Extinct

by RR Haywood

  ‘You did it,’ Herr Weber says, calling out as he rushes over from the closest building. ‘You actually did it . . . You have it . . . That’s it?’

  ‘There it is,’ Bravo says.

  ‘The Führer doesn’t know,’ Herr Weber blurts, looking at the five men. ‘He won’t talk to anyone . . .’

  ‘Well, maybe this will bring him out,’ Alpha says. ‘The plane is adapted and ready?’

  ‘It is! Yes, it is. Exactly as you said. It’s ready and, look, it fits like a glove. My god, this is a thing. I said we should have done it, but they didn’t listen. Wait and see. Just wait and see. We can win this yet.’

  ‘Sure you can,’ Bravo says.

  Weeks in the planning made harder and longer by the Affa affect. They had to find where they were being developed. They had to find the places and the people and work out the dates one would be ready. They had to understand the principles, the shape, the size and how it was used in order to feed that information to Herr Weber, and all without him getting overly suspicious. That he didn’t believe it until seeing it was obvious.

  With the heavy bomber loaded, the five agents climb up into the newly adapted rear, receiving smiles and nods from the German airmen so thrilled at the turn of events. Everything goes smoothly but then this is why they put the effort in, to make sure this happens properly.

  Herr Weber joins them. The aircraft taxis and very shortly later, and without any form of ceremony, the engines roar to pull it down the runway and up into the air. A small group of fighters take off after it, but even they have been scavenged, begged, borrowed and even stolen to support the bomber. Such is the systematic destruction of Germany by the Allies that there is hardly anything left of the Third Reich. The Russians are advancing. The bombs fall more each day.

  The Affa effect had no bearing on the course of the war. Hitler still rose to seize power and unleash hell with his hatred of Jews. He still caused the deaths of millions and brought the globe into the biggest conflict ever known. The sides stayed the same. The machinery, the weapons, the battles, victories and losses too. Only the names and some of the dates. Only the tiny things that seem not to matter.

  Alpha reflects on it all and the weeks this has taken and for a fleeting second he gains an overwhelming feeling of utter insignificance. That what they are doing has no reason or purpose. Life will continue one way or the other and, in that second, predestiny means everything and what they do will make no difference because they would have always done it and suddenly he wants nothing more than to stop this mission and to return to the complex and go back to bed with Kate.

  I always believed in them. Kate’s soft voice in his ear late last night as they lay entwined in the darkness of his room. Didn’t you? He never replied, but that lack of reply seemed to give the answer he couldn’t vocalise. I studied all of them: Maggie Sanderson, Ben Ryder, Safa Patel and Harry Madden.

  Alpha looks round and marvels at how something so old and ancient as this bomber gets off the ground in the first place. The aircraft is rattling like it’s ready to fall apart. He turns to Charlie and Delta goofing around, telling jokes and laughing. They’ve become good mates and Charlie is getting plenty of sex by being Delta’s wingman as they work through the ladies in the complex. Even Echo looks in bliss, tinkering about with a fucking nuclear bomb on a shitty old German war plane flanked by a half score of misfiring fighter planes piloted by boys or shell-shocked men.

  I even had that image of Emily Rose printed out and framed in my office. She looked so cool. Sticking a finger up at the governments of the world.

  Go big. That’s what Mother said and there’s nothing bigger than a nuke. The physical size of the bloody thing is just monstrous. The Americans dropped two at the end of the Second World War. The first bomb was called Little Boy and was dropped on Hiroshima. The second bomb was a plutonium implosion device, significantly more powerful than the first, and was called Fat Boy. That was dropped on Nagasaki.

  They chose the Fat Boy because the Affa effect meant the Little Boy was never developed and the tweaked timeline saw two Fat Boys dropped, and in the few years that followed the end of the war, the Americans refined and worked to make it better, bigger, stronger and more powerful.

  Not that it matters what nuclear bomb they use, Alpha reflects bitterly. This is a statement. That was what the whole Affa thing was about. A statement to cause confusion. A thing done for Mother to tell Maggie Sanderson she also has a time machine. That they can go back and beat the shit out of the Romans and then do something as big as this.

  Uncertainty hits Alpha. A fleeting rush of pre-emptive guilt that he has never ever experienced before. He drops his head and rubs his face.

  ‘We’re all feeling it, old chap.’ Bravo’s voice as the second in command leans in to make himself heard over the roar of the engines. ‘We’re dropping a nuke on London. Who wouldn’t feel bad?’

  Alpha looks up sharply with a rebuke ready to put Bravo back in his place. Who the hell does he think he is, talking to him like that? Bravo pulls a face and blows air out with an expression that matches the guilt Alpha just felt and that surge of anger slides away.

  Surprisingly, the flight is easy and smooth. They’re not picked up or attacked, but then it’s broad daylight and the last thing the allies are expecting now is a single rogue bomber taking a pot shot at England and it’s not long before the fighters reach their maximum range and drop away, ready to turn back.

  So much planning has gone into this. Every detail thought about. Every action that could cause a reaction. Every possibility discussed and worked out. He is Alpha. He could cancel the mission now. He could return, make the bomb safe, go into the complex and kill Mother.

  A tap on his arm. He turns to see Bravo motioning for him to look out the window to the white cliffs of Dover and the green lands of England and time goes on as every passing minute takes them closer to London. The Anti-Aircraft fire still doesn’t come and they slip through unnoticed.

  Then it’s time and Echo announces the bomb is armed and ready. The German airmen open the doors, filling the plane with a louder rush of air. The greenery below gives way to streets and towns as they venture closer to the capital and the mood in the plane lifts as the Germans realise they are actually going to do it. Herr Weber just stares at the bomb, shaking his head and muttering with an expression of abject glee.

  The AA fire finally comes. A sudden booming in the skies around them, but the pilots have been told to hold a steady course. The tension mounts. The grins and laughs fade and Echo stares hard at Alpha, waiting for the order.

  ‘LAUNCH IT,’ Herr Weber shouts. He looks to the strange men who came to him with a promise of a way to win the war and spots the hesitancy etched on their faces. He sees the sudden uncertainty in the glances between Alpha and Bravo and the way Charlie and Delta simply wait for instructions. ‘LAUNCH IT,’ he shouts again. They are over London. Now is the time to drop it. The AA flak is getting closer. They need to launch it now. ‘DROP IT . . .’ he screams. Still Echo waits for the order from his commanding officer. Bravo stares at him too, everyone does.

  Then Herr Weber makes a mistake with the arrogance that comes from his belief in an Aryan race. He reaches to pull his Luger, intending to order them at gunpoint but Delta and Charlie draw faster and the airman around them cry out in surprise as Bravo and Echo whip modern pistols from old holsters specially adapted to hold them.

  ‘WHAT ARE WE DOING, ALPHA?’ Echo shouts.

  Alpha blinks. What is he doing? This is a mission. This is his job. He nods at Echo then smiles at Herr Weber. ‘LAUNCH IT . . .’

  The bomb drops.

  The plane flies on. The motorised doors close and the AA fire continues to rock the plane as it gains height and pushes the speed to make as much distance as possible.

  Fifty-one seconds after launch and at a height of five hundred and twenty-three metres over Piccadilly, the nuclear bomb detonates with a flash of lightning and a mushroom cloud plumin
g high into the heavens as the heavy German bomber heads for home.

  Eighteen

  ‘Where are we?’ Safa asks, scanning the room. A low ceiling of natural rock above their heads. The walls the same. Rugs and mats on the floor with hard compacted earth showing between the gaps. Safa recognises the mats and other furnishings from the bunker but they look old and faded now, worn and broken.

  Ria doesn’t reply, but kicks the lid open on a now gouged and battered white shabby chic chest and tugs a magazine from the Barret, then props the rifle against the wall and pulls a box of big fifty-calibre rounds from the chest that she starts pushing into the magazine.

  ‘Where are we?’ Safa asks again, her tone harder from her blood still being up.

  ‘Caves,’ Ria says bluntly. ‘My rooms are through there.’ She nods to one end. ‘Way out is through that gap.’ She nods in the other direction.

  ‘Where’s the bunker?’ Ben asks.

  Ria reloads the magazine, hefts the rifle and makes it ready before slinging it on her back with a crude strap crafted from two leather belts fastened together. Pictures on the walls from the bunker. The same pictures Ria bought from Milwaukee, but they look dented, buckled, split and torn. Items and objects the same everywhere. Small tables that what seemed like an hour ago held vases of flowers now hold pistols and knives with spare magazines loaded and lying nearby.

  ‘Ria?’ Malcolm says softly. Konrad nudges his arm, nodding at a large drawing on the wall. Malcolm blinks and mutters under his breath at the sight of it. Ria always was good at art and the two figures drawn on the paper resemble him and Konrad. The wording underneath is the thing that catches them both; Ria Ria Smelly Dear written in bold, flowing script.

  When they turn back they see her staring at them, studying the details of their faces and features. ‘Needed to remember you,’ she says quietly.

  ‘What happened, Ria?’ Konrad asks. He takes in the livid white scars running down her cheeks and across her nose. More down her arms. Old and faded, but smaller, fresher cuts show here and there.

  The question seems to jar her and she moves back a step to purse her lips then cocks her head as though straining to listen.

  ‘Ria?’ Konrad asks.

  She waves a hand at him with a clear signal to be quiet. The others hear it. A soft snuffling sound coming from the direction she said was the way out. Feet scratching the earth. A blast of air. Ria smiles sudden and bright. ‘Hang on,’ she calls out.

  ‘What’s that?’ Safa asks. Ria doesn’t reply but walks past them out of sight round a curve in the wall. ‘Asked you a question,’ Safa snaps.

  ‘Easy,’ Ben says. He sets off after Ria with the rest following suit and mutters in shock at sight of the solid metal riveted door marked with Harry’s name held in place against one wall with the locking bar taken from the rear exit of the bunker wedged in crevices in the natural rock next to an assault rifle and a small bag holding magazines and grenades.

  With a grunt, Ria yanks the locking bar out, drops it down, then grips the edges of the door with her bare hands and steps back, lifting it away with the muscles bulging in her arms, shoulders and back. Daylight floods through a natural gap in the wall as Ria rushes quickly to intercept the big leathery head looming in.

  ‘WATCH OUT,’ Ben shouts, snatching to draw his pistol.

  ‘Shush!’ Ria hisses at him, glaring balefully as the head pushes deeper through the gap to see what made the new noise. Everyone freezes with breaths held as Ria murmurs softly and strokes the head of the bipedal creature that shuffles in on two strong back legs and a thick tail stretching out behind.

  ‘We’ve seen it before,’ Harry says, his voice deep and low. The creature turns the lizard head to look at Harry through intelligent, cunning eyes.

  ‘Can’t be,’ Ben whispers. It looks like the one they saw in the forest when they first got here except this is bigger and taller, it’s head at Ria’s shoulder height. It moves towards the group without a flicker of fear as it snorts the air, blasting the scents in and out like a dog.

  ‘He’s friendly,’ Ria says, rubbing the dinosaur’s head vigorously. It rests back on its haunches, sinking lower with eyes rolling back in obvious pleasure at the fuss being given.

  ‘That is a baby T-rex,’ Emily states. ‘Why the hell are you fussing a baby T-rex? Can someone tell me what’s going on, please?’

  ‘When we first got here,’ Ben says. He reaches up to wipe the sweat off his forehead with a motion the small dinosaur spots and tracks. ‘We went into the wooded area and saw one of those eating spiders . . . but it was smaller . . . like up to Safa’s waist.’

  ‘He’s growing,’ Ria says, staring only at the creature. ‘Eats too much . . .’ She steps back, grabbing a big metal tin from the floor. The dinosaur goes with her, pushing deeper into the cave entrance to sniff at the tin in Ria’s hand. She pushes him back in the same way someone would do with a hungry dog. ‘Wait.’ She pulls the lid off as the creature starts making deep keening noises with obvious excitement as those eyes watch her pull a huge dead bug from the tin. ‘Go on.’ She throws it past his head, smiling like a parent as the dinosaur whips round and runs off.

  ‘Ria?’ Malcolm asks, moving out from the others. ‘What’s happened?’

  Again she doesn’t reply, but puts the tin back and walks out. The others follow her into bright daylight and a view that once more makes them become silent in awe.

  ‘The valley,’ Ben says, recognising it instantly. He moves out to look up above the cave at the hillside, tracking the way the land slopes backwards as it climbs.

  ‘Dear god,’ Emily murmurs. Malcolm and Konrad glance at each other. Miri taking it in the same as Ben.

  The herds they all saw from the ledge outside the bunker are right there. Huge numbers of long-necked, long-tailed enormous dinosaurs.

  ‘Can smell them,’ Harry says, sniffing the air. ‘Smells like Africa.’

  ‘Safer down here,’ Ria says. They all look as one to the captivating young woman standing next to the baby T-rex. The rifle on her back. Her hand on the creature’s head. ‘He smells them when they come,’ she says without looking at anyone.

  ‘Smells what?’ Ben asks, realising Ria isn’t talking about the herding creatures on the plains in front of them.

  ‘Bad ones,’ Ria says without further explanation. Her pet stands fully upright as though to stretch and sets off to sniff the newcomers in search of food or treats.

  ‘What happened, Ria?’ Ben asks. ‘Where’s the doctor?’

  ‘Dead.’ Ria shrugs. ‘He was on top of me when I woke up.’

  Ben looks up at her, seeing that distant expression but also the energy rippling inside her. Like a cornered animal that is debating whether to strike or not. Her eyes dart to the sides and behind to the hillside and her hand constantly moves back to feel the rifle hanging down her back as though needing the reassurance that it’s still there.

  ‘Have we been gone for two years?’ Miri asks, speaking for the first time since coming from Hyde Park. ‘Asked you a question, Miss Cavendish . . .’

  Ria stares at her and for that one second the young woman matches the old spy for lack of emotion.

  ‘You’ve been gone about six weeks.’

  ‘You said two years,’ Ben says.

  ‘It took my brother a month to realise you weren’t coming back. Then, being the genius that he is, he built another time machine and went to the bunker to look for everyone, except the bloody idiot put the date in wrong and went there two years after you went to London . . .’

  ‘Shit,’ Safa mutters.

  ‘Two years?’ Emily asks.

  ‘He rushed putting the dates in,’ Ria says with a humourless smile. ‘Know what he said when he realised? He said it doesn’t matter and he’ll just go and get me from the right date . . . He also said he ran out of toilet paper and the leaves he was using were giving him a rash.’

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ Malcolm whispers. ‘I will. I’ll bloody kill h
im.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ben says gently.

  She looks at him and in that second Ben sees an altogether different woman than the one they left sedated in bed an hour ago. Miri has seen that look before too when working with hunters in Africa and South America and in the eyes of mercenaries. Haunted, driven, but with an inner core that radiates the complete opposite of fear.

  ‘I forgot your names,’ Ria says casually as though discussing something of no importance. ‘All of you. I forgot you. I drew that picture but . . .’ She goes quiet at hearing something and turns as the bipedal dinosaur lifts his head from sniffing Harry’s boots. Both stare off to the side, waiting to see if the noise is something that poses a risk or something they can eat. A dull thud sounds out that makes Ria relax and the creature resume his sniffing.

  Then it comes into view round a section of the hill, pushing out further into the valley and everyone else takes an involuntary step back at the sight of it. One of the huge long-necked, long-tailed dinosaurs from the plain, but close now. Only a few dozen metres away and the sheer size boggles their minds. The big female walks slowly, her body over a hundred and twenty feet in length, her head bobbing up and down with one leg landing harder than the others.

  ‘She’s a bit lame now,’ Ria says, making them snap from looking at the enormous animal to her. The big female pauses in her walk too and swings her head towards the cave entrance. Huge nostrils flare as she sucks in gallons of air that inflate lungs that expand her torso with a noise like a gust of wind when she exhales. Her eyes are huge and soft, almost expressive. Scars on her legs and flanks. Old wounds now healed. She takes in the group, then lowers her head while changing direction to walk closer towards them. She goes slowly, ponderously and with movements that make her look lazy and slow, but each step takes seconds to complete and that back leg thumps down hard with enough force for the others to feel it through their feet.