The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  After months of wholesale slaughter, he had started using different substances, anything he could get his hands on to dull the images, the sounds of the screaming, the begging and the relentless nightmares – his inner demons.

  He knew things had to change when he woke up in a barn in Cambodia, close to Siem Reap, surrounded by dead pigs and the bodies of a family, all shot, stabbed and gutted. Blood and gore was everywhere, including over him. He even had an ear in his mouth that he had bitten off during one of his drug induced killing frenzies. He threw up when he realized it was an infant’s ear.

  The day before was April 30 1975, the war had officially ended at the fall of Saigon.

  He was there with five others from his private security unit. He vaguely remembered it was a celebration due to the end of the fighting. They weren’t sure who won, but it was over. The night before was supposed to be a celebration. He had no idea what happened or how they ended up in the barn surrounded by the carnage.

  While the others in his unit slept, he dropped his weapons and ammo and walked from the barn out into the morning mist and smoke.

  Fires burned in the village. Bodies were scattered everywhere along with dead animals.

  There was even the body of a priest, still clutching his bible. It was an American missionary; his neck had been snapped. He looked about the same age.

  Frank stripped and then undressed the priest as tears flowed down his bloodstained face. He swapped clothing. The trousers and top were a little loose, but they fit okay. He removed the paperwork from the pocket. Just a name, no photo ID. It was a letter with authorization from a local Major, giving him permission to enter the area to help out the indigenous people.

  The smell of burning flesh wafted over him.

  With only the priest’s clothes on and the bible in his hand, Frank walked out of the village and started heading to the nearest town.

  He never looked back. His life changed in the blink of an eye.

  No one questioned who he was, taking for granted he was Reverend Frank Clark – as the letter stated – a missionary from Long Island who thought he could make a difference in a war zone.

  His old name was gone, scrubbed clean – a new slate – along with his past.

  Another life.

  Another person.

  A new beginning.

  He used the cover to move around while trying to work out what his next step would be. That is, until he started reading the bible.

  It was just what his black, twisted soul was lacking. It was as if everything happened for a reason. The right place at the right time. The priest’s body and opportunity were given to him by a higher power.

  A rustle in the trees made him snap back to the moment at hand, along with everyone else.

  Another crack of a stick announced someone, or something was heading through the bushes.

  Frank raised the Billy club.

  187

  Mollee, and the others

  On the mainland

  Somewhere in New York State

  Mollee crouched by the tree line. Her hair hid her face. She cared little for the others; she was only here because she knew it was safety in numbers. She came along to protect her grandmother, Tish. She couldn’t even do that right. And to make matters worse, she wasn’t strong enough to do what needed to be done; she had to leave it to Smokie.

  The drizzling rain poured over her, chilling her to the bone. But she didn’t care.

  She gripped the two knives. Her knuckles turned white. All she wanted to do was kill – kill the creatures that took her Gran away from her.

  The newcomers were just faces she ignored. Who cared who they were, or what they have been through, or where they are from? Life was hard enough without tossing more people into the mix.

  All Mollee lived for is to slaughter as many of the creatures as possible until she was taken down. It was only time before they were all dead. It was inevitable, there were just too many of them, and all they cared about is feeding – savage creatures with the strength of five men and the teeth of a predator.

  Anger is what kept her going. She feared what would happen when the anger started to fade. She just hoped that when that time came she still had enough strength to take a few more of them with her.

  Her Gran raised her when her parents abandoned her as a child. Mawa, as she called her, due to not being able to pronounce grandma when she was little, and the endearment stuck.

  A sound in the tree line made her stand up and hold her weapons up ready.

  Get ready Mawa, I may be joining you in a minute. Wait for me.

  188

  Emma and Bachman

  Zone 4

  The underground bunker

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  “Did it see us?” Emma whispered. She was knelt down next to Bachman, around the side of the wall.

  “I don’t know!” He wasn’t sure how the creatures understood their surroundings. In the tangle of tentacles and pincers, he didn’t see anything that resembled eyes.

  They could hear the creature’s spider-like legs thudding down onto the grass. It didn’t seem to be charging towards their location.

  “Over here,” Emma said as she made her way along the outside of the towering arch, while being aware of how loud their squeaking wetsuits were. The bags with their boiler suits in banged against their wet backs.

  They reached the end of the wall. There was only the edge of the platform back into the freezing water. They were expecting another entrance or a hatch. There was nothing, only a walkway that joined the floating, grazing island to another, but there were no buildings on it, and they would be out in the open.

  “Shit!” Emma stated as she crouched by the edge of the water.

  “I don’t want to go back in that, unless I have to,” Bachman stated. He was fully aware that he released the mini-sub, and that it would be at the bottom of the reservoir by now, along with Emma’s. He knew he had no choice, there was no way he would have been able to lift it out of the water.

  He gazed across the reservoir. He was a little confused that the chasing creatures hadn’t arrived yet. Not that he was complaining, it was about time they caught a break.

  “We have to go back and try to work our way through Zone 4,” Emma muttered.

  Bachman knew they had no choice.

  Emma crouched down behind Bachman as they ran back along the side of the towering wall.

  Emma felt vulnerable out on the churned-up grass, with so much open space around them. They were sitting ducks, and she felt like she was being watched.

  A few of the immobile, infected cows started thrashing as they passed close by.

  I hope that doesn’t attract the others, she thought. She had no idea how they communicated.

  They reached the arch again.

  Slowly, Bachman peered around.

  The mutated sheep was over near where they had originally seen it. However, now there were five of them, and a few pigs that looked no better. The pigs were upside down, with their legs kicking uselessly in the air, with tentacles and spidery legs growing out of its buckled, ripped open spine and ribs. The pig’s mouth was a stretched open, split down the side of the neck, wide bloody mess, with a growth forced out that contained a collection of snapping mandibles.

  Bachman swore if he survived, he would become a vegetarian. His stomach was rumbling from lack of food, but he knew even if he had some in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to eat it.

  Movement caught his attention. Three chickens dropped down from the roof of a stall.

  The word chicken was a loose term to describe what they now were. The chickens had no spidery legs; they used their own, but there was no head or chest, just a collection of withering thin tentacles, and their wings hung snapped and useless by their sides that were dragged along the ground. Most of their feathers had dropped out, making them look almost comical, if they weren’t so grotesque.

  “How’s it look?” Emma questioned.
r />   “Bad!”

  “Shit!”

  “Tell me about it,” he stated.

  He peeked around the corner again.

  The group of deformed infected creatures was a good forty foot away. He was judging whether they could race around the side and out of view behind a collection of concrete barns that dotted the towering wall.

  Then the creatures started to fight among themselves. A sheep grabbed a chicken with its protruding mandibles, latching down onto the featherless creatures back, it then started to shake it in the air. Black pus and blood sprayed everywhere, with the other creatures rearing up in defense or agitation. A cacophony of bizarre screeches and animalistic sounds accompanied the fight.

  The sheep started slamming the chicken onto the ground, breaking the smaller animal apart.

  A pig raced forward and started a tug-of-war with the carcass.

  “Now!” Bachman stated and raced around the corner.

  It took a few seconds for Emma to comprehend. She sped after him.

  Bachman hadn’t described what he had witnessed, so when she turned the corner, she was momentarily shocked at the sight of the different animals, and that they were fighting among themselves.

  A pig was ripping into the side of a sheep, pulling its intestines out in long, glistening coils accompanied by what looked like buckets worth of blackish, lumpy, clotting blood.

  The other two remaining chickens were on the back of the sheep that attacked one of their kind. Their smaller tentacles lashed at the matted wool, ripping into the flesh.

  Emma regained her composure and ran to crouch down next to Bachman.

  “Jesus! Forget I ever mentioned bacon.”

  “I know,” he whispered in reply.

  They were down behind one of a dozen large barns that ran along the circumference of Zone 4. From their location, if they were careful, they would be able to get around the zone and out into either Zone 1, 2, or 11, depending on which was the safest direction. Zone 11 was the DNA vault. From Zone 2, they could get to Zone 3 or 5, both joined with Zone 1. If they could get back to Zone 1, they could get anywhere, even Zone 12 if they decided the Furnace option was still viable. Zone 1 was the central wheel, so to speak; everything branched off it.

  Bachman was just trying to remember which way was to Zone 1 when something hit the wall next to him with a splatter.

  They both jumped to the side and moved away quickly. At a safe distance, they turned.

  Twitching on the ground was a ripped open sheep. Black blood oozed around its twisted remains. It had hit the wall a good twenty feet up. Whatever had tossed it was strong.

  Through the gap, they could see the remaining sheep, pigs, and chickens racing through the arch – a mass of thrashing tentacles and mandibles, racing away from something obviously more powerful than them.

  From around the corner, a thud announced a large, heavy appendage hitting the ground, followed by several more in quick succession. Whatever had tossed the sheep was large, and heading in their general direction.

  189

  Naomi

  On the rigid-side boat heading for the cargo ship

  Somewhere in New York State

  Naomi was sweating. The cold spray of the mist from the bouncing prow splashed her hot face and started to rinse the blood off her clothes. Her hands were shaking. Her stomach is in knots, and her spine felt like it was going to snap. She gritted her teeth.

  She was heading toward the cargo ship. Safety at sea. A floating metal fortress, protected by the ocean and its towering metal sides. If there was truly a safe place on this dying world she was about to climb aboard it.

  The first place she was making a beeline for was the medical room.

  Don’t they call it a sickbay? She wondered, as she tried to take her mind off her pain. She could imagine a room full of medical supplies, unlike the useless hut back on the island where they left Tierra to die.

  Right behind her was the woman called Sue, who had the little dog leaning up against her side. One hand steered the motor; the other clung to her longtime friend – Tia. The woman looked like she was on a day outing, not on a rescue mission.

  Sue noticed Naomi looking at her. She flashed her a smile. Her glasses were covered in salty spray.

  What the fuck are you smiling about? Naomi wanted to shout, but she didn’t have the energy. Her body was exhausted from the constant fighting and nonstop running.

  She ignored the woman and looked over her shoulder, back toward the beach and the others. That’s when she noticed the problem. Creatures were pouring out of the woods, attacking those left behind, forcing them to wade out into the cold choppy water while they defended themselves.

  Sue must have seen something on Naomi’s face, because she spun around. She then swung the handle to one side, forcing the boat in a sharp arc, making everyone shout in surprise and hold on for dear life. She started heading back to the beach.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Naomi screamed.

  “We’re going back to help!”

  “We’re safe, keep going to the cargo ship!” Naomi went to lean forward to grab the handle, to wrestle it off Sue and keep them clear of the fighting.

  The little dog Tia sunk her teeth deep into Naomi’s chubby hand.

  Naomi snatched her bleeding hand back. She looked up from her hand and peered down the barrel of a shiny silver .44 Smith & Western Magnum.

  Sue said, “Bitch!” while holding the heavy barrel steady between Naomi’s eyes, “are we going to have a problem?”

  PART EIGHT

  New Hope

  190

  Emma and Bachman

  Zone 4

  The underground bunker

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Bachman didn’t want to find out what had tossed the deformed sheep against the wall as if it was weightless.

  “Move!” he shouted as he started to race along the back alley, away from whatever was heading towards them. He could hear the creature’s spidery legs thudding down into the earth.

  Emma didn’t need any encouragement; she was close behind as they ran along the rear of the towering concrete barns.

  When will we catch a fucking break? Bachman wondered. He was so tired and aching. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a long, refreshing sleep, or a decent meal, or a time when he wasn’t looking over his shoulder. Also, the wetsuit was rubbing against his thighs, making them red raw. At least there was plenty of drinking water available from the freshwater reservoir.

  Another noise echoed around them. It sounded like a long screeching hiss. It was then cut short with a sickening wet ripping sound. The creature obviously caught something smaller. The sound of crunching bones and popping intestines lasted mere seconds before the thudding of the legs continued.

  It sounds like it is on a rampage.

  They were running towards Zone 1.

  A thud behind them announced that the large creature was now in the space behind the barns, following closely on their heels. It obviously saw or heard them. The sound of concrete being ripped from the walls as the creature squeezed between the barn, and outer dome was loud, as slabs of concrete tumbled onto the ground. It was also giving off a throaty sounding roar that vibrated through the ground and their bodies. There was also a wet slapping sound from thrashing tentacles.

  Bachman didn’t want to turn around. However, he needed to know what was chasing them, and how big it was, and did they have a chance in hell of escaping?

  He quickly scanned behind – just a quick flash. He saw the monstrosity racing towards them. It was large and horrific to look upon. He wished he’d kept his gaze forward. He presumed that because the large infested cows couldn’t move that other creatures just as big wouldn’t be able to either. How wrong he was. The beast following them was more than twice the size of a cow.

  “This way,” he shouted to Emma as he kicked open a back exit into the nearest barn. He hoped the huge creature wouldn’t be able to enter the
small doorway. He also hoped the barn wasn’t full of other, hungry deformed animals.

  191

  The Shapter sisters, and the others

  On the beach

  Somewhere in New York State

  The infected raced from the tree line.

  The group had been pushed back, as they tried to fend off the first wave. Their backs were to the ice-cold, choppy water, having to fight on a loose-pebbled beach, while the naked creatures poured from the woods, obviously being drawn by the black pillar of smoke on the cargo ship.

  The Shapter sisters stood close to each other. Each swinging their knives in arcs, causing as much damage, and cutting down as many creatures as they could.

  They used their years of going to heavy-metal gigs and music festivals as a fighting technique – years, and countless mosh pits had honed their skills. However, now, instead of avoiding a swinging fist, or a hard elbow, they were sidestepping creature’s intent on feasting on their flesh.

  Shouting and screaming echoed around them, mixed in with the animalistic roars of the naked creatures that poured from the trees.

  Some people were pushed out into the choppy water. A few had succumbed to the frantic creature’s attacks; their bodies floated in the frothing water that was tinted red from all the blood. The creatures fed on their bodies, biting at them as if they were bobbing for apples.

  Sarah forced her knife into the temple of an old man, whose skin looked as if it was sloughing off his thin skeleton. Its bottom jaw was missing, with his blackened, long deformed tongue, licking around its upper jaws fractured teeth.

  “Jog on Knobhead,” she screamed as the creature collapsed at her feet.

  How quickly the world turned to shit, Sarah thought.