EMERGENCE Extinction (Emegence Series Book 5)

by JT Sawyer

  “He must know we’re closing in on him. So, let’s say he finds this kid and turns him, then what? I mean, what is his exit strategy?” said Nash.

  “Good question—one in a long line of riddles that keep rearing their heads,” Reisner said. He thought back to the first intel briefing on Roland, shortly after his recon team returned from Savannah. He clicked on his ear-mic then adjusted the channel on the radio attached to his vest so it would hail the Lachesis. A few seconds later, Pacelle connected him with Selene.

  “It’s me—we may have a lead on where Roland is heading next, but I need you to look something up first. The briefing that Captain Jarvis did for us on Roland three weeks ago—it showed him in a photograph that was connected to a fundraiser for a pharmaceutical company. Can you locate the name of the company?”

  He could hear Selene typing on her laptop while talking aloud to herself as she sifted through the data files on Whitmore. “Yes, here it is. Just let me enhance the photograph.” He heard the other end grow silent, followed by a long sigh. “You’re not going to believe this, but it’s…”

  “Aspen Pharmaceuticals—where Ivins and his team were headed when I last spoke to him.” He stepped off the porch, letting out a long exhale. “For the past three weeks, we’ve been like reactive bug exterminators, coming in with the bioweapon and hitting the hotspots Roland created to draw us away from his location so he could make it to that pharmaceutical facility. All the while, he was performing some R&D along the way on his victims in case his plan to locate others like him didn’t pan out.”

  “What? Why would Roland be fixated on Aspen in particular when there are other such facilities around the Southeastern U.S. where he could replenish his supply of the synthetic hormone?”

  “It’s not just about the pharmaceutical compounds—he must be after information. His foundation provided considerable money to Aspen for combatting Polycythemia Vera. He knows they’ll have records, addresses, and profiles on the test subjects. He’s after others like himself, Selene.”

  “I can follow your logic, but there have to be very few survivors with that affliction still alive. Most of them already turned into alphas during the initial outbreak or were probably just killed by other desperate survivors.”

  Reisner looked across the meadow towards the direction of the river by Vern Schrade’s property, his face growing taut.

  “Not all of them.”

  Chapter 23

  The fog surrounding the swamp near Nick’s bedroom window resembled a fleet of wispy ghosts floating across the thick tangle of alder trees. The sun had already been up for an hour, though the oppressive fog made it seem like little more than a gray orb whose presence was unwelcome, as if the heavens themselves had prevented any rays of light from entering their depressing abode. Like most mornings, Nick found it difficult to pry himself from his bed. Normally, his father would have paid him a visit and doled out some lickings with his leather belt for sleeping so long, but he was passed out on the couch in the front room from another drinking binge with his two friends the night before.

  As he mulled over all the militant training and preparations that his father had undertaken for so long and then reflected on their self-imposed confinement to the property, Nick wondered if the fog outside was an omen that there really was a hell on earth—and it wasn’t caused by the virus.

  So much for Father’s grand utopia after the apocalypse “cleanses the world.” Instead, it had been two weeks of horror and chaos after the pandemic reached the nearby cities, followed by weeks of mind-numbing isolation at their house to avoid attracting any mutant freaks passing through the area. Though Nick had only ever seen one creature from a distance near the river, and that one had been quickly dispatched with a headshot by his father.

  The early news broadcasts indicated that the government—every government, in fact—had collapsed, and Nick kept waiting for the self-reliant community of the worthy to arise, as his father had promised. Instead, there were only intermittent radio messages from neighboring farms about sightings of the horrific monsters roaming the countryside. These ominous warnings only made Father demand everyone retreat downstairs into the concrete bunker and remain silent for half the day.

  And even though the Strachan property across the river had a dozen skilled outdoorsmen and farmers living on their land, Father wanted nothing to do with them. “Most of them are liberals who’ll just try to force their ideas upon us. And if that ain’t bad enough, they’re all Lutherans. We are free men, not subject to any government, religion, or anyone else who wants to impose their will on others. Besides, we got enough food and supplies here to outlast this global purge, and in a few years, we will be the ones left standing.” That was his father’s usual response to any suggestions about interacting with others, and it just further drowned Nick’s dreams of escaping this mosquito-infested hellhole.

  Vern Schrade had always told Nick that his small chosen group of militia would be the sole survivors of the virus—except most of them died during the first week. Some died trying to get to their family members across the region, while others were just never heard from again. Vern, his two militia friends, Dax and Jamison, along with each of their whiny eleven-year-old sons; that was his social community. Nick yearned to speak to someone—anyone—his age or from outside their self-delusional group.

  Nick heard the two boys, Ned and Ryan, giggling in the other bedroom and knew they were probably rifling through their dads’ porn stash again. What with the snoring of the hungover adults in the family room and the lewd comments from the boys, Nick felt like his room was shrinking. He slipped on his pants and boots then rushed to the window, unlatching it and swinging it open. He sucked in the cool morning air wafting in from the swamp, hoping it would wash away his headache.

  He glanced down at the mud and saw some fresh raccoon tracks heading down the hill to the left towards the river. He climbed up on the window ledge then slid down to the ground.

  “Nicholas,” said a faint voice to his right. It had a melodic ring to it. He walked towards the sound, which seemed to emanate from the swamp.

  He heard it again, then saw someone step from behind the massive oak tree. Nick narrowed his eyes, making out the slender figure in the fog, then his eyes flew wide when he realized it was Abby. Her red hair was hanging over her soft shoulders, and she moved slowly towards him, the same way he walked when he was hunting deer.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she said, her appearance more radiant than he remembered.

  Nick wondered why she wasn’t shivering, dressed only in jeans and a t-shirt, then he noticed Abby was walking in her bare feet, stepping like a cat over the leaves. The fog had thickened, and Nick felt like the trees around her had become apparitions. He was unsure if someone else was with her.

  Though he was transfixed by her alluring beauty, he felt like something was wrong. How did she get around the mantraps buried in the ground along the fence, and why’s she moving like that?

  Abby stopped fifteen feet from him, her nose slightly upturned as she sniffed the air. “There’s someone you should meet, Nicholas. He’s come a long way to see you.”

  “To see me? Who—what are you talking about? Abby, are you OK?”

  Nick backed up as she began to slink towards him again. His stomach was feeling queasy, and an icy chill ran down his spine as he noticed that the birds in the area had stopped chirping. Nick turned to run and slammed into a tree—no, something else. He looked up into the blackened face of a deformed creature. It looked like something that had climbed out of the primordial ooze of the swamp. Before he could do anything, the gnarled fingers on its only hand rushed up to his throat. He felt himself being lifted off the ground. Nick tried punching the monster in the face, which caused it to shriek as its carbonized skin crumpled like an eggshell. He fell to the ground, deftly removing the folding knife from his right pocket then springing to his feet, flicking it open like his father had shown him during so many punishing trai
ning sessions. As he went to drive the blade into the creature’s ribs, he suddenly felt something vise-like around his neck. The knife tumbled from his grasp, and he felt like his windpipe was going to splinter apart at any second as someone from behind held him in a chokehold, their powerful arms making it impossible to get free. He thrashed his feet, trying to kick at the disgusting burnt figure before him, but she had backed out of range. Nick found himself losing his strength as the chokehold increased and his breath diminished. It was only when he saw Abby’s face appear on his right that he stopped resisting.

  “Why are you doing this?” He garbled out the words, his mouth cottony.

  “Not me, Nick.” She glanced over her right shoulder as the shape of a large man with bare feet emerged from the fog. “Someone who needs you.”

  The tall figure stepped in front of him, opening his button-down shirt and removing a floss-like worm from the side of his bare chest. The parasite moved like one of the copperhead snakes Nick used to see in the summer by the river.

  The man’s pale skin writhed with motion, and his gray lips parted as he spoke in a soft but commanding voice. “I know you are terrified, but soon you will be free of such troubling emotions.”

  The man moved forward, extending his arm and pushing the triangular head of the worm towards Nick’s face. “Soon, your curse will become your greatest gift—for our brood needs you.”

  Chapter 24

  Andre Pacelle was sitting at his computer station on board the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Endurance. A few terminals down from him, General Dorr was studying recent UAV footage, hoping to locate any signs of para movement. The other nine members of the intel staff were busy coordinating with their respective teams, who were on the ground in the eastern Georgia or North Carolina, following up leads on potential sightings of alphas.

  Pacelle’s computer screen lit up, causing him to lean forward as his eyes widened. “Can’t be—there aren’t supposed to be that many creatures in that sector.” He began vigorously typing while shouting over to Dorr, “General, the satellite we retasked is finally focused over South Carolina. I received a priority notification feed for the area west of Charleston, and it just lit up like a fuckin’ Christmas tree.” He noted the irony, recalling it was late December.

  “For what?” Dorr rushed over, looking over Pacelle’s shoulder.

  “Drones—coming out of the woodwork from nearly every small city within thirty miles of Jamestown.” He enhanced the grainy black-and-white image. “There were just pockets of them scattered around these regions, but now they’re uniting, pushing on a line of travel towards Jamestown.”

  Dorr pressed his finger on the screen where the largest cluster was located; its globular yellow image had already doubled in size since he came over. “That looks like upwards of a thousand creatures. How can there be that many in that area?”

  “Because they were all dispersed over a vast region of swamplands. They didn’t register as a sizeable threat until now, when my software program picked up the large herd moving on foot.”

  “They must have intentionally arranged themselves that way—sleeper cells waiting for Roland’s signal to attack.”

  Dorr leaned back towards his intel officer, Jarvis, across the room. “Have General Vaccaro load up his Predator with all the bioweapons and Hellfire missiles they can muster and tell him we’re sending coordinates for an imminent strike west of his fleet’s position. Then patch me through to Reisner outside of Jamestown.”

  Dorr looked at the growing yellow mass of drones, which now seemed to occupy a much larger area on the monitor.

  “Will you look at this?” said Pacelle, shooting upright in his chair. He pointed towards a swampy area to the southwest of Jamestown. “There’s that phantom heat signature again—the one connected with those alphas that Reisner and Porter tracked across the river a few weeks back.”

  “If that’s the case, then Roland must be nearby—but where exactly?”

  Dorr looked over at Jarvis, who had just relayed the order to Vaccaro, whose fleet was positioned eight miles off the Atlantic Coast, near Myrtle Beach. Reisner, you better paint me a target so we can break their backs. And for God’s sake, get out of there before we rain down the thunder.

  Chapter 25

  The river looked swifter than Reisner expected as he and his team followed Lorraine along the embankment. “There used to be a small footbridge across here, but that crazy old fool Schrade blew it up, sayin’ it was a security risk.” She smirked, shaking her head. “As if some professional thieves were going to sneak into his place.”

  After another twenty minutes of walking over ensnaring vines and wrestling with the thorny tangle of blackberry bushes, she led them to a logjam of trees that was clogging a narrow section of the river. “This all got washed up here after the last big rain a month ago. Schrade either doesn’t know about it or has been too drunk to get down here.” She pointed downstream. “He’s got a dock and a few boats down that way; once you get past those, you’ll see a large boulder. Turn and head uphill, and the cabin will be about a quarter-mile further.”

  “Thanks, Lorraine,” nodded Reisner as he prepared to cross the tangle of logs. “You’ve been a big help. Best if you keep your people back at the farm and let mine do their job. If I find out anything about Abby, I’ll let you know.”

  “We could help—we’re all good shots and know this area.” She stood with her hands on her hips, her look defiant.

  “I appreciate that, but we’ve got another one of our teams inbound. Also, we just don’t want anyone else getting in the mix right now. We’re doing our best to prevent any casualties.”

  Lorraine reluctantly stepped aside, letting the others crawl across the snarl of mangled logs.

  Reisner watched her walk away, knowing she was unhappy with his decision to exclude them. Reisner raised his fist for everyone to stop as Pacelle’s voice cut into his ear-mic, indicating he was patching him through to Ivins.

  “Go ahead, Echo One,” said Reisner.

  “We are inbound to your location,” said Ivins. “ETA, twenty minutes.” He sounded out of breath, and Reisner could hear the familiar hum of rotor wash in the background. “You guys have a shitload of tangos enroute to your whisky. Pacelle counted upwards of three thousand drones moving in from the north and the west of Jamestown. We just dropped our remaining bioweapons on a cluster of a few hundred, but it hardly made a dent.”

  Reisner let out an audible gasp, his right hand clutching the grip on his AR. “Say again—was that three thousand inbound creatures?” He looked at the others as they nervously glanced around the forest. Roland has to be here already—all the trails up until now have led to this location. That’s why he’s calling in reinforcements. He’s buying time until he can either get this kid he’s after or— Reisner’s eyes darted along the treetops then back to the ground, his neck muscles tightening. Christ, if Roland has already infected him, then it could be checkmate for us.

  “Look for our approach from the west,” said Ivins before Pacelle’s voice cut in, jarring him back to the present. He shook his head, forcing away the despair that felt like it was enveloping the forest.

  “Will, there’s one more thing. That intermittent heat signature from the arboretum—it’s back and in full force,” said Pacelle.

  “Where?”

  “Two hundred and fifty meters to the northeast of your present location.”

  He turned in the direction that Lorraine had indicated. “That seems about right.”

  Reisner caught a blur of movement to his left as something darted out from behind a large stump. A pale-skinned alpha in torn jeans bounded towards them, followed by two more who veered off to either direction. So much for the element of surprise.

  Chapter 26

  Vern felt like he had been hit in the face with a two-by-four as he struggled to sit up from the recliner in the family room. He glanced down at the bruised knuckle on his meaty right hand, wondering if he had hit his son
again or if this was from a drunken brawl with Jamison or Dex. He looked around the room for his two militia friends but only saw an array of depleted beer cans and MRE pouches. His eyes floated along the floor to a trail of muddy prints coming in the side door and heading to the back staircase.

  “Those goddamned kids, playing in the swamp again. They’re gonna wish they had more manners.”

  He staggered to his feet, taking a tarnished .45 pistol off the table and sticking it into his beltline. “Jamison…Dex…you better get your kids to mind me better.” Vern slipped on his leather boots, leaving the laces to flop on the floor as he walked down the hallway. “Remember this is my house and y’all are my guests.”

  He shoved open the bathroom door and flipped up the toilet with the tip of his boot, then commenced to take a leak. Vern looked out the window at a fine trail of blood and what appeared to be entrails near the back tool shed. “And tell your kids not to field-dress any animals this close to the damn house—don’t want no skunks or coons coming up here.”

  When he was done, he zipped up his pants, not bothering to flush the toilet, then stumble-walked back into the hall. Heading towards his son’s bedroom door on the right, he thrust it open with a knee, almost losing his balance. “Get your ass up, boy.”

  Vern froze in place, his legs feeling like they were encased in cement. He saw two teenagers hunched over the bodies of Dax and Jamison. In the corner were the lifeless corpses of their sons, lying face down. The slurping sound emanating from the mouths of the teenagers reminded Vern of a horse trying to remove its hooves from the mud. He narrowed his eyes, bile rushing up from his empty stomach. Vern staggered back, his trembling right hand reaching for his pistol. The red-headed girl crouching over Dax lifted her head as a sleek white parasite withdrew from a slit in his friend’s lower back and recoiled into her mouth.