The 6th Extinction (41 page)

Then what was it?

The professor answered his unspoken question. “I think Wright set smaller charges, enough to blow a hole through the Hell’s Cape station.”

“Why would he do that?”

Harrington pointed toward the vanished CAAT. “I was trying to tell you . . . Atop his vehicle, he had a large disk strapped down, partially covered by a tarp. I think it was an LRAD dish. Had to be four times the size of the ones guarding the station.”

Gray stared in the direction of Wright’s trajectory across the cavern, aiming for the deeper sections of this lost world.

He suddenly understood Wright’s plan.

He pictured a hole blasted through the superstructure of Hell’s Cape, exposing this biosphere to the larger world above.
If Wright got far enough into this system and swung that large LRAD dish back toward the mouth of these tunnels . . .

“He intends to flush this world out into the open,” Gray realized aloud, picturing that sonic device driving the creatures of this land toward his newly blasted exit.

Harrington looked sick. “The damage wrought by these aggressive XNA species being set loose upon our established ecosystems would be incalculable.” He shook his head. “Why would anyone do that?”

“The question of why can wait,” Gray said. “For now, we’ve got to stop that from ever happening.”

Stella nodded. “If we could reach the Back Door, set off those bunker busters, and collapse the tunnels at the far end, we could still keep everything bottled up. Regardless if Wright turns on that massive LRAD dish.”

It was their best hope.

The rig’s horn blasted again, now a continuous wail for attention.

Gray pointed to the bouncing ramp, yelling to be heard. “Jason, Stella! Don’t let anything in!”

If Harrington was right, they couldn’t let anything slow them down.

After he got nods from Jason and Stella, Gray rushed toward the front of the rig, drawing the professor in his wake. He vaulted up the ladder and helped Harrington into the upper cab.

Kowalski scowled back at them, letting go of the chain that led to the blaring horn. The wail finally cut off. “’Bout time.” A thick arm pointed forward. “Doc, is that your Back Door?”

The rig’s massive headlamps cut a swath through the darkness, revealing an installation encrusted like a steel barnacle high up the far wall. The gondola cables along the roof dove down to meet this small base, which from its interconnected series of boxy rooms and sealed tunnels could be mistaken for a grounded space station.

“That’s the substation,” Harrington agreed. “We wedged it into a natural crack, a fissure that led almost to the surface. We drilled a tunnel the rest of the way up.”

Creating this rear exit
.

“Then we have a problem,” Kowalski said, lowering his arm and drawing their attention to the terrain directly ahead.

Between the rig and the Back Door, a wide tributary cut across their path. The flow churned swiftly, frothing its path through jagged rocks and sharp stalagmites. It looked too deep for the snow cruiser to cross on its own.

But all was not hopeless—or at least not
completely
hopeless.

“What do you think?” Kowalski asked.

Off to the left, an old wood-and-steel bridge arched over the river. During their passage through the Coliseum, the remains of other spans dotted this watery landscape, likely built by the Americans who first explored through here. It must have been a daunting undertaking.

Gray remembered Harrington’s story of Operation Highjump. No wonder Byrd needed so many ships, aircraft, and manpower. Venturing down here would’ve been like exploring the surface of Mars.

As the cruiser barreled toward the bridge, Gray noticed several of the railroad ties that formed the span ahead had rotted or fallen away long ago. He pictured the ruins of the other bridges.

“Think it’ll hold us?” Kowalski asked.

Harrington chewed his lower lip, plainly searching for some reason to be optimistic. “These old trestles must have been originally engineered to handle the weight and size of Byrd’s cruiser.”

But that was seventy years ago
.

Still, Gray didn’t see any other choice. The Back Door still lay three hundred yards off. To reach the station in time to stop Wright, they needed the rig’s speed—along with the relative safety of its refuge.

“We’ll have to risk it,” Gray said. “With enough momentum, we might be able to fly over it before it collapses under us.”

“You’re the boss,” Kowalski said.

The big man got the cruiser moving faster again, using the last of the diesel fumes to eke out more speed.

Gray called to the two below. “Grab something and hold on!”

He considered kicking Jason, Stella, and Harrington off this bus before they risked this dangerous crossing. But to do so would cost them too much time, momentum, and fuel. Besides, if all went to hell, leaving the three of them alone would be no safer than what they were about to attempt here.

Maybe even less so
.

“Hold tight!” Gray yelled as the cruiser reached the river and raced for the bridge.

Gray cringed as the front tires hit the first set of wooden ties, but the stout beams held. He let out a slow breath, still bracing himself for the worst. The rig shot out along the span, which stretched fifty
long
yards ahead.

In the rearview mirror, he watched a couple of planks shatter under their passing weight and fall into the churning maw below. But the massive tires rolled their way across any smaller gaps. It was nothing the rig couldn’t handle. So far speed and momentum were on their side.

Just not luck.

Something fiery shot low over the river, cruising toward them.

Gray caught a glimpse of its source. A pool of light revealed the distant presence of the second of the small CAATs. Apparently it had not followed its bigger brother, but instead had been sent to ambush them.

A figure stood atop that vehicle’s cabin, risking the dangers here, balancing the smoking length of an RPG launcher in his arms.

The fired rocket struck the bridge ahead of them, exploding old ties and rending apart steel.

Unable to stop in time, the snow cruiser hit the blasted gap—and plunged headlong toward the river.

FOURTH

UNCIVILIZATION

Σ

25

April 30, 12:45
P
.
M
. AMT
Roraima, Brazil

Who knew so much trouble could come in such a small package?

Standing in the shadows at the edge of his estate, Cutter Elwes watched the young woman step tentatively from the helicopter to the summit of the tepui. She held a hand up against the sun’s glare, pulling the brim of her baseball cap lower. She wore a loose blouse and vest, her hair in a ponytail in back.

Not unattractive
.

But nothing like the beauty that followed out at her heels and grabbed her elbow. Cutter smiled, seeing the twin of his wife, a match to Ashuu’s every feature, except Rahei had a heart of stone compared to her sister’s gentle soul. Even now Rahei showed no emotion at seeing Cutter, only turning those obsidian eyes upon him and drawing her captive in his direction.

Earlier, Cutter had received a fax of the newcomer’s passport, found while searching her belongings after she’d been captured. A brief background check had revealed many interesting details about his new guest, a woman named Jenna Beck. Apparently she was with the California Park Rangers, stationed at Mono Lake, where Kendall Hess had established his research facility.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Mateo had reported a persistent ranger who had possibly witnessed the kidnapping of the good doctor. The man had also related the details of a hilltop firefight with that same ranger.

Could this be that person?

Interesting
.

Curious to know more, Cutter stepped out of the shade of the cave that sheltered his home. The sun blazed above, but still failed to burn off the mists that shrouded the flanks of his mountaintop home.

He noted several emotions flash across the woman’s face as she spotted him. From the slight widening of her eyes, one expression was plain and easy to read.

Recognition.

So she knows me
.

Had her ill-timed visit to that base at Mono Lake triggered events that led to the American team arriving in Boa Vista, inquiring about a dead man? This one question raised others, but there would be time for that in a moment.

He stepped forward and offered his hand to shake.

She ignored it. “You’re Cutter Elwes.”

He gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment, seeing no reason for subterfuge at this stage.

“And you’re Jenna Beck,” he answered. “The park ranger who has caused us so much grief.”

He found a certain amount of pleasure in her crinkled look of surprise. Still, the woman recovered smoothly.

“Where is Dr. Hess?” she asked, glancing around, her gaze lingering on the house behind his shoulders.

“He’s safe and sound. Doing some work for me.”

Doubt shone in her face.

Cutter had a question of his own. “How did you find me, Ms. Beck? I’ve gone to great lengths to stay among the deceased.”

The woman weighed her answer before speaking. A defiant lift of her chin suggested she opted for the truth, devil be damned.

“It was Amy Serpry,” she said. “The mole you planted in Dr. Hess’s lab.”

Cutter had already suspected as much, as his prior attempts to contact his young Dark Eden acolyte had failed. Initially he had assumed she had died during the containment breach, but plainly she must have been captured.

“And where is Amy now?” Cutter wondered how much the woman had told the authorities. Not that he was overly worried. Amy had never visited his tepui and knew nothing about the true extent of his plans.

“Dead,” Beck said. “From the same organism she unleashed in California.”

Cutter searched inwardly to judge how he felt about this loss, but he discovered no strong emotional response. “Amy knew the risks. She was a dedicated soldier for Dark Eden, happy to advance the cause.”

“She didn’t look
happy
at the end.”

He shrugged. “Hard sacrifices have to be made.”

As will many more, which this young woman will soon learn
.

He motioned for Rahei to bring the prisoner along as he turned away. He headed toward his home’s front door. He caught a small face peering from around the edge. His son, Jori, was always curious about strangers. It was his own fault, for keeping the boy so isolated.

He waved his son back inside.

Here was one visitor Jori didn’t need to meet.

“I want to see Dr. Hess,” the woman persisted. “Before I say another word.”

Despite the woman’s bluster, he knew Rahei had the skills to get her talking within the hour, but that wouldn’t be necessary.

He glanced back. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”

12:48
P
.
M
.

It can’t be . . .

Kendall stared at the computer screen in the main lab as Mateo loomed in the background.

After completing his analysis of the genetic code that Cutter designed—the code meant for Kendall’s viral shell—he had shed his biosafety suit and returned to a workstation in the outer room.

He had used the CRISPR-Cas9 technique to break down Cutter’s code, gene by gene, nucleotide by nucleotide. He discovered the code was a simple one: a single strand of RNA, a common presentation for a whole family of viruses.

This minimalist approach suggested that Cutter had likely picked an ordinary virus, then engineered new code into it, using the same hybridization technique that he employed to create the chimeric species populating that sinkhole.

But what was the original viral source?

It was a simple puzzle to solve. He ran the code through an identification program and found a 94 percent match with the common norovirus. This particular bug was the plague of cruise ships or anywhere people gathered in great numbers. It was one of the most highly contagious viruses in nature, requiring only twenty or so particles to infect a person. It could be transmitted through bodily fluid, through the air, or simply by coming in contact with a contaminated surface.

If you wanted to create a universally contagious organism, the norovirus would be a good choice. The disadvantage was that it was highly sensitive to common disinfectants, bleaches, and detergents, so could be readily thwarted.

But if that virus were armored inside my engineered shell, nothing would stop it
.

Still, the norovirus was not generally fatal, especially in healthy individuals. It only triggered flu-like symptoms. So that raised a larger concern.

What did Cutter add to the mix?

What made up that other 6 percent of the code?

The remaining material appeared to be the same repeated sequences for a specific protein-coding gene. To figure out
what
protein that was, he ran his findings through a modeling program that converted the code into a string of amino acids, then from that chain, the computer built a three-dimensional model of that final protein.

He stared at the model of it now, watching it slowly spin on the screen.