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

by Paul Antony Jones

  "Is that coffee I smell?" Emily asked, standing and stretching.

  "Sure is," said Mac, smiling back at his wife. "We found Valentine's stash. Liberated it for a higher cause. Don't think she'll mind." He smirked, took a sip from the cup he held in his hand then walked over to Emily and handed the steaming mug to her.

  "Thanks," she said, planting a kiss on her husband's cheek.

  "I was just outlining a new plan with Petter."

  Emily nodded and took a sip of coffee, savoring the flavor and texture and heat against her tongue.

  Mac continued, "So, we want you to bring the Machine up to the base so we can offload the rest of the crew. At that point, we're going to do a thorough building-by-building search and make sure that the complex really is empty."

  Petter took over. "And if it is empty, we will try and understand where your...colleagues went."

  "I can do that," Emily said. "Can I have your radio?"

  Mac passed her the handheld. "Emily to Parsons. Do you copy?"

  After a short pause, the Welshman's voice came back loud and clear. "I copy, Emily."

  "We're going to need Rhiannon to shuttle the rest of you to Point Loma. Can you arrange that with her?"

  "Will do. We'll be there in thirty. Anything else?"

  Emily said there wasn't and handed the radio back to Mac.

  Mac turned and faced the room. "Okay, everyone quiet down and listen." He waited for the soldiers to fall silent and turn their attention to him. "As you have probably realized, the rest of the Point Loma survivors have turned up missing. As all of us but our new Norwegian friends know, the idea of them pulling up sticks and buggering off the reservation is pretty dubious. So, that leaves two possibilities: someone or something has taken them against their will, or they are still here at Point Loma, hiding from us, or incapable of or unwilling to communicate with us. Rhiannon is bringing the rest of the team here in the Machine, for backup, then we are going to conduct a thorough search of all the buildings, including the submarines. Understand?"

  The soldiers all nodded or called out that they did.

  "Well then, what are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed? Let’s move out."

  CHAPTER 11

  The Machine and the rest of the crew showed up a few minutes after Emily and the rest of the landing team arrived at the assembly point, just outside the camp's main gate.

  "Wow!" said Emily as the Machine strode across the beach then cut inland toward her group. This was the first time she had seen it in motion from the outside, and only now did she realize just what an imposing—no, scratch that—what a terrifying sight it really was with its spider-like legs and tentacles. It strode toward the gathered humans then stopped about fifteen meters from them. The ramp unfurled, and its passengers began to file out, one after the other. Last, guided by a tall blond Norwegian soldier who could not have been more than twenty if he was a day, came Rhiannon. Thor trotted alongside her, but when he saw Emily and Mac he gave a quick bark of excitement and ran to them, moving from mistress to master, unable to contain his happiness at seeing them.

  Emily ran her hand over Thor's head, scratching around his ear and under his chin. "Missed us did you, boy?" She buried her face in the ruff of his neck. "Well, I missed you too."

  "Did you miss me, as well?" asked Rhiannon. The Norwegian soldier was still at her side, her hand resting on his right forearm.

  Mac stepped in close and took the girl in his arms. "Like a hole in the head," he said, laughing.

  Rhiannon punched Mac lightly where she thought his arm should be. He had to move his shoulder into position to make sure she connected.

  Mac straightened up. "Okay, soldier," he said, turning his focus to Rhiannon's Norwegian escort, "you're dismissed. You'll find your comrades that way." He nodded to where Petter and his team waited, talking animatedly. The young Norwegian saluted sharply, then turned and headed off to where the rest of his group waited. But not, Emily noticed as he turned away, without a puppy-dog-eyed lingering gaze at Rhiannon.

  "So, is he as cute as he sounds?" Rhiannon whispered, loud enough for only Emily to hear.

  Emily leaned in close to Rhiannon's ear. "Totally," she whispered back.

  "If you two ladies are quite finished," said Mac, walking up behind the women and throwing his arms around their shoulders, "we have some lost survivors to locate." He guided Emily and Rhiannon over to where the rest of the soldiers waited. "Okay, for those of you who are just joining us, you can probably tell by the lack of new faces amongst us that the Point Loma survivors are not home. That's because, well, we have no idea why, to be honest. So, we're going to split up into multiple groups and make sure they aren't hiding out somewhere in the base. I'm sure I don't have to remind you ladies and gentlemen that most of the people in this camp are innocent participants in what happened to my wife and..." he paused momentarily to place his hand against Rhiannon's back, "...and my daughter. So, if you should find anyone, go easy on them. Alert your team leader and they will notify either myself or Major Petter. Any questions?"

  There weren't.

  "Alright then. Team leaders, take your people and see Mr. Parsons. He's going to give you all your search locations."

  Mac began to walk away, then paused and turned back to face his people again. "And I know I don't have to remind you all, but be careful out there."

  •••

  Mac assigned himself, Emily and four other sailors to search the Le Terrible. They stood on the deck of the French submarine, the morning sun shining down warmly on their skin. But Emily didn't feel warm. A cold chill ran down her spine as she waited next to Mac for one of the sailors to open the midsection entrance hatch. Maybe it was just her, but as Emily's eyes moved over each of the men, she saw a tenseness in their faces. Their brows were furrowed, their eyes focused intently on the hatch. No, she was definitely not imagining this. For all any of them knew, this entire submarine could be nothing more than a giant coffin full of the dead. Or worse, maybe it was full of things that were still very much alive. As far as she was aware, none of the other survivors had experienced events after the red rain the way she had. They had all either been at the bottom of the ocean or ice-locked on some distant piece of rock. So, maybe it was just her anticipation of the unknown that had her so spooked, but she didn't think so.

  "You feel that, too, don't you?" she whispered close to Mac's ear.

  His only reply was a curt nod and the words, "Stay close to me." That was enough for Emily to know that he was nervous. And that made her even more nervous.

  A sailor lifted the hatch leading down into the sub, it rose on a hidden hinge that creaked and groaned ominously. The sailor shined his flashlight into the darkness, then maneuvered himself onto the ladder and began to climb down. The rest of the men followed behind him, Mac and Emily the last to descend into the submarine's cold body. At the bottom of the ladder, they found themselves in the main corridor that ran fore and aft of the submarine. There was no light, save for the team's flashlights.

  "Looks like there's no power at all," said Mac as he flipped a light switch on the wall of a nearby room off and on several times.

  "Well that doesn't make this any less creepy," Emily muttered.

  "Okay, you're with Emily and me," Mac said, pointing at a nervous-looking sailor. He turned his gaze to the remaining sailors. "You three take the aft section. We'll work our way forward. Stay in contact, and let me know if you encounter..." he paused almost dramatically as he searched for the right words, "anything out of the ordinary. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir," said the three men in unison, but their replies were subdued, barely more than a whisper, as though they did not want to draw attention to themselves. They turned and began making their way toward the rear section of the submarine.

  Mac did a quick check of his assault rifle, then, satisfied, he turned back to Emily and the sailor. "Let's move out," he said, his demeanor all business now, but he still managed to throw a reassuring smile in Emily's dire
ction.

  •••

  "What the hell is that smell?" said Mac.

  Emily's eyes watered as she made the gut-wrenching mistake of taking a deep inhalation of air through her nose. She grimaced, "Oh my God! It smells like an open sewer on a summer day," she said.

  They were twenty minutes into their search of the submarine, and so far, there had been no sign that there was anyone or any thing on board.

  "Might be a problem with the bilge system," Mac said. "This boat's been at dock for how many years now? It's not like we've kept up to date with the monthly service. Besides there's always—" Mac stopped talking as he crossed the threshold into a small room just off the main corridor.

  Her eyes elsewhere, Emily walked into Mac's back, bouncing a step backward after the collision. She peered over his shoulder and saw empty cans of food lying discarded across the room's floor, along with a scattering of crushed plastic water bottles. In the corner of the room was a pile of disheveled dirty blankets; obviously someone's bed. In the opposite corner was a bucket where the stink emanated from. Whoever had been living here's makeshift toilet, she realized.

  "Nothing creepy about this," said Emily, her words a sardonic whisper.

  Mac brought the microphone of his radio to his lips. "Be aware, at least one possible survivor on board. Use caution," he whispered.

  Mac nodded at the sailor, subtly indicating that he should enter the room. The sailor slipped past Emily and Mac, and moved cautiously inside, his weapon moving across every possible hiding place that might conceal whoever had been staying here. Not that there were many places to hide. The room had been a storage area at some point; apart from the detritus scattered over the floor, there was only a wire-frame shelf unit and a metal cupboard that came up to Emily's waist. A smaller recessed area sat just off the room, it had another shelf unit that held various metal objects in plastic bins that Emily assumed must be spare parts for some mechanism within the submarine.

  "It's empty, sir," the sailor said, lowering his rifle to his side. "Whoever was here must have bugged out when they heard us come on board."

  "Maybe," said Mac, "but that doesn't mean they aren't still on the boat somewhere. We keep our eyes open. Understood?"

  •••

  Both Emily and the sailor nodded that they did indeed understand.

  "Okay," Mac continued, "let's check the rest of this boat."

  They moved out into the corridor and continued toward the sub's forward section. The communication room was clear, the rack where the sub's radio system should have been now empty, the equipment transferred to Point Loma long ago. The crew's living quarters seemed similarly empty, which left only the torpedo room, but a quick sweep of that turned up nothing either.

  Mac spoke to the second team on his radio. "The forward area looks clear, rendezvous back at the entrance hatch."

  It was as they were moving back through the crew's living quarters that Emily spotted something they had missed when they came through just minutes earlier. Halfway down the row of bunk beds, she noticed one of the bottom beds had several blankets hanging loosely over its side. No one had thought to check under the bed, and no one would have on the way out either if it had not been for the hint of movement Emily's flashlight caught as they made their way back to meet the others. She wasn't one-hundred-percent sure but for a brief second, she thought she saw a flash of skin, maybe a foot, before it was pulled out of sight into the darkness beneath the bunk.

  Emily placed a hand on the crook of Mac's arm.

  "What's—" he started to say then fell silent as Emily moved a finger to her lips. She pointed to the bed and the crumpled pile of linen. Mac moved his flashlight to the area Emily was pointing at.

  "Cover me," he whispered to the sailor, then began to move toward the bed. If there was someone or something hiding beneath the bunk, Mac's approach would be blocked to them by the blankets. He reached down and slowly pulled the blanket up.

  A woman screamed.

  The sailor yelled a warning, his finger moving off his weapon's guard to the trigger.

  "No!" Emily said, knocking the barrel sideways. "It's a woman. Don't shoot. She's human." Emily stepped in front of the weapon, blocking the sailor's line of fire.

  From beneath the bed came the sound of whimpering mixed with sobbing. Mac had instinctively stepped back from the bunk, his rifle trained on the darkness beneath. His free hand was reaching toward the blanket, but he stopped when Emily stepped in behind him and touched him on the shoulder.

  "Mac, she's terrified. Let me do this," Emily whispered into his ear, gently pulling her husband back. In the second the shadows beneath the bunk had been illuminated, Emily had caught the unmistakable outline of a woman in the flashlight's beam. Emily knelt, reached for the blanket and drew it gradually back, just enough that she could see the woman beneath the bed but not so much that whoever this survivor was would feel totally exposed.

  The woman was curled up in the fetal position, her knees pulled tightly up to her chin, obscuring her face. She was wearing a dirty t-shirt, a stained skirt, and no shoes on her feet, just socks that could have been white at some point but were now an oily black. The exposed parts of her skin were dirt-smeared, her hair a tangled mess.

  "It's okay," Emily said, "we're not going to hurt you." She reached out her hand and laid it against the woman's ankle.

  The woman squealed, pulling her legs even closer to her, squeezing herself up against the sub's bulkhead.

  "No, no, no," Emily cooed, "It's okay. It's okay." She kept her hand against the woman's trembling leg and waited, speaking in a low, measured tone, reassuring her. Minutes passed. Slowly the woman's crying subsided and, finally, Emily felt her begin to relax. "That's it, you're okay," Emily said. "Can you look at me, hmmm?"

  The woman slowly dropped her hands and raised her head.

  "Lynda?" Emily asked, suddenly recognizing the woman despite the layers of dirt that streaked her face. Lynda Hanson had been a botanist in her previous life. In this new life, she sat on the Point Loma council. She had always appeared to be a smart woman to Emily, but now, in the white glow of the flashlights, she seemed like little more than a frightened child.

  Emily reached out a hand to her. "Why don't you come on out of there and let’s get you looked at? Can you take my hand?"

  Gradually, ever so gradually, Lynda's hand edged toward Emily's. When, finally, the two touched, it was as if Lynda had been afraid that Emily might have been a ghost. Her eyes widened and her hand grabbed onto Emily's as though she were a drowning woman who had just found the last piece of floating wreckage. She began to scramble out from beneath the bunk, so fast that Emily could not back away quickly enough. Clear of the bed, Lynda threw her arms around Emily, the two toppling to the floor as the woman once more broke down into tears. This time though, they were tears of relief rather than fear.

  "It's okay. It's okay," Emily repeated, gently rocking the woman back and forth in her arms. "You're safe now. It's all going to be all right."

  •••

  Mac carried Lynda in his arms from the submarine, Emily walking right alongside him. Emily had wrapped the woman in a blanket to keep her warm, and now she lay silently against Mac's chest as he stepped through Valentine's apartment doorway and walked straight to the bedroom. He placed Lynda gently onto the bed.

  "Can you bring some water for her?" Emily asked, raising her eyebrows as she ushered Mac out of the bedroom past several gawking sailors.

  "Sure thing," said Mac, taking the hint. He closed the door gently behind him.

  Emily turned back to Lynda. She lay silently on the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes seemed a little brighter to Emily, just a little more alive.

  "How are you feeling?" Emily asked, walking back across the room. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled.

  Lynda's eyes widened a little, her lips moving but forming no words, as if she had not spoken in such a long time she had forgotten how. Eventually, she sa
id, "Better." The word was spoken so quietly Emily wasn't sure she had actually said anything at all. It was only when the woman croaked "Thank you," her hand emerging from beneath the bed covers to grasp her own, that Emily was sure.

  There was a light knock against the bedroom door.

  Emily slipped her hand from Lynda's grip and walked to the door. Mac stood outside with a bottle of water which he handed to her.

  "Any progress?" he asked, looking over Emily's shoulder.

  "Some," said Emily, "can you give me a half hour?"

  Mac nodded. "We need to find out what happened as quickly as possible, love."

  "I know, but just let me bring her back before we interrogate her."

  Mac nodded again. "Do whatever you have to do." He stepped back and pulled the door closed behind him.

  "Here you go," said Emily, turning back to Lynda. "Can you sit up?" She held the bottle of water out to the woman. Lynda pushed herself to a sitting position, but, Emily noticed, she pulled the blankets up with her too, cocooning herself in them. "Here." Emily pulled the blanket down on one side, freeing Lynda's hand, then placed the plastic bottle of water between her fingers.

  Lynda drank deeply. "Thank you," she said after she had emptied half the bottle.

  Emily smiled. "Better?"

  Lynda nodded, a brief, sad smile parting her lips

  It was all Emily could do to refrain from asking Mac's question. Truth was, not knowing what had happened here at Point Loma while she was gone was burning at her insides. But, she had to play this carefully. Lynda had obviously suffered some form of a mental break with reality, caused by God knew what. And Emily instinctively knew that if she pushed too hard for answers, she risked forcing Lynda back inside her own head, and this time she might lock that mental door behind her.