Countdown to Extinction

by Louise Moss

  COUNTDOWN TO EXTINCTION

  Louise Moss

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  Copyright © 2019 Louise Moss

  All Rights Reserved

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  1

  Hagan left his laboratory on the thirty-sixth floor and began the slow descent to the Abyss. The creatures would be huddled together in the canteen now, grabbing at their food and stuffing it into their mouths. Would he have enough time? He had heard rumours of people who had descended and never returned.

  Reaching the twentieth floor and the end of the floating staircase, he went through the hidden door into a small, cramped lobby. From here, two hundred steps spiralled downwards into the void below. He stepped onto the first stair and listened. The creatures were cunning. They could be waiting in the shadows for him, just around the corner.

  He continued the spiral downwards, keeping his ears strained for the faintest whisper. Reaching the bottom, he opened the door in front of him a crack, ready to put all his weight behind it if the creatures were waiting.

  He reeled back as the stench reached his nostrils. He could barely breathe.

  The corridor beyond appeared empty. To the left could be heard snuffling and slurping. He slipped into the corridor and headed for the safely of the Outside Stores.

  The heavy door resisted his touch. Footsteps were coming along the corridor. He put his shoulder to the door, ignoring the pain and slowly, it began to open. As the creatures’ footsteps reverberated along the passageway, he slipped inside.

  A blast of cold air came in through the filters and his breathing became easier. At first, he thought the walls were lined with emaciated bodies, hung up on the walls in a strange ritual, but it was only the old-fashioned thermal suits, thick lined boots, gloves and protective hoods.

  He inspected the suits, discarding any that had small holes or tears. He would be killed within seconds of stepping outside from the cold, or suffer a slow, painful death from the many diseases which were rumoured to roam unhindered across the land.

  Pulling on one of the suits, he fastened the hood beneath his chin and tried a few steps. The boots were heavy and weighed him down. At his approach, the doors to the outside creaked open, letting in a blast of cold air that nearly knocked him off his feet.

  Moving forward in the unfamiliar padded boots, he braced himself against the biting wind. The doors closed behind him and he was alone in a foreign and dangerous land.

  Beyond the pod lay a rich and fertile plain crossed by a man on horseback. In the distance, a few grey slabs of stone were silhouetted against the sky like monoliths to a primitive religion, all that remained above ground of the Greystone Clinic where hundreds of Primitives lay frozen, awaiting resurrection. he had seen this Mirage before, except for the slabs.

  He crossed to the pod slowly, lifting each leg and placing it in front of him until he could haul himself into pod’s interior and sink into the heated seat. His destination was Greystone Clinic

  A thousand years ago, starving workers had descended on the clinic, incensed that precious resources were being used on those who inhabited the vault, but it had been built to withstand war, plague, earthquake, fire and flood and could withstand the crowds too.

  It took only minutes before sliding silently to a halt in the newly constructed underground transport bay to the old clinic.

  Security measures had not been changed since they were first installed, to deter anyone trying to break in, although who would want to venture out here?

  Far away, an ancient computer creaked into life, the building echoing to its clicks and whirrs as it slowly began its series of checks. When it had finished, the doors ahead of him opened, revealing a moving staircase that descended into the depths below. He misjudged the right moment to step on to it and stumbled, grabbing the hand rail, in time to stop himself tumbling down to the bottom.

  The Thermal Chamber had been built half a mile below the surface of the planet. The descent was slow and a cold wind blew up from the corridors below. As the staircase reached the bottom, he took a flying leap and landed badly on the hard rock floor.

  At the end of the corridor was a storeroom for the thermal suits that would protect him from temperatures of minus 150°C. They had been here for two thousand years, but looked as new as the day they were packed.

  Beyond this room, harsh blue lights lit the way along the corridor led to the central core.

  Entering the central hall, his temperature fell rapidly. For a moment he feared he would freeze to death before the ancient heating elements in the suit began working to stabilise his body heat. By the dim lights which flickered sluggishly, he could see human shapes suspended from the ceiling, bodies that had been fixed in a moment of hibernation for hundreds of years.

  His instinct, on seeing so many tall, well-proportioned, symmetrical creatures, was to destroy them, strike them down, switch off the machinery that kept them alive. They had selfishly and wantonly stripped the earth, ensuring that those who followed suffered. But his orders were to nurture them back to health.

  The first body he came to was that of a female: hands and feet both the same size, skin soft and smooth, long, thick hair. Mesmerised by the way the hair glinted under the pale light, he reached his hand out towards the body, drawing it back at the last minute when he realised the Leaders might be watching.

  Rows and rows of bodies stretched into infinity. Four thousand of these hated creatures had been frozen between 1950 and 2062: twelve hundred females, fifteen hundred males and a few hundred children. Having destroyed the Earth, they sought to preserve themselves until such time that those who came after them could cure their illnesses.

  Each record must be scrutinised and a decision made whether the body could be repaired. As he approached each one, a screen flickered into life, revealing figures and graphs. In the years since these people had been alive, the human brain had developed and altered; the pattern of brain waves was different in these creatures. Most notably, zeta waves were absent altogether.

  Unlike the Superiors and Leaders who ruled today, the Primitives were aggressive towards each and other and were unconcerned about the earth’s fate and now the people of his time were suffering.

  He worked on, row after row. Most of the bodies had remained stable throughout storms, earth movements, nuclear explosions and wars. While the Earth above them began to die, these creatures had lived in safety.

  He worked rapidly. After fifteen hours, the work was complete. He slept on the way back, waking only as the pod came to a halt. Just a few steps in the outside and he would be back in the dome.

  Home called. A floating walkway took him to the edge of the residential block. His building had been constructed some hundreds of years ago of recycled plastic and was divided into fifty small suites of rooms, fully insulated from the sounds of the other occupants.

  He ordered some food an
d reflected on the way the Primitive leaders had allowed people to die of hunger. Now even the lowest worker had a basic food ration, and no one went hungry.

  Hagan had lived alone until his promotion to Professor of Human Studies ensured that a companion would have her own room. Soon after his appointment as professor, Zorina had come to him. They had been allocated one of the best suites in the complex, overlooking a central square with its abstract sculptures which glowed and emitted different coloured lights. He could lose all this if he failed the Leaders.

  Zorina had been his companion for the past fifty years. It was time to tell her of the coming changes. “The Leaders have a plan for the resurrection of the Earth,” he told her. “It is necessary for me to move to a clinic ten luegas from here. There is work for you too.”

  “I have been told of this. I thought everything that remained of Greystones had been destroyed.”

  “Once food became scarce, it was safer to let the people think that.”

  “How would we travel to this place?” She too feared the outside.

  “There is to be no link between the clinic and the town, which means we must travel by pod. I took this journey today and, as you see, I survived.” He would not tell her of the fear and horror he had felt.

  Zorina nodded. Fearful as she was, the Leaders had spoken and she would obey.

  “Tomorrow I must travel to the Openlands, to the headquarters of Proteus Terrestrial. I will be gone one lunar cycles. I must learn all that has been recorded about the Primitives’ way of life.”

  He would be leaving from the transport deck this time. Moderator Tostig had told him that the descent into the Abyss yesterday had been a test to see whether his mind could endure the depravity that lived down there; being near the Primitives would be worse.

  The pod was waiting for him at the top of the dome. Once inside, slats in the roof above his head slid open to allow the craft to rise steadily. As it turned into the pale sun, he listened to information about Proteus. The company was set up by the Leaders in 2075, following the bombing of government offices and widespread rioting against climate change.

  Farming was already fully automatic. Towns were enclosed in opaque domes and the climate inside closely monitored. In the beginning, people still wanted to go outside to play sports or just walk about, so Malchus was put in charge of developing a series of Mirages through which people could experience all the things they liked doing. There was no need to go outside to play golf, ski or kick a ball. All they had to do was sit in the comfort of the Mirage Hall and immerse themselves in the experience of their choice. It was no different from the real thing.

  It took only ten years for people to forget what was happening outside.

  People were content. They did not need money to sail around the Caribbean on a yacht; an eighteen stone man could become a jockey. Gradually, over a period of years, all the dangerous human emotions of fear, anger and violence disappeared, at least from the more intelligent people. All desire to contradict, to argue, and to change or question the decisions of the Leaders evaporated.

  Traces of aggression still remained among the Workers, but this was nothing compared to the two-thousand-year-old bodies in the vault, who still had an ancient evolutionary pattern. Hagan must prepare himself.

  The pod had begun its descent. It came to rest towards to domed city that was Proteus. Ahead, the city spread over several miles, its one hundred and fifty administrative buildings and housing for over six thousand people glinting in the sun. Surely an illusion.

  Moderator Malchus watched as the pod descended from his tower at the far end of the compound where he lived alone in an accommodation block that usually housed fifty people. It was the measure of his status and importance to the work of the Leaders.

  Only he knew that beyond the limit of the dome was bare, yellow earth scattered with rocks that stretched for hundreds of miles. To the visitor, it looked as if Proteus sat in the middle of a lush forest.

  As he stood before the visitor, Malchus regretted his decision to meet Hagan in person. It had seemed a good idea, a way of ensuring his Mirages were lifelike. He had forgotten unpleasant smell and the noise of breathing sounds emitted by humans.

  It had been so long since he had spoken, it took a considerable effort to open his lungs and force the air out through his mouth. “You had a good journey, I trust,” he managed.

  “Yes, Your Honour, thank you.”

  “You must prepare yourself, for many of the Primitive practices are unpleasant and cause a disturbance in the mind.”

  Malchus led his visitor to a small room at the top of a tower, with windows that overlooked the complex. In this eerie, a tribute to his finest work, he had reproduced an ancient material known to the Primitives, made by insect larvae. He had decorated the material with a pattern of Chinese dragons.

  Hagan was plunged into the world of the Primitive. The table was heavy with food that he had not seen, even in Mirages: sea creatures, thick, juicy slices of flesh and strange yellow and purple plants.

  “I will return when you have eaten and continue the tour,” Malchus croaked and left the room.

  Hagan picked at a small creature with thin, spindly legs and was disappointed to find it tasted no different from his usual food. He tried the other dishes, but they were all the same.

  As he finished, Malchus appeared and led the way down to the garden where colours swirled through the air in ever changing patterns that overlapped each other, blending to form other colours before breaking away again. By comparison, the garden back home was quite dull. From the midst of each vibrant colour swirled different shapes, beasts he had never seen before, with swirling tails and breathing fire, with sharp claws and pointed teeth.

  “I am not familiar with these creatures,” Hagan said.

  “Dragons, primitive beasts. They will kill intruders, but you are safe.”

  Hagan followed, moving through the mass unsteadily. Small pieces of colour separated from the rest in a fountain of sparks, emerging at the entrance to a wide and low building

  Inside, dragons roamed freely, growling as Hagan approached. One of them thrust forward as he passed, knocking him off balance. As he steadied himself on the rough wall, a drop of blood oozed from his fingers while the dragon’s tail swung round, just missing him. He hurried through into the next room and found himself back home, in the courtyard of statues.

  “You have seen where I live?” Hagan asked.

  “When you encountered the dragon, you wished to be back home and projected the image. It is your own imagination which has produced this.”

  The courtyard faded slowly to reveal a room lined shelves on which stood layers and layers of a yellowish, flimsy material.

  “Inside this room are the most ancient and precious of documents, many thousands of years old.”

  Surely this could not be true. All documents were destroyed by order of the Leaders five hundred years ago.

  Malchus took a book from a shelf, tracing the strange letters of the title and stroking the brittle paper before handing it to Hagan. “The Holy Bible.” The strange sounds hung in the air between them. “The only one in the world. The Leaders ordered all copies to be destroyed in the 28th century when they realised the book carried a false message.”

  The Leaders had banned belief in life forms beyond the Earth, when a group of people claimed they had been spirited up into a space ship that had come from the planet Xoldei and a great panic had spread throughout the land. The Leaders had announced that all books carrying such a message must be destroyed, but a single copy had been preserved - unless this was another mirage.

  “Images of Primitive life have been used to create Mirages. You will experience life as the Primitives lived it, but you will have the protection of a mind filter. Your brain will be monitored. If your body produces too much adrenaline and cortisol, they will fade.”

  Over the coming days, Hagan immersed himself in the save, untamed world of the Primitives. As he le
arned about their factories, machines, farming methods, how they prepared food and what they did when they were not working, it seemed to him their world was one of useless actions, useless expenditure of energy, a world of pointless violence against each other; a strange world, where some had nowhere to live and others nothing to eat. And all the time there was the Outside. How could they have lived like that, spending time on the Outside with all its dangers and its harmful substances? They even ate together in the Outside.

  At the end of each day, he retraced his footsteps through the dusty rooms, emerging into the garden as if from a long, dark tunnel full of strange, unknown terrors, to face the dragons. Despite the mind filter, after each session his stomach felt as if it had been crushed, and his head throbbed.

  He hoped to hide this from Malchus. He had been hiding a secret for many years and feared it would come to light.

  From an early age, he had known that his mind was tainted, by the way it ached after information had been fed into his brain. It was a sign that his mind had impurities. If they had found out, he would have been demoted to live his life in the Abyss. Instead, he had been separated from the Workers at four years old and spent his life in the upper storeys of the dome, travelling on floating walkways high above the streets.

  He put up with the discomfort of learning about the Primitives as long as he could, but on the thirteenth day, he was unable to get out of bed at all. He pressed a button above his head as a button which Malchus had told him to use if he needed it. Invisible hands began to massage his forehead, reaching deep down inside his brain, returning the neurons to their normal setting. Within minutes he was able to get up to face another session.

  The time had come to face the unknown challenges of the reproduction process, unknown in the world of the Superiors. Malchus had told him how horrific this image was. “When I first viewed it, I believed I could survive without a Mind Filter. I lay sick for days, unable to speak or eat. I learned then that our minds still hold a trace of Primitive Man. The sensations I had then do not exist in our world and can only be described by the Primitive word revulsion.”