The 6th Extinction (54 page)

The wedding had been at sunset on a great swath of lawn, beautifully lit, flowers bountiful, including his wife’s favorite chrysanthemums, each petal a deep burgundy trimmed in gold. The hotel had even picked up the tab, a small thank-you for all the pair had done to save the valley and surrounding area. The generous offer was made possible because tourism was still slow to return.

Bioterrorism and nuclear bombs . . .

It would take a little more time to shake that reputation, but it made it easier to arrange these last-minute wedding plans. They had held off until Josh was recovered enough to attend, sporting the latest in DARPA prosthetics. He and Monk had plenty to talk over at the dinner table. Lisa’s kid brother was remarkably resilient considering the circumstances, even amped to get back out on the mountains and face new challenges.

The final reason they’d chosen this venue was its proximity to the cleanup and monitoring of the neighboring Mono Lake area. Lisa was still working with Dr. Edmund Dent, the virologist, and his team. In turn, Painter used the opportunity to spend some time away from the office with Lisa. Kat was able to handle the day-to-day, with the exception of this weekend.

She and Monk had left shortly after dinner with the two girls propped up in their arms, returning to their rooms before an early morning flight home. During their absence, Gray had been holding down the fort out in D.C., having to stick close to home for personal reasons.

Some other guests, well . . .

Kowalski sidled up to them, his jacket over one arm, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He puffed on a cigar.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke in here,” Lisa warned.

Kowalski took the stogie out and stared at it. “C’mon, it’s a Cuban. Can’t get any more formal than that.”

Jenna passed behind him with Nikko on a leash. “Gotta see a man about a horse!” she said, heading for the parking lot. “Or at least Nikko does.”

Like Josh, the Siberian husky had fully recovered, even earning a medal for his actions.

Kowalski scowled after the pair and shook his head. “First Kane, now that dog. Before long, Sigma will have to build its own kennel.” He pointed his cigar at Painter. “And don’t get any ideas—I’m not cleaning up after them.”

“Deal.”

Kowalski nodded and headed away in a cloud of cigar smoke.

Painter sighed and held out his hand. “Shall we retire ourselves?”

“Certainly.” She placed her palm atop his. “But you weren’t expecting to sleep?”

With a gentle tug, Painter pulled her to him, slid his hand behind her head, and kissed her, breaking away only long enough to say, “Who can sleep? We’ve got a family to start.”

May 30, 6:36
A
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.
Lee Vining, California

Jenna headed down 395 through the center of town in her new Ford F-150 pickup, freshly decaled with the star of the California State Park Rangers. It was courtesy of the department after everything that had happened. Even the interior still had that new-car smell.

Not that it’ll stay that way for long
.

Nikko panted in her ear from the backseat. She would normally scold him, but instead she reached back and scuffled his muzzle. Though he had recovered physically, she could read the smaller signs of post-traumatic stress. He clung more to her and was incrementally less apt to charge into situations, but he was slowly recovering even from that.

Like me
.

She still remembered the sense of feeling herself slipping away, the fog flowing thicker, filling her up and pushing all else out.

Even now she shuddered. She found herself constantly doing personal inventory. If she forgot her keys, was that a sign of residual damage? What if she fumbled for a word or couldn’t recall an address or phone number? That alone was disconcerting.

So she had taken to getting up at daybreak. She had always loved the mornings on the lake. The sun turned the mirrored waters into myriad shades, changing with each season. The streets stayed mostly deserted. Or if it was high season, then the city would just be beginning to wake, yawning and stretching its legs.

The quiet of the mornings had always given her time to think, to collect herself. And right now she needed that more than anything.

But mornings meant one other thing to her now.

She picked up the radio and called into dispatch. “Bill, I’m going to stop and fuel up.”

“Got it.”

She parked under the yellow sign of Nicely’s Restaurant and hopped out, followed by Nikko. She headed inside, the bell tinkling. Behind the counter, Barbara lifted the to-go cup already full of hot black coffee, the best in town, and tossed Nikko a dog biscuit, which he caught midair, a skill learned from years of experience.

But she now had a new routine.

A figure called to her from a booth, not even bothering to look up from his paper. “Morning, dear.”

She crossed and slid into the booth with her coffee. “So what’s your day look like?” she asked Drake. He had accepted a permanent position as a Marine trainer at the mountain base.

“You know,” he said, “probably have to save the planet again.”

She nodded, sipped her coffee, winced at the heat. “SSDD.”

Same shit, different day
.

He passed her the sports page, which she accepted.

Nothing like keeping it simple.

2:07
P
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M
., GMT
Queen Maud Land, Antarctica

“Mate, if you keep coming back here, you might want to sign up for my frequent flier program.”

Jason clapped the UK airman on the shoulder and zippered more snugly into his parka, pulling up the hood. “I just might have to do that, Barstow.”

Jason hopped out of the Twin Otter and onto the ice. He stared at the cluster of buildings that had spread like a tumble of toy blocks in the shadow of the black crags of the Fenriskjeften mountains. It was as if the Back Door substation had been a seed that had germinated out of the warmth below and sprouted into this ever-growing international research complex on the frozen surface.

They’d made a lot of progress
.

Still, he remembered that journey a month ago, rising out of Hell’s Cape through that Back Door with Gray, Kowalski, and Stella. As Stella had promised, they found an emergency CAAT garaged on the surface and used it to venture back to the coast, joining up with Dr. Von Der Bruegge and the remaining researchers from the Haley VI station. With the solar storm ended, they were able to contact McMurdo Station for help.

Now I’m back again
.

But he had a good reason. She came out of one of the tallest of the new structures, which was painted in the red-and-black of the British Antarctic Survey, a match to the Otter’s coloring. Even her parka had the letters BAS emblazoned on the chest.

She strode toward him, her hood down, as if strolling across a park versus forging through an Antarctic winter. This time of year the continent was sunk into a perpetual midnight, but the sweep of bright stars and a silvery full moon offered plenty of light, especially when accompanied by the swirling electric tides of the aurora australis.

“Jason, it’s so great to see you.” Stella hugged him, her embrace lingering a little longer than expected—but he wasn’t complaining.

“I’ve got so much to show you, to tell you.” She started to lead him toward the station, but he kept his place.

“I’ve been reading the reports,” he said, smiling. “You do have a lot on your hands. Opening select sections of Hell’s Cape as protected biospheres must be a sensitive endeavor. I kept promising you some experienced help, so I’m here finally delivering on that in person.”

Jason waved to the rear compartment of the Otter. The hatch opened and two people climbed out in well-worn arctic gear. The woman tucked a long tail of curly black hair, shot through with a few strands of gray, back as she pulled up her parka’s hood. She was helped out by a taller man, ruggedly built, whose age most people would have never guessed. Like their gear, they looked well worn together, an inseparable couple.

Jason introduced them. “My mother, Ashley Carter. And stepdad, Benjamin Brust.”

Stella shook their hands, a surprised smile making her look even more beautiful. “It’s great to meet you both. Come inside and we can get you all warm.”

She led them all toward the Back Door station, the new entrance to the subterranean world below. As she turned way, Ben hung back and nudged Jason in the side with an elbow.

“Nice, mate,” Ben said, his Aussie accent twanging a little richer, like it always did when teasing him. “Now I see why you wanted to come and introduce us in person. Found yourself a little sheila.”

Both women glanced back at them.

Jason lowered his head, shaking it a bit.

Ben scooted up between the others and took both Ashley and Stella under his arms. “So the kid tells me you found an interesting cavern system under the ice.”

“Do you know much about caves?” Stella asked.

“I’ve been known to putter around a bit.”

His stepfather was actually an expert caver, with decades of experience, most of it right here on this continent.

“Well, I doubt you’ve seen anything like what we found down here,” Stella said proudly.

“You’d be surprised how much we have seen,” his mother said with a grin. “Someday we’ll have to invite you back to
our
place.”

Ben nodded. “Might be an adventure in there for all of us.” He glanced back to Jason. “What do you say? Up for some fun?”

Jason hurried to keep up with them.

Why did I think this was such a good idea?

8:23
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., EDT
Roanoke, Virginia

Kendall Hess drove the rental car up the long tree-lined entryway to the private mental health facility. Rolling manicured lawns spread to garden parkways and small fountains. The building itself was divided into four wings, branching out like a cross in the center of these highly secured grounds.

The hospital wasn’t on any directory and few knew of these forty acres that bordered the Blue Ridge Parkway outside of Roanoke, Virginia. It was for special cases, those of interest to national security. He had to reach out to contacts with BRAG, the FBI’s Bioterrorism Risk Assessment Group, to facilitate getting a bed here.

He pulled through the final checkpoint, showed his identification, and parked. He had to leave a fingerprint at the front desk and was escorted by one of the nurses.

“How’s he doing?” Kendall asked.

“The same. If you’d like to talk to his case clinician?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The nurse—a soft-spoken, sober young woman dressed in blues and thick-soled shoes—glanced to him. “He does have a visitor.”

He nodded.

That was good
.

They crossed together down a long sterile hall painted in pastel colors that were said to be soothing. Finally they reached a door that required a special passkey. It led to a small clinical assessment space neighboring the patient’s room. A one-way glass mirror separated the two spaces.

Kendall stepped to the viewing window. The neighboring room was paneled in rich woods, with a faux fireplace that flickered silk flames. Bookshelves lined the far wall, packed full.

He found it both sad and somehow reassuring that books still brought Cutter comfort, as if buried deep down under the assaulted cerebral cortex some memory persisted, some love of knowledge.

He saw that Ashuu sat in a corner, but she stared leadenly out the window.

Kendall had arranged for Cutter’s family to be taken care of, to offer them lodging and a small stipend to remain nearby. Jori was going to a local Roanoke school, settling in well with the adaptability of the young. Cutter’s wife was more worrisome. He suspected she would eventually return to the forests, maybe once Jori was in college. The child was bright, certainly his father’s son.

Cutter lay on his back on the bed, his wrists in padded restraints, not that he was violent, but sometimes he harmed himself if not watched. He did take daily walks with the staff, and as he was in the presence of the books, he was also calmer when out in nature, some echo of his former self.

“They’re getting him settled for the night,” the nurse said. “The boy reads to him most every evening.”

Kendall flicked on the intercom to listen as Jori sat on a bedside chair, the book propped on his thin knees, and read to his father.

The nurse nodded to the volume in hand. “His son told me his father used to read that book to him every night.”

Kendall read the title and felt a twinge of guilt.

Rudyard Kipling’s
The Jungle Book
.

Jori’s voice was sweet, full of love for the words, for the memories they conjured.

“This is the hour of pride and power,

Talon and tush and claw.

O hear the call! Good Hunting, All

That keep the Jungle Law!”

11:48
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M
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Takoma Park, Maryland

Gray sat on the porch swing, a cool beer balanced on the rail in front of him. The night was still hot, over ninety degrees, heavily humid. It put him in a sour mood—or maybe it was the long day visiting various assisted living facilities, narrowing his choices to those with memory care units.

A cool hand slipped into his fingers. With just the touch, the pressure inside him loosened. He squeezed her hand, thanking her.

Seichan sat next to him, freshly returned from Hong Kong. She had dumped her bags at his apartment and come straight here, roaring down the street on her motorcycle, arriving in time for dinner. She and his father got along handsomely.