“Yes, Dr. Rodriguez. Fully charged and one hundred percent operational,” she replied over the PA system.
“Excellent. I’m going to need all the juice I can get.”
“Are you going to explain what you have in mind?” Sophie asked, swiping a strand of blond hair out of her brown eyes. There was no hope, no spark left in them. His Sophie was insatiably curious, but the woman who stood before him now just looked exhausted.
Emanuel paused. He pursed his lips, thinking about his response.
“Why won’t you let me help you? I feel worthless, Emanuel, sitting here worrying about the fate of our team. And I have to deal with that asshole,” she said, pointing in the direction of the mess hall. “I need to immerse myself in my work again.”
Emanuel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Sophie, you aren’t worthless. It’s just . . .”
“It’s the dreams, isn’t it? You think I’m going crazy.”
“Not at all,” he said. “And your dreams have helped the team more than my device will. It’s just—”
The crackle of static over the speakers interrupted him before he could finish. “Doctor Rodriguez, where are you? We’re ready to move. Report to Biome 1,” Overton barked.
“I need to get going, Sophie. I’m sorry,” Emanuel said, throwing the straps over his shoulders and hoisting the device onto his back.
“Please be careful,” she said, standing on her toes to brush her lips across his. “Come back to me.”
The last time they’d had a conversation like this, it had been her leaving, not him. This time they didn’t even have time for proper good-byes.
“I will, Sophie. I love you,” he whispered. “And my weapon is going to work.” He held her for a moment, marveling at how slight and fragile she felt in his arms. And then she was gone, the door to their personnel quarters slamming behind her down the hallway.
CHAPTER 8
OVERTON stomped on the pedal, and the Humvee lurched across the tarmac and onto the road.
“Take it easy!” Emanuel shouted over the groan of the engine. “You don’t want to attract any attention, do you?”
Overton didn’t reply. Emanuel wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t heard him or because the sergeant didn’t care if the Organics found them. The marine had a serious case of bloodlust, and he wouldn’t be happy until he had something to shoot.
Emanuel looked out the window. The dead landscape surrounded them on all sides. White pine tree skeletons lined the slopes, shriveling under the scorching sun.
He looked at his mission clock and saw the temperature in the right-hand corner.
One hundred and one degrees.
The temperature was rising, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even if they managed to defeat the Organics, the planet was doomed. Emanuel felt an anger growing inside him. He pounded the side of the door with his fist. His armored hands dented the cheap plastic lining. Typically, he was the level-headed one on the team. When Saafi had been killed and Timothy had lost his mind, Emanuel had remained calm. But even he could only take so much.
Bouma turned around to peer at him. “Hey man, you okay?”
Emanuel smiled thinly, even though the corporal couldn’t see his face through his visor. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Keep an eye out for drones,” Bouma said, turning back to look out the filthy windshield.
They sat in silence the entire way into Colorado Springs, scanning the landscape around them for signs of life, but their HUDs revealed only death. Emanuel hadn’t seen the desolation firsthand for weeks, and the sight sickened him. The empty cars lining the road, the shriveling trees and bushes, the dry lakebeds and streams—the world as they knew it was gone.
“How much farther?” Overton asked.
Bouma pulled out his tablet and swiped the screen. “ETA five minutes.”
Overton turned the steering wheel sharply to the right and pulled into a deserted gas station. An abrupt blast of wind hit the passenger side of the truck, peppering the exterior with small rocks. The metal pings sounded like hail, something none of them would ever hear again.
Overton did a quick sweep of the area before he killed the engine.
“Looks clear. Remember, don’t fire your weapons unless you have no choice. We don’t want to draw any attention to our location or waste any ammo,” Overton said, looking down at his rifle.
“We better move. A storm is coming,” Bouma said, watching a cloud of dust swirling at the end of the street.
Another gust of wind slapped Emanuel’s window.
“Let’s go,” Overton whispered. His door clicked open, and a second later he was sprinting toward the gas station.
“You heard the man,” Bouma said, opening the door and jumping onto the pavement.
Emanuel found himself alone in the truck. He scanned the street one more time for aliens and, with a long sigh, followed the marines into the parking lot.
* * *
For what seemed like hours, they trekked across the barren landscape, hiding in empty buildings and crouching behind abandoned cars. There was no sign of the Organics: no orbs, no patrols of Spiders, nothing. It was eerily quiet.
Overton swept his scope across the empty streets and realized how grossly underprepared they were. Before the invasion, he’d have had real-time data from field specialists and satellite imaging of the area fed directly into his HUD. Now all he had to guide him through battle were his instincts. They were low on ammo, with each of them carrying only one extra magazine. To make things worse, they were out of electromagnetic pulse grenades.
He moved his scope to the skyline. A red crosshair zigzagged across his HUD, searching for hostiles. It came back negative, but he didn’t lower his gun. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but his gut told him to take a second look. A brief blast of static burst over the com. “We should get moving,” Bouma said.
“Stand by,” Overton ordered, his boot twisting in the dirt. They were on the edge of a highway. A small trail of smoke rose from a multivehicle crash in the right-bound lane. The remains of the wreckage clogged the road, and with the drifting smoke it was almost impossible to see the twisted metal frames of cars and . . .
Overton paused. There was something else among the wreckage. Zooming in, he centered the crosshairs on the smoke’s source. The accident had to be recent. But how could that be?
With several blinks, he narrowed in on a set of warped blades protruding out of the mess of twisted metal, and then he could see the shape of what had once been a helicopter. The aircraft was hardly recognizable, but there were two familiar letters on the dented door of the craft.
N . . . T . . .
“Hold your position,” he said over the com.
Before the others could protest, Overton was on the move. The sergeant climbed over the concrete barrier lining the road and navigated past the empty cars with his pulse rifle shouldered. Normally he wouldn’t deviate from the main objective of a mission, but there was a possibility, however remote, that the NTC helicopter was carrying weapons—weapons they desperately needed.
It was worth the risk.
He stopped a few feet away from the smoldering wreckage. After scanning the road one more time for contacts, he peeled back the twisted metal door of the cockpit. It was empty, and there was no sign of the pilot. Nothing to tell him where the helicopter was heading or how recently the crash had taken place.
“Shit,” he said, beginning to regret his decision to leave the others.
Taking a cautious step forward, his boot caught in something sticky. He looked down and saw the pilot—or what was left of him.
Overton crouched down to examine the pile of slop. There wasn’t much to look at, just a sack of skin and the remnants of a blue uniform. The Organics had finished what the crash hadn’t been able to accomplish.
Poor bastard.
He continued on through the wreckage, knowing there was nothing he could do for the man. There was a time when he would never have left a scene without picking up dog tags or finding some other means of identifying the remains, but proper funerals were a thing of the past.
Kicking another heap of metal out of the way, Overton carefully slipped into the belly of the helicopter. It had been one of the larger models in NTC’s fleet, mostly used for transporting personnel and equipment. The crash had reduced it to the size of a sedan. Overton had to push hard to get inside.
When he finally squeezed into the cargo area, he smiled for the first time in weeks. Crates of supplies lined the sloped metal floor. Some of them had already spilled open, revealing dozens of gas masks, boots, Kevlar vests, and MREs. He combed through the open containers looking for weapons.
After several minutes of searching, his smile began to fade. There wasn’t a single gun or pulse grenade. He tore frantically into the remaining crates. The first was filled with night vision goggles. They were useless to him.
He tossed the crate aside and slowly pulled off the last two metal lids. The second crate was filled to the brim with small GPS devices. Jamming one in his pack, he looked into the final crate.
“Fuck,” he whispered. It was filled with more useless MREs.
Disappointed, he climbed out of the helicopter and scanned the site for anything else they could use. On the ground just outside the cockpit, a piece of smoldering metal covered the charred butt of a gun. He kicked the hunk of trash aside and found the pilot’s assault rifle. It was broken and badly burned, but a bag full of magazines and electromagnetic pulse grenades lay a few feet away. They looked unscathed.
Finally, some luck.
He grabbed the pack and paused, silently thanking the pilot for his gear before racing back to his men.
* * *
Overton led the small team into a residential area overlooking the remains of a lakebed. Their drone’s beacon was half a klick away.
He needed to get a better view of the area to see what they were dealing with. This wasn’t the kind of reconnaissance mission he was used to. This time he wasn’t trying to evade an army of men—this time he was trying to evade an army of aliens, which meant there were no rules, and no allies he could call in for support.
With a swift kick, he smashed in the door to a three-story condo. The house was the tallest on the block and would give him the best vantage point to scan the dry lakebed to the north.
Inside, the condo appeared untouched. An expensive leather couch lined the north wall in the living room, a pair of matching pillows propped neatly against the armrests. An open magazine lay spread out on the dining room table next to an empty glass. He cleared the next room and started up the stairs.
As he moved up the steps, he saw a faint blue light from the hallway above. The glow formed a halo around the entry to the corridor, like a portal beckoning him forward.
With each step, an eerie sensation washed over him.
He ignored the feeling and shouldered his rifle.
He slowly inched down the hallway toward the light.
Clenching his teeth, he reached for the knob. He twisted it, and it clicked, unlocking.
As soon as he cracked the door open, the intense light washed over him. The entire window on the far side of the room glowed. He blinked and kept his rifle pinned on the window, realizing suddenly he hadn’t heard from Bouma or Emanuel.
He couldn’t risk contacting them over the com, not when he didn’t yet know the source of the light. Instead, he moved toward the window, captivated.
When he got to the blinds, he reached forward and parted them with his finger. Beyond the dusty glass, he could see the entire lakebed and the hundreds of luminous rods protruding from the bluff above it.
“My God,” he mumbled. “Bouma, Emanuel, get your asses up here,” he said over the com. “There’s something you guys have to see to believe.”
CHAPTER 9
CHILDREN’S laughter had become a familiar sound in the Biosphere, and its absence now made the facility seem colder somehow. Owen and Jamie had been quiet since the search party left, playing in corners of the Biosphere like mute shadows, and David was too worried about Jeff to leave his room. Although Holly enjoyed the break from playing babysitter, she also missed the distraction of caring for the kids. Now that she finally had some time to herself, she found that she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
Holly hated that she hadn’t said good-bye to Bouma before he left. After losing so many people, she couldn’t bear to think of him out there risking his life. It was easier for her just to ignore his departure and go on with her job. As a psychologist, she knew this wasn’t healthy, but she’d done it as long as she could remember.
She left her quarters and found Owen and Jamie watching a video on Saafi’s old tablet. They leaned over the table, their short legs dangling over the bench without their feet touching the ground.
Jamie looked up when she saw Holly standing there. “Are we going to play games today?”
“Yeah, I’m bored,” Owen added.
“How about picking some tomatoes?” she asked with enthusiasm.
Both kids frowned but followed her to Biome 1. Helping the children off the platform, Holly moved straight to the first row of mature tomato plants. She plucked a ripe cherry tomato off a vine and popped it into her mouth. “See, they’re good!” She smiled and handed them both baskets.
“Only pick the red tomatoes,” Holly instructed. “Whoever picks the most gets a prize.”
Both kids swelled with energy and immediately started swiping the tomatoes from nearby vines. Holly followed the kids down the row of plants, careful not to step on any of the smaller, less developed buds.
“This is a dumb game,” said Jamie. A mischievous grin broke across her face and she bolted in the opposite direction. “You can’t catch me!”
Holly frowned and peered down at Owen, who looked up at her sheepishly. Slowly he opened his cupped hands, revealing a half dozen bright red cherry tomatoes.
“Great job, Owen!”
He smiled and plopped them into the basket before taking off after Jamie. Holly watched them disappear into the cornstalks.
“They’re good kids,” said a voice.
Holly turned to see Sophie standing on the platform behind her. The physicist’s hair was frizzled in all directions, like she had been electrocuted.
“How are you, Sophie?”
She managed a smile and jumped onto the dirt. “I’m doing okay. Just worried about Emanuel and . . .”
“Jeff,” Holly said, finishing Sophie’s thought. “Do you really believe he’s still alive out there?”
Sophie was quiet for a moment. “What other choice do I have?”
Holly nodded and reached out a hand to rest on Sophie’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she said. “I believe too. He and David survived the invasion when everyone else died. If anyone can make it, he can.” She watched Sophie digest these words, her features strained as if she were trying to solve a difficult math equation.
“I hope you’re right,” Sophie finally said.
The rap of footfalls pulled Holly back to the cornstalks. Owen and Jamie returned from their race, panting like puppies.
“What have you got there?” Holly asked, noticing something glowing in the girl’s hand.
Jamie giggled and hid her hands behind her back while Owen walked around in circles in the dirt. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“Here. Have a couple of these,” Holly said, offering him the tomatoes.
Sophie paced over to the girl. “What is it?”
Jamie took a step back.
“Come on, Jamie. You need to show me what you have.”
The girl pouted, but slowly brought her left hand out from behind her back.
It was closed, still hiding whatever it was she had found.
“Hand it over, little lady,” Sophie said.
Holly leaned over Sophie’s shoulder and watched the girl open her hand. At first glance, Holly thought it was a chunk of flesh from one of the Spiders that they had missed during their sweep of the facility, but, looking closer, she realized that whatever it was, it was alive.
The wormlike thing wiggled, and Sophie swatted it out of the girl’s hand onto the floor.
“Hey!” Jamie protested, stooping down to pick it back up.
“Don’t touch it,” Sophie yelled, holding Jamie back.
“What is that thing?” Holly asked, watching it crawl across the dirt.
Holly bent down to examine it. Tiny blue veins ran down the length of its body. At the end was a miniature tail, with spikes that were almost invisible to the naked eye. It looked, by all indications, to be a baby harvester Worm. But how had it gotten inside the facility?
Backing away, Holly let Sophie take a closer look. She figured the scientist would want to collect the Worm for study, but instead Sophie stomped the Worm under the weight of her boot.
Holly hardly recognized the look on Sophie’s face. They had known each other for a long time, and for most of that time, Sophie had dreamed of winning a Nobel Prize. Months ago, such a discovery would have excited her. But times had changed. Priorities, goals, and dreams had disappeared the minute they learned the outside world had ended.
Sophie lifted her boot off the ground and wiped the gooey blue guts onto the dirt. “I’m heading back to the CIC,” she said, without a hint of emotion.
Owen bent down to look at the squished body of the Worm. Glancing up at Holly, he said, “I’m not hungry anymore.”
* * *
ENTRY 1892
DESIGNEE: AI ALEXIA
One thousand four hundred and fifty-nine sensors have gone off in the past five weeks. The newest data scrolling across my display indicates there is a foreign toxin in Biome 1. Without running diagnostics, I am unable to determine exactly what new toxin is present.
Orbs II: Stranded Page 7
