Extermination Day

by William Turnage

  Melinda had sung the anthem at several baseball games and had an excellent voice. The whole reciting of the pledge and singing the anthem might be overkill, but in times of crisis, people needed inspiration. They needed to feel that they were part of something great, something that could motivate them to accomplish deeds they didn’t imagine they could possibly do alone. The pledge and the National Anthem had inspired Americans throughout the nation’s history and they would do so again tonight.

  The American flag was painted on the back wall of the main cabin and the group turned to face it. Paulson began the pledge, and the others followed in unison, their voices building with the power and strength of hope as they finished with the words and the promise, with liberty and justice for all.

  Then Melinda sang a hauntingly moving rendition of the national anthem.

  After she was done, several people hugged each other; others kept their heads bowed for several extra seconds, reciting private prayers to themselves. Many were sobbing quietly. Paulson even saw Colonel Demetrius, the stoic war veteran, wipe a tear from his eye.

  Paulson gathered himself and said, “Okay, people, let’s get ready.”

  The short-straw group began moving to the back of the aircraft to get their bio-suits, when one of the political donors approached Bigsby, the Washington Post reporter.

  The man tried to whisper, but most could hear what he said in the close quarters of the plane.

  “I’ll give you one million for your bio-suit.”

  Chilton McIntosh approached Melinda Rider with an offer of two million dollars. Melinda and Bigsby both turned down the offers. Then the businessmen attempted to argue and negotiate with higher offers as all three short-straw winners continued toward the back the plane. McIntosh screamed out, “Ten million dollars!” but was ignored.

  When they got to the next cabin and the door was closed, Melinda said, “A lot of good ten million will do me if I’m dead.”

  Paulson listened carefully as Dr. Peebles explained how to put on and use the bio-suit. He glanced through the window to where the others were covering up with heavy coats, sweaters, gloves, and anything else they could find in their carry-on luggage. Clothes and bags were strewn around the cabin.

  “I feel like an astronaut in this thing,” said Lieutenant McMiller, his eyes glistening as he suited up beside Paulson. “I always wanted to be an astronaut, fly into space, see the stars. But after our three daughters were born, my wife and I decided I should take a job closer to home.” He looked away after he spoke and stared at the wall in front of him. “Janie’s not answering her phone . . . ”

  As he spoke, Paulson thought he caught a faint hint of alcohol on his breath. He didn’t know the man very well, but from what he had seen, McMiller was always very straight-laced. Paulson couldn’t believe that he'd been drinking, not in this time of crisis. But seeing everyone die around you, including your family, could cause unexpected reactions in even the hardest of men.

  As Paulson struggled to get inside his bulky bio-suit, one of the pilots announced, “We’re coming in for final approach and should be on the ground in about twenty minutes. Please return to your seats and buckle up. We have automated landing assistance but no human contact from the tower. I don’t see any other planes in the area though, so we should be fine.”

  Paulson finished putting on his bio-suit and returned to his seat, as did all the others in his cabin. He felt the tension build as they waited in anticipation of the landing. He’d been in high-pressure situations before, so this was nothing new. He’d grown up in Texas cattle country on a sprawling ranch owned by his family for generations. He came from a strong stock of people, hard-working cowboys and cattle farmers. His father had expected him to continue in that line but when Paulson was a young man, he wanted to see the world. The Texas ranch was just too small for him. So he applied to the United States Naval Academy and over the course of a twenty-year naval career, he got his wish and then some.

  A few minutes later the plane was coming in low for landing. Paulson could see the lights at the small Greenbrier Valley Airport, but no ground or air activity. Snow was falling, the start of the expected blizzard. The runways were brightly lit, and he could make out two planes that looked like they’d been heading for a takeoff and had collided. A baggage car had careened into the side of the hangar, dumping luggage out onto the tarmac, its driver nowhere to be found.

  “I suggest we all put on our helmets,” Demetrius said. They tested the coms in their helmets, finding them to be clear and the volume strong.

  Moments later the plane touched the runway, smoothly at first, gliding along the tarmac. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a muffled explosion rocked the plane beneath their feet. The floor started rattling and shaking and the plane jumped violently into the air and then dropped down, lifting everyone out of their chairs and slamming them back down again. The plane swerved to the right, and Paulson was jerked so hard that his seatbelt cut deep into his stomach.

  “There was an explosion in the baggage area; the landing gear has been destroyed!” one of the pilots yelled out over the intercom. “Hold tight!”

  Paulson heard the men directing one other as they tried to slow the aircraft, but then the plane started shuddering as a horrible grinding screeched through the cabin. Then an exploding, wrenching sound, of thick metal being torn asunder, pierced Paulson’s ears. The cabin lights blinked once, then went out, and still the plane was moving forward at an incredible speed.

  Another bump and the plane flipped forward, end over end. As it did, the floor under Paulson’s feet was ripped away, leaving him dangling in midair.

  Still strapped to his seat, he spun two or three times. Luggage, broken pieces of the plane, food, and other debris flew through the cabin, smacking him in the face, on the back of his neck, on his chest.

  The plane came to a grinding halt with Paulson lying sideways and the others strewn like rag dolls around the cabin, groaning and crying.

  A sharp pain shot up from Paulson’s leg through his whole body and up to his teeth. In the darkness he reached down and felt his leg. It was trapped under twisted metal, bent violently to the side, certainly broken. He just hoped his bio-suit wasn’t breached.

  Live wires were sparking all around them, and flames began to flicker in the darkness.

  There wasn’t much time. Paulson had to free his leg and get himself and the others out of the wrecked plane before the fire spread and the plane exploded.

  Chapter 6

  2:30 am EST, 12:30 am local time, January 16, 2038

  Project Chronos

  “A time machine? You gotta be kidn' me,” Jeff said incredulously. He was not a big science fiction fan, and this was right out of Star Trek. “Does this thing actually work or is it all just theory?”

  Jeff, Dr. Chen, Holly Scarborough, and the two Secret Service agents stood on the construction platform overlooking the giant dome and the underground base.

  Dr. Chen pointed to the dome. “It works all right. The entrance is there, through the enclosed tunnel. Anything we put inside when the vortex is active and powered up is sent up or down the time stream and will appear in the exact same spot at the time we designate.”

  Jeff took an involuntary step toward the tunnel. They had to be pulling his leg. He pointed at the tunnel and then spun to face Chen.

  “So you’ve actually been able to confirm that an object goes back in time when you send it through this, this vortex?”

  “Yes, many times,” Chen said smugly. “Oh, it hasn’t been easy, and there was a lot of trial and error at first, but slowly we’ve been able to pinpoint exactly how much mass the machine can handle and how much power is needed to send that matter up or down the time stream. The farther we send an object, the more fuel, in the form of miniature black holes generated from the particle collider, we need. And the more matter sent, either all at once or in quick succession, the more power is needed. After each time jump, the black holes naturally decay and dissipat
e. So for each launch we need to collect fuel.”

  “So . . . ” Jeff studied Chen. And then Holly. They didn’t look crazy. “You’re saying you have the power to send someone back and warn the world about this virus?”

  “We think we do,” Chen said. “We’ve never sent a human through the vortex, just animals, most recently chimpanzees. We’d planned to send our first test pilot this morning, hence all the activity you see around you. Unfortunately, he had left the base last night and we can’t get in touch with him now. We’ve been trying to decide whether we should send another volunteer back or not.”

  “Well, you have to send someone back,” Jeff said. “We have to warn everyone.”

  Chen’s portable buzzed, breaking up Jeff’s thoughts, and Chen looked down to read the message on the screen.

  “There’s been a break-in at my office!” Chen yelled out, panic thick in his voice. “Security is on the way and I need to go now!”

  “We can help,” Secret Service agent Mullins said.

  “Come on!”

  Chen lowered the construction platform then took off running. Everyone else followed. They beat security to his office and found the door wide open, with the area where the doorknob should have been simply burned away. The furnishings were sparse, just a desk and computer. Behind the computer, what looked like a safe had been blown open, just like the door. A round, smoldering hole had been cut deep into the thick wall, and pieces of hot metal were still dripping on the floor. Sitting behind Chen’s desk, eyes fixed on his computer screen, was Dr. Abraham Conner.

  “Abraham, what are you doing here?”

  “Shut up, old man!” Conner spat out, his eyes red with fury. “You know what I’m doing here. I knew you had something in here, and I found it. I know all your little secrets now. I know you’re responsible for the death of my family and millions of others! And now it’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done!”

  Conner picked up a small cannon-like weapon that was sitting beside the computer screen and aimed it at Chen. The Secret Service agents both fired at Conner, no hesitation and no warning, hitting him in the shoulder and chest, knocking his weapon to the side. As the weapon swiveled, it fired. A thick, searing substance, like lava, poured from it, arcing out toward the agent to Jeff’s right. Tom.

  It cut him in half.

  The man didn’t even have time to scream as part of his chest, arms, and his head fell onto two collapsing, burning legs.

  Conner spilled out of the chair and dropped his weapon. The other agent, Victor Mullins, ran up to him and kicked the shocking weapon away. Conner was bleeding from the mouth and from wounds to his chest and shoulder.

  He spat out blood as he spoke, gasping for air. “Don’t let him get away with it, Holly. Patrick had data from the future that showed the virus killing everyone. He knew the attack was going to happen.” He coughed, spitting up more blood, and his breathing grew labored.

  “He had . . . information about Chronos . . . from the future. He knew exactly how to do . . . everything. He’s a fraud, a liar, and a murderer!”

  Conner glared at Chen and tried to raise his hand, but couldn’t, and dropped it back down. “The blood of millions, billions, is on your hands, Patrick!”

  Conner’s breathing slowed until it eventually ceased, leaving his eyes frozen and gray, still fixated on Chen. Agent Mullins bent over to check his pulse and shook his head.

  “He’s gone.”

  Two men from base security came running into the office.

  “What happened?” asked one of them.

  “It was Dr. Conner,” said Chen, surprisingly without a lot of emotion in his voice. “The stress of the day finally got to him, and he went crazy. Please take him away.”

  The two security men bent down and carried off the bloody body.

  “And clean up that mess too when you come back,” Chen said, pointing to the gruesome remains of the Secret Service agent lying in a pile in a corner of the office.

  Chen was about to leave with the security men when Jeff slammed his hand against the doctor’s chest. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. He was still in shock from just seeing two men gruesomely killed right in front on him. Other than in videos, it was the first time he’d seen someone killed.

  “I think you need to explain what just happened,” Jeff said firmly. Then he swallowed to force down the lump climbing up the back of his throat.

  “Get your hand off of me, Congressman, before I break it.”

  Jeff wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction from the scientist, but Jeff wasn’t one to back down, and he gave the doctor a slight shove. Tensions were high after what just happened and both he and Chen were on edge, not thinking clearly, simply reacting, fervently, to what was right in front of them.

  Chen crouched low, grabbed Jeff’s hand, and used his full body weight to twist it violently to the side, throwing Jeff off balance, bent over, face forward. Chen’s knee shot up with speed, belying the supposed strength of a man in his seventies, and cracked Jeff in the nose. The pain was searing, and Jeff fell groaning to the floor.

  Agent Mullins sprang into action, tackling the lanky Chen, and was able to get on top of him, one knee in his ribcage and holding his right arm fully extended in a position where it could easily be broken.

  “Everyone needs to calm down here!” Mullins said. “With all the death we’ve seen today, the last thing we need is to kill each other. Do we all understand?”

  “You can let me go, agent,” Chen said, his face buried in the carpet. “Please don’t break my arm. I may need to use it more today.”

  Mullins released his hold on the doctor and helped Jeff to his feet. Holly was crouched in the corner, gaze locked on the ceiling, counting frantically in a hushed voice. Her shirt was covered in blood and bone from the slain agent, and she picked at it with shaking fingers.

  “Holly? Holly, are you okay?” Jeff asked her, shaking her by the shoulders and wiping what looked like intestines from her face.

  Holly broke out of her counting trance and turned to Jeff. “There are one thousand four hundred and twenty-four different spots total on three hundred and seventy-five tiles on the ceiling. I need to finish my counting, please.”

  “Holly, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we need to find out what Dr. Conner meant.”

  “Dr. Conner? No, no! Get away from me!” Holly pushed his arms away and looked back up at the ceiling, resuming her counting.

  She was clearly in shock from the shooting, but there was nothing Jeff could do for her, so he turned to Chen.

  “So, Doctor . . . What was Conner talking about?”

  “Very well,” Chen said, his anger clear. “I suppose the time for secrets is past. It’s the moment for you people to learn the truth about what’s behind the curtain.”

  Chen turned to his desk and pointed to a metallic silver, palm-sized portable device. It was scratched, and etched into the casing was the name Dr. Patrick Chen.

  “This is what was in my safe and what Dr. Conner was after. I don’t know how he knew it was here. It’s a standard portable with a built-in camera of the same type that you would’ve seen on the market a few years ago. It contains vast amounts of information.”

  Jeff had recently bought a new portable for his daughter. After having suppressed them for a couple hours, Jeff’s thoughts went immediately to his family, to his pretty little girl. He still couldn’t believe that she was likely dead, along with his son. He’d last seen them over the weekend, when he dropped them off at his ex-wife’s home in Virginia Beach. Events had been happening too fast, and Jeff hadn’t had time yet to even think about grieving. Anyway, there was always a chance that they were alive, so he held on to his hope. Hoping couldn’t hurt. For now, though, he pushed his emotions back down and listened to Dr. Chen.

  “Most of the technology used for this device is common today and has been for a few years. What’s significant about this drive is that it was found at a constru
ction site near Harvard University.” He paused a second before adding, “Twenty years ago, in 2018.”

  Jeff looked at Chen, eyes wide, mouth open. As his jaw dropped he felt the pain in his broken nose. He pulled tissues from his jacket pocket and jammed them into his nostrils to try to stem the bleeding. Chen continued talking, smirking slightly at Jeff’s obvious pain.

  “Twenty years ago I was enjoying my physics chairmanship at Harvard. My research and work at CERN had led me to a deeper understanding of quantum particles. I wanted to build a research facility beside the main science center on campus to house a small particle accelerator and look at practical uses for the technology, preferably related to renewable energy. I’d received grants from the U.S. government and several private donors to begin work on the facility. The bulldozers had just started digging the foundation when they uncovered this. They could clearly see my name etched on the cover, so of course they brought it to me.

  “I didn’t know what to think when I first saw it. So I accessed the device and here’s what I found.” He moved over to his desk, tapped his computer screen, and an image flashed up. It was Chen, looking basically the same, although slightly younger, with a little less white in his hair. The video started playing.

  “Dr. Patrick Chen here, Journal entry four thirty-eight. We’re having trouble holding the energy field stable. The subatomic black holes are proving more difficult to capture than I expected. I’m still optimistic, however, that we’ll be able to do this. The energy released in the process is immense and if harnessed, could meet our power needs for decades.”

  Chen wiped Conner’s blood off his leather chair with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Then he dropped down into it, apparently unfazed that a man, someone he must have considered a friend, had just been shot to death in it.

  “As you can see from this video entry, I was working to control the energy output for the device we had constructed in the facility next to the science building at Harvard. And make note of the log entry date here in the corner of the video.” Chen pointed to the screen, and Jeff could see the date of June 17, 2022. “This device was found in May 2018, a full four years before this video was made. Strange things often happen in science; many of the greatest discoveries are made accidently when you least expect them. But this . . . ” He pointed again. “Here, look at this next entry a year later.”