Intended Extinction

by Hanks, Greg

  His attempts to slither underneath my skin weren’t going to work. I was determined.

  “You surpassed Trine, even,” Slate continued. “It was no surprise that you took out Gear. But you can’t beat me, Mark. You will never be that good. Your worthless love and care for others breaks you. You could have saved Bollis. Vexin. Celia. Their lives are on you, Mark. Their deaths are your responsibility.”

  Keep talking, psychopath. Keep talking.

  “You can still save Tara. If you choose to come with me. You and I can become gods together. No one will be able to stop us.”

  I clenched my hand around my rifle’s grip. The elevator’s mechanisms whirring to the coil of my spine.

  Slate sighed. “No, you’ll die like the rest of them. Everything you’ve done will be for nothing. Your life will amount to zero.”

  His conflagration caused my teeth to grind, my veins to pulse, and my blood to boil.

  “It’s too late, Mark. It’s over.”

  Slate ended his monologue as the intercom clicked. The elevator dinged and the terrible fear of going alone caught up with me.

  66

  Tara and Dodge raced to find the Cloud Elevator System, a combination of three shafts that helped scientists and deranged murderers get where they needed to go. Located in the rear of the Rectory, the System was the fastest way to Cloud 2—to the cure.

  As they headed east, Justin worked on saving them one lifeboat from the greedy hands of evacuating personnel. Four circular struts supported the Rectory’s weight, planted deep into the Hudson’s floor. Docking platforms with individual lifeboats were built where the water met the strut. In the event of an emergency, personnel would take small elevators down each strut to escape via lifeboat. However, Justin’s carefree attitude didn’t account for the souls who would become seared and mutilated from being left behind.

  The toxins being released weren’t by themselves something to be concerned about. But when all the forces of the pollutants mixed and reacted, a venomous poison would arise, killing everything it touched. Slate had sabotaged the automatic decontamination devices programmed to stop such an event, and Justin was having trouble trying to reboot them.

  So far, the two renegades hadn’t met any opposition and found the elevators with ease.

  Dodge slammed his fist into the call button, and Aural, GenoTec’s artificial intelligence, materialized onto the face of a nearby statue.

  “Which Cloud will you be visiting today?” The blue face smiled and awaited their response.

  Dodge told Aural and the blue hologram accepted the request.

  “Production, Symbiosis, and Experimentation. A wonderful choice. Your transport awaits.”

  Moments after his confirmation, the middle door opened. Tara and Dodge piled into the box and their descent began.

  Dodge looked at Tara. “Mark is going to be fine. He’s . . . different than the rest of us. If anyone’s gonna stop Slate, it’d be him.”

  Tara kept her gaze forward. “Don’t patronize me, Dodge. No one should fight Slate alone.”

  “Maybe. But Mark’s smart. He’ll think of something.”

  The silver doors opened after the elevator settled to a stop. Tara and Dodge stalked the next few corridors, approaching the biggest room in the Rectory.

  “This is where they created it,” Tara said under her breath.

  Dodge punched the door release. “And this is where we’ll end it.”

  The room before them made the Conference Station look like a small hut. They stepped out onto a catwalk system, floating over a mess of pipes, see-through tubes, glowing lights, hydraulics, and innumerable robotics and machinery. The catwalk split into six rows, separated by enormous vats coated in a yellow brush. Each vat had specific information regarding the contents within, detailed on individual touch screens placed nearby. The rows of catwalk extended at least forty yards, making the total number of vats around one hundred.

  The lighting was spaced out, coming from obnoxious overhead beams. Sounds of steam and churning substances filtered through the air. The atmosphere was acrid and smelt of paint thinner.

  “Let’s find it quick. I can’t breathe!” shouted Tara over the loud machinery.

  The two Genesis members jogged across the catwalks, each taking a row to themselves, admiring the vats with uncertainty.

  Whatever substance fills these containers, Tara thought, ruined the last five years of my life.

  But as they crossed the halfway mark, something unexpected caused both of them to stop.

  “Tell me you don’t see what I see,” asked Tara from across the gap.

  Through a small opening in vat equipment, Dodge found Tara’s face and replied, “Let’s just get to the cure.”

  Tara stepped over a mound of yellow-green mush, festering and dripping over the edge of the walkway. Dodge found flecks of similar drudge on different vats. Memories flashed into their minds. The gasoline-vomit smell. The colors. The scream.

  The scream!

  The banshee call filled the air, coming to a scratchy halt.

  “Run!”

  Tara sprinted down the rest of the length of the catwalk coming to another opening. A large staging ground presented itself, marked by white lines and circles, much like a basketball court. Multiple testing, office, and laboratory chambers lined the walls. At the end of the room, a corner door called out to them.

  Another screech echoed throughout the facility. Tara squawked as a limp body dropped onto her, covered in sores and pus-filled sacs. The anomaly yelled in a mournful tone, as if lamenting the state it was in. It thrashed Tara’s face and upper chest, flinging its powerful, yet disfigured hands. Her rifle skittered a few feet away.

  “Dodge!” she cried in desperation.

  But Dodge was preoccupied. Another grotesque humanoid stood with shaky legs in front of him. The creature’s head hung to the side, mouth drooping. The right foot was only a stump, while the rest of the body was spewing a green and red substance.

  Dodge charged forward, unloading Bollis’ ELBR into the face of the creature until it clicked empty. Blood and decayed tissue exploded from the living corpse, disorienting him. The oozing body fell to the ground, twitching and spraying more gelatinous mess.

  Tara’s strength dwindled underneath the ravaging beast. Her mouth was full of chewy, stinging slime and her eyes were out of commission. In one final scream, the thing raised its head in preparation for a massive cleave.

  Crack! Crack!

  Tara rolled over, feeling the weight slide off of her. Dodge held his pistol out, blinking away pus.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled. He knelt by her side, holding her as she regurgitated upon the metal floor.

  Two more infectious animations ran across the staging ground. While Tara recovered from temporary blindness, Dodge held their position. The first creature went down easily, spilling its brain matter as it hit the ground. The second one lunged forward, but Dodge cut the bruised and weakened skin like butter. The pistol’s barrel smoked victoriously.

  Dodge’s breaths echoed through the room. His ears were ringing from gunfire and high-pitched banshee calls. Axxiol’s siren continued to spread its message throughout the room.

  Tara looked up at Dodge, covered in green plaster. She wanted to say something, but the sheer shock and exhaustion slowed her down. Dodge helped her to her feet and they recovered their weapons.

  “C’mon,” said Dodge, “we’ve gotta find that cure.”

  Tara refused to speak. There were no appropriate words. GenoTec never ceased to amaze her. The oozing heaps of half-human-half-mutations were healthy people once. There was no mistaking that.

  Dodge led Tara to the corner exit, hollowed out of the wall. The woman scientist had told the truth. Every detail played out exactly as she described. They hurried through the door and entered a small preparatory chamber. A pedestal with a golden statue stood to their right and an adjacent door, sealed with a bright red holographic shield, barred their entran
ce to the cure’s location.

  The statue’s model was a slender man, floating a few inches off of the pedestal supported by clear posts. The body gave the impression of angelic stability and poise. Aural’s face combined across the golden skull.

  “Please state your clearance or access code.”

  Tara glanced at Dodge.

  “Aural,” said Tara, “it’s an emergency. There’s no time for clearance.”

  The artificial intelligence smiled like a maniac. “My protocols forbid access to anyone who does not have proper clearance.”

  “What if we pull out your circuits, huh?” joked Dodge. There was no humor intended. “What then?”

  Aural’s face changed from happy to neutral. “I do not emotionally respond to human threats.”

  Before Tara and Dodge could conjure a plan, an ominous voice rang from above.

  “Archturus Slate.” The voice was commanding and nearly shook the room.

  Aural registered the name and voice signature. His face changed back to a wide smile.

  “Access granted. Please make sure you are wearing proper outerwear for the CryoCore. Thank you.”

  Aural’s face jerked and twitched and was replaced by Justin’s mousy grin. The red barrier covering the door disappeared.

  “I guess Slate’s voice worked! Ha!”

  Dodged looked astounded. “How did you—never mind. You’ve got impeccable timing, dude. Let’s go, Tara!”

  Tara lagged behind. “Wait, what did he mean by the ‘CryoCore’?” She wiped a piece of phlegm from her eyebrow and followed Dodge into the next room.

  The renegades found themselves standing on a bridge inside of a circular tunnel. The walls oscillated with blue lights and hummed with power. The glass on the lights became frostier as they approached the end door. The air became cold, and then downright freezing. Even in their Oversuits, they could feel the snapping chill bite their bones.

  Plumes of white breath came from Dodge’s mouth. “This must be it.” His teeth chattered and his nose started running. Tara flexed her muscles as much as she could, fending off the invading temperature.

  Once they came to the door, Dodge initiated the massive lock system. Vast quantities of sterilizing smoke billowed around their ankles.

  The CryoCore looked like a frozen mason jar. Everything was covered in a thick layer of shimmering frost. Blue, hazy light spawned from curved cylinders, rotating on the ceiling. A few steps down, a center pillar held a glass belly, with eighteen small vials supported by mechanical arms. A pearl colored liquid lay stagnant within the tiny containers.

  Tara almost collapsed as she mumbled, “That’s . . .”

  Dodge approached the pillar as if trying to catch a sleeping animal.

  “Slate didn’t have it after all,” he stated, turning back to Tara.

  She didn’t respond. No matter how much she loved Mark, the cure stood feet away from her. Her feelings from him faded for a moment as she approached the glass compartment. She had known Mark for a little more than a month. She had known Edge for five years.

  Then her open mouth developed into a smile.

  “Let’s open it! Open it!”

  Dodge managed to let a grin slip. He touched one of the glyphs on the pillar’s screen and the sterilized glass rose steadily until it clicked into position. Depressurizing mists issued out of the display. The pristine containers full of healing liquid mesmerized them. The clear, pinkish essence purged every other thought, memory, ambition, and dream they had. This was the only moment worth living. This was the beginning of their reincarnation.

  “I think we’ve earned a vial to ourselves,” said Dodge, reaching for a dose.

  “You’ve never been more right.”

  At the same time, Tara and Dodge ripped open their prizes and inhaled the contents, closing their eyes to capture every single sensation and enlightening thought. For the first time in five years, these two wracked souls had found heaven. Curtis Mundson and Tara Tracer became whole again.

  When the world finally returned to the two euphoric individuals, there were only ten minutes left before everything living inside of Axxiol became bubbling husks.

  “Grab as many as you can!” exclaimed Dodge, stuffing the vials into his lumbar pouch.

  “Maybe we’ve still got time, Dodge,” tried Tara. Dodge shot her a hesitant look, but kept loading until no more containers were left. “Dodge!”

  “Tara, we’re going to be close enough as is,” he said, ready to leave.

  “What if something’s happened?”

  “Tara.” Dodge stepped down again. “If we don’t get these samples out of here—”

  “I know. I know. All right. Let’s go.”

  They left the CryoCore and sprinted down the tunnel. They passed Aural’s statue on their way into the staging grounds. The pungent smell of feces and garlic hit them as they tore across the green and yellow splattered floor. Tara took one last look at one of the Edge-infused beings still twitching, before entering the catwalk system.

  But their journey came to a crashing halt.

  “Biohazard warning: infectious wastes have been released. Cloud 1 has been compromised. Rising fumes to immerse the entire Rectory in thirty seconds. Biohazard warning . . .”

  Tara spun around. “I thought we had more time?!” Everything beautiful and redeeming about the last few minutes vanished.

  Dodge looked defeated and spastic. “Something’s happened! Damn it!”

  Thirty seconds wasn’t enough. Dodge tried to figure something out, hands on his head, locked in fear and frustration. Tara felt her stomach rising through her throat. Then they both looked at each other, knowing there was no possible way out.

  In a sphere of spiraling despair, the two friends—who had never intended true evil upon anyone or anything—came together in one final embrace. It was a moment of acceptance. Although their time in Genesis yielded times of fear and desperation, they were always ready to die. Edge had taught them that.

  Tara buried her head into Dodge’s shoulder, anticipating a gruesome end. She thought of Mark, Justin, and her family. Dodge looked upward, waning out of coherence as he imagined a better place. The Japanese gardens he always longed to see. The smell of a fresh summer night. Bollis. Celia.

  Twenty seconds left.

  Ten . . .

  Five . . .

  67

  THE DAY AFTER THE UNDERBED INCIDENT

  Maybe it was my lack of relationship skills. Perhaps it was the genes within my already dysfunctional DNA. Either way, I wished I had been born into different circumstances. I was a harbor kid. I grew up on saltwater and seagull calls. My memories were filled with gray tints and unlucky circumstances. How could I possibly convey my feelings to Tara? How could I do this?

  Tara sat a few yards away from me. It was the first time I had seen her in normal clothes since Ellis Island. Her white t-shirt moved and flapped in the sudden gust of wind. Her dark jeans reminded me of the Turnmont. She had her hair down, short and wavy, accompanied by her cute fringe. I admired her like a beautiful painting. I longed to see her smile again. I pined for her touch.

  Was it too late?

  The sunset shot lasers of light upon the back end of the railroad station—our hideout for the time being. The station’s large, arched Quonset style architecture was rusting and decaying from years of disregard. Tara was perched on a sloped pile of rubble, overlooking the massive opening in the wall and ceiling. Some kind of disaster had befallen the Terminal. From her position, Manhattan could be seen across the purple and yellow waters of the Husdon.

  While the others were preparing for our move for the surveillance codes, Tara had relocated for some time alone. Justin, Vane, and her new assignment loomed over her like a black cloud. Despite her fear conditioning, she was afraid. She was fragile and vulnerable.

  She was still human.

  I stepped forward to the base of the rubble mound and looked up at her. She didn’t flinch. I knew she saw me in the corner
of her eye. I was probably the last person she wanted to deal with at the moment.

  But I couldn’t let her go.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  A warm glance came from the top. “Come on up.”

  I climbed the loosed chunks of concrete and steel, taking a seat next to her. A tense silence carried us for a few minutes. We watched the River sway and collapse on itself. The city looked muddy in the background. It told a story of defeat, of fear and destruction. But I wasn’t really watching or thinking about the scenery. All I could think about, as proven by my sweaty palms and racing heart, was her. Tara. Why could I not remove her from my mind?

  Her eyes glazed, and she was the first to break the silence.

  “What if we just ran?”

  I gave her a look of confusion and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Leave all this behind. We’re trained now. GenoTec soldiers wouldn’t be able to stop us. We could do it.”

  All I wanted to do was agree with her, but I knew she wasn’t being serious.

  “We can’t leave,” I said. She turned to me at last, surprised I would give such an answer. “We could run any time. But we won’t.”

  She returned to the River and smirked. “You know me well, Wenton. Sometimes I like to pretend. Maybe it helps me feel better.”

  I didn’t know what else to say, or how to bring up our relationship. For a brief moment, all I cared about was Tara and I. Genesis could wait. Every other emotion could be put on hold. Right now, I wanted to secure what I felt in my heart. Nothing else mattered.

  Then, in a strong, serious tone, she said, “I hate what we’ve become.”

  All I could do was blink. She turned to me with tear-filled eyes.

  “I never wanted to be a solider, Mark. I hate what I’m about to do. I hate everything about this.”

  I immersed myself in her bulbous globes, full of heart and soul and life. They pierced me, but the wound was soft and warm.

  “We didn’t exactly have a choice.”

  She didn’t take that as a viable answer. “No, Mark. We did have a choice. We chose to fight. Maybe we didn’t know all the details—maybe we were angry and rash—but we could have easily left Genesis behind.”