The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  Underwater, all sounds were amplified. The sound of the metal creaking echoed around them. It sounded like the submarine was coming apart at the rivets.

  “Almost,” Bachman said via the radio.

  “So c-cold,” Emma muttered with chattering teeth.

  Bachman noticed how pale she looked through the full faced mask.

  “Get ready.”

  Bachman pressed the hatch switch. The large outer cylindrical door slowly swung open under the water with a cascade of bubbles and pressure change.

  Together they fired up their SDVs and gripped onto the side handles. The device looked like a thick missile, with the propeller at the back. The person lay on the contraption and gripped the side handles. Then, with a jolt, and a low droning sound, and forward momentum, they left the submarines dry dock behind as they dived deeper into the depths of the reservoir, and hopefully away from the tentacled creatures.

  177

  Naomi, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Naomi rested up against an abandoned car. She gulped in deep breaths, as sweat poured down her face. Blood dripped from her hands and body and splattered the vehicle. She turned and threw up to one side. She wiped vomit from her lips while smearing blood across her chin.

  They had reached the shoreline, and were now a little way down a road that was crowded in by towering pines.

  Seagulls and crows circled high above. Their squawks, caws, and screeching calls echoed through the trees. They would soon start to descend upon the gore to feast.

  Naomi’s stomach was churning, and her head was banging. She just needed a hit – anything to take away the pain.

  During the mere few hours, they had been on the island she broke into the medical hut looking for anything to put into her veins. However, apart from a few mild painkillers, and a few bottles that she didn’t recognize the name of, she found nothing to aid her pain. The stranger’s medical supplies were pitiful, and the stretched-out form of Tierra put her on edge. Especially how she just stared at the ceiling.

  Her head felt fuzzy, and her body wanted to curl up into a ball and lay in the fetal position until the pain died away. Instead, she spat a glob of phlegm onto the car’s windshield.

  For now, there were no more creatures charging at them, and regardless of the silence, more could be coming. However, they had to rest.

  Even a single cigarette would be better than nothing; she reasoned. This world truly is a shit-hole.

  She scanned all the people. Not one person was smoking.

  Seriously?

  Christ!

  Surely not every single cigarette has been used up already? Mind you, it has been a stressful month! Or maybe they are too tired and preoccupied to light up?

  “I take it this is the road that leads to the cargo ship?” Terrance asked Donna as he used the handle of the shovel to lean upon.

  “Yes, about two miles away. It’s anchored a few thousand feet out to sea.” Donna had her hands on her knees, with sweat dripping from her brow. She didn’t even bother looking up.

  “Okay people, we need to keep moving,” Lindell shouted so everyone could gather back together and move as one unit.

  A stiff breeze blew the dead leaves around their feet. The rain stopped for now, but the clouds promise more.

  Alex stood close to Troy. They both leaned against an empty petrol tanker that had the engine hood up with most of the parts missing.

  “Wait up!”

  Naomi lifted her head.

  In the distance, Smokie was jogging along the bridge heading towards them.

  “Nice of you to join us, now all the hard work has been done,” Naomi stated, while spitting out another glob of phlegm.

  Between deep breaths, Smokie stated, “For your information, Miss, I had something that needed taking care of.”

  “Is it done?” Donna asked.

  Smokie simply nodded.

  Donna crossed herself then kissed her knuckle. “Rest in peace Tish,” she whispered.

  A few others around her muttered in response.

  It started spitting with rain.

  A crashing sound made them all look over to the right. There were three infected creatures charging towards them, jumping a wrecked car.

  Over at the edge of the group, a few of the women stepped forward and raised their weapons.

  As they did, Norma, who was walking forward, staring down the sights of her crossbow, didn’t see the bloated body behind the minivan.

  The infected body sensed her presence and exploded in a violent shower of gore, shattered bones, and billowing black spores.

  178

  Emma and Bachman

  Below the surface of the reservoir

  Zone 9

  The underground bunker

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Emma was freezing. If it wasn’t for the fact that her hands were too numb from the cold, and couldn’t open, she would have let go of the handles soon after submerging below the reservoir. Her whole body shook as her muscles tried to warm themselves up.

  “Hang in there,” Bachman said through chattering teeth. He was also feeling the cold, like thousands of knives pushing into his flesh.

  They dove straight down, so there would be no risk of being seen from the surface through the crystal-clear water. The problem was, neither was divers, nor had ever used scuba gear before, and had no idea how deep you had to go before catching the bends?

  Bachman knew a person could be affected by decompression illness, or otherwise known as caisson disease, from sudden changes in pressure, from when a person rises too fast from the depths. The problem was he didn’t know the diving table limits.

  He also knew there were other factors that could cause the bends, and one of them was cold water. He hoped they weren’t putting their lives at risk staying too long in the frigid reservoir. He also knew they had no other options available to them.

  He was also fully aware that by shooting out of the transfer hatch they had left it wide open. He didn’t know how to close it from the outside, and didn’t want to waste precious time trying. So when the submarine slowly spun around in the water, and the dry dock became visible again, the creatures would know they were no longer on the submarine.

  Bachman led the way, in the direction he presumed was Zone 12 and where the supercomputer was situated. So far, setting off the Furnace was the only option available. Either that or detonating a nuke, and that definitely wasn’t his area of expertise.

  What do you do, whack it with a shovel on the tip?

  He had seen the big-budget movies, just like everyone else, where it was continually stated that unless a nuclear device was armed, it was useless. One could be dropped from a plane a mile high and all it would achieve is making an impact crater where it landed, due to the device staying dormant.

  Every few minutes he turned to check Emma was behind him. She was. She looked like a child being pulled along by the mini-sub.

  It also dawned on him that as far as he knew, most of the creatures could be on the surface, outside the bunker by now, pouring across the landscape, infecting others, spreading the new strains to the far corners of the globe.

  If that is the case, he reasoned, we would have no objective. What would we do then, just hide and hope the creatures left the bunker? Would we try to survive down here after everything that has happened?

  He had no idea, and didn’t want to think too long on the subject. Besides, he was so cold his thoughts were blurring together. He knew if they stayed under the water much longer, they would suffer from hypothermia.

  The water was crystal clear, and sounds travel a long way under water, so even though they had traveled a good five minutes from the submarine, they could hear the creatures pouring into the water when the hatch was discovered hanging wide open.

  In the distance, Bachman could see one of the manmade islands. He turned the handles, pointing the device straight for
it. He just prayed the mini-subs were faster than the tentacled creatures.

  179

  Troy, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Out of reflex, Troy jumped to the side when the body exploded. He landed hard on top of Alex.

  He could see the minivan flip to the side from the force of the collected gases that the bloated body held. Shattered glass and fragmented bones flew through the air like shrapnel from a landmine, shredding Norma’s flesh.

  Black spores poured into the dull morning sky, bulging out into a thick mushroom cloud.

  Luckily, due to the angle of the minivan, the blast forced the spores away from most of the group.

  In a heartbeat, self-preservation kicked in, and all those left unaffected started racing down the road, away from the black cloud of death.

  There were four people down from the blast, but they were past helping as they bled from multiple wounds. If their skin was pierced by the fragments, they were already infected.

  As Troy looked over his shoulder, he could see the black spores raining down over the victims, pouring down their airways. The people withered on the ground, and vanished behind the black haze just as the running infected reached them.

  Don’t look back. Don’t think about it. Just run, Troy screamed at himself.

  A few panicked and scattered, racing into the woods on either side of the road. Most continued down the asphalt.

  For once luck was on their side. Another storm was blowing in. The strong wind blew against their faces, causing the spores to head away from them.

  Behind they could hear the screams of two of the females that were withering on the ground. There was nothing they could do for them. They had to turn a deaf ear. To return would mean infection and death.

  Another explosion boomed through the trees. Something set off another bloated body.

  As Troy looked to the left side, he could see a vapor cloud of blood and spores that a person had set off while charging through the woods.

  Within a heartbeat, a third concussive boom vibrated through the ground, echoing through the trees.

  Troy’s head snapped to the right. The branches of the trees were falling back through the canopy where they had been jettisoned by the explosion.

  Troy raced behind the King brother’s and Alex, with Naomi once again taking the lead. Frank was at the back of the group. The others from the island fanned out around him, with some struggling to keep up.

  On the road, first on the left and then the right. It almost seems like we are being herded toward a certain destination, he thought. Surely it’s just coincidence, nothing more?

  180

  Alex, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  The sound of the three consecutive explosions was an instant second wind for everyone. Fatigue and pain were forgotten as they sped down the road. The constant threat of black spores washing down over them all kept their feet pumping the asphalt.

  The fact that they had just lost a minimum of six people didn’t factor into it. Self-preservation is a strong impulse, overruling every other desire.

  Sweat poured down Alex’s body as he raced along with everyone else.

  First and foremost, survival is individual. After the pieces fell and they eventually gathered back together, then they would once again be a group. However, he knew at the moment, it was everyone for themselves.

  There were abandoned vehicles along the road. Random, spilled open suitcases and belongings were scattered here and there. All from a time weeks ago when people thought they could outrun the infection – hide in the hills or the woods and return once the problem died away.

  On the right side of the road was a small gas station, with just a couple of pumps out front. It’s the kind of station lonely drivers pulled up to in a movie, and an individual would immerge, and slowly amble over, while wiping their hands on an oily cloth, as if they had all the time in the world.

  The front window was smashed in, and the pumps were demolished. The cause of the ruined pumps was an eighteen-wheeler that was jackknifed up against some trees.

  Alex wondered, briefly, why the station didn’t engulf in flames, then he reasoned that the pumps were probably already drained by people searching for fuel – most gas stations ran out in the panic buying stage, when people first started to horde food and water.

  They continued on past, not wanting to be trapped inside one again. It was obvious, due to its close proximity to the island that the insides would have been picked clean.

  Alex couldn’t wait to get on the cargo ship. Way out to sea he reasoned nothing could reach them. Also, even though it sounded cruel, the fewer of them there were, the longer the supplies on the ship would last.

  A manmade island moving along the coast, or far out to sea. He couldn’t imagine the infected swimming out to them. Even if they did, how would they get up onto the deck?

  It then dawned on him – how were they going to get up on deck, or even out to the ship in the first place? He had heard it was anchored a few thousand feet off shore. He didn’t know if he had the strength to swim that far when he was feeling a hundred percent, let alone after little sleep, a long run, and against the storm that was brewing on the horizon.

  Please, let us get one break – one fucking break.

  As he thought that a crack echoed from the woods on his right. A shout announced someone else had noticed what had caused the noise before he did. As he looked across a group of infected were frantically racing through the woods towards them.

  181

  Bachman and Emma

  Below the surface of the reservoir

  Zone 9

  The underground bunker

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Bachman literally ran the mini-sub right into the side of the manmade island. As the metal thudded against the dock, he let go and grasped hold of the wooden pier. He hauled himself up, and quickly spun around to help Emma climb from the cold water.

  Emma instantly ripped the mask free to gulp in some air. The tank dropped from her back as she unclipped it.

  “S-so, c-c-cold!” she stuttered through clenched teeth.

  “Let’s move,” Bachman said as it dawned on him. They left their gasmasks behind. For a second, he considered taking the air tanks. But they were too cumbersome, and only had about thirty minutes of air left, then they would be useless.

  Behind, in the distance, the tentacled creatures glided silently across the reservoir.

  Bachman had no idea what zone they were heading into, and he didn’t care at the moment, so long as it was away from the creatures.

  In their mad dash panicked escape from the submarine, they had simply headed in the direction away from the dock.

  Bachman realized it wasn’t so much an island, in a sense, but a structure that spanned out onto the water – a place people could come and relax. It was connected to a huge arch that ran into a zone. It was a genius way of creating more land – rather than dig out more earth, simply expand out onto the water.

  It then dawned on him that the grass was quite churned up, unlike the perfect, manicured grass around the buildings.

  Together they raced towards the arch, trying to get somewhere they could hide, and find out what zone they were in.

  Bachman was the first to notice a dark mound on the grass. It looked too big to be human.

  The section that jutted out onto the water was big, the size of dozens of football pitches, which was dotted with trees and bushes.

  As his body started to warm from the exertion, his senses started to take things in. He then realized there were mounds dotted all over the place.

  He didn’t have time to ponder on it.

  The only sound was of their feet thumping the grass and the squeak of their wetsuits.

  They passed close to a mound. It was a cow, or rather, what was left of one. It looked like it had exploded,
as if the animal had stepped on a landmine. Guts and gore, along with hide littered the grass around it. What was most disturbing, was what was growing from its popped stomach – a vast array of thick tentacles that spread out like a large spider’s web.

  “Fuck, even the animals are getting infected!” Emma said.

  As they approached, the motionless animal started to thrash. Tentacles lashed out, slamming onto the ground as if it had laid dormant waiting for someone to approach.

  182

  Stu, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Stu knew his life was in danger, hence how he kept moving one foot in front of the other, even though it felt like his lungs were about to burst out through his mouth. Fear is a great motivator. Sweat poured from his brow. His clothes were just as soaked from sweat as it was from the drizzling rain.

  What he wouldn’t give to be sat down in his large comfortable recliner, with its deep massage settings and cup holder and footrest. While watching Firefly on his sixty-inch plasma screen, and tucking into a plate of his wife’s fried chicken, while gulping down a bottle of vanilla coke. With his wife whining on the phone to a friend about another close friend while the children ran around the house like possessed demons playing superheroes.

  Things that he used to take for granted that now seemed alien and as distant as the moon.

  Another life.

  Another world.

  An image of his drowned wife and children flashed before his tearful eyes. Their bloated pasty skin, and dead, vacant staring eyes.

  God I miss them.

  Tears started to flow down his face.

  He tried not to think of them. How the minivan he was driving, loaded with his wife next to him and his children behind, and piled high with items they couldn’t bear to leave without, stuffed in the back and on the roof, was slammed into on the side, tipping them down into a ditch beside the highway, as other people ignored his shouts for help, as he struggled with the seatbelt, and to get to his family as the minivan started to fill with dirty water. How he blanked out from his head wound and woke hours later with most of his body and part of his face submerged in the cold; blood tinted water.