Extinction Cycle (Kindle Worlds): Emergence

by A. J. Sikes

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Nicholas Sansbury Smith. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Extinction Cycle remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Nicholas Sansbury Smith, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Emergence

  An Extinction Cycle Story

  By AJ Sikes

  Editing by David Beers and Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  Check out the entire bestselling Extinction Cycle series on Amazon and read more stories just like this one by clicking here.

  Glossary

  Some of the terms used in Emergence are authentic to the professions of firefighting and military service. To help readers follow along easily, I define a few of the more specialized terms here.

  1. app floor – apparatus floor; the bay inside a fire house where the engines, ladder trucks, and/or ambulances are parked

  2. probie – probationary personnel at a fire house

  3. turnout gear/turnout jacket – the heavy protective clothing worn by firefighters when on a call

  4. dirty lockers – the lockers or racks on the app floor where firefighters will store their turnout gear, including boots, helmets, and masks

  5. ACU – Army Combat Uniform; the current camouflage fatigue uniform worn by US Army personnel

  6. “the suck” - the United States Marine Corps, but this term is only used by Marines themselves, and not all Marines accept it. Don’t try this one at home.

  EMERGENCE

  April 19th, 2015

  South Jamaica, Queens

  Meg Pratt went through her bathroom rituals and got dressed as fast as she could, taking care not to strain anything. The run that morning had been a real challenge. She had to change her pace a lot and dodge more cars than usual, even a few moving vans. It was a weird time of year for people to move out, she’d thought.

  The cat was curled up on her dresser and gave a little mewl when she scratched behind his ears.

  “We’ll have a nap later, Biggins.”

  The cat gave her a narrow-eyed stare before he tucked his face back down into his paws. Meg gave the cat a pretend Harrumph and went to join her husband, Tim, for breakfast.

  In the kitchen, Meg poured her coffee and sat down at the breakfast counter while Tim whipped up an egg white omelet for them to split. Behind Meg, the spring time skies of New York City cast weak sunlight into their front room, and just into the edge of their kitchen.

  She sipped her coffee and said good morning to Tim.

  “Feels like that morning at Martha’s Vineyard, doesn’t it? I sure would love to go back there sometime.”

  Tim didn’t say anything. He just flashed her a quick, strained smile over his shoulder before turning back to the stove top. Meg wanted to ask what was wrong, but she reached for the paper first. Her hand stopped when his shaking voice broke the silence.

  “Some heavy news, Meg. It looks really bad,” Tim said. He had his back to her, so she couldn’t see his face, but the sound of his voice told her enough. Her husband wasn’t one to play games with serious news.

  Meg flipped the paper over and nearly spilled her coffee.

  “An outbreak of Ebola? In Chicago?”

  “Worse than that. Much worse,” Tim said. He dished up the omelet onto two plates and came to sit beside her at the counter. Meg noticed the stains under his arms. It was hardly warm enough for him to break a sweat, even in front of the stove. She put her arm around his shoulders. They read the article together, and with each paragraph Meg found herself less and less hungry until she simply couldn’t think about food at all.

  “People attacking each other? Eating—This sounds like something out of a horror movie.”

  “It is, Meg,” Tim said. His voice still shook, and Meg could see tears beginning to leak from his eyes. His lips quivered and he said, “Maybe we should leave. We could stay with my parents in Katonah. I—”

  “Leave? Tim, I’m a firefighter. My whole job is to keep people safe. Why would you suggest that?”

  Tim looked at her; his eyes hung heavy with worry and something she’d not seen in them since September of 2001.

  “What are you afraid of, Tim? The article didn’t say it was spreading. It’s in Chicago. The news is terrible, sure, but it’s not here. Not yet anyway. And if it does get this far, I can’t be in Katonah. I have to help.”

  “I know, Meg. I know. But I worry this is more than Ebola. You haven’t seen the news on TV yet.”

  He got up and went to the living room, half stumbling. Meg stood to follow him and felt a pull from the windows. She looked outside. What she saw made her freeze, and then she was running for Tim, tackling him to the floor. They landed in a heap on the carpet. Meg slid off him and tugged him behind the sofa.

  With a frantic breath, Tim whispered to her. “Are they outside? It’s here, isn’t it?”

  Meg couldn’t speak. She didn’t have words for what she’d seen out their window. And she hoped it had been her imagination. Some kind of weird hallucination from having read the article.

  Monsters aren’t real, Meg Pratt. They’re not real. They’re not.

  Her grandfather’s voice came to her, with memories from her childhood visits to her grandparents’ home. She’d wake up from nightmares and huddle under the blankets, whimpering until Grandma and Grandpa came to soothe her fears.

  “Meg?” Tim asked, nearly whimpering himself now.

  She risked a look over the sofa and out the window. It was still there. A writhing, contorted monster of a woman. Her tracksuit was in tatters and her mottled flesh was wrapped around her muscles. The woman’s skin was different shades of brown and white it seemed, and then Meg realized what she was seeing.

  The woman had been cut or stabbed, almost all over her body. Blood had dried around her wounds, giving them the appearance of bruises. But the rest of her skin . . . It was like porcelain, but stained and lined with bulging veins that stood out starkly against the pale flesh.

  “I have to help her,” Meg said. “She needs—”

  “No!” Tim shouted, grabbing hold of Meg’s arms. He pulled her back down beside him and looked her in the eye. His lips parted as if he’d say something, but only a hushed Don’t came out.

  “Tim, I have to. Someone has to.”

  “Meg, it’s here. You didn’t see what I saw on TV. This isn’t Ebola. It’s a plague from hell.”

  Meg lifted her head up to check on the woman outside. She peered around the couch, but the woman was gone. Meg shook out of Tim’s hands and went in a crouch to the windows. She couldn’t see the woman anywhere. Tim whispered behind her, calling her back. She waved a hand for him to be quiet and stay where he was.

  The street outside was empty. Then she heard the squeal of car tires and the roar of a revving engine from up the road. A pickup truck came into view, tearing down the street and vanishing around the next corner. Another truck followed it, moving slower, and this one had a man in the bed holding an assault rifle.

  What the hell?

  As the vehicle passed Meg’s house,
the man shifted his position in the truck bed so he could aim across the street. He fired at something Meg couldn’t see. Then she could see it, and felt her heart trying to leap out of her chest.

  The woman was back with three men, all covered with patches of bloodied white flesh. Except now Meg could see their faces. Their mouths were all open in an ugly O-shape, and their eyes . . .

  How is that possible?

  The man in the truck shot at them, hitting the woman in the chest and face. She went down in a tangle of bloodied limbs, thrashing ands screaming as she fell. The man next to her went down, too, screeching and clawing at his wounds.

  Meg looked for the others, but they had moved so fast she couldn’t see where they went. Then one of them was on the truck’s cab and leaping onto the man with the assault rifle. It landed on him and tore at his back with its bare hands. Blood spattered out and the man arched away from his attacker.

  Meg heard his scream and watched in horror as the fourth infected person launched into the air from where he’d climbed onto a parked car. He flew with a grace and precision Meg had only seen in monster movies, where everything was CGI.

  But this was real. Meg knew it. This was really happening right outside their front windows. Big, glass windows with nothing between them and the lawn that stretched from her and Tim’s home to the sidewalk like a welcome mat.

  Meg spun around in a panic. She knew how to handle emergencies, but this was more than she’d ever dealt with. “We have to get upstairs, Tim. The attic is the only safe place in the house.”

  She had his wrist and pulled him to his feet. They raced toward the hall leading to their bedroom. They reached the hall at the same time as Meg heard a pounding and scrabbling on the front door. Wood splintered and a man yelled for help.

  His voice came into the house, but he wasn’t inside yet.

  Meg stopped with one hand on the wall. Tim hissed at her to keep going, but her instinct was to go to whoever was outside calling for help.

  “Tim, go get the trauma kit from the bathroom. Please—”

  The sound of breaking wood interrupted her, followed by another scream for help. Meg caught Tim by the shoulders.

  “Go to the bedroom. Hide in the closet. I’m going to help him.”

  “No, Meg! No. You can’t!”

  The man who had come inside was groaning in the entryway to their home. Meg heard what sounded like slaps and kicks against wood, like the man was thrashing around on the floor. Then he screamed.

  “Help me! Help—I can’t stop them!”

  Meg and Tim stayed still, out of view of the front door. With a gentle tug, Meg coaxed Tim further down the hall, keeping her hands on his shoulders so they faced each other as they moved. She stepped backwards and felt with her foot along the wall until she came to the guest bathroom.

  Tim’s face was wet and twisted with fear. His eyes darted left and right. Meg kept one hand on his shoulder and put the other on the handle to the bathroom door. She gave him her eyes to focus on and tried to smile, so he could have something to trust.

  That’s what he needs right now. He needs to trust you. That you can save him. Because you can, Meg. Nothing’s going to slow you down.

  The man came around the corner behind Tim, and Meg felt her stomach heave with fright. Whatever hope she had of saving them vanished.

  Blood streamed from the man’s eyes, which had turned from white to a sickly yellow.

  “Help—Help me, please. You have to help me.”

  He grunted and doubled over. Tim spun around and backed up against Meg. He put his arms out to protect her, forcing her to stay behind him.

  “You have to leave,” he said. “You are not well. You have to leave.”

  Tim’s dominant tone startled Meg. She’d never heard him act so aggressively before. When he stepped away from her, still with his arms out, Meg relaxed and let him go. She’d always been the one to act, but he was taking the lead now.

  “Hey,” Tim said again. He was closer to the man, who was still crouched in the hall, holding his hands against his stomach. He lifted up as Tim came within arm’s reach and Meg screamed.

  The man’s mouth had changed; it bristled with spiny teeth.

  He looks like some kind of lamprey. Like he’ll—

  “Tim!” Meg screamed as the sick man vomited blood straight into her husband’s face.

  Tim fell backwards, clutching his face and swiping at the blood. He spit up himself then. It had to just be reflex, but still Meg instantly backed away. She knew he had to be infected.

  It’s blood borne. Whatever this is, it’s in the blood.

  Tim rolled onto his back and began to spasm. His eyes flicked open and shut and then he was screaming. Both men raked at their own flesh, and swatted at the air like it was full of wasps.

  Hallucinations. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  The guest bathroom was the closest door and Meg piled into it, slamming it shut and locking it in the same motion. She sat against the vanity sink and held her feet against the door in the darkness.

  Outside, she heard more screaming and sounds like arms and legs were slamming into the walls and floor. Then a fierce, high-pitched shriek cut the air.

  April 19th, 2015

  Elmhurst, Queens

  Jed was running, getting his legs loose and warm, as the sun came up over the rooftops. He’d just done a solid twenty-four hour duty at the stash house, keeping watch over the cotton and other gear. Jed’s homie, and newest employer, Chips, was running along with him. Chips kept pace like he’d been running all his life, and Jed even had to put on a little extra steam to keep up with his friend.

  “Yo, homie, slow it down a bit. Ain’t even had my coffee yet. I’ll fall out you keep up that pace.”

  “Hah!” Chips laughed at him. “You got this, amigo. I bet you run like this every morning in the army, huh?”

  “I was in the Marines, man,” Jed said.

  “Whatever, man; you been away for, like, three years. I’m supposed to remember what you signed up for? Shit.”

  “Five years,” Jed said, not missing a beat.

  “Okay. Five. What’d you do anyway? You never said. They send you over to the desert? Kill some Al Qaeda?”

  Chips didn’t need to know what Jed had been doing since he left the suck. At first, it was easy to dodge the questions. But Chips had bugged Jed all night at the stash house, riding him with questions and jabs about what he did after he enlisted.

  “I went over there. Fuckin’ sandbox. Now I’m just doing my thing, man. You know. Five years in. Now I’m back.”

  “Huh. Bet you still got sand up in your ass, too.”

  Jed chuckled and turned so Chips wouldn’t see his mouth shaking. He couldn’t show or tell Chips what he’d really been doing since he joined the Corps. Or since he got kicked out of it.

  But Chips still wasn’t satisfied, and kept at him.

  “So you back for real? Like you out for good?”

  Jed sucked in a few deep breaths and upped their pace a bit himself. He let the question hang in the air between them as they ran. It was the question Chips kept hitting him with, ever since he’d come home.

  Home. Like I got one here or anywhere else on this damn planet.

  “Yeah, I’m done with the Corps, man. You eat the apple, but fu—”

  A car swerved out of an alley up ahead and came roaring down the street past them. Jed and Chips had to jump to the side to avoid getting run down.

  “Crazy motherfucker!” Jed hollered after the car as it sped away.

  Chips shook his head and tapped Jed on the shoulder. “Let’s go, man. We still got about a mile to home.”

  Jed did a quick sprint to get back into rhythm before he settled down to a steady pace. Chips was right alongside him, and for a second Jed thought his homie would hit him with questions again, but Chips stayed quiet. Jed was grateful, both for being let off the hook about his past and for the chance to just think about what the hell he was doing with his
life now.

  The Corps didn’t want him, so they sent him back to Georgia. And all Georgia had was crystal and cotton to offer. Jed got in with a guy who sold to the high school kids. He made a few bills every week. Then he got rolled for his wad.

  Then Jed did a short trip inside on a possession charge. Jed got lucky they didn’t slam him for intent to sell to minors.

  The fuck didn’t Jed do? Jed didn’t get his shit together, that’s what.

  Fucking parole officer hounding him every week, sometimes every day. Making Jed score for him so he could resell the gear to pay for his girlfriend’s apartment. Did he let Jed touch it ever? Even a little?

  Nope.

  And then the parole officer started coming around every day. Jed’s mom decided she didn’t want him either. So she sent him up to his grandma’s in New York.

  Go on back to New York. Go back to where you really come from.

  He’d lived with his grandma in high school, and she still had his room set up the way he’d left it. He was out of the suck, out of Georgia. And out of options.

  On cue, Chips fired up the question engine again, like he was reading Jed’s damn mind.

  “So that’s it, man, huh? You just out?”

  “Yeah,” he said to Chips as they ran. “I’m out, man. Out for good.”

  “What happened? They find out you just a punk from the block?”

  Jed swallowed hard and kept his hands loose. The urge to ball his fists and rock Chips’s world flamed fierce in his chest, but he fought it down and stayed cool. He needed his homie now more than ever. If it meant taking a few shots Chips didn’t know he was giving, so be it.

  They ran a little ways more and the city’s silence hung over them like a cloud. In the weird quiet, Jed found his voice.

  “I got hit.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Chips said. His voice was all calm and casual, like he figured Jed was joking. “Where? How’d it go down?”

  Jed was ready for that one. He’d practiced this part of the story. Every night in his head before he went to sleep in his cell. On the plane, too. The one that carried him home with his bad conduct discharge papers in his pocket.