The Sixth Extinction: America (Omnibus Edition | Books 1 – 8)

by Johnson, Glen

  As he watched, a truck screeched around the corner. It was a firetruck. The soldiers swarmed around it, pulling up shutters and dragging out thick-coiled hoses. Now they looked more in control. They had obviously done drills before, but did that count when faced with the real thing?

  While they were all occupied, Alex ran across the street, heading toward the ER entrance.

  59

  Terrance, Lindell, and the others

  Mole Town hospital

  A military installation outside New York City

  “Look,” Naomi almost shouted just as she stopped herself. She was pointing toward the right of the burning building.

  “Jesus, is that Alex?” Juan said. His voice was a little slurred.

  “He’s heading towards the entrance,” Bonnie said.

  As a group, they cautiously moved down the long corridor. None of the men in the beds were moving yet; it would be hours before they started to feel human again.

  Alex burst through the main door, skidding on the shiny floor.

  “Where’s Troy?” Lindell questioned as soon as he spotted him. He was worried Troy may have been killed.

  “You have to follow me,” Alex shouted, while trying to catch his breath back. “Troy’s waiting in the truck.”

  “Thank the Lord,” the Reverend muttered, while hoisting Cody further up his shoulder. Sweat beaded the priest forehead. He could have done with just a sip of the amber liquor.

  Cody was starting to stir a little. He was muttering Abigail’s name repeatedly.

  “How far?” Terrance asked.

  “Three streets over.” Alex looked over the group. “Where’s Phyllis and Abigail?”

  Terrance shook his head.

  “There’re too many outside, fighting the fire. We have to go out the other side and double back around.”

  “Do you know the way?” Naomi asked.

  “No, I came along the main street, but there are loads of small alleys and back streets. I think most are fighting the fire. It’s now or never.”

  “Let’s go,” Lindell said. “Lead the way.”

  60

  Dr. Tracey and General Gordon

  Underground military facility

  The pod chambers viewing room

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  “What the hell is he doing?” the General shouted. “I didn’t authorize this!” He was red in the face, with spittle flecking from his thin lips.

  “I’m sorry,” Doctor Tracey stated, “I presumed he had full access.”

  The General walked in circles, trying to abate his anger.

  Why would he want to go inside? Is he trying to destroy it? Can he? The General was worried. He now held the only pod. He couldn’t afford to lose it. All his plans counted on it.

  “Stand aside Doctor.” The General spat out the last word as if it tasted vile.

  “Doctor Bachman, what the fuck do you think you are doing in my pod room?” The General had his finger pressed down hard on the button. The tip went white.

  There was no answer.

  The General spun around to the tubby Doctor.

  “Why isn’t he answering me, goddammit?”

  “Um...” Tracey ran his hands over the keyboard, checking charts on a monitor. “The radio is working perfectly,” was all he could say.

  The General stared through the thick window. He watched Bachman slowly make his way across the chamber, carefully picking his way over the thick root-like tendrils that crisscrossed the floor, and every other surface.

  “I want a soldier suited up and in there ASAP,” the General shouted. He didn’t bother turning to the soldiers behind him.

  Two of the soldiers nodded and jogged out the door down into the Clean Room.

  “Stop him at any cost,” he shouted just as the door was hissing closed. “Shoot him if you have to!”

  61

  Doctor Bachman

  The pod chamber

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  The suit was hot and heavy. It felt like he was trying to walk through molasses. It was hard to look down because the suit bloated out like a balloon. He was now inside the pod chamber. It felt strange, as if the chamber was vibrating, running through his body.

  All sounds were muffled inside the suit. All he could hear was his heavy breathing and the sound of the plastic rubbing – all other sounds were secondary.

  “Doctor Bachman, what the fuck do you think you are doing in my pod room?” squawked through his radio.

  He wasn’t concerned if he upset the General. He did draft him in to help after all.

  Bachman turned a knob on his thick belt. The radio went silent.

  From the corner of his eye, he could just make out the General stamping around like a child having a tantrum in the viewing room.

  All Bachman could now hear was his own heart beating in his ears. The facemask would steam up for a fraction of a second before the clean air wiped it away.

  Like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, he moved his bulk slowly across the pod chamber.

  He could just about feel the roots under his thick rubber boots, as he struggled to push them aside to get a firm footing.

  He felt something rub past. The tendrils were reacting to his touch; they started slivering about like thick black, wet eels.

  The large pod was taller than him, almost eight feet high, and four wide. It no longer pulsed like a huge rotten heart; it now shimmered as it vibrated. It looked like an out of focus object.

  Bachman looked up.

  The smaller six pods were too high to reach. They pulsed like mini lungs; looking like they were breathing in and out. Small dribbles of black spores drifted from the little pods. The spores swirled around the chamber as if carried on a breeze. There was no air movement within the chamber.

  They must be moving under their own power?

  Bachman knew the large pod needed human flesh contact to activate it. He slowly made his way to the shimmering black mound of what looked like wet black, lumpy leather.

  Movement caught his eye. There were two soldiers in the Clean Room. One was struggling to get into the Hazmat suit. The second soldier was just as inept. Together they had no idea how to put it on. Nevertheless, they were trying. The Generals stern gaze gave them motivation.

  Bachman made his way to the large pod. The floor squirmed under his boots. He didn’t know what he thought he could achieve, but standing around while the General had this thing locked away safe and sound, was making his stomach churn.

  As he got closer, he could hear the pod through his protective clothing. It sounded like a deep echoing bass, as if he was hearing it underwater. He hoped his proximity to the pod, inside the thick walls of the chamber, wasn’t bombarding him with too much radiation. It was like getting an x-ray. A little did no harm. He hoped he wasn’t making himself sick.

  The wet looking, leather black, warty pod filled his whole plastic viewing port.

  Bachman could hear the soldiers shouting behind him, muffled through the thick glass in the Clean Room. He could imagine the General screaming abuse up in the Viewing Room.

  Bachman raised a gloved hand and touched the vibrating skin of the pod.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  62

  Alex, Juan, Bonnie, Tierra, Dante, Cody, Jessica, and Frank

  Mole Town street

  A military installation outside New York City

  When they all made it safely through the deserted hospital, out into an empty back street, Lindell and Terrance stated they had something they needed to do.

  Alex tried to reason with them, stating they had only just all found each other, which was a miracle, and they shouldn’t jinks it by splitting up again.

  However, the brothers stated they had to do something in order to guarantee everyone’s safety, and to make sure that the truck had time to exit the town. They didn’t elaborate due to not having time.

  The group split in two, with the King brothers running one
way along the street, and Alex, Naomi, Juan, Bonnie, Tierra carrying the oddly silent Dante, and Jessica and the Priest dragging Cody between them, ran the other.

  Jessica had handed her handgun over to Alex, stating it would be best if he had it. She could also use both hands to help with Cody whose eyes were now fluttering open, and he could move his legs a little.

  The streets were deserted. All the soldiers were helping to contain the fire. There were no females ambling around.

  They quickly made progress from block to block, always heading towards the truck and Troy. The barricaded town was eerily silent like a ghost town.

  A mighty boom echoed throughout the streets, rocking the ground.

  Alex presumed the fire had detonated something inside the building – a gasoline or propane tank.

  Good, it will give them something else to sort out; Alex reasoned. Keeping them busy, and hopefully it might have taken them by surprise and killed a few.

  “Shit! Juan shouted.

  Alex had been so busy scanning the shops and windows that he didn’t notice that as they turned a corner, the street was blocked by a pile of wrecked vehicles. The metal barricade was twenty-five feet high. A single metal ladder was welded to the twisted wreckage, with a walkway at the top for lookouts. It was empty.

  Alex scanned the surroundings.

  “In here,” he said, waving to an open fire exit to a building. “We can go through, out onto the street on the other side.”

  Everyone started toward the door.

  Alex stood waiting for them all to run through. Just as he was about to head through last something caught the corner of his eye.

  A soldier? his brain screamed. He raised the gun ready to fire. However, as he turned his head, the movement wasn’t a soldier, it was infected naked people pouring over the barricade. The sound from the explosion and the dense smoke was a signal to all the infected in the area. Like a surge of frenzied animals, the creatures were heading towards the new noise.

  63

  Terrance and Lindell King

  Mole Town street

  A military installation outside New York City

  With just the two of them, they moved much faster. They had a plan, and hopefully it would work. First, they needed to reach the main gate.

  They zigzagged across streets and down alleys, always alert. Both run with machine guns held in both hands, pointed to the ground, ready to bring up at a moment’s notice.

  It was strange seeing streets clean of wreckage and abandoned cars and littered with dropped belongings. The smashed windows were cleaned up and even the bins emptied. It was surreal considering what was happening over the barriers, and the fact this was essentially a prison.

  Lindell made a click with his tongue and nodded toward the end of the street. A female was there stood motionless, staring in a cracked window. There was nothing on display – possibly taken in the riots, but she stood just staring in, or looking at her own reflection.

  She had on a scruffy summer dress with a parker over the top. Her arms lay motionless at her sides.

  Then they could hear sniffing. She was crying.

  “No time,” Terrance whispered. He wished they could help everyone; they just didn’t have the time or resources, and for all they knew she could be a soldier’s wife or girlfriend, and she could start screaming the moment she noticed them.

  “Through here,” Lindell said. He was stood next to a door to a small hair salon. “We can cut through.”

  Just as Terrance jogged passed, through the door, a scream made Lindell spin around.

  Shit, she’s seen us and is letting everyone know.

  However, as he spun around he saw the woman knocked to the ground by a group of infected that were charging down the street.

  She disappeared under a spray of blood as she gave a long wet gurgling scream.

  64

  Doctor Bachman

  The pod chamber

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  The sound was deafening. The heavy looking tendrils that crisscrossed the floor and clung to the walls, and hung from the ceiling were thrashing around like things possessed. Loud cracking sounds echoed throughout the chamber.

  Bachman didn’t realize the roots could move so fast, or could lift under their own power; he presumed the weight kept them in contact with surfaces, more pushing than moving. However, these were swinging wildly in the air – flexible appendages.

  A shattering sound made him spin around. A thick root had forced its way into the Viewing Room, and was now thrashing around, knocking Doctor Tracey, the General, and the others to the floor with bone-crushing force. He could see splashes of blood flick up the walls, and now the window was broken; he could hear their muffled shouts.

  Another root shattered the door leading to the Clean Room, and punched straight through the soldier in a Hazmat suit, who was just making his way through the fumigable transfer hatch. The root went straight through him like a hot knife through butter. The soldier died instantly. He was now being tossed around as the root continued to pummel him against the wall. The other soldier was using his machine gun to fire at a whipping root. It didn’t seem affected. The root sideswiped, taking the soldiers head clean off. With a wet thud, the body tumbled onto the floor. The root continued thrashing, smearing blood and gore everywhere.

  Bachman was on his knees, close to the large pod. He hoped the thrashing roots wouldn’t come too close.

  He watched as the spores that had been contained pour into the Clean Room and Viewing Room. He could see Doctor Tracey gripping his throat as the black spores poured down his throat and up his nostrils.

  A thick root punched a hole through the thick doors of the Viewing Room, and took it off its hinges, tossing it against the wall like cardboard. Spores poured through. The underground base was now compromised. As he watched, he saw the spores rush into the air ducts, as if they knew exactly what they were doing.

  Just as Bachman thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, he noticed something strange with the smaller pods. During all the action, and violence, the small pods had changed. Spindly, spider-like appendages had pushed through the wet looking leathery skin. Each had ten thin legs clicking together, with armor like covering. The legs turned upwards, pushing the smaller pods away from the ceiling, and one by one; the pods disconnected from the thick hanging roots. They dropped onto the chamber floor with a bounce.

  At first, they seem to tumble and walk as if drunk until they become accustomed to moving. Then, like lightning, the small-legged pods scurried over the floor, up the wall, and into the Viewing Room, and then shot out the wrecked door into the corridor outside.

  This can’t be happening!

  Movement made Bachman tumble to the side. He spun around, just as a large thick black, wet looking leg slammed down into the concrete floor, sending chips of concrete flying, to ping off his suit. The large pod was growing legs of its own. A thick, thrashing root hit him in the head, sending him flying backwards. The force of the blow knocked him unconscious.

  65

  Alex, Juan, Bonnie, Tierra, Dante, Cody, Jessica, and Frank

  Mole Town street

  A military installation outside New York City

  “RUN!” Alex shouted as he slammed the fire exit closed. The soldiers were now the least of their worries.

  The others didn’t know why they were told to run, but they did; it was just something they had got used to; it took too much time to ask why.

  Jessica and Frank struggled with Cody, but managed to navigate him through the kitchen of what looked like a Chinese restaurant.

  A slam on the fire door echoed through the building. It was quickly followed by another.

  “Infected?” Juan asked, knowing if it were soldiers they wouldn’t have run into it.

  Alex simply nodded.

  “Fuck!”

  They made their way through the main part of the restaurant. Tables were stacked against a wall. Many had legs missing, a
nd the tops broken, but they were stacked nonetheless.

  They were a few streets away from the soldiers, so as they ran out onto the street, they couldn’t see anyone. But they could hear them. Gunfire echoed between the buildings. Muffled shouting could be heard.

  They headed for the truck that could be seen in the distance.

  From around the corner three infected creatures appeared. They charged at the group.

  Alex knew they wouldn’t be able to outrun them. He knew he had to shoot what was once people. They used to have lives, problems, families. It wasn’t their fault, they had been turned into something else – a host carrying something vile and deadly.

  “Head to the truck!” he shouted. He stood his ground. He didn’t want to waste bullets; he would have to wait until they got closer. If he hit an arm, they would keep charging. He planted his feet apart, just as he had seen at the movies, and lined a body up down the barrel. His hand shook as the creatures rushed straight at him, with their wide mouths gaping open, and red eyes staring, anticipating the kill.

  The others started running toward the truck. All except Juan. He didn’t stand next to Alex waiting for the creatures to reach him; he started striding towards them.

  “For god’s sake Juan, what’re you doing?” Alex shouted as he noticed Juan out the corner of his eye.

  Juan had the gun held straight out, taking aim as he walked. His first shot took down a teenage female who already had half her face missing. The second bullet spun a man around, and he tumbled down hard. The third bullet hit a woman straight between the eyes, and she skidded along the ground and rolled over, stopping a mere meter away from Juan’s trainers, as she gave out a gurgle as her eyes dulled. Just as the man was climbing to his feet, Juan strode up to him, kicked him in the back to spin him over, and as the man’s deformed mouth opened wide to scream at him, Juan put a bullet through his right eye.