Extinction Point: Kings (Extinction Point Series (5 book series))

by Paul Antony Jones

  "You do the honors," Emily said, offering Mac the flare pistol.

  Mac nodded gratefully, took the pistol and aimed at the gasoline-soaked area. "Ready?"

  "Do it..."

  There was a click, a flash, and the flare arced out and over fence, landing in the middle of the gas-soaked redness. There was a bright flash and whoosh as the gasoline ignited. Orange flames swept out across the base of the plinth, spreading quickly. The vegetation was dry enough that within thirty seconds of the gas igniting, the fire had caught and spread to the building at its base and now moved up the plinth toward the foot of the statue, spreading across concrete steps and walls.

  "We better move before we're cut off," said Mac.

  "In a moment," Emily said, her eyes unable to leave the sight of the fire roaring toward the hem of the statue's robe, hungrily devouring any red it came into contact with. Black smoke poured into the sky, but where the fire touched red it burned away all signs of the alien life that had usurped this symbol of humanity's need for freedom.

  Emily felt Mac's hand on her elbow. "Time to go, love," he urged, and she allowed him to guide her back toward the jetty and their waiting boat off the island. By the time they reached the Zodiac, the plinth was completely aflame, and the flames were reaching ever higher up the statue herself.

  They climbed into the boat, threw off the mooring lines, and started the engine. Emily placed herself at the front of the boat, her back toward their destination, her eyes fixed on Liberty Island. Orange embers, caught by the hot air of the inferno, floated skyward. Here and there along the Jersey shore those embers touched off smaller fires. Those new fires grew quickly, spreading into the jungle's interior. By the time the boat pulled up alongside the Vengeance, a line of fire nearly a kilometer long burned on the opposite shore, sending a plume of black smoke into the air that drifted slowly toward the corpse of New York city.

  But through the haze of smoke and fire, the now-unmistakable visage of Lady Liberty burned brightest of all

  CHAPTER 8

  "Made yourself a bit of a bonfire?" asked Parsons, cheekily, as Mac and Emily pulled the dinghy alongside the Vengeance. He caught the mooring line Mac threw to him and tied it off.

  "Long story," Emily said, taking Parsons' offered hand and leaping onto the sub's deck. Mac climbed up behind her. All three stood on deck, entranced by the conflagration. Liberty Island was a tower of flame and smoke, as was a long stretch of the mainland, too.

  "Let it all burn, I say," Parsons mumbled.

  "Couldn't agree more," said Mac, giving the Welshman a friendly slap on his back.

  They continued to watch as the fire spread down the coast until nothing could be seen of the west and northern shores but billowing black clouds of smoke and the orange glow of the fires within.

  "Sir?"

  Mac turned to see a sailor waiting for him.

  "What have you got for me?" Mac asked.

  "Sir, the shore-lookout asked me to report that he thinks you should take a look at the, uhh, transport. The...animals have stopped coming."

  Emily, Mac, and Parsons all turned to look in the direction of their transportation.

  "He's right," said Emily. All signs of movement around and on the Machine, had ceased. "We should go take a look."

  "It’s just nonstop adventure with you," Mac sighed.

  Emily got the impression he was only half joking. "Well it keeps life interesting," she replied.

  Mac turned to face Parsons. "Fancy a look inside?"

  "Lead the way," said Parsons.

  The three of them walked down the gangplank and on to shore. In the hour or so that Emily and Mac had spent on Liberty Island, the construction of the Machine had been completed. It stood now, gray skin glinting in the noon sun, with no hint as to the living material that had gone into its construction.

  Mac stopped and turned to Emily as they drew closer. "What now?" he asked. The replacement Machine stood upright on all six legs, with no obvious means of entry.

  "If it functions the same way as the last one, then master control of it is going to be keyed to Rhiannon's voice and presence, but it will still follow commands from me," said Emily. "Adam said that it's sentient, has its own intelligence so it will recognize me." She split from the group and approached the Machine, walking between its legs, she moved to the front.

  "Open, please," she said. Instantly, a large panel in the front of the vehicle folded back on an unseen hinge. A long walkway extended down to the ground through the opening, stopping near Emily's feet.

  "I'll be right back," she said, "I just need to check it out." She took the walkway up into the belly of the Machine.

  While the exterior looked identical to the first transport, the interior had been changed, quite radically, Emily saw. Gone were the walls that had encapsulated the control room Rhiannon used to guide the Machine, opening up more space. Beyond the command chair, the new space was taken up with three rows of seats that looked like molded plastic. They were very basic, utilitarian, but they would be better than standing for the trip. She counted them quickly. There were enough for every one of the crew, more than enough actually. A second room accessed through a doorway behind the last row of seats was large enough for them to stow a significant amount of gear and supplies.

  Emily reached out a hand and laid it gently against the curved wall in front of her. In the rush to get to Mac, she had not thought to ask how Adam might fabricate the machines—not that the truth should have come as a surprise, given the history of Caretaker technology. Now, after witnessing this machine's creation, she felt a new respect. The wall felt warm against the palm of her hand and—and she was sure she wasn't imagining this—she thought she felt a faint thud, thud, thud. Like a heartbeat, deep within. The vehicle, if it was even appropriate to call it that, had become a new, living creature, made up of the animals that had sacrificed themselves in its creation, just as those creatures had been born from the people and animals that had lived around the city on the day the red rain spread across the planet. There was a certain poetry to it all, she thought, albeit a dark one. It was as if in some small way, those people were now reaching out from oblivion to lend a hand in taking back this planet; ensuring that life, human life, would have a chance at survival.

  "Emily? You okay up there?"

  Mac's voice echoing up the entrance ramp broke Emily from her reverie. "I'm fine," she yelled back. "Come on up."

  Mac and Parsons appeared at the entrance of the control room, their eyes moving over the interior of the craft. "Not exactly how I envisioned it would look," said Mac after a few moments.

  "Storage area is through there." She pointed at the second door. The two men stepped into the storage room, gave it a quick once over, nodding as they discussed how much equipment the room could store then rejoined Emily.

  "Isn't much to write home about," said Mac.

  Parsons nodded his agreement. "I was hoping for something a little bit more...Star Trek-y."

  "Sorry to disappoint," Emily said, laughing gently.

  Mac stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the control room. "Well, I suppose now's as good a time as any. What do you say we get this show on the road?"

  Emily nodded her agreement.

  They filed back down the walkway, Emily ordering it to close behind them, and began to walk back toward the dock where the Vengeance was moored.

  •••

  "Looks like we're just in time," said Mac, as the three of them walked from the newly birthed replacement Machine back toward the submarine. While they had been inspecting the interior, the wind had changed direction and smoke was now billowing across the Hudson in the direction of the Vengeance. "Best we don't hang around too long," Mac said. "Mr. Parsons, would you get the lads and ladies, together and start loading supplies into the transport?"

  "Aye, Aye, sir," said Parsons. He gave a quick salute and angled off toward a group of sailors who stood on the deck staring at the Machine, while Emily and Mac
headed below.

  •••

  Four hours later, all the provisions and equipment had been loaded into their new transport. The crew, standing in the waning light of the New York afternoon, waited in line two-abreast near the feet of the Machine for orders. Mac appeared from inside and walked halfway down the ramp. "Alright, you Muppets, in you get. Move it. Fast as you can now." The soldiers quick-marched up the ramp and into the belly of the craft where Emily waited to direct them to the seating area.

  "Just take a seat and wait," she said, pointing to the entrance of the control room. She couldn't help but notice the nervous glances the men and women gave as they entered. It wasn't hard to figure out why, of course. All the crew had spent some time on deck since they'd arrived and had seen how this machine had been assembled. The Brits didn't seem too worried, but the Norwegians, with their limited exposure to the changes wrought on the world, seemed especially nonplussed.

  "It's okay," she said, smiling and using as reassuring a tone of voice as she could. "I can vouch from personal experience that it’s not going to eat you." She had meant it as a joke, but she wasn't sure it had done anything to help improve the mood.

  "Did anyone ever tell you you'd make a great flight attendant?" Mac said with a smirk, as he followed up behind the last two men in line.

  "Very funny," said Emily, lightly punching the Scotsman on the arm. "Are you ready?"

  Mac nodded, "Just need a minute to double-check we left nothing behind." Mac headed back down the ramp. Emily followed after him, knowing the real reason he wanted that extra time. At the bottom of the ramp, he stopped and looked back at the Vengeance. It was a black shadow within the smoke now. "Breaks my heart to leave her behind like this," he said, eventually. "When this is all behind us, I’ll be back for her."

  Emily said nothing.

  "Okay," said Mac a few seconds later, turning to face his wife. "We're ready to roll...or walk...or whatever this thing does." Mac jabbed a thumb at the Machine.

  "Let's go home," said Emily and headed back up the ramp.

  Mac stood for a few more moments, then turned smartly and joined the rest of the crew.

  CHAPTER 9

  Emily stood at the front of the Machine’s control room facing the seated soldiers. She was trying to channel the inner flight attendant Mac had jokingly commented on earlier. She smiled and spoke as calmly and confidently as she could, "Okay, everyone. I just want you all to relax. This next part is going to be...a little weird, but there's nothing to be afraid of. Just sit back and enjoy the ride." She smiled and nodded a final time, then took her own seat next to Rhiannon. Thor was already lying next to it, relaxed but alert. Rhiannon sat in the center chair, Mac seated to her left. "You ready, sweetie?" Emily asked, turning in her chair to face Rhiannon.

  "If this trip is anything like our last ride, I'm glad I'm still blind," Rhiannon said in an overtly loud voice, then smiled mischievously when she heard a collective nervous questioning chatter from the seats behind her.

  She's just kidding, Emily mouthed to Mac. She faced forward again. "Okay, ready when you are."

  "Machine," Rhiannon said aloud—in response to the girl's voice a slight tremor ran through the walls and floors, like the haptic feedback from a game console controller—"Take us to Point Loma, California." A large section of the wall in front of the seated humans seemed to dissolve, revealing a one-hundred-and-fifty-degree section of the smoke-covered Hudson River and the outline of the Vengeance.

  "Don't worry, it’s just a view-panel," said Emily.

  There was a hissing noise, followed by a few exclamations of surprise as all the seats began to extrude a foam-like substance around each of the passengers until they were cocooned in its gentle but unrelenting grasp. The seats held their passengers firmly enough to keep them safely restrained, while still able to move their fingers and turn their head a degree or two to the left and right, but that was about it. Even Thor was covered by his own personal cowl.

  "It’s okay," said Emily, "It's for our own protection. We'll need it for when—" Her words were cut off as the reasoning for the safety bubbles became abundantly clear to everyone on board. Stomachs lurched and there were gasps of surprise from almost everyone as, through the view panel, the remains of New York dropped out of view as the Machine raised itself up to full height. Then there were actual yells of fear from the men and women as the craft began to move rapidly toward the edge of the dock, accelerating quickly. Rhiannon, on the other hand, was laughing hysterically, apparently enjoying every second. The Machine turned in the direction of the mouth of the Hudson River, leaped high into the air, and dove into the river. Once in the dirty water, the craft began to accelerate at terrifying speed, pushing the passengers into their seats like a fighter pilot pulling a High-G turn. It continued to gain more and more momentum, the force on its passengers' chests growing from an unpleasant push to an almost crushing pressure. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure evened out.

  There were an equal number of expletives yelled and prayers muttered in both English and Norwegian, but eventually the noise died away as everyone slowly relaxed.

  Everyone except for Rhiannon that was, she continued to laugh until she was red in the face.

  •••

  What followed was a roller-coaster ride through the ocean's depths. The Machine ducked and swerved around submerged mountain ranges, followed the contours of long sunk landmasses, and roared past dozing volcanoes. Occasionally, through the view-port, the crew caught fleeting glimpses of monstrous sea dwellers, animals that Emily was sure had not existed before the red rain had worked its changes on the creatures that lived on land.

  About three hours in, Emily felt the craft begin to slow, rapidly, again pushing its human passengers back with incredible force as it decelerated. Then, through the view-port, land appeared. The Machine maneuvered itself up onto the rocky shore. It nimbly climbed across the boulder-strewn beach before scaling an almost vertical cliff face. It ran across the ground in giant leaping bounds, maneuvering through the red jungle so quickly that the trees and vegetation became nothing but a blur of red that forced most of the passengers to close their eyes to avoid vomiting.

  Emily could not say for sure where they were exactly, but if she had to guess she would estimate that they had made landfall somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico and were now heading across country toward the Pacific. The Machine always seemed to take the most direct route to a location.

  Eventually, the ocean once more came into view, and the craft dove into the water. People grunted loudly as, yet again, they were forced back into the padding of their seats, but this time there were no yells of surprise or fear. Two hours later, the Machine began to slow as it gradually rose toward the surface.

  Emily looked at her watch. It was just after two in the afternoon, local time. "Make landfall about ten kilometers south of Point Loma," she said to Rhiannon, who repeated the order to the Machine. There was no point in them just showing up at Point Loma, she and Mac had reasoned; that would terrify all the survivors while placing themselves at a strategic disadvantage. They needed the element of surprise on their side, especially if they wanted to limit the risk of armed confrontation between themselves and Valentine's cadre of thugs and supporters.

  Through the view-screen, Emily saw land appear then rapidly grow larger as their transportation moved toward it. A few minutes later, the Machine pulled itself from the water onto a beach and came to an abrupt stop. The padding around each of the passengers retracted with a burbling hiss, vanishing back into the seats as though it had never existed.

  Mac was the first to his feet. "I want everyone to remain where you are," he said. "Major Djupvik, if you wouldn't mind joining Emily and me."

  Petter nodded, climbed to his feet and stretched. Emily joined him, her muscles tight and tingling with pins and needles after being restrained for such an extended period of time. The three of them walked to the exit. "Let us out," Emily said, waiting for the portal to
open and the walkway to descend before following the others down onto land. Mac and Petter, squinting hard against the afternoon sun, quickly scouted around the perimeter of the Machine to ensure there were no obvious dangers.

  They had come to a stop on a sandy beach that stretched inland for about thirty meters before turning into a rocky stretch of open land. In the distance was the red jungle. Emily wasn't particularly worried about an attack from there; Adam had explained that the Machine had an automatic defense system that would activate if it or its passengers were threatened. Emily assumed the same went for this new one, too. She hadn't seen it in action, but she was confident the imposing automaton was more than an adequate deterrent to attack from all but the largest creatures that hunted in the jungle.

  "Let's get everyone off," Mac said.

  Emily nodded. The ride had been uncomfortable, but swift. She was quite sure the men and women would be happy to get their feet back on land after what she was confident must have been the wildest ride of their lives.

  Mac disappeared back inside the craft. Less than a minute later, the first of his men began to file down the walkway.

  "Stay within twenty meters," Mac ordered as his personnel fanned out across the beach, some jogging back and forth, others just stretching. The Norwegians, on the other hand, nervously milled about while never leaving the Machine's shadow. They seemed absolutely fascinated by the transformed Californian landscape. Emily had to remind herself that this was still a new experience for them. It was going to take some getting used to.

  Mac and Petter walked back over to her. Mac held a long stick in his one hand, and a couple of pieces of short driftwood in the other. Petter carried some hand-sized stones, and a couple of shells.

  "Are we going to be making sandcastles?" Emily asked, genuinely curious as to what the two men had in mind.

  "Only if you promise you can rustle me up a ninety-nine," Mac said.