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

by Johnson, Glen

  I have already removed two evil people from the world. What is one more in the grand scheme of things?

  As she hid down behind the wall, the power flicked back off again. She had no lights on inside the building, and she had unplugged everything. However, moments ago the streetlights shined in, illuminating the walls, providing enough light to navigate around the furniture, but they had flicked off with the power cut.

  It was a full moon tonight, but the heavy clouds shrouded the satellite. The open office was plunged into darkness.

  Shit!

  Nicola had the torch on her, but turning it on would give her location away. There was still a chance the man would carry on straight past.

  A crashing sound downstairs indicated he hadn’t. The sound of glass hitting the floor reverberated through-out the building.

  Surely he wouldn’t walk around checking the whole building?

  Shit! My stuff, it’s still in the break room.

  She knew most of it was down behind the couch. However, she had left chocolate bar wrappings on the cushions, and empty tins on the coffee table.

  Crap!

  Her bow and arrows were resting against the wall next to her. The knife was under her sleeping bag, ready for when she went to sleep.

  Nicola strained her hearing.

  Maybe he simply tossed a stone or something through a window, seeing if he could panic me, and flush me out, she reasoned. Her hands were starting to sweat.

  She strained her hearing.

  Nothing. Just darkness and silence.

  Nicola then noticed a small red flashing light, from a plug, she must have missed unplugging.

  So the powers still on, but for some reason, all the streetlights have switched off.

  She heard a door creak downstairs. She wasn’t sure if it was the floor below or the ground floor.

  I can’t just sit here. Then again, she thought, why not. There is only the lift and the stairwell, and I can cover both from here. So when he walks through, I can simply shoot him before he knows what hit him.

  Nicola grabbed an office chair and quietly rolled it over to a spot where she could cover both entrances. She then slowly lowered herself on to it, and rested the bow across her lap, with the arrow notched, but with the string slack, ready to pull at a moment’s notice.

  Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes stretched into hours.

  She had no watch on, and due to the darkness and shadows, she couldn’t see a clock on any of the walls. However, she could hear one ticking, slicing away the seconds. It was starting to annoy her.

  Nicola started to daze in and out of a sort of waking consciousness. Her eyes were open, but she would suddenly jolt, as if having spasmed from sleep.

  She tried not to let her mind wander.

  Maybe he’s gone. He may have had a quick look around, and left.

  Every now and then, the clouds would part and the moon’s light would wash across the walls. From her location, she could hear the clock, but she still couldn’t see it.

  After what felt like hours, Nicola decided he had moved on. Or maybe he had never even entered the building.

  Slowly, she made her way down the stairwell. At the bottom, she waited for a few minutes, listening carefully. Apart from the pouring rain beating against the windows, all was quiet.

  She told herself she was being overly careful. No one was around apart from her.

  Nicola slowly opened the door onto the ground floor. She stood by the wall listening.

  Nothing apart from the sound of the rain.

  She found a side window that had been smashed. A rock lay among the broken glass. There was no evidence that anyone had climbed in.

  After checking the ground floor, she decided he was never inside. He had simply tossed the stone to see if she was inside and was going to react.

  Next to the broken window was a freestanding bookcase. She removed a load of books, to make it lighter, then, using all her strength; she dragged the bookcase in front of the broken window. Glass crunched as the heavy wooden case ground over the top. She forced the books back in place. She then dragged a table over and wedged it against the shelving, to give it a little extra stability in the strong wind.

  Nicola was drained. She also ached all over.

  A good night’s sleep is what I need. Or what’s left of the night.

  She casually carried the bow in one arm as she headed for the break room. Inside she rested the bow against the wall while she closed the adjoining door and wedged a chair up against it.

  There was water on the door handle.

  She then realized she could hear someone else breathing.

  22

  It took a fraction of a second to realize that he had been waiting here all along. He had possibly noticed her belongings, and while she waited patiently upstairs, he was waiting for her to return.

  In the dull dawn morning light, that was trying to illuminate the room; she could see him sitting in a chair, with the baseball bat across his lap.

  He stood and rushed at her.

  Nicola knew she would never grab the bow, raise and notch an arrow in the fraction of a second it took for him to reach her.

  She ducked and jumped to one side. She could feel the breeze of the bat as it swung over her head.

  She dived into the shadows.

  The man grunted in anger at missing his prey.

  “Bitch!” he spat. “I’m gonna kill you for what you did to my brother.” His voice lowered, becoming a threatening whisper. “That is, after I’ve had some fun.”

  “What’s with you, men and your limp dicks?” Nicola said.

  The man spun around. He had lost her in the gloom.

  “You fucking cunt! Shut your whoring mouth!” He laughed. “Then again, I’ve got something I can use to shut it for you.”

  Now the surprise was over, there was no need for darkness. The man slammed his hand against the light switch. The room appeared, awash in the glaring light.

  The man blinked against the brightness, after he had been sitting in the dark for hours.

  He swung around.

  Where is she?

  The room was empty.

  At least her bow is where she left it.

  He kicked it to the floor. The arrows came off the front and scattered over the carpet.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  He slowly walked the long room.

  She hadn’t left; he reasoned, because the doors and windows are closed.

  He crouched and looked under the pool table. Nothing. There was no room behind the pinball machine. The vending machines were pushed up against the wall, with no gap to one side.

  The couch!

  “I know you’re behind the couch, bitch! Come out now and after I finish with you, I will let you live!”

  There was a couple heartbeats of silence.

  “You promise to let me live?” Nicola’s shaking voice replied. It was almost a whisper.

  “Sure. I’m a generous guy.” He sniffed loudly. “You may even enjoy it.”

  He wandered closer to the couch, pulling at his crotch with one hand, to make room for his growth, while resting the bat down against the coffee table.

  “Come out!” he muttered. “I have a present for you.” The sound of his flies opening echoed around the room.

  Nicola got up slowly. She was hugging herself, with her head down. Her flaming red hair cascaded around her face.

  “That’s right. Come to Phil.”

  His jeans were around his ankles now. He pulled down his underwear.

  “You promise to be gentle and not hurt me mister?” she muttered all submissive in a whisper. Her voice broke, and she started crying.

  Nicola walked around the couch and stood an arm’s length away.

  “Get on your knees,” he said in a threatening, low voice.

  Nicola still had her arms crossed, protecting herself. She slowly dropped to her knees.

  The overweight man grabbed he
r head, massaging her red hair.

  She was so close she could smell the musty, sweatiness of him.

  “Oh yeah. That’s right, you know what to do, don’t you?” he muttered as he pulled her face towards his swollen crotch.

  “Yes I do,” Nicola murmured as she uncrossed her arms.

  The man stretched back his neck, relaxing, and opened his legs, to stand more comfortably.

  “Am I your first?” he asked gruffly.

  She gripped him in one hand.

  “No!” Nicola shouted, “You will be the third rapist I’ve killed!”

  “What?”

  The man was confused by her sudden raised voice and words. He looked down just as the strip-lighting flashed off something.

  Nicola slashed sideways with the razor-sharp seven-inch hunting knife that she had collected from under her sleeping bag and hid with her crossed arms. She just needed to get close enough to use it.

  He screamed and stumbled backwards, gripping at his bleeding crotch. Blood was spurting from between his fingers as he fell onto the floor, reeling in pain.

  Nicola stood up. Her head and shoulders were saturated with his blood.

  “I believe this is yours,” she said as she tossed the flaccid lump of meat at him.

  She looked down at him as he screamed and thrashed about on the floor. She walked over to the door and picked up her bow, then retrieved an arrow off the floor.

  She stood over him with the raised weapon. His blood dripped from her hair, running down her pale skin.

  “It would seem that I’m the one who fucked you in the end?” She stretched back the string to its full capacity.

  “All you had to do is stay away.”

  “Please,” he screamed in a high-pitched voice, “Show mercy.” He raised a trembling, blood covered hand.

  “You have a sickness inside you. I am showing you mercy, by putting you down.”

  She took aim at his squirming body and let go. The arrow punched through his raised palm, slamming his hand back as it carried on through into his face.

  23

  Thursday 4th January 2013

  Day 20

  He had collapsed on a carpet, so it wasn’t too difficult to roll him up and drag him outside and leave him down behind a car, in the darkest corner of the car park.

  He had left a large stain on the floor, but luckily, it was the industrial type of small square carpets that lay separately. She found a box of them in the janitor’s closet next to the break room.

  She didn’t leave the building again.

  Nicola spent the last six days living on food from the vending machines, and some sandwiches, and a Tupperware bowl of Shepard’s pie, and an old thin plastic Chinese food container containing some kind of tomato pasta, that some of the employees left behind in the fridge.

  She heard singing in the morning on New Years Eve. When she climbed the stairs and looked out the windows, she saw a long row of naked people, covered in ash and carrying large wooden crosses walking down the main street.

  She watched until they disappeared around the corner, then shrugged her shoulders and returned to what she was doing.

  She was woken up at midnight one night, with loud explosions going off in the distance. She realized it was fireworks. She then realized it was a whole new year – 2013.

  What idiot would want to advertise their location, she thought. She rolled back over and ignored the rest of the banging, and went back to sleep.

  She watched TV, when it worked, and read Alden Bell’s The Reapers are the Angels that she found in a desk draw.

  The power was intermittent.

  The days became long and boring.

  It was perfect.

  Several times, she was sure she heard someone outside. However, they sounded like they were running past.

  Once, when she was checking drawers on the top floor, she looked out a window and saw a naked man running down the street, covered in blood. He looked strange, but because of the distance, and speed he was running, she couldn’t say why.

  Several times, she heard loud bangs, like explosions. She had no idea what they were. She presumed it was some arsonist playing with matches. When she looked out the top-most windows, she could see many plumes of dark smoke rising heavenward.

  Three days ago, she turned on her phone. She decided it was safe to try. The service provider wasn’t working – the 02 mobile network was down.

  Then yesterday, as she was washing out a tee-shirt in the sink, using some Fairy liquid for soap, she noticed the shirts label. It was an old top she had had for many years. Her mother had scribbled Nic on it, so Jasmine wouldn’t wear her clothes.

  Nicola stared at the label.

  I am no longer called Nicola; she decided. Nicola died along with my sister. Nicola couldn’t do the things I’ve had to do.

  Her full name was Nicola Arusha Breslan. Her mother, after seeing her for the first time uttered Arusha.

  Her mother had traveled extensively before meeting her father, and one of her favorite places was India.

  Later, when she was older, her mother explained that Arusha was a word used prominently in Hindu mythology, referring to the red of the rising sun.

  She said she gave her the middle name because of her flaming red hair, a sign, she said that she was touched by the gods.

  Red will be my new name, signifying the colour of my hair and the blood I have spilt.

  She then grabbed the nametag and ripped it from the top.

  It’s time for me to leave here and start my new journey in life. Tomorrow will be a whole new start.

  BETTY AND LENNIE’S STORY

  Betty Roselyn Temple

  Eighty-six year old female

  Park View (Old People’s Nursing Home)

  Forde Park

  Newton Abbot

  South Devon

  England

  Abel Jr Lawrence Temple

  Thirty-four year old male (Betty’s grandson)

  Redwood House (Home for Adults with Special-Needs and Developmental Disabilities)

  181 Vansittart Road

  Torquay

  South Devon

  England

  1

  Betty Roselyn Temple

  Park View (Old People’s Nursing Home)

  Forde Park

  Newton Abbot

  South Devon

  England

  Saturday 15th December 2012

  The Day of the Outbreak

  Day 1

  The alarm bell was a muted ringing that was supposed to wake up the residences softly, to prepare them for another long boring day, until they left this mortal plane behind.

  “Ah, I see you’re up Mrs. Temple,” said the blonde haired, early twenties, heavyset female, who was dressed in a dull pink, tight uniform that turned her stomach into a collection of chubby rolls. Stuck to her upside-down watch that was pinned on her chest, was a clump of green tinsel. She also wore snowman earrings.

  “Aren’t I always?” Betty gruffly answered.

  The young woman said the same line every morning when she entered after lightly knocking, even though Betty was always up and waiting.

  “A little tetchy this morning, aren’t we?”

  Betty grunted, as she sat fully dressed on a tall wingback green chair by the window, which overlooked the manicured garden. She would prefer to be on the other side of the building, so she could look out across the park, but she was waiting for Mr. Grant to die so she could have his room. The old codger just kept going like a Duracell battery.

  Betty was tetchy, because she didn’t like the way they were made to get up at a certain time.

  We’re all old, why do we need to be up at seven? We have nowhere we need to be. Dress, eat, then wander into the large lounge and sit, comatose in front of the telly all day, watching endless daytime programs – all time filling crap.

  “I will just tuck those in for you.”

  “It’s just fine the way it is,” Betty mumbled, as th
e young spotty carer went around retucking the bedding in. Betty did her best, but her arthritis made it impossible to do it properly.

  “You know, Mrs. Temple; you wanna get some nice ornaments, and some more pictures. It looks a little stark in here.”

  “Mind your own beeswax. I’m happy the way things are.”

  I don’t understand why people collect such trinkets. Why they surrounded themselves with small china objects that collect dust and look gaudy?

  Mrs. Simons in the room opposite had every inch of her room covered in china teddy bears – small figurines no more than a few inches high, all doing something different. One was reading a book, another making a cake, another dressed as father Christmas – hundreds depicting human actions and personalities.

  Why? She has spent possibly thousands of pounds on inanimate objects, when she was coherent. It’s simply mind-boggling.

  Betty sometimes pops in to see Mrs. Simons. She rarely leaves her bed; they simply prop her up like an old manikin doll – it’s too much trouble to dress and move her everyday, when she doesn’t even know what’s happening around her. Once they have fed and wiped her mouth and chin clean, and turned on the TV next to her bed, they would hand her one of her china teddy bears, and she would spend the rest of the day stroking it, and rolling it gently around in her frail hands while staring at the wall away from the loud television.

  “Well at least let us put up a few decorations.”

  Betty ignored her comment.

  The rest of the nursing home was saturated with Christmas decorations; tinsel hung from every possible surface where it could be attached. Large weird, possible representations of snowflakes, which were the size of footballs and made from reflective who knows what, hung from the ceilings like alien pods. And in the main lounge there was a Christmas tree that would make the attempt in Trafalgar Square look measly. It was so tall it touched the seventeen-foot ceiling and the angel on top looked like it was having a bit of a lie-down.

  Betty kept her room clear, so she had somewhere where her eyes didn’t hurt from all the glinting reflections.