Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  Tara and I continued to flank their positions. We separated a good twenty yards, revealing ourselves every few seconds. I came to a region of the walkway where the barrier ahead had been completely blown away, giving me access to the road. I stalked the opening, finding a soldier reloading his rifle behind a truck that faced Bollis and Vexin. I raised my weapon to my eye and fired, splitting his head in two against the wheel well.

  Another soldier attempted to rush through my line of fire but was taken off his feet by Dodge’s body-ripping .60 caliber. As I watched the cadaver skid to the ground, I spotted a kneeling soldier in my peripheral vision, partway concealed by the bed of the truck. I didn’t have much time before his rocket slammed against my recent position, leaving a hole the size of a small car.

  I rushed back to Tara, who was busy dispatching another soldier, and we both crouched against the barrier at the same time.

  “They’re not doing so well, are they?” I said between heavy breaths.

  “The usual,” she responding, slamming two more clips into her rifle.

  When I went to grab for a grenade, a pair of black boots came from above, crushing my sternum. I immediately latched onto his legs and tried to swing him off of me, but Tara had already put three holes into his body.

  Another soldier leapt the barrier, catching Tara off guard. He landed against her and smacked her across the face. She collided against the bridge’s guardrail, dropping her rifle to the lower tier. I rose from the dead soldier’s body, and ripped the live one’s legs from underneath him. He fired a few rounds, ricocheting off of the struts and trusses above. I pulled him to me, whisked my pistol from my thigh and sent five slugs into his upper back and brain.

  Blood and tissue splattered my face, and I nearly regurgitated upon the already sticky floor. Tara struggled for a moment, shaking her head before scrambling to help me up.

  “Damn it!” she yelled abruptly.

  I turned my head to see another soldier at the far end of the walkway. Tara and I crawled over the barrier, feeling bullets nick the concrete left behind. We came crashing onto the other side as Dodge sent forth another white-hot bullet into the soldier two feet away from us. The steel struck his temple and the whole left side of his head exploded away, leaving nothing but a mist of blood and evaporated plating.

  “Whoo-ee!” Dodge yelled, coming through our communication units scratchy and extremely loud.

  I couldn’t even stop to catch my breath. My face was drenched in blood. My eyes were stinging. My heart pounded arrythmically, and I feared it would burst out of my chest. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to reanimate myself. In the surrounding chaos, I heard another one of Vexin’s canisters explode far down the bridge. Bollis’ high-pitched ELBR was cutting into steel and flesh like a saw blade. Dodge was still hammering away, hardly taking any fire at all. And now Tara was shaking my body.

  “We’ve got to move! Mark!”

  Bollis informed us of three more soldiers that had slipped through their defense, and were heading straight for us. I took a large gulp of air and opened my eyes again, feeling the blood start to congeal around my lashes. I nodded to Tara and we both crept around our cover with pistols drawn.

  The first soldier met us on the open battlefield, almost peppering my legs with shaky gunfire. Tara clipped his shoulder, and I finished him off. We sprinted to the median, taking cover behind the truck that still had the remains of my previous kill upon it. Only moments after arriving, a faint tinkling sound was heard underneath the vehicle.

  The grenades explosion flipped the truck. It crashed upside down into the median before falling on top of me. The truck bed entombed me in dust and destroyed concrete. Tara didn’t even have time to call out to me as her pistol rang from the outside.

  Feeling around in the darkness, I realized that a huge portion of the median had been crumbled. I started to kick at the loose pieces of rubble and eventually the wall gave way. I was able to squeeze out to the other side of the bridge.

  “Mark!” Tara yelled. “Answer me!”

  I quickly told her my condition, and found a familiar MLM-GR amongst some of the wreckage. As I rushed down the remaining gap, I saw Vexin emerge on top of a parked sedan.

  He yelled with a rage I had never seen before, wielding the Boomsocket like a chainsaw. Before I could catch up to them, he fired the last canister into the darkness and an incredible explosion rocked the floor underneath me. The surrounding area lit up like a firework show, pieces of debris showering the vicinity.

  “Well,” said Dodge in my ear, “there goes their car.”

  I ran up the hood of a vehicle to get a better view just in time to see the last three soldiers writhing on the ground as acid devoured their bodies. Screams escaped as their helmets dissolved and seared their flesh. The humvee behind them—or what was left of it—burned brightly.

  Bollis put the convulsing soldiers out of their misery, making a wide sweep of the area. I jumped across a canopy of rusted cars, finding my way over the barrier. Tara and Dodge came a few seconds later, canvas bags to their backs.

  “Holy hell,” said Dodge to Vexin, “that thing is wild.”

  Vexin dropped the Boomsocket to the floor, agreeing.

  “I think we’re clear,” said Bollis, jogging to meet us.

  “Is everyone okay?” asked Celia from within our ears.

  “Mark looks like Carrie,” answered Dodge, “but other than that, we made it.”

  I didn’t have anything to say. I was shaking with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me. I had been in a training session similar to the carnage that ensued there, but somehow, reality was so much more terrifying. I wasn’t imploding, but I could feel the effects of posttraumatic stress biting at my heels.

  “They knew we were coming,” said Vexin.

  “How are they tracking us?” added Tara angrily, removing her helmet.

  “I’m doing my best to switch our codes every few minutes, but it’s still possible that they’re getting through,” said Celia.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it,” said Bollis, silhouetted by the flames behind. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

  “Put your weapons down!” shouted a muffled, hollow voice.

  My heart sank as I twirled to see an almost invisible soldier holding Tara by the neck, weapon drawn on her temple. His dark visor flashed in the reflection of the car fire.

  “You’ve clearly lost,” tried Bollis. “You’ve got nowhere to go to and nothing to wager.” Each of us had a bead upon our target’s skull.

  “You might be tougher than a few of us,” the soldier said, “but you won’t be able to stop two more squads. In a few minutes, this place’ll be crawling with your enemies.”

  We exchanged glances as a drape of emergency started to fall upon us. I knew there were thoughts within the group of taking the risky shot. I understood, knowing their past and what they’ve given up to get this far, but I wasn’t going to let Tara die. I wasn’t going to leave her, like she was just another part of the plan.

  “You’re bluffing,” said Dodge.

  “I don’t give a damn what you think,” said the metal-head. “Drop your weapons.” He pressed the silver pistol deeper into Tara’s skull.

  “If you think this will stop us, you haven’t been on our trail long enough,” said Bollis. That was the collected Bollis I knew.

  “Fine,” said the soldier in a tone that sent bolts of fear throughout my body. “I’d rather die than watch a bunch of would-be insurgents try to destroy everything GenoTec’s worked for.”

  A CT-46 discharged its three-round burst.

  I thought my world had ended. The distinct sound of three silenced rifle rounds reverberated inside my ears.

  The soldier fell limp.

  Tara snatched his pistol, and we all aimed at the mysterious person who had emerged from the darkness.

  “Y’all best tell me who the hell you are!”

  48

  Justin couldn’t stop staring at t
he floor. His breathing was heavy, weighted by an exhaustion he had never experienced before. Sweat was collecting on the tip of his nose, pelting the floor like a leaky faucet. His body was in the form of a cat, spine arched, grounded on his knees and fists. It’ll pass, he kept telling himself. It’ll pass.

  Vane finished placing the GenoTec scientist’s body in the corner, carefully removing the syringe that had ended the poor, young man’s life. If we don’t move now, Vane thought, everything will be for nothing. Vane was going to carry Justin to their next destination, but the boy lashed out in anger, wanting to overcome this anomaly without help. Justin had been in the same position for ten minutes, fighting the agonizing pain originating from his stomach.

  “Justin,” Vane tried again, “we need to move. If you can’t—”

  “I’m . . .” growled Justin through gritted teeth, “fine! I can—I can do this!”

  “I’m not doubting your ability,” replied Vane. “But we’ve been here long enough.”

  Justin started to laugh sarcastically under his stressful breathing. Vane furrowed his brow, and watched as Justin’s tiny body lifted. As crooked as a drunkard, the boy wobbled upon two feet.

  “Let’s move then,” the eleven-year-old said, grabbing his weapon and preparing another syringe. His tone was a combination of his old, mocking carelessness and a resentment toward Vane.

  “I’ve underestimated you, Justin,” Vane said. “We need to make it to Level 5. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  The boy could only nod. In some way, he could feel the throbbing start to lessen. The moment he started walking, the inward ripping seemed to resign. It was the only shred of hope that kept him moving.

  They trekked throughout a few more corridors, slipping past minimal security. From laboratories with ever-working machinery, to catwalks overlooking massive testing facilities, they moved swiftly and quietly; the late hour provided them with an easy escape route. At last, Vane led Justin through pristine double doors, introducing them to a cavernous stairwell. The scenery remained the same: glossy, sleek, luminescent surfaces.

  “We need to be quick,” informed Vane. “Just follow my lead.”

  “Wait,” panted Justin, “what about the bodies? They’re gonna find out.”

  Vane shook his head, growing impatient.

  “No,” he said. “Repik wouldn’t risk a public announcement. The people down here are the only ones that know what’s really going on.”

  “I’m—argh!—not stupid,” continued Justin, “he’s still gonna send more Tarmucks after us.”

  “We just need to make contact with the rest of the group. We’ll worry about the soldiers later.”

  The door behind them swooshed open, revealing a slipdeck-garbed female.

  “I found them!” she yelled, going for her sidearm.

  Vane flung his pistol up and shot her twice, once in the throat and another in her jaw. Her body fell against the threshold, slowing two other scientists. Vane pulled the trigger again, but it only produced a short “click.” He ducked as soon as he realized he was out of ammo, narrowly missing a sedative dart.

  Justin lost balance and fell against the wall, but managed to ratchet a syringe toward their attackers. The four-inch needle impaled the first Volunteer in the cheek, puncturing through to his brain. The dead body collapsed onto the last scientist, which gave Vane enough time to reload and pump the last defenseless man with two rounds.

  “C’mon,” urged Vane, leaping up the stairs, “this is getting out of hand.”

  The two escapees flew up the shaft as fast as their legs would carry them. With each step, Justin’s strength was returning. He felt warmth and power flooding back into his broken body. The nausea, delirium, and pale skin were diminishing. After having killed two people, it could easily have been the surging waves of adrenaline that were doing most of the work.

  They finally reached the top of the stairwell, halting before a large door. Vane approached the touchpad and told Justin to ready his weapon. After a few taps, the door slid up, giving them access to a brightly lit lobby. The room was square, sophisticated, and cleaner than a sterilized quarantine bay. All but two doors, located on either side, occupied the chamber.

  Once they were halfway across the floor, the door behind them shut and retracted into the wall, leaving no trace of having ever existed. Justin marveled at GenoTec’s secrecy, and couldn’t wait to exploit every single one of their lies. He was willing to go beyond his limits to bring this place to the ground.

  “Where are we now?” the boy asked as they approached the door on the right.

  “Far from where we need to be.”

  49

  From the black tar of night, a tall, muscular man stepped into the light of the humvee fire, holding Tara’s rifle. He was probably in his fifties, wearing tattered clothes, and sporting a thick, muddy gray beard. He had a blue bandana tied around his head, covering his baldness. His left eye was cloudy, having no discernible iris.

  “Who are you?” Bollis asked.

  “This is my damn home!” he spat. “I should ask you! Why you killin’ these armored guys?”

  “My rifle . . .” said Tara to herself.

  “Damn straight. And now it’s mine. You should be happy I ain’t trashin’ your asses along with the rest of these fools.”

  “Hold on, just hold on,” said Bollis, lowering his weapon. “We’re trying to stop them. We don’t want any trouble. We’re on your side.”

  “Well I don’t know ‘bout my side,” the man said. “If you’re not with them, then who are you?”

  A distant humming sound caught us off guard. I could feel the vibrations of an approaching vehicle rising through my legs. The soldier was right—more metal-heads were coming.

  “We appreciate your help,” said Dodge, “but we need to get outta here. You must know another way to the other side?”

  As bright headlights emerged, the crusty man spat upon the ground and said, “Gimme two of your pistols, and I’ll show you a way.”

  Who did this guy think he was? We could easily toast him, and find our own path. However, the lights on the next humvee were gradually getting brighter, reminding me of our last encounter.

  “Okay, deal,” said Bollis, unlatching his own handgun and passing it on.

  I steeled myself again while Vexin volunteered his weapon next. Before I knew it, we were jogging back the way we came.

  I managed to grab more ammo for my new MLM, having no extra time to find my discarded CT-46.

  “There’s a secret hatch we use that leads to the second level,” said our guide, paving the way to an overturned vehicle. Behind the car, he shined Tara’s torch on the hatch, which was just a conglomeration of metal slabs held together by wire and shoddy welding.

  “C’mon, move!” the man whispered, lifting the cover, revealing a rusty ladder dropping into darkness.

  Each of us quickly hammered down the rungs. Once the Dustslum man closed the hatch behind us, everything went black. It made me incredibly angry to think the rest of the group still had their helmets.

  A few seconds later, my feet hit solid ground and lights started erupting from the ends of weapons.

  Bollis thanked our guide and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Down here,” he said, “they like to call me the Dust King.”

  “They?” asked Tara.

  “My people. My family. And a lot of other folks in the ‘Slum.”

  “How many of you are there?” I asked.

  “More than you can imagine,” he said abruptly. He lifted his head toward the ceiling. “Who are they?”

  I could hear faint rustling sounds coming from the New York side of the bridge. How could there be so many survivors? Were they stealing Vax? Food, too?

  “GenoTec,” said Bollis. “But you probably guessed that by now.”

  The Dust King inhaled and licked his lips. “Figures,” he said. “There’s a reason we keep to the streets. I knew they were bad from the start.�
��

  “And we’re trying to take the bad out,” responded Dodge. The Dust King looked at him, unimpressed.

  “So the rest of the bridge is okay?” Bollis continued.

  “Just keep followin’ it. You’ll reach the end before they figure it out.”

  Everyone thanked the Dust King before we set out again. He called to us as we separated.

  “I don’t know what ch’all doin’,” he concluded, “but good luck.”

  We left the Dust King behind, passing furtive, glowing eyes. Above us, the rumblings of a GenoTec vehicle sounded in our ears, along with indistinguishable voices echoing through the concrete and asphalt.

  “Well, that was convenient,” said Celia.

  I had forgotten she was still watching everything that was happening. It must’ve been hard for her to sit back and do nothing about what was going on. Then again, I would have switched positions with her any day.

  “The Dust King,” repeated Dodge.

  “How is this possible? How are they surviving?” stated Tara.

  “It makes me think there are more people alive than GenoTec’s letting on,” I added, glad I wasn’t the only one bewildered.

  “I’ll admit, it’s extremely strange,” said Dodge.

  “We can’t stop to figure it out now,” concluded Bollis.

  “You’ll need a car,” said Celia. “Take advantage of the time that man bought you.”

  We passed more detriment and rust covered housing on our way to the other side, our boots making the patter of a giant centipede. To my right, the moon’s reflection rippled across the Hudson, and for the first time, I was sort of glad that I didn’t have my helmet. Despite GenoTec soldiers, flaming wreckage, and a butt-load of civilians close by, a deep serenity rested upon the night, unaffected by our plummeting world.

  Two car lengths away from the tollbooths, we stopped our jog and approached the massive guardrails. Still a few miles apart, visible in the twilight, GenoTec Headquarters stared us down.

  “Move it, guys,” Celia reminded. “You can sight-see all you want once we’re done.”