by David Meyer
“If ecosystems are about to collapse,” Caplan’s eyes flitted to the forest, “then why do they look so healthy?”
“The Vallerio, along with many other places, look fine on the outside. But on the inside, they’re rotting away at a jaw-dropping rate. In the next few years, my experts expect sixty-five percent of all families, eighty-five to ninety percent of all genera, and ninety-five to ninety-nine percent of all species to perish before nature’s wrath.”
Caplan wanted to leave. But he couldn’t, not yet anyway. It wasn’t that he trusted Corbotch. He didn’t. Not really. He just … well, he just wanted to be sure. “If that’s a fact, then how come this is the first I’m hearing about it? How come the whole world isn’t in crisis mode?”
“The smart people—survivalists like you—are prepping. They might not know the exact mechanism, but they can sense the coming disaster. The scientific community, by and large, is aware of the Holocene extinction. But they don’t have my equipment, my resources. So, they have no idea how close it is or how bad things are about to get.” He shrugged. “As for the general public, they’re skeptical of the vague warnings delivered by the scientific community. And who can blame them? Rising politicization has undermined scientific credibility. Plus, the survival of captive populations obscures how many species are truly extinct in the wild. And many recent extinctions have been among life forms that get little attention, like arthropods.”
Caplan readied a mocking quip. But then he noticed Morgan, noticed how she was looking at Corbotch. Something had clicked in her facial features, causing her skepticism to fade away. Horrible realization had taken its place. “Don’t tell me you’re buying this crap,” he said.
She blinked, looked at Caplan. And in that moment, he knew that she wasn’t just buying it. She understood it. Understood it like someone who had stared at puzzle pieces for years, but had only just now put them together.
“I thought rewilding could stop it,” Corbotch continued. “I stocked the Vallerio’s ecosystems with proxies. Horses, bison, jaguars, zebras … they all found a home here. But it didn’t work. Remember the horse apple trees I told you about on the way here? Well, elephants didn’t spread their seeds like we’d hoped. Not even close. And that’s just the beginning. All in all, our rewilding project was a complete failure.”
“That’s when you hired us,” Morgan said.
“Yes,” Corbotch replied. “I brought in the finest minds the world had to offer and tasked you with the ultimate challenge … recreating the entire spectrum of lost Pleistocene megafauna.”
Morgan shook her head. “We only worked on megafauna indigenous to North America.”
“True. But what makes you think Hatcher is my only research facility?”
Caplan gawked at him. “There are others?”
Corbotch merely smiled.
“I don’t understand something,” Morgan said after a moment. “Why’d you lie to us? Why didn’t you just tell us the real timeline?”
“Make no mistake about it, Amanda. The world as you know it is about to undergo the largest extinction event of all time. Nothing can stop it. And that means people will die. Lots of people. Our entire species if my plans don’t work. And even if they do, I’ll only be able to save a tiny slice of the population. Those people—the best, brightest, and youngest—have already been selected. If I had told you that in advance, do you think you could’ve handled it?”
Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“You’ve got a sister, right? Lelanie, I believe.”
Morgan froze.
So did Caplan. He knew about Tony, but a sister? Morgan had never mentioned her before.
“As I recall, she teaches fourth grade. In Florida, I think. She’s clearly a bright woman and probably good at her job. But her skills, pardon me for saying this, will be useless in the coming world.” He paused. “Do you think you could’ve handled that truth? Or would you have wasted time and resources fighting to keep her alive?”
Morgan didn’t reply.
“So, she just dies?” Caplan shook his head. “You get a kick out of playing god, don’t you?”
“Actually, I despise it,” Corbotch replied. “Do you really think I like picking who lives or dies? I’m doing what I must to preserve our species.”
You didn’t seem to have a problem picking who died in your 1-Gen killing fields,” Morgan whispered.
“That’s different.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Those people threatened everything.”
“They were innocent.”
“They were greedy. Greedy for money, power, influence.”
“It’s still murder,” Morgan said.
“I prefer to call it justice.”
Morgan glared at him.
“I wish I could stop this,” Corbotch continued. “But I can’t. The best I can hope to do is prepare for the future. The Vallerio, Hatcher Station, even the 1- and 2-Gen animals are just a small part of what’s to come. I’ve set wheels in motion across the globe. Wheels no one will see coming, wheels that will bring this planet and our species back from the brink of disaster. That is, assuming you don’t kill me right here.”
Just kill him, Caplan thought. What’s the worst that can happen? Hell, everyone’s about to die anyway!
But deep down, Caplan knew the issue was bigger than that. Corbotch had linked his very existence to the survival of their species. In other words, kill Corbotch and humanity was on its way out of evolution’s backdoor. On the other hand, Corbotch was a master manipulator and a lunatic. A man who’d disposed of his enemies on a Pleistocene-inspired killing ground. Was he really the best person to lead the post-extinction world?
Caplan glanced at Morgan. Her gaze, unreadable, was locked on Corbotch. As he turned back to Corbotch, he saw the inferno. It was close enough that he could see the individual flames, the many strands of smoke.
Another roar rang out. Caplan blinked, stunned by its volume and power. It was louder than anything he’d heard in a long time.
Corbotch glanced over his shoulder. A smile creased his lips. “Do you know what that is?” he asked.
“A saber,” Morgan replied tightly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was there when they came out of their incubators.”
“It’s far too loud to be a mere saber, don’t you think?”
Caplan cleared his throat. “Some of the 1-Gens might be going through growth spurts.”
Corbotch’s smile broadened.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Your guards controlled the unopened incubators. And they controlled the sabers and woolly mammoths via microchips. What’s going on here, James?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Corbotch looked at Caplan and Morgan in turn. “Julius went looking for Derek. They’ll be back any minute now. And when they do, I want the two of you to come with us. What do you say?”
Decision time had arrived. And Caplan didn’t have the slightest clue what to do. If the Holocene extinction was imminent—and based on Morgan’s reaction, that seemed to be the case—then Corbotch was probably the only person in the world who could save them. But could they even trust Corbotch? Once they put their safety into his hands, what would stop the old man from executing them?
“Zach!”
Caplan, acting on instinct, had started to turn before he even heard the shout. At the edge of the clearing, he saw Pearson. He saw the hand cannon.
Saw it leveled at him.
Chapter 58
Date: June 19, 2016, 8:28 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH
Caplan lifted his gun, but a loud blast, followed by a rush of air against his left cheek, froze him in place.
“Drop your weapons,” Pearson shouted. “Now.”
Caplan’s nostrils flared in anger. Had he really come all this way just to die? Why had he allowed Corbotch to captivate him? Why hadn’t he just grabbed the helicopter as planned?
&nbs
p; His brain skipped through various courses of action. Unfortunately, Corbotch was too far away to be used as a human shield. And he didn’t like his odds in a straight-up gunfight. Lowering his weapon, playing the cooperation game … that was the most prudent option.
But something nagged at him. Why bother disarming us? Caplan wondered. Why doesn’t he just kill us?
Caplan glanced at Morgan. She was in the process of putting her weapon on the ground. He gave her a little head-shake. She got the message and stood up again, rifle still cradled in her arms.
“One last chance,” Pearson shouted. “Drop them or die.”
Keeping the pistol at his side, Caplan shot a quick glance at the big shots. They made no sudden move for the pile of guns Morgan had taken from them. Instead, they smiled pathetically at Pearson, like he was some kind of avenging angel of death.
Caplan had mixed feelings about Corbotch. But his feelings toward Pearson lacked even a trace of ambiguity. Here was the man who’d injected him with HA-78, who’d heartlessly let him kill dozens of innocent people. “What’s the point?” Caplan called out, half-hoping all the commotion would bring a flood of 1-Gens into the clearing. “You’re going to kill us anyway.”
Pearson marched across the field. His gun didn’t waver as he aimed it at Caplan’s forehead. “Where’s Derek?”
Ahh! So, that explained it. They needed Perkins to fly the helicopter. And Pearson was gambling that Caplan and Morgan knew where to find him. Which, of course, they did.
Not that Caplan was about to admit that.
“Who?” Caplan asked innocently.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Pearson said. “Where is he?”
The crackling flames turned ear-shattering. Caplan glanced at the fire and saw giant trunks snap like twigs and topple over, adding more fuel to the inferno. The fire was less than 100 yards away. But Pearson didn’t seem to care and at that moment, neither did Caplan.
For at the edge of the clearing, he saw bristling grass. Tall blades folded over, only to spring up again as yet more blades were pushed to the ground. Someone—or something—was sneaking through the field, heading straight for Pearson.
Got to distract him, Caplan thought. But how?
Nothing clever came to mind. And so Caplan just forced laughter. And not softly. These were giant belly laughs, worthy of the finest mall Santa Claus. And after a few seconds, they became real. Caplan laughed so hard tears started to stream down his cheeks. He laughed away his grief, his pain, his sorrow. He laughed because he was still alive and laughed because he might not live much longer.
Pearson cocked a confused eyebrow at Corbotch.
Corbotch shrugged.
“Hey Julius.” Caplan’s insides hurt from all the laughter. “You know what’s essential for a practical joke to work?”
Pearson frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“A rube that doesn’t see it coming.”
Pearson’s eyes narrowed, then bulged. Abruptly, the grass folded behind him. Something struck his legs. He grunted and flopped onto his face.
Caplan darted forward.
The big shots started to move forward as well, but a single burst from Morgan’s rifle kept them in check.
Perkins’ head appeared above the grass. His hand, now clutching Pearson’s hand cannon, lifted high into the air. Seconds later, he swung it at the ground. Metal struck flesh.
Caplan halted next to Perkins and peered down in amazement. The mighty Pearson lay unmoving on a pile of bent grass and mud. Blood trickled out of the back of his skull and took the gravity ride to the ground, leaving long red streaks on the man’s neck.
Perkins raised the gun again. But Caplan grabbed his arm, arresting his movement. “Cockpit,” he said. “Now.”
Perkins nodded and jumped to his feet. His body trembled from nervous energy as he stuck the hand cannon into his waistband. Then he ran to the helicopter and entered the cockpit. Within moments, the rotors started to whirl at a low speed.
“Bailey, Tricia, Brian!” Caplan shouted as a wave of boiling heat passed over him. “It’s time to go!”
Toland burst out of the tree line and ran for the chopper. Mills, who was helping Elliott, followed at a distance.
As Toland huffed and puffed past him, Caplan gave the man an annoyed look. “Whatever happened to chivalry?”
“Feminism killed it,” Toland retorted with a wheeze. “Thank the goddess for that.”
Ignoring the burgeoning heat, Caplan ran to Elliott’s other side and slipped under her shoulder. As he and Mills dragged her toward the helicopter, he felt a small change inside his brain. So many people—too many—had already died. Did he want to add more to the body count?
Corbotch and Pearson had obvious blood on their hands. He assumed the same about the big shots. And they would pay for their crimes. But that didn’t mean they deserved to die. It didn’t mean they were beyond redemption.
Just then, a woman—Deborah Keifer—shouted something unintelligible. Abruptly, the big shots whirled around.
Morgan shifted her rifle. But the big shots didn’t race for the pile of guns. Curiously enough, they didn’t rush the helicopter either. Instead, they hurried across the field, waddling like penguins in their Sunday best, and shooting terrified looks at the oncoming inferno.
“What are you—?” Caplan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get back here!”
A few of the big shots twisted their heads around. But they stared at the fire, not at him.
Then Keifer looked over her shoulder. Her gaze met Caplan’s and he saw a look of profound terror in her otherwise-vapid eyes. The sort of terror that couldn’t be explained by the laws of this world.
Keifer faced front again. Arms flapping at her sides, she propelled herself to the tree line and past it. Moments later, the other big shots followed her into the forest.
Without breaking stride, Mills, Elliott, and Caplan continued across the field. They passed by the spot where Perkins had attacked Pearson. Caplan saw smooshed grass and little puddles of blood.
But no Pearson.
Immediately, he turned his attention to the pile of guns.
Again, no Pearson.
Caplan scanned the rest of the clearing. But the big shots had trampled a lot of grass, obscuring any clues the man might have left behind.
A loud burst filled the air. Caplan glanced at the fire. It was approximately fifty yards out, as tall as a skyscraper, and seemed to stretch for a whole city block. The flames ran the spectrum of the fire rainbow, from red to orange to white. They moved forward with firm, deliberate speed, still throbbing and trembling. Between and above the flames, he saw billowing gray smoke, along with significant patches of blackness. Loud crackles, along with monstrous roaring, like an airplane about to take off, nearly deafened him.
Caplan and Mills hauled Elliott to the helicopter. Morgan jumped into the cabin and grabbed her by the armpits. Toland frowned in annoyance but he deigned to help out as well. Together, they hauled Elliott aboard.
Mills paused, her eyes traveling to the point where the big shots had entered the forest. “How long do you think they’ll last out there?”
“Longer than us if we don’t get airborne.” Caplan jabbed his thumb at the cabin. “Your turn.”
Without hesitation, she clambered into the cabin. Then she turned around, offered her hand to Caplan.
But Caplan hesitated. There was still the matter of Corbotch, the man who had started this whole thing. Corbotch’s resources could definitely improve their odds of survival. On the other hand, he was responsible for dozens of deaths.
Hot air engulfed Caplan and his forehead turned slick with sweat. He tasted ash and smoke in the air. The odor of burnt wood filled his nostrils.
If anyone deserved to die, it was Corbotch. But Caplan’s instincts told him that was the wrong move. And not just because they might need Corbotch to survive the coming extinction. But because … well, just because.
“Your tu
rn.” Caplan rotated toward Corbotch. “Get in …”
But no one was there.
Corbotch was gone.
Chapter 59
Date: June 19, 2016, 8:37 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH
The rotors gained speed, spinning faster and faster. Caplan steadied himself against a metal bar next to the open cabin door as a rush of hot air washed over him. The blowing air was loud, but the fire—now just twenty-five yards away—easily drowned it out.
Swiveling away from the fire, Caplan studied the clearing, searching for Corbotch, Pearson, or any big shots that had rethought their plans to flee the oncoming flames. But all he saw was grass.
He glanced over his shoulder. Toland and Morgan sat in the two plush seats directly behind the cockpit. Toland lounged in his chair, eyes closed, as if all was right with the world. Occasionally, a snore would escape his lips. In contrast, Morgan hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her hands were cupped around her cheeks and she stared straight ahead, a pensive look upon her face.
Mills sat across from Morgan. Her legs, along with her muddied and bloodied feet, were curled upon her chair. Her forehead was plastered against her window. Elliott sat next to her, securely buckled into her seat. Physically, she looked fine. But deep stress lines, probably permanent now, crisscrossed her visage. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused and Caplan guessed that no amount of therapy would change that. Not that it mattered since she, along with the rest of them, would apparently be dead in a few months anyway.
There was an empty seat in the cockpit. But Caplan didn’t bother to take it. As soon as they’d flown clear of the fire, he had every intention of taking a page out of Toland’s playbook. He’d lie down on the plush wool carpet, prop his grime-soaked head up on his backpack, and grab a few Z’s of his own. Just the thought of it caused a small smile to flit across his face.
Gusts of gray smoke shot into the clearing and swept into the cabin. Toland’s eyes opened wide. He sucked in a mouthful of smoke and then started coughing. “Close …” He hacked a few times. “Close the damn door!”
