Extinction Countdown

by James D. Prescott

  “And you think those flashes of light are sending instructions to our cells via this biophotonics mumbo-jumbo?” Ollie asked, surprised he was grasping any of this.

  “Precisely. You see, I thought the light was somehow co-opting the immune system in order to plant the artificial chromosomes into each cell. It wasn’t the most elegant way to go about it, but under certain conditions, it could work. What I see now is that the encoded light from the cosmic ray can do the same thing and so much faster. It does so by sending instructions to the cells all at once and allowing them to do the work. Think of a huge company like Amazon or General Motors. Both of them employ hundreds of thousands of workers, right? Now imagine the nightmare of having to hand each and every person a piece of paper every time you make a policy change. Then consider how much easier it is to send a single email to everyone in the company at once. In our example, the cosmic ray flashes are the email with the policy change and the cells in our bodies are the employees.”

  “Then what about blokes like us who don’t have Salzburg?” Ollie asked.

  “We aren’t affected,” she replied.

  “Okay, fair enough. Now that we know that, how do we stop it?”

  Mia’s lips curled into a thoughtful frown. She flipped through a pad of paper and stopped on one of the sketches she’d drawn.

  “The heck’s this? Looks like a bunch of wavy lines.”

  “It’s a magnetic field,” Mia replied, annoyed. “Cosmic rays hit our planet all the time, but we’re largely protected by a combination of earth’s magnetic field and the atmosphere. If we can produce a much smaller version of the former, say something that could fit in a bag or hang from a belt, it might be able to shield people from the mutating effects of the light.”

  “You’re a genius,” Ollie said, pulling her in until their lips met.

  Mia was stunned.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, wincing as he shifted away. “I didn’t mean it in a lecherous way.”

  She tisked and winked at him. “That’s too bad.”

  Chapter 34

  Washington

  Kay turned onto Kendal Street in Ivy City, a small industrial neighborhood northeast of Washington, and pulled to the side of the road. Soft early-morning light blanketed an otherwise bleak view. Low-income blockhouse apartments made up the bulk of the residential property here. The rest were run-down commercial buildings. To her right a storage locker business was surrounded by a ten-foot-high fence. On her left stood a red-brick two-story warehouse.

  Lucas had been right when he told her the location was nowhere she would have guessed. “What on earth would the VP and Cabinet be doing meeting in a place like this?” she asked herself out loud. A quick double-check of the GPS coordinates confirmed she was at the right location. A school bus loaded with somber-looking kids roared past, blowing right through the stop sign at the next corner.

  She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the warehouse. A sign above a metal shutter door read:

  Commercial Space Available

  Industrial Realty

  Call Aida El Hadri

  202-794-2222

  She zoomed in and took a picture of that too. Afterward, she got out of the car and crossed a ratty-looking street, a patchwork of oil stains and half-assed patch jobs. The warehouse shutter door was closed and so Kay circled around back. If she wanted to find out what was going on inside, stepping in through the front entrance was probably the worst thing she could do. Secretaries were paid to act as buffers between their employer and anyone intending to bust the employer’s balls.

  The moment Kay turned the corner she spotted an African-American woman about her height and weight cut through an empty parking lot and head for the warehouse’s back entrance.

  “Excuse me,” Kay called out. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you work here?”

  The woman had already opened the metal door by the time she turned to see Kay. She jerked with fear, as though Kay were about to pull a gun on her.

  “Relax, lady, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just had a couple of questions I need to ask you.”

  The woman tucked the bag she was carrying under her arms, lowered her head and disappeared inside.

  Miffed, Kay broke into a run after her. The door opened easily enough, groaning slightly on a set of rusty hinges. Upon entering, she was greeted by a long corridor punctuated with doors on either side. She moved down it, peeking into each room as she passed. The first she came to was a dirty lunch room, outfitted with a table, chairs, kitchenette and an old-school coffee maker. Another was packed with fine-quality chairs and tables. A third room had racks of clothing.

  Lots of strange stuff, but no mysterious woman. A single door faced her at the end of the long corridor. Kay opened it and found herself in a large open space. Cautiously, she went in, calling out to anyone who would listen that she was from the Washington Post and had a few questions. The floor sparkled, as though they had recently been mopped. By studying the footprints left in the drying water, she could see there had been a lot of activity here recently. Then in the center of the open area, Kay spotted bits of tape on the floor, as though someone had been measuring off a pre-designated area.

  Above her, Kay noticed a separate office accessed by a set of stairs. Perhaps whoever was running the warehouse was up there. Running low on options, Kay headed up and paused at the top to survey the warehouse floor. From this new vantage point, she was able to see the form laid out by the tape. It appeared to measure about ten by twenty feet and to be in the shape of a large rectangle.

  The office door was ajar and Kay pushed it open. At first glance, it appeared this new area would prove the least interesting of all. Multi-framed glass panels looked out over the warehouse. A pair of empty desks and roll chairs sat nearby.

  Could this have been where the cabinet members met? Kay didn’t think so. Something wasn’t adding up. She spotted something on the floor, beneath one of the desks. Reaching down, she came up with a business card for Stanley Hollerman, Head of Research and Development at Gen Tech.

  A quick search on her phone revealed that Gen Tech was in the video surveillance industry. But there was no telling how long that card had been there. New as it seemed, appearances could very well be deceiving. That was when Kay decided to do what every good reporter must when a lead grows cold. Make a phone call. In this case, to Stanley.

  She keyed the number on the card and got a pleasant-sounding female voice.

  “Stan, please,” she said. She’d learned long ago to never use someone’s full name. Asking for Stanley usually earned you a one-way trip to voicemail. Ask for Stan and make it sound like he’d been waiting ages for the call.

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  Kay bit her lip.

  “Hello?” the receptionist said.

  “Tell him it’s Aida,” she said, recalling the commercial rental sign she’d seen outside.

  “Aida?”

  “Yeah, Aida El Hadri.”

  A pregnant pause, which was quickly followed by, “Stan isn’t in at the moment. Can I put you through to his voicemail?”

  “When are you expecting him?”

  “I’m not sure,” the secretary replied, her starched, pleasant voice beginning to betray her annoyance.

  “Thanks, I’ll try back later.”

  Kay stood for a moment, staring at the card. She was about to leave when she got another bright idea. This time she dialed Aida, the commercial real-estate broker.

  Two rings later—“This is Aida.”

  “Hello, this is Glenda. I’m calling you from Gen Tech’s accounts receivables department. I wanted to make sure you haven’t cashed the check we gave you for the rental space on Kendal Street in Ivy City.”

  “I don’t follow,” Aida replied in a thick Middle Eastern accent. “We cashed the check last week.”

  “Oh, darn it. Yeah, Stan was supposed to have you wait on that.”

  “Well, he never said nothing about waiting. He
should have a copy of the short-term lease. The agreement makes it clear we cash the check right away. And for your information, I told Mr. Hollerman we don’t normally agree to anything less than six months. In your case, we made an exception.”

  “An exception?”

  “Yes, for two weeks.”

  “Ah, yes, that was very kind of you,” Kay said, continuing the ruse. “So we still have another week on the lease then?”

  “Eight days,” Aida corrected her. “After that, all your equipment must be removed from the premises.”

  “Equipment?”

  “I’m getting another call,” Aida snapped and hung up.

  Why was a video surveillance firm renting the warehouse in order to hatch a major conspiracy? Were they trying to keep things low-key or had they been lured there?

  An important piece of a very strange puzzle was missing and Kay thought she knew who just might have it.

  Chapter 35

  Greenland

  Following the enemy’s retreat, the team left with the dead—both friend and foe—and set up a defensive position in a four-story building overlooking the plaza. Mullins had made a convincing case that the open space would provide an excellent field of fire should the enemy decide to attack. Two of them would remain on guard duty at all times, a responsibility they would rotate every hour.

  Without a proper place to bury the dead, they put them in the building next door, laying them side by side. But first they collected weapons and searched the two enemy soldiers. It wasn’t like Sentinel agents carried membership cards. But they did tend to have the next best thing: Tattoos. Mullins found one on each man after rolling up their sleeves.

  “Huh.”

  “What’d you find?” Gabby asked. “Are they Sentinel special forces or what?”

  “They’re special forces all right,” Mullins replied, his jaw cocked at an odd angle. “But not for Sentinel. They’re Israeli.”

  Rajesh’s lips parted with confusion. “We aren’t at war with Israel.”

  “Not yet,” Mullins confirmed. “Given the sorry state of the world, I think it’s fair to say we may soon be.”

  “Clearly they’re here to get their hands on what they couldn’t back in the Gulf,” Jack said. “And they may not be alone.”

  Gabby shook her head in disgust. “You’d think the world would come together given everything we’re facing. I guess Ronald Reagan was wrong.”

  The group smiled, an expression with no small irony. Gabby had been referring to a speech Reagan had given before the United Nations in September of 1987 where he mused about how quickly human differences would vanish if our planet were facing an alien threat.

  “Sentinel… Israel…” Grant said. “Does it matter who’s against us? What’s important is to consider what happens if any of these self-serving nations get their way. I’ve been thinking about things and I believe we only have two options. Find a piece of Atean technology we can use to call and tell them to leave us alone, or transform it into a weapon that can destroy them before they reach us.”

  “You sound like the vice-president,” Jack said, recalling his rather tense meeting in the Oval Office.

  “But didn’t you say the government was moving people into bunkers?” Eugene said, hopeful. “We’re down here freezing our asses off while the rich guys are probably buying prime spots in huge underground resorts.”

  “Consider how well that worked out for the people who lived here sixty-five million years ago,” Gabby said plainly. “You saw the panels they erected. Even as dust from the impact was blotting out the sun, they still took the time to make a record of what they were facing. Right now, these empty buildings are the sole monument to their existence. That’s what none of you seem to realize. This isn’t an archeological site. It’s a tomb and humans are now facing the very same dilemma and making the same dumb mistakes.”

  Jack turned to Anna, who had remained unusually quiet. “What do you think we should do?”

  “I believe it may not matter,” she replied with unusual darkness. “Either path will lead to destruction for most of the species on earth. That is a fact.”

  “That was not what he asked you,” Rajesh snapped, stepping in, a worried expression blooming on his wide face.

  Anna’s eyes dropped and she went to one of the openings where she stood, staring out at the plaza below.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Dag asked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

  “How would you feel,” Gabby said, “if your best friend was just killed?”

  Jack caught sight of Tamura. She had also become quiet, her gaze a million miles away. Was she feeling the effects of having taken two lives in a few days? Or was something else the matter? The loss of friends she had known at the facility or the loss of her own humanity at having to avenge them?

  •••

  After they had finished, Mullins and Dag decided to take first watch while Gabby, Tamura and Rajesh headed up to the third floor to catch some shuteye. One level below, Jack, Eugene and Grant sat on the cold stone floor, picking at MREs and sipping on water cold enough to numb the roofs of their mouths. With his helmet off, Jack could see thin fingers of steam rising up from the neck of his suit.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a few sticks of wood to make a fire,” Eugene complained, rubbing his hands together with vigor.

  Grant had no sympathy for the diminutive theoretical physicist. “If you’re cold then turn the heat up in your biosuit.”

  “Turn it up?” Eugene said, sneering. “It’s already at ten.”

  Jack shook his head, drawing in a lungful of cool air and watching a thick plume rush past his lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth as though he were holding a cigarette and repeated the action.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, amigo,” Grant said, noticing the momentary pleasure on Jack’s face.

  “Why is it the stuff we love the most is so bad for us?” Jack asked, resting his head against the wall behind him.

  “Doesn’t always start out that way,” Grant told him. “I’m sure you didn’t love the first cigarette you smoked, nor the first ice-cold beer you drank.”

  Eugene shivered. “Is there any chance, moving forward, we can avoid the words ‘ice’ or ‘cold?’”

  Jack smiled, his eyes closed. “I can still see the girl who got me hooked. Her name was Sandy, but people called her Sweet. She had long cornsilk hair that tumbled over her shoulders and danced in the sun whenever she swung her head. I met her when I was fourteen and out riding my dirt bike along the trails that cut through the rural town where I grew up. Those were the days before helmets and helicopter parenting, when the only rule was be back before sundown, if at all. About a mile past the nearest gas station, my tank ran dry. I suppose I saw the needle was low when I started out, but I was sure I could make it back before it got me into trouble.”

  “Pushing the limits,” Grant said, smiling. “I suppose some things never change.”

  “No, I guess they don’t,” Jack said, staggering beneath the uneasy weight of Grant’s comment. “Sweet had an open field behind her house and when I passed by, pushing my thirsty bike, I caught her standing by a stand of trees, sneaking one of her mom’s cigarettes. She stamped it out right away, a guilty look all over that pretty face of hers. I knew her from school, but not that she smoked. She was one of those clean girls and yet in one fell swoop, that glittering reputation had been upended. She begged me not to say a word. I told her the truth. That I was more interested in getting some gas for my bike than I was in ratting her out.

  “That’s when Sweet’s face lit up in a big old smile. Said her stepdad kept a can of gas in the shed. That he had it for the John Deere he liked to ride around the property on weekends and that she’d be willing to give me enough to get home, but on one condition. I had to smoke a cigarette with her.

  “At the time, I thought that hardly made much sense. I wasn’t a smoker and I could see she only had one left. Looking back, I later
realized she was more interested in finding an accomplice than in hoarding her stash of smokes. I suppose in her mind, if we were both guilty, it lowered the chances I’d change my mind and turn her in. Anyway, I held up my end of the bargain and coughed my way through that first one. She did too and got me enough gas to get home.

  “But days later, something in the back of my mind kept nagging at me. I wanted to see Sweet again and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out whether it was her pretty face I was after or another one of her mom’s cigarettes. She was pretty all right, but more than a dump truck full of trouble.

  “We dated for a few years, even after I left and started working on rigs in the Gulf. Every second weekend, I’d come back to town and we’d head over to one of the Indian casinos that had just opened up. Which was how a sweet little girl introduced me to my second lifelong vice. One that nearly destroyed me.”

  “She sounds awful,” Eugene said, transfixed.

  “Quite the opposite,” Jack said. “She was terrific.”

  “By awful, I meant to say a bad influence,” Eugene amended.

  “The way I look at it,” Jack said, drumming his gloved fingers against the top of the helmet beside him, “the lure of addiction’s always been in me. If it wasn’t Sweet who got me hooked, it woulda happened some other way and with someone far less exciting.”

  “That’s so much more romantic than my high-school experience,” Eugene said, frowning. “I grew up in Brooklyn and used to get chased by bullies every day after class. Then one day after second period, along comes this strapping kid named Bob—actually we called him Big Bob because he was built like a brick shithouse and never lifted a friggin’ weight in his life. Go figure. So Big Bob offers to protect me if I agree to pay him five bucks a day. Five bucks a day! Who did he think I was? I didn’t have five cents a day. But I agreed all the same, hopeful I’d figure something out before Bob realized I wasn’t good for it and decided to pummel me himself. A week later, I was going through a file cabinet in the basement of my house, looking for staples for a science project, and I find a stack of Hustler magazines. Must have been my dad’s secret stash. Right then and there a light went off in my head. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of scissors and cut out as many of those sexy pictures as I could. Don’t forget, this was before the internet. After that I sold ’em every day at school for a quarter a piece to a bunch of horny boys. After a month I had enough to hire two bodyguards and buy another twelve magazines.”