Extinction Countdown

by James D. Prescott

  Slowly, Mia’s focus began to return. She had identified what she believed was a gene responsible for assembling bits of non-coding DNA into the genes that made up Salzburg. Already three technicians had been tasked with comparing short lengths of Salzburg’s genome to that found in the pile of DNA once erroneously labeled junk. While she waited for the results of that study to come back, Mia busied herself with tracking down what might have caused the assembler gene to spring into action in the first place. Often gene mutations were caused by environmental factors. Could the same have been true for waking HISR in the thirty percent of the population where it hadn’t been rendered useless?

  Without warning, Jansson appeared next to her. “I don’t know how you can work with everything that’s going on outside.” Her eyes darted around as though she were a caged animal. The woman looked more than uneasy. Mia stood up and gave her a hug. Jansson froze, her arms hanging awkwardly in the air, probably not entirely sure what to make of the gesture.

  “There are some things that are beyond our control,” Mia told her, distinctly aware of the pistol in her pants pocket, but just as hopeful she wouldn’t have to use it. “Right now the sand is passing through the hourglass. Normally to a scientist, time is our friend—it helps us ensure our data is accurate by studying results over a long period of time—but that isn’t a luxury we have at the moment. One way or another, this pressure cooker is gonna pop its lid and I wanna get as many answers as we can before it does.” She gripped Jansson by her shoulders. “Maybe you could help me with what I’m doing.”

  Jansson nodded absently. “What is it you need?”

  “Right now we’ve only identified a single gene in the new 48th chromatid,” Mia told her. “I’m pretty sure if we can find someone, anyone with all four genes we suspect are out there, then we may finally be able to map the full chromosome.”

  “What do you suspect that will tell us?” Jansson asked, folding her arms as a fresh wave of angry shouts rose up from the streets below.

  “Tell us?” Mia repeated. “Maybe not much, but if the beings who went to all the trouble of inserting Salzburg into us have any message they wanted to deliver, I’m convinced that’s where we’ll find it.”

  Jansson smiled, nodded and started to leave before she stopped. “Thank you for that.”

  Mia returned the gesture. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Returning to her goal of identifying Salzburg’s origins, Mia used one of the computers to identify areas in the world where Salzburg was most prevalent. After inputting the parameters, tiny red dots began to appear on the map, each representing a known patient with the disorder. Soon the individual dots gave way to red clumps, the largest centered in North America, Brazil, Argentina, India, China and South Africa. Since the earliest cases of Salzburg could be traced back to the mid-nineties, Mia knew that figuring out what had activated HISR would mean first finding out what was going on in those countries at the time. To aid in her search, Mia overlaid a series of random results, letting the computer sort through the closest matches. Pollution spikes, nuclear waste facilities, changes in the earth’s magnetic field. After nearly forty-five minutes, the computer found a match.

  Mia flipped back and forth. The outbreaks of Salzburg and this new data point matched perfectly, although she was at a loss to explain the connection. Her eyes traced over the words on the screen for the tenth time. Genetically modified organisms.

  The first genetically modified plant was created in 1983. About a decade later, GMOs would go into commercial use and from there go on to change food production around the world. It would also stir up bucketloads of controversy and debate. Although this certainly wouldn’t help, Mia was quite certain the blame for Salzburg did not lie at the feet of the GMO industry. Regardless, one thing was clear: the assembler gene HISR, planted within the DNA of most if not all of the species on earth, had been programmed to remain dormant, waiting for the emergence of GMOs in order to begin transforming the genetic makeup of the planet. Were the Ateans trying to somehow improve us, replace us or wipe us from the earth? Mia suspected the time was fast approaching when she would get her answer, although something else told her she might not like that answer when it came.

  Chapter 17

  Greenland

  Until the science module, designated M3, was cleared, and they gained access to the medical ward, the computer lab would have to make do as a temporary clinic. Gabby was with Jack, helping him remove the dead soldier they had found draped over the wounded engineer. They laid her on the couch, her green army fatigues stained with blood. None of them were medics and it was difficult to tell whether the blood was hers or from the individual who had been lying on top of her. The nametag on her uniform said Tamura. She was Japanese American, somewhere in her late twenties with bronzed skin and fine features. She was also tall, five-eight, and athletic.

  Gabby undid the top half of her uniform, searching for a wound. As she attempted to peel part of the fabric from Tamura’s right shoulder, the woman groaned with pain.

  “I see a bullet wound,” Gabby said. “Looks like it entered right above the collarbone”—she slid her hand down the back of the white t-shirt Tamura was wearing—“and exited next to her shoulder blade.”

  Jack opened drawers in search of something to help stem the bleeding. He found a roll of brown paper towel and brought it over. Gabby bunched up two wads and pressed them against both sides of the wound.

  Jack stood, shaking his head in disbelief. The name plate on the deceased soldier they’d removed from the couch read McGraw. His wounds looked very similar to Tamura’s. It wasn’t long before Jack was able to imagine how the scene might have played out. The soldier sitting at the desk was likely shot first. Reacting on instinct, Tamura and McGraw had leapt from the couch to engage their attackers, only to be fired upon and left for dead.

  Jack knelt down next to her. “Do you feel pain anywhere else?” he asked, scanning her legs and torso for concentrations of blood.

  “He saved me,” Tamura whispered, her eyes shifting over to McGraw. “I hate to see him on the floor like that.”

  “I do too,” Jack assured her. “But right now we’re short on free hands and security. Can you tell us what happened?”

  Tamura swallowed. “I’m thirsty.”

  Gabby glared at him. “Why don’t we save the questions for later?”

  A noise from inside a utility closet a few feet away caught Jack’s attention. He spun in time to see the door fly open and a man wearing a heavy parka leap out at him. He reached for his weapon only to find it wasn’t there. But his attacker was armed and raised the weapon, shouting something in a language Jack didn’t understand. Five shots rang out before the man crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood spreading around him.

  Smoke trickled from the barrel of the pistol in Tamura’s hand. A second later, she went limp. Jack caught the gun and readied it as he checked the rest of the room.

  “What’s going on?” Mullins shouted over the staticy radio. “Everyone okay?”

  “We’re fine,” Jack reassured him, “but we may have just found one of the people responsible for the attack on Northern Star.” He went over and took the dead guy’s gun, searching him for any form of identification and finding none.

  From the hallway came a buzzing sound. Jack grabbed the pistol he’d laid on the desk and readied himself for a fresh assault, all his senses on high alert.

  The noise grew louder as something flew into the room and came to an abrupt stop. The object moved left and then right before darting away and down the other end of the corridor.

  “The hell was that?” Gabby asked, rising to her feet.

  Jack sighed, wiping a hand across his forehead. “Anna’s new flying friend.” He had chalked up Anna’s delight in working on the drone to a child’s tendency to want to play during the least opportune moments. Throughout his life, he’d seen it time and again, in church, during important speeches, and now after discovering the entire advance
team had been slaughtered.

  As it turned out, using a drone to scout the rest of the facility was an excellent idea. It would take a fraction of the time and reduce their exposure if any of the assassins were still here.

  His eyes found Tamura, who was still regarding him, although faintly.

  “I owe you one,” he said.

  She smiled. “Bet your ass you do.”

  Clearly, Sentinel or some other organization was trying to stop them from reaching whatever lay beneath the ice sheet. They had to know the United States and her allies would make them pay for what they had done. Unless, Jack wondered, retribution didn’t matter. Perhaps whoever had done this had waited for the advance team to complete their work, from setting up the base camp to drilling the hole and installing the deep mineshaft elevator equipment. Jack caught his fingers rubbing in that slow circle that signaled his mind was fast at work. Maybe this wasn’t about dissuading them or controlling the Northern Star. Maybe it was all about getting there first.

  •••

  Once the entire habitat had been cleared, the rest of the team along with the pilot, co-pilot and loadmaster met in the central module. It was by far the largest with three floors containing a comfortable galley, dining area, rec room and library. They assembled in the dining area, since it had plenty of seating. As of now, there were twelve of them, including Tamura, who had been relocated to a bed in the medical wing.

  Apart from a soldier in the sleeping module who had died in Dag’s arms, she was the only survivor. The normally jovial paleontologist sat by himself, slouched over one of the tables, his bearded chin perched over his crossed arms.

  The Swede wasn’t the only one feeling dispirited by what they’d arrived to find. Every one of them was experiencing a range of emotions from sadness to rage at what had been done here. In all they had discovered the bodies of nineteen military and ten civilians. Located between the science and central modules was an outdoor observation deck. That was where they took the bodies, mainly to ensure they would be kept frozen without attracting polar bears or other scavengers.

  Captain Mullins stood before those gathered in the dining area and offered a few words. “At this point, I think our best course of action is to take off in the C-17 and hunker down at a local airstrip until reinforcements arrive to secure the facility.”

  “No can do,” Steve, the pilot, informed him. “That plane’s not going anywhere without a refill.”

  Mullins motioned out one of the large third-story windows to the giant fuel drums outside. “Can’t you taxi over and fill it up over there?”

  The loadmaster cleared his throat. “Whoever hit this place also drove a forklift into each of the drums, draining them bone-dry.”

  “What about a distress signal?” Mullins asked Steve. “Any luck reaching CENTCOM?”

  The pilot shook his head. “Still nothing but static. We tried the sat phone and even that’s not working.”

  Jack studied Mullins’ expression. The captain wasn’t exactly showing the sort of concern Jack would have expected.

  Anna raised her arm. “I believe the signals are being jammed,” she told them. “I might be able to locate the source and disable it.”

  The flesh on Eugene’s face bore a greenish hue. “So how long again before they send a rescue party?”

  “Once we get through, it could take anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours,” Mullins informed them.

  “That’s way too long,” Jack shot back. About thirty yards east of Northern Star was the lift system the military engineers had built. The main elevator car was no longer on the surface, which meant the chances were good the people who’d done this were already down below.

  “I’m afraid given the circumstances we don’t have much choice but to wait,” Mullins replied, sternly.

  Jack turned to Anna. “Have you had a chance to go over any of the seismic data the advanced team collected before the attack?”

  “I was able to access the facility’s servers, yes. The ice sheet at our present location has a depth of one point eight five miles. I have attempted to clean up the data by running it through a number of filters, although regrettably I was not able to improve the quality very much.”

  “Was there anything you were able to make out?”

  Anna paused, her digital features looking pensive. “I hesitate to say, Dr. Greer, but if you are asking me to guess, I did observe a large object in the shape of a pyramid.”

  “It must be another ship,” Grant said, jumping to a perfectly logical conclusion.

  “I am not certain about that, Dr. Holland,” Anna said. “The images contained several additional anomalous features I was unable to identify.”

  “The people who did this are down there,” Jack said, his index finger pressing against the table. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but hanging around here waiting for the cavalry to show up isn’t exactly gonna cut it.”

  Mullins planted his hands on his hips. “Protocol stipulates we are to sit tight until reinforcements arrive.”

  “Hell, for all we know another group of assassins is on their way to finish us off,” Eugene stammered.

  “Jack and Eugene do have a point,” Gabby offered, playing the voice of reason. “I don’t want to even consider what might happen if the cold-blooded killers who murdered nearly everyone here get their hands on whatever’s hidden under this ice sheet.”

  Jack rose to his feet. “This is more than Sentinel pilfering exotic technology. I’m going down there. If any of you care to join me, you’re more than welcome. Besides, I for one am yearning for a little payback.”

  Beads of sweat formed on Captain Mullins’ brow. He scanned the room, taking the temperature of who was with Jack and who wasn’t. He addressed Chris Perkins, the loadmaster, a burly guy built like a linebacker and with the dexterity of a UFC fighter. “Think you can get our equipment off the C-17?”

  “With a little help, I should be fine,” Chris said. “So long as someone can operate the forklift those assholes used to puncture the fuel drums.”

  Natalie Thomson, the co-pilot, snapped her fingers. “Today’s your lucky day. In another life, I used to drive a forklift at Sam’s Club.”

  “Things are starting to look up then, aren’t they?” Grant said, his elbows resting on the table, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin.

  Mullins looked at Dag. “In that case, you and I will collect weapons and ammo.”

  “In the meantime,” Anna announced, “I will work on locating the signal jammers.” She looked at Jack. “Dr. Greer, if you would like to see hard copies of the seismic data, I have sent two to be printed in the computer lab.”

  “Thank you, Anna.” Jack turned to Gabby. “Any chance you could check on Tamura? When we head down, we likely need to take everyone with us.”

  “Everyone?” Mullins repeated, clearly concerned with dragging along a wounded team member.

  Gabby shrugged. “It’s fair to say anyone left behind won’t stand a chance if the facility gets attacked again.”

  Mullins sighed, his hands scrunched into tight fists. It was clear to Jack the captain despised whenever things didn’t go exactly as he’d anticipated. But even within the military there was an old saying: no plan survives the first shot. Within the next hour, they would be descending beneath more than a mile of ice. By then Jack would know if he had made the right call in heading down or doomed them all to certain death.

  Chapter 18

  For the third time in ten minutes, a frantic Kay dialed Ron Lewis, the newsroom editor, only to get his voicemail. She checked her phone. It was eleven pm. She knew from talk around the office Ron wasn’t exactly a night owl. While his beat reporters were cranking out words late into the night, Ron was rumored to be catching up on his beauty sleep. That left her with two options. Wait until tomorrow morning or drive over to Ron’s place and wake him up.

  She knew where he lived, a beautiful row house in Georgetown. He and his wife had thrown a party f
or the newsroom last Christmas and her friend Terry Bridges, who covered Washington politics, had brought her along as a guest.

  Kay stared down at the couch, where Goggles was licking his paw and using it to flick his ear. He paused briefly and glared up at her, as if to say, What’s up?

  “What should I do?” she asked him. Getting fired wasn’t her main concern, nor did she really care at this point about winning a Pulitzer. Clearly none of that mattered if the world was about to end. Every news station had been running the story in a giant loop since it broke. But letting the president’s cabinet conspire to assassinate him so they could greenlight a nuke strike against the alien ship heading for earth was not something she could just sit on. For all anyone knew, the E.T.s were intending to land on the White House lawn and offer humanity the secrets of the universe. Either way, taking down a sitting president was flat wrong and Kay intended to do whatever she could to stop it.

  Goggles meowed, glaring at her before returning to his grooming.

  “I knew you’d agree,” she said and cupped his tiny white head and kissed him. Goggles pulled free and licked his displaced fur back into place. With that, Kay scooped up the laptop and headed for the door.

  Ten minutes later she pulled up before Ron’s house and killed the engine. Her immediate boss, Lifestyle editor Trish Han, was going to have a major coronary about what Kay was about to do, but she’d never spent much time worrying what Trish would or wouldn’t like. Which explained why going to Trish’s office for a thorough dressing-down had become something of a regular affair.

  Kay exited the car and jogged up a short flight of steps to the front door of his brownstone and began knocking. By the fourth knock, she detected movement in the house. Then she heard a voice call out from behind the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Kay Mahoro,” she told him, breathless. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”