out a crumpled, blue scrap of paper and unfolded it. There was a date scribbled in Stanley's erratic handwriting, and under it a name.

  "Marco."

  "That's it," Ed whispered. Will swept the papers back into the pail and put it back before he left. It was a force of habit- don't let them know you've been poking around.

  "Do you know who Marco is," he asked as Ed relocked the door and wiped the sweat from his lip.

  "No. Well, it might be the big guy I see around here sometimes. I think he works at that computer repair place up the street."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "He walks here from that direction, and sometimes he has a hat on with their name on it."

  "Thanks so much, Ed, you've been a huge help." Will turned to leave, then stopped. "You said he's driving a van these days?"

  "Yeah. It's this dark green monstrosity, like something out of a horror movie. Looks like he should be cruising for little kids to murder in it." Ed caught himself. "No offense."

  "None taken. My brother's a real piece of work."

  The shop was small. There were shelves and shelves of computer parts on each side, and the air smelled of plastic and soldering iron. Will approached the counter. A big guy with a beard was hunched over a small device, screwdriver in hand.