The 6th Extinction (7 page)

It was all she could do.

That, and give her hunters a good chase.

She set off at a low sprint, aiming away from the flames toward the darkest section of the hilltop. She made it fifty yards—then a shout rose to her left, a triumphant bawl of a hunter who had spotted their prey.

She ran faster with one last thought burning brightly.

Good-bye, my buddy
.

8:35
P
.
M
.

Dr. Kendall Hess jolted at the staccato retorts of rifle fire. He sat straighter in his seat, straining his shoulders as he struggled to see out the helicopter’s side window. The plastic ties that bound his wrists behind him cut painfully into his skin.

What was happening?

He struggled through a foggy drug haze.
Ketamine and Valium
, he guessed, though he couldn’t be sure what sedative had been shot into his thigh after he was captured at the lab.

Still, he had witnessed what had transpired after the helicopter had fled the base. His entire body ached at the memory of the explosion, of the countermeasures he had managed to release as a last resort. He prayed such drastic action would contain what had escaped from the Level 4 biolab, but he couldn’t be certain. What he and his team had created in that subterranean lab was an early prototype, far too dangerous to ever be released into the real world. But someone had let it loose, a saboteur.

But why?

He pictured the faces of his colleagues.

Gone, all gone
.

Another burst of gunfire echoed across the fiery hilltop.

Kendall had been left with one guard in the helicopter, but the man stared out the other window, plainly lusting to join the hunt. If only the pilot had failed to spot the fleeing truck earlier—from its logo, a park ranger vehicle—Kendall might have held out some hope, both for himself and for anyone within a hundred miles of his former lab.

Again he prayed his countermeasures held. The smoke contained a noxious concoction engineered by Hess’s team: a weapon-grade mix of VX and saxitoxin, a blend of a paralytic agent with a lethal organophosphate derivative. Nothing living could survive the slightest exposure.

Except for what I created
.

His team had still not discovered a way to kill that synthetic microorganism. The engineered nerve gas was only meant to
contain
its spread, to kill any organism that might carry it farther afield.

As the barrage of gunfire continued out there, he pictured the unknown ranger doing his best to hold out, but the man was clearly outnumbered and outgunned. Still, the ranger kept fighting.

Can I do any less?

Kendall struggled through his drug-induced fog for clarity. He pulled at the snug plastic ties, using the pain to help him focus. One mystery occupied his full attention. The saboteurs had shot everyone at the base or left them to die with the explosion.

So why am I still alive? What do they need from me?

Kendall was determined not to cooperate, but he was also realistic enough to know that he could be broken. Anyone could be broken. There was only one way he could thwart them.

As another spate of gunfire erupted, Kendall twisted his arms enough to punch the release on his seat harness. As he was freed, he tugged the hatch open and fell sideways out of the cabin. He managed to catch one leg under him as he hit the ground. He used the support to propel himself away from the helicopter.

A shocked bellow rose from the cabin, coming from the lone guard—followed by a loud
crack
.

Dirt exploded near his left foot.

He ignored the threat, trusting that his captors wanted to keep him alive. He fled headlong, stumbling with his arms still tied behind him. His legs tripped on scrubby grass and ripped through snagging bushes. He aimed for the smoky darkness swirling around the lower slopes of the hill.

That path led to certain death.

He ran faster toward it.

It’s better this way
.

With the hunt for the ranger occupying everyone’s attention, he grew more confident.

I can make it . . . it’s what I deserve—

Then a shadow overtook him, impossibly fast, shivering across the landscape, lit by the fires blazing on the hilltop. A hard blow struck him in the lower back, sending him sprawling facedown into the scrub brush. He rolled over, scrabbling backward on hands and feet.

A massive shape stood limned against the flames.

Kendall didn’t need to see the ragged scar to recognize the leader of the assault team. The figure stalked over to him, raised an arm, and slammed down the steel butt of a rifle.

With his hands still pinned behind him, Kendall couldn’t deflect the blow. Pain exploded in his nose and forehead. He collapsed backward, his limbs gone rubbery and limp. Darkness closed the world to a tight, agonized knot.

Before he could move, iron fingers clamped on to his ankle and dragged him back toward the helicopter. Thorns and sharp rocks cut into his back. They might need him alive, but plainly it didn’t matter in what condition.

He blacked out for several breaths, only to find himself waking as he was tossed into the cabin. Orders were barked in Spanish. He heard the words
apúrate
and
peligro
.

He translated through the daze.

Hurry up
and
danger
.

The world suddenly filled with a dull roar, then teetered drunkenly. He realized the helicopter was lifting off.

He rolled enough to peer out the window. Below the skids, dark figures ran across the hellish landscape of the burning ghost town. It seemed the helicopter was abandoning the rest of the assault team.

But why?

The pilot gesticulated wildly toward the ground.

Kendall stared closer. He suddenly understood the threat. The poisonous cloud of nerve gas was beginning to waft upward from the surrounding valleys. At first he thought the smoke had been stirred by the passing craft’s rotor wash, but then he understood.

Updraft!

The blazing firestorm here was pushing up a column of hot air. As it rose from the hilltop, it drew the deadly gas along with it, pulling it like a veil over the burning summit.

No wonder a swift evacuation had been ordered. Kendall stared at the hulking form of the leader seated across from him, a weapon across his knees. The other’s gaze was also out the window, but he stared skyward, as if already writing off his teammates.

Kendall refused to be so callous.

He searched below for some sign of the beleaguered ranger. He held out no hope, but the fellow deserved some witness, or at the very least, a final prayer. He whispered a few words as the helicopter whisked away—ending with one last entreaty, staring down at that black, swirling sea of poison.

Let me be right about the gas
.

Above all else—nothing must live.

5

April 27, 8:49
P
.
M
. PDT
Mono Lake, California

Jenna crouched inside the dilapidated remains of an old general store. She hid with her back against the graffiti-scarred counter at the rear. Above her head, rows of wooden shelves frosted with cobwebs held a handful of antique bottles with age-curled labels. She fought not to sneeze from all the dust and did her best to ignore the pain in her upper arm. A trace of fire from a bullet had grazed her bicep.

Hold it together
, she told herself.

She strained to listen for the approach of any of the armed men, a task made more difficult by the pounding of her heart in her throat. She was lucky to have held out as long as she had, playing cat and mouse among the few remaining buildings that had not yet been torched.

She had only made it to safety now because of the distraction of the helicopter’s lifting off. The sudden departure confused the hunters long enough for her to make a mad dash into the store. But like the others, she was equally baffled by the change in circumstances here.

Why was the helicopter abandoning those on the ground? Or was it merely departing long enough until she was found and dispatched?

A moment ago she had caught a brief glimpse of a lab-coated figure being dragged back into the aircraft’s cabin. The man was plainly a captive, likely one of the researchers from the military base. The distance was too far for her to pick out any details to identify the prisoner. Had the helicopter left to discourage another escape attempt?

She wasn’t buying that.

Instead, something must have spooked the aircraft away.

But what?

She desperately wanted to pop her head up and search for whatever that new danger might be out there, but she couldn’t trust that the armed men wouldn’t complete their assignment. She had already gleaned these were hard men with military training. No matter the risk, these soldiers would stay on task—which meant eliminating her.

The crunch of glass drew her attention behind her and to the left. She pictured the open window on that side. Someone must have climbed through there versus using the front door. Earlier, using the roar of the helicopter as cover, she had shattered one of the antique bottles from the shelves overhead at every point of ingress: two windows and a door.

Using the noise as a guide, she popped up and aimed her only weapon. A shadow crouched ten feet away, silhouetted against the fiery glow outside. She pulled the trigger. A blue spark of brilliance shot from her gun and struck the figure. A sharp cry of incapacitating pain followed as the Taser’s barbs struck home.

She vaulted over the counter as the assailant collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. She aimed her Taser X3 and fired a second cartridge to silence him. She was taking no chances. Her weapon held a third round, but she knew it wasn’t enough. It was why she had set up this ambush in the store.

She crossed to the man—now unconscious, maybe dead—and relieved him of his rifle. She holstered her Taser and quickly ran her hands over his assault weapon. While she rarely carried a side arm, she had taken the mandatory weapons training. The rifle appeared to be a Heckler & Koch, model 416 or 417. Either way, it was similar enough to the AR-15 she had practiced with on the shooting range.

She hurried to the door, dropped to a knee, and brought up her rifle. She studied the view. The cry of the soldier had not escaped the attention of the other hunters. Through the smoky firelight, men ran low among the burning remains of the ghost town. They were attempting to flank her. She aimed for the closest man and fired a burst of rounds. Dirt blasted at his toes, but one round struck the man’s left shin and sent him crashing to the ground.

His teammates darted for cover. While it wouldn’t stop them, her attack should slow them down. Return fire peppered the facade of the general store. Rounds ripped through the old wood like hot coals through paper. But she was already moving, dashing back to hide behind the thick-beamed counter. She would make her last stand here, intending to take out as many of the others as she could.

Once in position, she rested her rifle on the counter and searched through the night-vision scope for her next target. She kept a watch out both windows and the door. It took her a little time to adjust to the zoom. For a moment, she captured a view of a man in the distance, far out in the meadow. Though he wasn’t an immediate threat, it was his frantic action that momentarily snagged her attention.

He ran toward the ghost town, his rifle tumbling out of his hands; then he fell to his knees. His back arched in a convulsive spasm before toppling on his side in full seizure. She remembered the jackrabbit and suddenly knew what had driven the helicopter away.

That poisonous sea must be rising, starting to swamp the summit.

Her finger trembled on the rifle’s trigger, recognizing the futility of her foolish attempt to make a last stand here. No matter how many of the soldiers she killed, in the end they were all doomed.

She thought of Nikko, hiding under the tractor. She knew he would still be there, obeying her last command, ever loyal. She had hoped her sacrifice would at least protect him, allow him to be found by any rescuers dispatched by Bill Howard.

Nikko . . . I’m sorry
.

A figure appeared through the window to her right. With a burning knot of anger in her gut, she fired a savage fusillade, aiming center mass, and watched with satisfaction as the man’s body was blown out of sight. A renewed barrage of return fire tore through the store. It sounded like a thousand chain saws taking down a forest. Blasted fragments of dry wood rained down all around her.

She ducked lower but kept her rifle in position on the counter. Whenever she spotted a shadow move, she fired at it. At some point she had begun to cry. She only knew it when her vision blurred, requiring her to wipe her eyes.

She sank to her knees for a second, dropping out of view, struggling to comprehend her tears. Was it fear, desperation, anger, grief?

Likely all of the above.

You’ve done all you could
, she thought, trying to reassure herself, but the thought brought no comfort.

8:52
P
.
M
.

Kendall sat dully in his seat, strapped again in place. He studied the landscape below, trying to discern where he was being taken. They had finally crossed beyond the pall of nerve gas, leaving the mountains behind. They now appeared to be heading east over the Nevada desert. But the dark terrain below was featureless, offering no landmarks.

The large man seated across from him had been in a gruff conversation with the pilot for most of the flight. Kendall tried to eavesdrop as well as he could while feigning disinterest, but much of their communication had been in some obscure Spanish patois. Some phrases he could glean; others were gibberish.