The Sixth Extinction & The First Three Weeks & The Squads First Three Weeks Omnibus [Books 1-10]

by Johnson, Glen

  It was announced that a window for collecting everything a household would need would be open on Tuesday the 27th, for ten hours, between 10 AM and 8 PM.

  Nicola watched the TV for the nation’s response to the news. It didn’t take long. Within three hours, there was rioting in London, Glasgow, Bath, Plymouth, Leeds, Birmingham, and Sheffield.

  It seems not everyone wanted to stay quietly indoors while the world ended around them.

  At least no one will come to the door if no one’s allowed out, she reasoned. It made her relax a little.

  If only she realized that a lot of individuals would ignore their government’s orders, and a couple of those people would break into her house while she slept.

  14

  Monday 24th December 2012

  Christmas Eve

  Day 10

  Nicola snuggled down to another night in her warm, cozy double bed.

  It’s now Christmas Eve; she realized.

  She lay in bed at 2:17 AM. There was no need to get to bed early. Plus, sitting around eating all day wasn’t taxing. She wasn’t really tired, just going through the motions.

  The thought of Christmas, alone in the house, made her feel sad and depressed. She had repressed many bad memories over the last week, and she wanted to take her mind off the impending, lonely, Christmas.

  She decided to pop in her earphones and listen to a few songs on her iPod, until she dozed off.

  She reached track four of the new Birdy album: Fire Within – Words as Weapons, when some sixth sense made her jolt up in bed and tug the earphones out.

  There was a silhouette stood in her doorframe, illuminated by a light, which someone had switched on in the front room.

  Nicola froze, while holding her breath.

  It looked like the muscular outline of a large man.

  The world seemed to slow down. Fear changes everything.

  Nicola stared, unmoving, for what seemed like hours.

  The only sound was the tinny music echoing out of the white earphones on her rumpled duvet.

  The man was motionless, staring in. Then his breath became faster, louder, more excited, as he realized what he had discovered. His head slowly lowered and his shoulders hunched up, like a predator reacting to easy prey.

  Then, in an instant, everything changed – the man lunged.

  Nicola instinctively rolled in the opposite direction, over the right side of the bed, away from him.

  The man grunted as he landed on the double bed.

  The room was dark, and Nicola’s eyes were adjusted. Whereas the man had just walked in from a bright hallway.

  The man tried to climb over the bed. He tangled himself in the duvet while racing to reach her – his excitement made him clumsy.

  Nicola stood and turned. It was obvious what the man was after. Her fear turned to anger.

  “Not again in this house! Not to me,” she calmly muttered.

  “Fucking sex-crazed men!”

  She was mad – so mad; she had gone through anger and out the other side, with a strange calm that vibrated her whole body.

  The man was struggling to climb over the bed, grunting from the effort, when the heavy bedside lamp slammed against the side of his face.

  This wasn’t meant to happen. He liked a little bit of a struggle, but not this. They’re not meant to fight back. They are meant to cry and scream for help, while turning into a blubbering, wiggling mess. He liked it when they wiggled.

  Nicola swung the lamp down again, as the white lead whipped around after it was ripped from the plug. This time the man was face down in the duvet. He was dazed and trying to raise himself up. The lamp base was made from a heavy metal; it caved in the back of his skull with a cracking, sucking sound.

  The man twitched as the last few signals from his brain bounced around his nervous system.

  Nicola spat on the man.

  “Fucking animal! Go to hell where you belong!”

  There was a creak of floorboards outside in the hallway.

  “D-did ya say s-s-something Francis?” another man’s voice asked. “And w-what’s with all the ruckus?”

  15

  “Francis?” You know w-we are only m-meant to be stealing stuff, right?” The voice was moving up the corridor.

  “There’s b-bound to be loads in here. The police just shut the place up after that c-crazy bitch killed everyone.”

  The man stood in the doorframe, looking in.

  “What the fuck! You t-taking a nap, Francis, or trying to h-hump the bloody bed?” The man rattled off a squeaky laugh.

  The room was still dark.

  “Francis?” The man switched on the light.

  The situation became obvious.

  “Jesus, holy f-fuck!” The man rushed into the room, oblivious to the danger. Ignoring the fact that someone must have killed Francis.

  “Don’t move a single muscle,” Nicola said.

  The door slowly swung shut, closing the three in the room.

  She was hiding behind the door. She now stood staring down an arrow, pointed directly at the man’s face.

  “Whoa! Whoa! F-fuck! Fuck!” the man screamed as he fell back onto Francis.

  Now the light was on; Nicola could see both men.

  Francis’ corpse was big, wearing faded, oily jeans and an old brown-waxed leather coat, with large Doctor Marten’s boots on. He had broad shoulders, and plate sized hands. An image of a dockworker crossed Nicola’s mind. She knew if she stepped closer, he would stink of cigarettes and stale sweat. It was hard to tell his age because he was facedown; and what was left of his head was caved in and saturated in blood and brain matter.

  The stuttering man was small and runty looking. He had rat-like features – a thin face, with big ears and protruding teeth, and beady eyes that are too close together. His hair was long, black, and very greasy; looking almost wet. His face was covered in spots. One on his stubble covered chin was seeping yellow pus. He was wearing dirty white, cheap trainers, soiled jeans, and a black hoody with the yellow Batman symbol on the front, under a thin, tatty black leather jacket. He looked to be in his early thirties.

  Nicola stood unwavering, with the arrow pointed at the small man.

  “Wha-what’s h-h-happening?” the scrawny man asked, his eyes wide with fright.

  “You broke into my house; that’s what’s happening, dipshit!”

  “Y-you-your house?” A bubble of spit popped in the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m the so-called bitch that killed everyone!”

  It seemed impossible that his eyes could stretch wider, but they did. Even his mouth was hanging open. Spittle dribbled down his chin, running over the big raw spot.

  “And your friend there was about to try and rape me!”

  “Whoa! W-whoa! He’s n-n-no friend of m-mine! Just a d-drinking acquaintance.” As he said that, he tried to move away from the corpse, as if distance would prove his words.

  Nicola said nothing. She pulled back harder on the string.

  “W-we drink in the s-same p-p-pub, The Swan. I just know him f-from there. He said he knew a-a-a place that was e-empty – e-easy p-pickings.”

  The smell of urine drifted over to Nicola. The man had either pissed himself, or the dead man’s bladder had emptied over the bed.

  “I didn’t know h-he was a fucking rapist. Honest! Can’t abide a-a-animals like that. Lowest of the l-low.” He looked up with pleading eyes. His face was all screwed up, making him look even uglier.

  “He kn-kn-knew the p-police would be busy. W-we were just gonna s-steal all the stuff we could sell on. N-nothing was mentioned about r-rape! We thought it was e-empty. There was police tape e-everywhere.” The runty looking man kept filling the silence.

  Nicola stepped a little closer, pointing the arrow down at him.

  “W-w-what ya gonna do with me?” he said in a shaking voice, trying to lean back into the bed.

  “This!” Nicola released the arrow.

  16

&nbs
p; It took considerable energy to roll the skinny man off the bed, and tie him up. After she released the arrow into the bed next to him, she was going to use the few second’s distraction to rush forward and knee him in the face, to knock him out. However, as the arrow embedded into the mattress next to him, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

  Nicola collected some thin electrical wire from the garage and tied the man’s hands up behind his back. She left his feet free. She then propped him up against the wall, next to her table.

  Tucked into the man’s waistband was a seven-inch hunting knife. She changed into jeans and slid it onto her belt.

  She left the corpse on the bed. She was never going to sleep here again, so it mattered little to her what happened to the rapist’s body. She decided cremation was probably too good for him.

  She collected her stuff back together.

  The sleeping bag could have done with a wash, but she couldn’t use the loud washing machine or dryer.

  She collected together some clean clothes.

  After putting her bag and case with the bow and arrows next to the front door, she returned to the garage by the connecting inside door.

  She collected Colin’s spare petrol can, and proceeded to walk through the house, dousing everything in petrol.

  Nicola washed her hands, and cleaned herself up in the bathroom. The smell of the fumes stung her eyes.

  She then stood outside her sister’s bedroom door. She rested her head on the cold wood.

  I hope you’re enjoying yourself catching up with mum? She gave a wane smile. She didn’t enter the room. She simply caressed the door gently with her fingers.

  We’ll catch up soon Jas. Just not yet.

  The slap echoed around her bedroom.

  “W-what h-happened?” the little man asked, groggily. His eyed adjusted, and realization flooded back.

  “What’s your name?” Nicola questioned.

  “W-what?”

  “Your name. What is it?” She was knelt in front of him with the seven-inch knife wedged under his scrawny chin.

  “Randall S-Saul Burke. My friend’s c-call m-me Randy.”

  “His whole name.” She nodded to the corpse.

  “Francis s-something Bowen, I think. W-w-why?”

  “When I’m stood in front of God on my Judgment Day, and He announces the names of the people I’ve killed, I want to be certain I know which ones He’s talking about, so I can put a name to a face.”

  A thought hit Randy.

  “What’s that s-smell?”

  “I’ve soaked the bungalow in petrol. I’m about to walk out, after lighting it.”

  His face contorted in fear.

  “I don’t wanna die! Please! I’m sorry for breaking in. I’m sorry Francis was a rapist bastard. I didn’t know, honest. Please, I don’t wanna burn to death.” He burst into tears.

  Nicola realized it was the first time he hadn’t stuttered.

  “I haven’t tied your feet. After I leave, the fire will start in the front room. You can run out the back door, which I’ve left open.” Then she added sarcastically, “Feel free to take anything you want with you.”

  She stood up.

  “If you try to follow me, I will put an arrow through your eye. Understand?”

  Randy was crying too hard to answer. He nodded hard.

  Nicola stood in the front doorway, holding a box of matches from the kitchen draw. She swung the bags over her shoulders, then lit one match and pushed it into the box. She tossed it into the front room and slammed the door shut.

  As she got down the short drive, the rush of air engulfed the fumes shattering the front room window in a billowing cloud of glass and splintered wood.

  As her home burnt down to the ground, Nicola headed into town.

  17

  Tuesday 25th December 2012

  Christmas Day

  Day 11

  It was almost 4 AM when Nicola stopped walking.

  The town was completely deserted. No cars were on the roads. Normally there would be stragglers wandering around, people who went out drinking, celebrating Christmas. She did it last year with a couple of friends. She didn’t enjoy waking up on Christmas day with a hangover.

  She realized it was Christmas day.

  “Merry Christmas everyone,” she muttered into the cold night air.

  She wondered what Christmas would be like all over the world, as the virus ravished country after country, with tens of millions in a strange type of coma.

  It was cold, and her breath billowed out in front of her, as she walked along the pavement on Queen Street.

  Most of the shops were dark, with no lights illuminating the windows, as they normally did at night. A lot had the metal shutters down tight.

  The bags were digging into her shoulders. She was cold and tired. The adrenalin had worn off.

  Nicola looked up the long road.

  The Christmas lights were off apart from one; it was an image of a train made out of green bulbs; the train flashed on and off, while swinging in the cold breeze.

  She looked back down and noticed a shop – Millets. She decided she could do with a new sleeping bag, and a few other items.

  I’m a killer, what’s a little thievery?

  She backtracked a little and walked around the block of shops. Behind was a thin street. Large industrial blue and red bins filled one side of the road, pushed up against the back of the shops, near their back exits. The other side of the street was parking spaces and a low wall, which led to an ugly concrete path next to the fast-flowing River Lemon.

  Nicola stood next to the back door to Millets. She didn’t bother looking around; the place was deserted. No one would hear her.

  She placed her bags on the ground, to free up her arms. She then pulled the seven-inch knife off her belt. The blade was strong and thick. She wedged it into the door, next to the lock. With a firm shove with her shoulder, the door clicked open.

  The alarm started beeping; now the connection was severed. She had possibly a minute before the alarm started blaring.

  She switched on the torch and surveyed the walls. The keypad would be within easy reach of the door. It was on the wall a meter away, next to a staff notice board.

  Nicola strolled up to the flashing keypad, and inserted the knife behind the small plastic box. With a sharp, firm jolt, she wrenched the box from the wall. With the knife, she severed the wires.

  She held her breath and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  She guessed right. It was a cheap alarm. Most people didn’t realize, but some alarm pads had the dialer – which after the allocated time dialed either the alarm company, or direct to the local police station – built inside the same case as the keypad. Simply removing the power supply, by cutting all the wires stopped the telephone signal from dialing up, and killed the power to the alarm bell.

  It was something she learned from Colin. It was a talk he gave to some customers if they asked him about what kind of alarm they should install.

  Nicola retrieved her bags and pulled the door shut. She then wandered into the store via the small staff room.

  She had never been in a shop in the dark. It was weird and eerie. Normally, the lights would be glaring, with people moving about and talking. There was no background white noise of conversation, just silence.

  Items hung on racks and hooks. Objects made strange by the darkness. A shirt looked like it was floating in the air.

  There were things in plastic sleeves, in boxes and cloth sacks.

  Nicola wandered the rows and shelves, while picking up things she wanted. A sleeping bag. A two-man tent. A stove and a couple of tins of gas. Cutlery and pots that folded into themselves. She saw some snazzy rucksacks, but decided to keep her bag; it was a present from Jasmine.

  After collecting armfuls of stuff, she wandered back to the small break room. She turned the light on. The door would stop people in the street (if there were any) from seeing the light.

/>   She tossed her old tent and sleeping bag into the corner, and packed her new ones away, along with all her other new things.

  Upstairs, she realized she hadn’t been upstairs yet.

  She left her things on a small round table and wandered back on to the shop floor.

  Upstairs, there was a wall full of shelves holding shoes and boots. She ignored them.

  The cash register was open, showing an empty tray.

  There was a door leading to a short hallway with an office, a toilet, and a warehouse.

  Inside the office, there was a large table, covered in paperwork and photos in frames. The walls were also full of family pictures.

  Nicola stood staring at the photos. She didn’t need her torch here; the streetlights illuminated the room.

  Such a happy family. The mother, father, and three children. All happy and smiling. content with life. Happy to be together.

  What do they know about happiness? she thought. All stood there smiling. Stupid grins on your perfect faces. Idiots!

  She picked one frame off the wall. The three children looked to be between eight and fourteen years old. All happy, smiling into the camera.

  Nicola stood staring at the photo for what felt like hours; her eyes burned from not blinking. Then slowly, a tear formed and flowed down her cheek.

  Then something clicked. It was the anger and resentment against the happy family, when hers had been ripped away from her. All the pressure that had built up, which was pushed to one side, was released.

  Nicola slammed the frame down hard on the corner of the desk. It shattered. She then turned and started ripping the photos off the wall – smashing and throwing them around the room. Then the ones on the desk. She screamed and punched the monitor, which crashed onto the floor, and thrashed the keyboard against the desk, sending keys flying in all directions.

  The anger flowed through her, like a person possessed. She kicked at the furniture, overturning it. With all of her might, she pushed the heavy desk, hitting it against the wall – one corner went into the plaster.