Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1)

by Mark Tufo

  “Ain’t nobody knew what they were getting into when they signed up with you, least of all that poor woman you call your wife. What kind of leverage do you have on her that she hasn’t just left your sorry ass?” BT asked.

  Mike looked down to his crotch.

  “Please,” BT sneered. “If anything, that’s another in the minus column for you.”

  “So, now what?” Deneaux interceded before the two men could degrade the conversation down to name calling and schoolyard insults.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Trip said.

  — 3 —

  Gunfire was happening all around them. Unlike the world they’d just left, this one was clearly in the early throes of human extinction, poised on the edge of that black horizon. Trip led them out the back door of the house. From there they went through a gated fence and into some dense woods. Mike was happy to note that unlike Maine, there was no heavy brush to impede their way.

  “I’m not going to be here soon.” Trip had stopped navigating to look back at them.

  “Fuck. Move quicker then! At least get us into the position you think we’re supposed to be in,” Mike urged.

  “Shocker. You’re going to check out just as it gets intense,” BT said.

  “When I said I wanted to stretch my legs, this isn’t what I meant,” Deneaux said as they were at a slight jog.

  “Emory University.” BT read the first sign when they emerged from the woods. There was a large white building with multiple windows. They figured it to be dorm rooms, if the random and various decorations adorning the windows were any indication. There were no students milling about, heading to or away from their classes. In fact, it was preternaturally quiet on the campus as they went farther in. Trip had told them that the CDC complex was on the other side of the university. And though they didn’t know the mission, it made sense that would be a good place to start.

  “We have to stop,” Deneaux said, catching her breath. “I need a cigarette. My nerves are shot.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen your nerves—you’re as cool as they come. I can see you needing the cigarette, though. Either way, I want to get my bearings before we go charging up into something.” Mike was checking out their location.

  Trip had leaned his joint-fitted mouth close to Deneaux’s flame. She was slowly pulling it farther from him and smiling as he leaned in closer to get at it. BT reached out and grabbed his shoulder before he fell completely over. Deneaux cackled softly and lit her cigarette.

  “Trip?” BT asked.

  “We almost at the show? I could really go for a funnel cake, corndog…maybe one of them giant pretzels slathered in mayonnaise and relish.”

  “And…he’s gone,” Deneaux said as she took a deep drag, resting her left elbow on the back of her right hand.

  “Wonderful timing, Trip.” BT was looking around. An ear piercing screech ripped through the relative bubble of calm that had settled around them. Mike was just swiveling his head upward to where the noise had come from. A white blur of teeth and claw had launched and was coming straight for BT. Deneaux dropped her right hand to her holster and pulled her pistol free before Mike could even turn to face the threat. Deneaux’s first shot peeled back the top of the creature’s skull, the second, which was not strictly needed, crashed into and through the row of barbed teeth.

  “So much for that.” Deneaux was much more concerned with the cigarette that had fallen and was now encompassed by a spreading pool of black blood.

  “We should get out of here. I’m thinking that whatever that thing is, its friends will be drawn to the noise instead of repelled by it,” Mike said. “You alright?” he asked a visibly shaken BT.

  “Do I look alright? That thing wanted to give me a lethal hickey.”

  “Holy shit,” Trip said as he bent to get a closer look at the fallen monster. “Is that a baby from Tremors?”

  “No time to figure it out, Trip. Is there enough of you left inside of there to give us a clue about what we’re supposed to do?” Mike asked.

  “Do?” Trip asked. “I would think that would be an easy enough decision.”

  Mike sighed in relief that he might be on the verge of some answers.

  “First we get away from pucker face there and then get some munchies, because even though I’m starving, I don’t think I could eat while I’m looking at that mess. I mean, I’d try, because I hate to waste good snack cakes, but I wouldn’t like it.”

  “This couldn’t get any more unreal if it tried,” BT sighed.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call that thing unreal,” Deneaux said as she stepped over the body.

  “I just wanted a nebulizer. I should have stayed back and let you get it like you offered.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, though, buddy,” BT said.

  “Brother, I am not.”

  As Mike spoke, a military helicopter flew past to their left, heading straight for the CDC.

  “Only a half an hour before the fireworks begin!” Trip exclaimed excitedly.

  “Fireworks?” Mike asked.

  “Military fireworks,” Trip answered.

  “Does the simpleton mean ordinance?” Deneaux looked to Mike.

  “How would he know that?” BT wanted to know.

  “I don’t think we can risk him not knowing something important. Let’s get to the CDC, help out this Army grunt and doctor and head for the hills.” They moved out.

  “There goes our ride.” Deneaux was pointing up to the retreating chopper.

  “Beckham has boots on the ground. Guess we’re up, though I don’t have a clue what the hell we’re going to do,” Mike said.

  “Oh, I think I have an idea.” BT was pointing to a soccer field. Hundreds, if not thousands, of the infected creatures were pouring across it. Like a river of the damned, they flowed toward the CDC. Maybe subconsciously, and mistakenly, thinking there was a cure—or more likely that a meal had been dropped from the air. Sky fries? “They get to Beckham, he doesn’t have a shot in hell.”

  “We engage them and we don’t have a shot in hell,” Mike replied.

  “If dimwit here is right,” Deneaux said as she pointed to Trip, who was busy shoveling beef sticks into his mouth, “then we don’t have much of a chance anyway. Not if they’re planning on bombing the city.”

  “How bad does it have to be before they’d bomb a U.S. city?” Mike wondered.

  “That, at least, means it’s not too late; they’re trying to contain it,” Deneaux responded.

  “Yeah, that’s like trying to save a tree from a forest fire by cutting it down,” Mike replied.

  “Enough stalling. We need to do something,” BT said.

  “I’m stalling because I’m terrified,” Mike said.

  “Fair enough,” BT shrugged.

  “Okay, this seems simple enough that I should be able to explain it to you two geniuses,” Deneaux piped in. “We just need to buy this Beckham fellow enough time to grab the good doctor and get away. That means we need to divert that horde. That building there looks like the perfect place to lay down some sniper fire.”

  It was a grand hall; looked more like something that belonged in Ancient Greece. Large white columns rose up to hold the overhanging roof in place. It had three floors, which would give them a perfect firing angle, but with all the doors and windows on the first floor, it was going to be impossible to keep the infected out for long.

  “Death by fireball or by human leeches. Sounds like a win-win. Let’s go,” Mike said wryly. They went to the far side of the building, away from the soccer field. BT picked Mike up so the other man could see through a window that had been broken out. The office was covered in blood and Mike remarked that the cleaning staff must have called in sick that month, but otherwise it was free from the enemy. He broke out the remaining shards with his butt stock and climbed through, doing his best to avoid the pooling liquid. BT hefted Deneaux up; Mike helped her through. Trip was comparing how BT picked him up to his time in the Bolshevik Ballet.


  “I was an incredible swan,” he told Mike proudly.

  “I’m sure you were. Now could you please be quiet?” Mike asked.

  Trip did two nearly flawless pirouettes in the middle of the room.

  “Please tell me he isn’t doing ballet,” BT said as he pulled himself up through the window. Mike handed him his rifle and they were quickly on the move heading to the top floor.

  “We’re not alone,” Deneaux whispered as they entered the stairwell. The emergency lighting was lit but it did little to push back the dark shadows that nested on each level. When they got to the second level, BT nearly fell over a boot. He gagged when he realized the boot was attached to a leg that no longer had a body to go with it. Two stairs up was the matching boot and on the next landing was the headless torso.

  “Is it possible to run so fast you leave your legs behind?” Trip asked. He was clearly nervous.

  “And be so afraid you can lose your head?” Deneaux quietly crowed.

  “That’s not even funny,” BT said as he stepped gingerly around the separated body parts. A screech echoed down the hallway from the floor above, then the sound of retreating footsteps as someone was making a run for it.

  Mike, who had been trailing the others, pushed past Trip, Deneaux, and finally BT to get up to the third floor. He did not want to have to face the creature in the darkened stairwell; he thought he would be able to get a better shot off in the hallway. Mike burst through the door just as a frightened student dashed by, hardly sparing a glance for him. Mike was rethinking the wisdom of his actions as he saw three of the creatures at the far end of the long, but rapidly shrinking corridor. When the lead monster saw Mike raise his weapon, it bounded up the wall to its right, then somehow, incredibly, on its next bound forward, it was on the ceiling. One quick leap brought, it all the way to the opposite wall and then onto the floor where it surged towards them. It had done the impossible maneuver so quickly Mike had not even had a chance to change his aim point so by the time the monster was back on the floor, it met a triumphant trio of bullets. The first shattered its awkwardly bent elbow; the next two removed large chunks of skull and brain, spraying the two behind it in a thick detritus of organic material.

  If the second thing had not slipped in the gore of its fallen brethren, Mike did not believe he would have been able to kill it before it would have had him. He knew he had completely lucked out when his three round burst smashed face-first into the being, caving in its gut-churning, puckering mouth and blood caked face.

  It took the combined firing of BT and Mike before they were able to take the third one down. It had not helped either man’s psyche that what they’d shot had up until very recently been a young girl of perhaps seven or eight. Her pale blue dress was now riddled with holes. Her Princess Jasmine bow fluttered to the ground, landing next to her outstretched arm.

  “They’re so fast.” Mike looked to BT.

  It was Deneaux who got them moving.

  “What about the survivor?” BT asked pointing down the hall where the fleeing student had run.

  “Not our mission.” Mike tapped his shoulder to follow the older woman. It was a tough call, but there was nothing they could do. The city was about to become a fireball; all they could offer the kid was to die with others.

  Deneaux had found a large room that was used for conferences. An oversized oval table dominated. Three conference call telephones sat atop the piece of furniture and a small projection screen took up the far wall. She went around the chairs and to the first of the four windows. It was Trip who had the presence of mind to lock the door behind them. The other three took a moment to look at each other before they did what was cosmically expected of them.

  “I’m not very altruistic,” Deneaux said as she slid the window open.

  “Is that supposed to be some sort of revelation?” BT asked. “That’s like a politician saying they’ve lied from time to time.”

  “Good one,” Mike told his friend.

  “Or like Mike admitting he had absolutely no idea what the fuck he was doing right before he did something stupid.”

  “Really man? Now you’ve just gone too far. You want those to be your final words to me?” Mike replied.

  BT was aiming down into the thick of the thundering herd that was heading away from them, but it was Deneaux’s shot that rang out first. A creature stumbled and rolled twice before it stilled and was run over by those behind; not more than a couple took notice of the shooter and none had turned to go her way. BT was taking his time with well-aimed shots, though it would have been difficult to miss with so many targets overlapping each other. The louder crack of the 5.56 round attracted more attention, and some were attempting to swim against the monster current.

  Mike wanted to give them a good reason to come at them; he leaned half his body out of the window, so much so that BT thought it prudent to grab him by the belt to make sure he didn’t topple out. Mike was stringing together a litany of obscenities as he pulled the trigger. He was also cycling through rounds as fast as his handheld machine gun could fire.

  “Come and get me you fucking misshapen monsters!” echoed across the area as his bolt slid open at the end of the expended magazine. Dozens of monsters lay dead or dying, but more importantly, the trio of shooters had been noticed by a significant portion of the mob. “Gone and fucking done it now.” Mike was giving himself a hard time for actually accomplishing what he’d set out to do, he wasn’t overly thrilled that they were coming and in droves.

  “BT, help me with the table. We’re going to have guests for dinner soon and I don’t like what’s being served,” Deneaux said.

  “Deneaux dropping some humor? We must be about to die,” BT said as he peeled away from the window and grunted as he pushed the table up against the door. Trip was lying down on top of it, a plume of marijuana smoke encircling his head. “Don’t move,” BT said as he thumped the wall with the heavy piece of furniture.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Trip replied, taking another hit.

  “They heading in yet?” BT was aiming at the door, waiting for the assault to begin.

  “Umm…some are, but I think we’ve got a problem,” Mike said.

  “Holy shit,” Deneaux said as she pulled her window shut and stepped back from the opening.

  “Don’t think that’s going to help,” Mike replied.

  “What the hell is going on?” BT didn’t want to spare a glance from his post.

  “The fuckers can climb.” Mike had shoved a new magazine into its well and released the bolt.

  BT rushed across the room and poked his head out the window. “Thought you might be full of shit,” he said, right before he started shooting.

  “Yeah I picked this particular time and place to have a little fun.” Mike moved to another window and leaned out to shoot at the monsters that were scurrying up the side of the wall. “Why can’t they be slow, like sloths? Oakley! Going to need you over here!” Mike shouted to Deneaux, using the nickname referring to her Annie Oakley deadeye style of shooting.

  “Tremor babes at the door!” Trip was singing to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s “Got You Under My Skin”.

  “I’ve got them,” Mike told Deneaux who had stopped midway across the room. “You’re a better shot, and they’re zigzagging all over the place.”

  BT was swiveling like he was mounted on ball bearings. Blasts echoed in the small room. The smell of expended rounds and smoke choked the air. The door vibrated as the first of the beings smacked into it. The stout oak had held on the initial assault, but Mike knew it was only a matter of time.

  “Eight more minutes,” Trip said gleefully. He had taken his shoes and socks off to show Mike how many toes that was.

  “Eight minutes to what?” a clearly nervous Mike asked.

  “Beckham catches his ride and then the fireworks begin!” he replied, clapping his hands together like an excited toddler.

  Mike’s train of thought was shaken as the door pounded again.
This time, he was certain he’d seen light come in around the doorjamb. The assault paused; Mike considered Trip’s words. “The bombing is in eight minutes?”

  “The whole city is going to be one big fireball!” This time he didn’t clap; his expression changed from confusion to escalating fear.

  “Did he just say they were going to bomb Atlanta in eight minutes?” BT asked in between magazines.

  “That’s the government’s answer to almost everything.” Deneaux was shoving rounds into her revolver.

  Mike figured he should be more nervous about the bombing than he was. He didn’t figure they had anywhere near eight minutes left, though. “Behind you, BT!” Mike shouted just as he saw an impossibly clawed hand reach through the window followed by a fanged sucker mouth. Deneaux placed a shot in its face just as a relieved BT got back into position. He nodded his thanks to her and fired.

  A resounding crack reverberated in the room as the door was split dead center and bowed inwards. Mike fired point blank at the creature that looked into the gash. There was a loud screech and wail as the others pressed towards the opening, realizing that their quarry was within reach. Mike removed a spare magazine and gripped it in his right forward hand. He wanted it as close as possible for when his present magazine was spent. He knew he’d never have enough time to pull it free and get it situated.

  “Trip, walk over here with me,” Mike said as he got to about the middle of the room. The door burst open and the screechers streamed in. Mike screamed a war cry as he fired off multiple rounds. Wood splintered, heads exploded, chests ruptured, and blood flew as brass was tossed into the air. The creatures danced like puppets as they were peppered with multiple rounds. So many, Mike thought as he kept firing. One had made it past the initial point of entry and was running along the wall, Mike followed it with a trail of bullets until he was finally able to put one in its side, blowing through its kidneys and severing its spine.

  There was so much smoke in the room it was getting difficult for him to track targets. He thought his time had come when he felt something bump up into his side. It was BT, he’d been pushed away from the window. Deneaux was next. The three warriors stood with their backs together, continually shooting into the ever encroaching enemy.