The Sixth Extinction & The First Three Weeks & The Squads First Three Weeks Omnibus [Books 1-10]

by Johnson, Glen

  “And lastly, the fourth stage: anaphase, which even though I call it the fourth stage it’s technically the third phase of mitosis and of meiosis I and II, in which the sister chromatids separate and move toward the poles of the spindle.” This was emphasized by pointing to the fourth graph.

  “Then a completely different cellular process begins, where the cell is divided into two. This stage is called cytokinesis. The divided cell then divides again and again at an exponential rate. The subject can literally triple or quadruple in size within an hour.” The last graph was pointed out.

  “Then the crossing-over is complete; the DNA polymerase phrase has been reached, by adding a new addition of nucleotides to the existing DNA chain, and the subject has a completely new form of DNA.

  “The genome it creates has the complete instructions for making an organism; all the genetic material chromosomes. So when it is breathed in by another host, the process can start all over again during the replication period.” She flicked the page to the end of the report.

  “And I also conclude it is not technically a virus; it doesn’t follow typical viral laws of reproduction. The only thing I can find that comes close to its genetic makeup is a particular genera of flora.”

  The general listened intently to the doctor speak. He leant forward and picked up the folder; he started to flick through the twenty-page report.

  “Could you break everything you just said down into a few sentences, in layman’s terms, please doctor. Do not take this the wrong way, but I am a soldier; I did not spend five or so years at university. Half of what you just said went completely over my head.” He leaned back, fixing her with his green gaze.

  Melanie blushed. She hadn’t considered the fact that all the scientific terminology would shoot right over his head.

  “Sorry, of course.” She coughed to clear her throat. “Basically, we are talking about a new, undiscovered species of carnivorous plant that uses a human host to carry, and distribute the fungi spores.

  “There are four stages. All I can tell you from my findings are the four stages change the carrier, but I cannot say how. However, you will be able to notice the four stages physically, because the DNA is altered so drastically. I do know that the last stage bloats the carrier to the point of popping, or exploding the host, so the spores can be dispersed over a large area.”

  The general closed the report and dropped it back onto the table.

  “So we are simply talking about a kind of parasitic plant life that latches onto a human host and uses it as food and transport?”

  “Basically, yes.” Melanie nodded.

  “So now you can pinpoint its genetic markers on the DNA strand; you can create an antidote to reverse the effects?”

  Melanie sat back.

  “No.” She pointed at the report. “It’s not as easy as making a tablet or antidote.”

  “I don’t understand. If you can pinpoint the problem, why can’t it be fixed?”

  “There is nothing to fix. Once the host is infected, the DNA is adjusted on a molecular level. The host is no longer classed as human, but a new species. It would be like trying to create a drug to turn a butterfly back into a caterpillar – it’s impossible to reverse.”

  The general leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face, and gave a long sigh.

  “Can something be created to stop people from becoming infected?” He almost had a pleading in his eyes.

  “Yes I believe so,” she stated. “It is not a virus that can replicate only inside the living cells of an organism, which can be removed or killed off. The host becomes infected by physically inhaling the spores into the lungs, which then attach and start the process of changing the host’s DNA. Therefore, a drug cannot be produced to reverse the effects, but maybe one can be created to stop the genotype latching onto the particular section of the DNAs double helix. In the pharmaceutical trade it is called a blocker.”

  “We feared it couldn’t be reversed,” he stated. “But a blocker that could stop the spread of the infection would be invaluable.”

  “We?” Melanie asked.

  It was almost as if he knew the outcome of the conversation before it started.

  “I have a direct line to the Secretary of State for Health, and the Secretary of State for the Environment. As do all the eighteen groups across the country who is working on the situation.” He sat back and rubbed his face.

  “This was our worse fears, that it was some kind of virus or infection that could not be reversed. But at least it can be stopped before it is too late, before too many are infected.” He looked at her with his piercing eyes.

  “How long would it take you to create the blocker?”

  “With the right equipment and supporting staff, maybe a few days to a week. However, it would need multiple testing and readjusting.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But the university doesn’t have half the apparatus I require.”

  The general was already reaching for the phone. “There is a military laboratory close by that is state of the art, and has forty doctors and scientist on site. I will have your findings sent over, and a helicopter will take you there to help them make the blocker a reality.” He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Private Drake, arrange a helicopter dispatch for pickup. It is to have top priority. The cargo will be doctor Lazaro and a file, to be transported to our science department on Dartmoor.” He listened for a moment. “Okay. Make the arrangements.” He then hung up.

  “I will have all your data sent electronically to the Dartmoor lab, as well as the hardcopy you will be taking with you.

  “The chopper is en route. It will arrive in forty minutes. I have just enough time to show you one more thing before you depart. Something you need to see to fully understand how much we need your theory to work.”

  3

  Noah

  Newton Abbot

  His flat, Union Street

  7:53 AM GMT

  A grainy video filled Noah’s laptop screen. A person’s breathing could be heard, loud and fast, as if the individual had just been running. The screen had yesterdays date in the corner, and a time stamp of 6:29 PM.

  “Can you hear me Ginger? Over.” The disembodied voice asked.

  “Affirmative. Reading you five, loud and clear Frankie. Over.” Another voice stated.

  Noah got the impression that two people were in different locations, and they were talking via headsets, while one was watching the other on a live feed.

  “I’m just entering the warehouse now. Over.” It was impossible to tell if it was a video camera or a mobile phone taking the video. The image was jumping around wildly.

  “I can hear something? Over.” The voice lowered slightly, and had an edge to it, possibly from fear.

  “Roger that. Be careful Ginger. Over.”

  “Wilco. Copy that Frankie. Over.”

  Noah found their overuse of radio jargon annoying, as if they had watched too many police or war movies.

  The warehouse was dark, and the only illumination was from the recording device’s light, creating a tunnel of vision in the otherwise dark confines of the warehouse. Dust motes danced in the strong beam.

  The voice was so low now it was difficult to catch the man’s words. “Come in. I think I am close. Over.”

  The other person did not reply, as if he was also engrossed in the video footage.

  A sound was picked up by the recording device; it sounded like an animal of some kind.

  The man continued to slowly make his way through the building. He turned a corner. Small windowpanes were on his left-hand side, a whole wall of them. The moons grainy light was picked up by grease and grime on some of the panes of glass that were not smashed. To the right was a long dirty concrete wall, with rusty pipe’s spider webbing over its surface, in no discernible order.

  The sound was getting louder – grunts and snarling.

  The camera panned the corner and illuminated the scene in its harsh light, cutting a bright wedge
through the dark warehouse.

  Noah physically jumped in his seat at the image on the laptop’s screen.

  The camera operator was frozen in place by fear. The image only slightly shook from the operators shaking hand. His radio jargon now forgotten.

  “Oh, fuck!” A voice said quietly. Noah couldn’t tell if it was the camera operator, or the other man on the headset speaking.

  Some kind of animal was spread out on the ground; it looked like a dog, but it was hard to tell because it had been ripped apart. Blood and intestines littered the concrete. However, that wasn’t what was holding the filmmaker’s attention, the naked middle-aged male on his hands and knees, with his face buried in the animal’s stomach, was. The man then sat back on his haunches, with his hands coming up to his face to pull at the long, wet intestinal track that was hanging from his mouth. The man was filthy, covered in blood and grime.

  The person with the camera was whimpering softly, with the camera starting to shake more violently. The man then started to slowly take steps backwards. A wet pattering sound could be heard. It could have been from the man pissing himself from fear.

  Realization dawned with the naked feasting male, when he realized a light was being pointed at him. His blood covered face slowly turned to look toward the glaring light. To Noah his face looked distorted, but because of the grainy image, it was difficult to tell why.

  Within a split second – looking far too fast for a human – the man sprang forward.

  To his credit, the camera operator did not drop the device; rather, he turned and ran. His footsteps slapped the concrete floor, as he was sped on by the animalistic sounds echoing behind him.

  Noah sat forward in his seat.

  Is this real?

  The camera’s light flashed off dirty walls and piping as he ran down some narrow hallways. Doors flashed by on either side.

  “Run Ginger, run!” The other person was shouting, as if Ginger needed the encouragement.

  The hallway led into another large open area. Piles of chairs and tables littered the concrete floor to one side, illuminated by large skylights. The grainy moonlight bounced off the floor and heaped up rubbish. The running man was whimpering and crying loudly, as he ran for his life. He tripped and fell forward, crashing onto the gritty floor. The camera flew from his hand. However, the camera continued to film.

  “Ginger! Ginger! Are you okay man? Ginger!” The other voice screamed.

  The camera wedged up against something, giving a view of Ginger for the first time. He was a slightly overweight ginger teenager, with a pale face covered in red freckles and streaked tears.

  “Ginger get up! Get up buddy!” The voice pleaded.

  Ginger was gulping in air, as if the fall had knocked the wind from him.

  The teenager got to his unsteady feet, while reaching for the camera. The screen blurred as he spun around, possibly checking the blood-soaked man was not about to attack. The camera showed no screaming attacker. Instead, it showed piles of something all over the floor, possibly one of the object’s Ginger had tripped over.

  “What the fuck?” The voice faded.

  On the floor, dotted around the broken piles of chairs and tables, there were possibly twenty huge bloated objects, which could have once been humans. They were bloated almost beyond recognition. The skin was almost translucent from being stretched so far, with veins mapped out over the thin, vile brown and black stained surface.

  Ginger was slowly backing away from them, when he bumped into something behind. He swung around, making anyone watching queasy. He had just bumped into another bloated body. It gave off a groan.

  Shit, they are still alive! Noah thought.

  “They’re still alive!” Frankie stated, echoing Noah’s thoughts. “Get out of there Ginger, we have what we need.”

  However, before he could move something started to happen to the groaning, bloated person in front of him. The body started to vibrate. Then with a loud wet popping sound, the body in front of the camera exploded; blood, organs, and bones flew through the air.

  Ginger gave off an ear-piercing scream, sounding savage and raw. The camera flew from his hand again. This time the screen only showed Ginger’s feet. The screaming continued, bordering on psychotic. Then Noah understood why, when Ginger tried to sit up; half his face was missing from the mouth up, as well as his left arm. Blood sprayed in an arc to the rhythm of his heartbeat – an arterial red fountain. Blood also dribbled from some type of bone that was protruding from his chest. Noah couldn’t tell if it was a compound fracture or a bone from the exploding body. Then the screams turned to coughing. The air around him, reflecting in the camera’s light, was awash with floating black spores, like raining ash.

  “GINGER!” Frankie screamed.

  Even in his state, the survival instinct had kicked in and Ginger was trying to get to his feet, trying to get to safety. Until a blur knocked him back to the ground, as something sprung at him from the side.

  The camera tipped forward. No picture was showing, but you could hear Ginger screaming again, as it sounded like some ferocious animal was ripping him apart.

  The video stopped, and Noah leant back in his chair. Instinctively, he opened up a program to download the video onto his laptop, in case he wanted to go over it again, or before the government realized it was there and removed it.

  The images played over in his mind.

  “Jesus, what’s happening out there?”

  4

  Doctor Lazaro

  Exeter University

  The Gym

  8:17 AM GMT

  Dr. Lazaro followed General Hay back into the gym.

  “Please put these on,” the general asked, as they reached the large, thick dividing wall, with the pods on the other side. Hanging from hooks were type II hazmat suits, which would protect against liquid and gaseous chemicals. They both suited up with help from two soldiers.

  “Ready?” The general asked via a small radio headset, positioned inside the SCBA – self-contained breathing apparatus.

  So far, Melanie had not asked any questions, but just followed the general’s instructions.

  There was an armed soldier stood to either side of the double, sliding door. They both saluted. One then turned and with a key pass, opened the door. With a hiss, it slid open. They both made their way into a small eight-foot by eight-foot area, which looked as solidly built as a bank vault. The door slid shut behind them. A beeping could be heard, and within seconds, a spray of white mist engulfed the small chamber. Just as quickly, it was sucked through the ceiling by powerful extractor fans. Another beep announced the fumigable transfer hatch was ready to exit.

  Through the hatch were four large, twenty-foot-by-twenty-foot pods. Each pod stood thirty-foot apart, and between them were tables full of monitors and equipment. However, what caught Melanie’s attention were the autopsy tables inside smaller biocontainment laboratories that were designed to prevent the escape of microorganisms. In these chambers were high containment isolator units that had humans inside, which were being dissected and studied by scientist in type I hazmat suits, with their arms in thick rubber sleeves going into the sealed units.

  She turned to say something.

  “Please, leave your questions until I have shown you everything.” The general said through the small SCBA speaker. He led her to the first pod.

  Melanie noticed the large bio-pods had tunnels leading out through holes that had been punched through the gyms wall, leading out into a car park behind.

  Scientists, donned in the same hazmat suits as them, moved to one side to allow them both a view of what was inside the first large bio-pod.

  Melanie could not believe what she was seeing.

  5

  Noah

  Newton Abbot

  His flat, Union Street

  8:24 AM GMT

  Noah felt nauseous.

  Was the video real? Was that what was happening in the outside world? Is that my fate?


  His head was spinning. His hand held the mouse arrow hovering over the download bar; it was almost downloaded.

  I need some fresh air! He walked over to the curtains and pulled them apart.

  The only thing his mind could associate the image that was playing over and over in his mind with, was a stereo typical zombie.

  That shit can’t be real. Can it?

  The room felt claustrophobic. He rested his head against the cold windowpane. Even feeling as bad as he did, he would not risk opening the window. Even more so now.

  What was that black mist? It looked like burnt pollen.

  Jesus, no wonder the government is blocking and censoring everything. Just imagine the panic that would ensue if everyone knew what was happening outside their locked doors.

  That is when he noticed the smoke.

  Shit, now what?

  Dark thick smoke was wafting over, past his window. He craned his neck, but he couldn’t see if it was from next door, or from a building at the end of the street.

  Goddammit, just what I need.

  Just then the four youths from earlier ran out onto the street from the hairdressers next door. The yob with the red hoody was holding a burning clump of rolled up paper. He tossed it back in through the broken window, as he ran off laughing along with the others.

  The smoke passing his window became thicker. He could hear cracking sounds, almost like gunshots, from the furniture and wooden beams in the shop, cracking under the immense heat.

  The idiots! Noah could not believe his bad luck. Of all the places they could have set alight. Jesus!

  He shut his laptop, pulled out the plug, and forced it into the protective sleeve. He rolled up the adapter and put it in the bug-out bags side pocket. The laptop went in as well.