The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  He tried to push the images away.

  How he struggled to free himself and then remove the bodies of his family. How he realized his youngest daughter, who was only five was missing. The window next to her seat shattered in the crash. He weakly searched the area, in case her body was flung from the vehicle. She was nowhere to be found.

  He raced along the highway, slamming on car windows, shouting for help to find his daughter. But no one cared. They had seen his car overturned, and no one came to his aid – everyone was busy saving their own families to worry about strangers.

  Stu ran along, checking inside the slowly moving vehicles, trying to locate her.

  He raced along the tree line, next to the road, searching through the trees. Maybe she was confused – hurt – and was aimlessly walking in a random direction.

  What if someone had taken her? he thought at the time.

  Not knowing was, in some ways, worse than what happened to his wife and other two children. He had closure with them. He had returned and, due to having nothing to dig with, used his bare hands to dig their graves, as cars passed mere meters away, with people staring blankly at his misery, glad it wasn’t them.

  A week later, Smokie and the others found him aimlessly wandering the riverbank. He had no idea what he had been doing since the crash.

  He never found Hanna, his daughter.

  The Kermit the glove puppet was what he was wearing at the time, as the car slowly ambled along the snaking line of traffic as they tried to exit the city. He was giving Hanna a show over his shoulder to stop her from crying when the truck hit.

  He had become part of the group of the original cruise ship that the women had first become stranded on when most of the crew abandoned them. He was there when they traded it for the fishing boat. He was the one who spotted the cargo ship on the horizon, and also the island they called home. He was always on deck, always checking the coastline for his daughter, having never given up that she was out there somewhere, regardless of how improbable it sounded.

  Hanna was all the family he had left. She was out there. That he was sure of, because believing she wasn’t, was too much to handle. It was the one hope that was keeping him clinging to life – kept him struggling in this dying world.

  Stu checked behind as another group of creatures charged out of the woods.

  Just one more day, he reasoned. It was his mantra. He took it a day at a time, because to look any further ahead was just madness.

  He swung the machete at a creature charging straight at him.

  183

  Smokie, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  They stopped running to turn to face the new threat. It was a handful of creatures that were drawn by the sound of the explosions. It only took a few minutes to kill them all, leaving their twitching bodies on the wet road – carrion for the bird circling high above.

  Smokie scanned the ragtag group. A pitiful sight. Humanity at its lowest. People, whose faces were etched with fear and exhaustion, and bodies saturated with the creature’s blood.

  “Not long now! Just around the corner,” she shouted to booster their flagging strength.

  She jogged on ahead of Naomi, leading the way. She held an axe in each hand – it was more comfortable than having them, bump against her thighs, and for obvious practical reasons.

  Images of Tish flooded her mind.

  The staring, swollen, inhuman eyes just before she lunged. Tish’s headless body flopping around in the cabin like a decapitated fish, with blood spurting from her ragged neck.

  The decades of friendship. The years of interaction, that was now over. All she had left were memories, and foremost was of her changing into an infected delivery device.

  Tears flowed down Smokie’s face along with the sweat and rain.

  Now all that’s left is a dying world, with humanity trying to hold on with its last rattling breath.

  The ragged breathing, the slapping of people’s shoes, and the jingling of weapons were the only sounds coming from the group.

  Terrance jogged up beside Smokie.

  “Who’s on the ship?” he asked. It was obvious that it wouldn’t be left unattended.

  “Sue Jackson, Emma Dudley, and Tia are protecting the ship,” she stated. “They have weapons and ammunition, in case someone notices the ship and tries to take it.”

  “Just three people?”

  “You need a boat to be able to reach the ship through the choppy coastline waters. Plus the deck is fourteen meters above the waterline, or what I’m told is called the draft. So without the steps being lowered a person would need a rope ladder attached to a grappling hook to get aboard. And then if they managed that they would be looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  She took the silence as conformation that the ship was safe.

  “Also, don’t forget the anti-pirate jet hoses positioned around the vessel at intervals that creates a wall of pressurized water that will capsize smaller boats and stop anything being latched onto the sides, with just the flick of a switch.

  “Plus, it’s only two people; Tia’s a dog!”

  As they turned a corner, after what seemed like hours of running, they saw the coastline stretching out in front of them between the leaning trees.

  In the distance, was the huge cargo ship, anchored thousands of feet out to sea, sitting in the middle of a vast cove that wrapped its protective side around it. The enormous vessel was stacked high with colorful containers.

  There was only one problem. There was billowing black smoke pouring from the upper deck, churning into the dull, raining sky.

  184

  Bachman and Emma

  Zone 4

  The underground bunker

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  The thick tentacles slammed down just feet away from Emma. However, it became apparent that this creature was fixed in its location.

  “It’s too heavy to move,” Emma pointed out, as the creature thrashed about, churning up the grass, sending clumps flying through the air.

  “It shows the new strains affects more than just humans.” He wiped a hand down his tired face as they jogged on.

  “Shit!”

  “Exactly,” Bachman pointed out. “That means there will be more subjects to infect, which will speed up the decline of the human race.”

  They ran well clear of the other mounds of deformed flesh. Each creature reacted as they approached, as if waking up from their dormant state when they felt the vibrations of their feet through the ground.

  “You know what this means?” Emma announced. “We are in Zone 4, the farm section.”

  The smell that wafted out of the tunnel was all the confirmation they needed – musty straw, urine, and manure, with a mixture of what Bachman guessed was blood.

  “We must have got turned around in the confusion,” Bachman stated.

  It was a blow to morale. They were even further away from Zone 12 than when they first started.

  Those mini-subs must have been traveling faster than I realized, he thought. With nothing to concentrate on under the water distance meant very little. He was just interested in getting away from the submarine. This, however, was good news, it would mean they had more time before the swimming creatures caught up with them.

  In fact, as he looked across the grassland, toward the reservoir, he couldn’t see any activity to show they were close.

  Bachman was sure he saw them churning across towards them. Maybe it was an illusion of the water, or from the cold, confusing my brain?

  Together they jogged under the large arch that opened up into Zone 4. The zone was the third biggest after the agricultural fields in Zone 2, and the city of Zone 1.

  Emma never believed in Noah’s Ark, because to her, it just sounded implausible. Tens of thousands of animals inside a vast wooden construction that floated upon the new, world expanding sea, which also had to carry everything to cater to their every n
eed.

  However, standing with her mouth hanging slightly open, she stared around at the vast circular chamber they had entered.

  There were five levels that ran around the circumference of the dome, and each had long sweeping slopes leading up to them, which she guessed was to give the animals easy access to the different levels.

  A large circular tower stood in the middle of the zone. This was covered in greenery, with tree branches hanging over the sides and creepers dangling down. It was a botanical-tower – an upright forest of vegetation to help produce oxygen and clean the air. It was also a space-saving design. One tower was equivalent to a square mile of plant life.

  It also had large pods running up and down its length. These are bio-pods, filled with fast-growing algae, which is used as part of the animal’s diet.

  Right next to Bachman and Emma was a sign to help someone find their way. The ground floor was bovine – a collection of different types of cattle. The second level was sheep. Third were pigs. The fourth was goats and smaller miscellaneous animals like rabbits, and the top section was fowls – mainly chickens and ducks

  The only problem was, there was no noise to indicate the animals were alive – the chamber was deadly silent. However, from their location they could see the stark red blood splattered everywhere, with thick black tentacles climbing the stalls and walls, as if a black forest had encroached on the area.

  All the farm animals have been infected.

  Bachman’s first thought was, Not all the animals are large like cows; the smaller ones will still be able to move!

  Just as he thought that movement caught his eye. Emerging from a pen through a buckled gate was a herd of deformed, blood-matted sheep. They still had all four legs, but these didn’t reach the ground; they kicked uselessly. Large spindly spider-like legs grew out of their sides, through the tangled wool that was thick with blood. Also, instead of a head, it was a collection of thrashing tentacles with a long thick, waving tongue that had an assortment of pincers on the end that spurted a vile black, bubbling pus.

  185

  Alex, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Alex watched in morbid fascination.

  What did it mean, with all the smoke pouring from the cargo ship’s deck? Are we too late, is it under attack? By other humans or have the infected found a way out there?

  Alex had no idea, but as he watched their only plan was going up in smoke.

  Or was it? Smokie looked like she was doing a dance. She stood on the shoreline waving her hands back and forth.

  “What’s happening?” Naomi questioned. She stood staring at the older woman waving her arms like a maniac.

  “Getting their attention,” Smokie stated.

  “Attention? They’re on fire; I think we are the least of their worries,” Lindell stated.

  “Don’t worry, it’s all part of the plan,” Smokie announced, while still waving in the direction of the cargo ship. “If they lose communication, or anything else happens, say like the explosion on the island, just as we were leaving, they are to light the signal fire, so if people become disorientated, and lose their way, they can make it to the coast and the ship.”

  “You mean to tell me, that is an arranged signal?” Alex said.

  “Yes! Now everyone stop asking me bloody stupid questions and wave your arms to get their attention!”

  As a group, everyone’s arms shot up into the air and started waving at the ship anchored out to sea.

  “There,” Terrance said, while pointing.

  A small dot was lowering from the side of the long ship, down into the water. As they watched, it grew in size. It was a rigid-side inflatable craft. It skipped along the waves toward the beach.

  It didn’t let up on the throttle as it got closer, if anything it sped up. Then just before hitting the beach the female, sat on the aft end, pulled the attached engine forward to stop the blades grounding along the pebbles. The boat skimmed up onto the beach.

  “Am I glad to see you,” the woman announced, talking to Smokie. “When we saw the explosion, we feared the worst.”

  The woman had short brown hair that framed her motherly face. Her black-rimmed glasses were slight askew and covered in water droplets. She looked to be in her mid-fifties. To Alex, she looked like the kind of person who would write a help column for a local newspaper, sorting out other people’s problems, and dishing out her worldly advice.

  A small dog jumped from the boat onto the grey pebbles and started racing around everyone’s feet. She rolled around on her back, while yapping in contentment.

  “She misses the land,” the woman stated.

  “Everything okay Sue?” Smokie asked.

  “Hunky dory our end. No problems whatsoever.” The woman looked around at the group staring at her, and the little brown and white dog.

  “Well, stop gawking, do you want a lift or not?”

  186

  Frank, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Not everyone would fit in the boat; it would take three trips. Some of the women climbed in first. It wasn’t sexist, just an unconscious decision, and due to the women outnumbering the men.

  The others pushed the boat back out into the surf.

  Sue lowered the engine and it was off.

  The little fluffy Jack Russell mix, with her white body and brown eye patches with grey ears, stood looking over at those left behind on the beach, with her bone shaped collar tag swinging wildly. She was barking, but it was swallowed up by the sound of the engine.

  There wasn’t room for all the women on the first trip.

  The Shapter sisters stood keeping an eye on the tree line behind.

  Mollee was crouched to one side, with her long matted hair covering her face. Her arms rested on her slender knees, with a stained knife in each hand. Her flowery, summer dress, dripped with water and blood. She heard her grandmother had been taken care of. She withdrew even more, if that was possible.

  What have we become, Frank thought as he looked around at the group. Willing to kill without a moment’s hesitation.

  He watched the two British sisters, who had been caught out while backpacking across America when the infection started. They were hiding, camping down by the river when Stu spotted them from the boat.

  Rachael swung a weapon with an arm covered in 1950s tattoos, indicating how she had decapitated a teenager. Her ample bosom bounced that were covered in more tattoos. “Bloody emo,” she announced in her English West Country accent. “How about that for a cut?”

  The two sisters had booming laughs.

  Sarah stepped to one side, mimicking a fighting stance; she pumped her elbow, then flicked her fist up. “Booshaka motherfucker!”

  A couple of other older women were chatting quietly to one side. They hissed at the sisters, telling them to keep their voices down.

  “Reel ya neck in love! Jesus!” Sarah stated.

  Alex, Troy, and the King brothers navigated into a smaller group.

  Naomi was gone; she was the first to climb aboard the boat, even pushing a few others out of the way to do so.

  Frank looked down at the Billy club he had been using. Blood dripped off the end along with a clump of brain matter. He didn’t want to think about what he had done, those he had used it on.

  All the suffering I have caused in the past. All the death I dealt out – the hundreds, if not thousands I killed in the line of duty, and beyond. Men, women, even children! What a time to become squeamish and oversensitive, in a time when those killing abilities would come in handy, to make a difference.

  He had left the army under a dishonorable discharge, along with a few others in his unit when their actions came to light. The army didn’t want a media frenzy about the American army’s war atrocities, so it was covered up. Apparently, a photo of what they did to the boat full of innocent people had surfaced, with them using the su
rvivors as target practice, as they tried to swim away.

  Within two weeks, he was hired by a private security group, who didn’t have to worry about red tape and popular opinion. After three weeks, he was back on a military plane as a consultant. A different uniform, but the same objective, with more pay and less people to answer to.

  He could still see the faces of those he killed in cold blood. People who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage.

  A misfortunate, but inevitable problem, his superior stated once after they had wiped out an entire village just to kill eleven insurgents. Hundreds dead just to make certain. Then, to make doubly sure, everything was burned, because, as his superior put it, the little yellow bastards could be hiding, waiting for them to leave. Frank knew it was to hide the atrocities they had committed.

  The group’s motto was The More Chaos the Less People Pay Attention. Which was sadly true. Put a bullet in the back of a person’s head and there’s an inquiry. Wipe out a whole village or valley, and the paperwork seems to disappear.

  At the time, it was just a job. Money in the bank. Good money. Blood money. He had no qualms. He was young, stupid and full of adrenaline. As a group, they would laugh at the way a head exploded, or how a woman begged for mercy. Or how the child’s body cartwheeled through the air, like a burning rag-doll. He would target a man zigzagging down a dusty street, and try to hit him with an RPG, and they would bet on how close he could get. Extra points if the body was obliterated. Points deducted if he only managed to take an arm or a leg.