Revelations (Extinction Point, Book 3)

by Jones, Paul Antony

  “Hey, you! What you up to?” The familiar voice came from behind her so she did not flinch when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned and kissed her husband, then pulled back to arm’s length.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be doing your boss thing rather than creeping around on the beach accosting innocent women?” she asked MacAlister.

  “The boys have a handle on it. Besides, what’s the point of being the boss if you can’t take an extended break or two every now and again, eh?” He slipped his arm around her waist as they walked along the shorefront.

  Mac headed up one of the clearing crews tasked with keeping the ever encroaching alien flora as far away from their doorstep as possible. It had been a slow, painful, and at times dangerous daily task to clear out the vegetation that seemed as intent on claiming Point Loma as the survivors were on keeping it. The remnants of San Diego, out across the bay, had disappeared in much the same way as Las Vegas, quickly disintegrating into nothing as the alien vegetation ate it away in the space of a week. So, if they wanted to keep this small spit of land they now called home their own, it was going to take a continual effort to hold back the wall of red.

  The task of hacking down and burning the plants was grueling, backbreaking work, but rather than have a single group deal with it, it became a shared responsibility for all able-bodied souls. That responsibility had become far easier with the arrival of the newcomers, and multiple groups now took on the task of keeping the camp clear of infestation. Each group worked one day clearing the vegetation with chain saws, fire, and machete. They had managed to reclaim and hold a two-mile perimeter around the base, clearing out the homes, offices, and other buildings on their stretch of the peninsula.

  Even with so much of the area directly surrounding Point Loma cleared, the vast majority of the survivors had chosen to remain within the fenced security of the main base, but a few brave (or dumb, Emily still wasn’t sure which) individuals had set up home in one of the many vacant residences beyond the security fence, in anticipation of the base becoming overcrowded as new arrivals joined the group. They had their choice of the prime homes, and so far, fingers crossed, there had been no mishaps or loss of life.

  In his off time, Mac worked with Parsons and a small team of fellow engineers trying to figure out how to provide a permanent link to the nuclear reactor of the Vengeance. A reliable source of electricity would be needed quickly to help supplement their dwindling supply of diesel. In the meantime, they had managed to jury-rig a couple of wind turbines located during one of the camp’s weekly scavenger hunts that helped ease the load a little.

  It was a start, and Emily had every faith that they would accomplish their goal.

  She, on the other hand, had somehow found herself in the roles of unofficial mayor, public liaison officer, diplomat, and welcoming committee all bundled into one. On the six days she wasn’t working one of the cleanup crews, she was manning the radio station where she tracked and spoke with the other submarine survivors, usually trying to convince them that they should join her group. When possible, she steered clear of explaining why they should not land any farther north than Los Angeles, afraid that she might cause them to run in the opposite direction really, really fast if she told them about her encounter with the Caretakers and their warning. That was a conversation better left to a face-to-face meeting when she could have Mac and the rest of her group vouch for her veracity.

  And when she found herself bored of listening to nothing but static or of repeating the same question for the hundredth time or of trolling through the ether listening for any radio chatter that might lead her to a new group of survivors, there was always something that needed to be done around the base. Rhiannon was happy to step in and take over the radio duties, but she had taken on a major role herself.

  As the group of survivors grew, so too did the drain on the meager resources they had managed to scavenge locally. A few quick sorties into the surrounding areas in the early months, before what was still left of the old world had vanished completely, had bolstered their supplies, but with the total annihilation of the planet’s subsistence crops, a long-term food source was needed. Tentative experiments with some of the new plant life had identified several roots and shoots that could sustain a person almost indefinitely if push came to shove. It was just a pity, Emily thought, that no matter what was added to the alien plants by way of spices or garnishment, it still tasted like shit. Most people couldn’t even keep it down. Attempts to fish the ocean proved only that it seemed empty of all but the lowliest of life.

  And that was another reason people were so eager to welcome the USS Michigan and her crew home. One of the rescued scientists onboard, a biologist, had mentioned the existence of a seed-bank facility built into a frozen cluster of islands north of what had once been Norway. The archipelago of islands lay close enough to the North Pole to have survived the great changes and might hold the key to humanity’s survival.

  The Svalbard Global Seed Vault, according to the biologist, lay in a massive bomb-proof underground bunker cut into the frigid rock of Spitsbergen, the largest of the Svalbard archipelago. Safely stored away beneath the permafrost of the island, the seed vault had been created to guard against the unthinkable happening.

  Well, the unthinkable had become an everyday occurrence.

  So, a plan was being formulated; it was a risky one, no doubt, and would involve taking one of their collection of submarines to the frozen island in the hope that maybe its precious reserve of Earth-born seeds had survived.

  Emily glanced across at Mac, sitting next to her on the beach. His beard was fuller these days but better kept than when she had first met him. He had added a pair of neatly trimmed sideburns.

  “Makes you look like Abe Lincoln,” she told him, rubbing the tip of her finger across the oblong of hair on his cheek.

  “Abe Lincoln? Wasn’t he a singer with one of those eighties bands?”

  She nudged him playfully with her shoulder, then leaned in close, her head against his shoulder, linking her hands around the crook of his knee. Mac’s eyes were focused on the far horizon but every now and again he plucked a handful of the coarse yellow sand and allowed it to sift slowly through his open fingers.

  “No sign of them yet?” he asked, pressing his cheek against the crown of her head.

  “They’re still a couple of hours out, I guess. But they’ll be here soon and everything will change again.” They sat in peaceful silence for a while, allowing the pleasure of each other’s company and the breeze rolling in from the sea to envelop them.

  “Well, duty calls,” Mac sighed eventually, unaware of Emily’s internal conflict. He turned and kissed her lightly on the lips, untangled himself from her grasp, and pushed himself to his feet.

  “Help me up,” Emily said, all thoughts other than the love she felt for this man fading from her head. Mac pulled her to her feet and she took his hand in her own. “I’ll walk with you. Rhiannon’s probably wondering where I am anyway.”

  They strolled back toward the camp slowly, reveling in the time they had been allowed. Behind them their fresh footprints and the indentations in the sand where they had sat quickly filled with the incoming tide and then vanished, leaving the beach as pristine as before they had arrived.

  Thor greeted Emily at the door of the apartment, tail wagging enthusiastically, tongue lolling from the side of his jaw. They used the term “apartment” loosely around camp; it was actually part of a smaller office building that had been sectioned off into quarters for married or partnered couples. It wasn’t what you would call fancy, and certainly no comparison to her apartment back in Manhattan, but still, it was home and she smiled every time she walked through the door. Of course that smile could also be credited to the love that was waiting for her each time she set foot inside.

  “Missed me, eh?” Emily asked, rubbing the dog behind his ear as he pushed up against
her legs, escorting her inside. “Where is everyone?” she called out.

  “We’re in here!” Rhiannon shout-whispered, her voice floating in via the living room. Emily followed it into the bedroom.

  Rhiannon looked up from a chair in the corner and smiled at Emily. “Look,” she murmured to the tiny form bundled in a blue blanket held tightly in her arms, “Mama’s home.”

  “Hi, Baby Boy,” Emily cooed as she reached down and took the child from Rhiannon and cradled him to her chest. She looked down adoringly into the face of her son and he stared back, wide-eyed, reaching a tiny hand out to his mother.

  They named him Adam. It seemed fitting given the circumstances. He was the first child born into this new world and had quickly become a symbol of hope for every one of the survivors at Point Loma. This unexpected gift had, at first, shocked then lifted the spirits of their fledgling community. And since his birth, Emily knew of at least four more pregnancies.

  Emily placed her lips lightly against her boy’s forehead. Adam gurgled his pleasure back at her, smiling in that odd way of his, as though he wanted to speak something to her but his body was too young to form the words he needed to say.

  Emily sighed and pouted at her boy. This was going to have to be just a short visit; just to see her son, just to make sure that he was real, that she had not dreamed him up. She often found herself finding an excuse to pop back to the apartment and check on him, but she had work that she had to get back to, preparations that still needed to be made before the new arrivals showed up, so she would have to return the boy back to his auntie Rhiannon for the rest of the afternoon.

  “How’s he been?” Emily asked as she walked around the bedroom, rocking the boy gently back and forth, cherishing every moment she could.

  “Fine. He just woke up from a nap, so he’s a little hungry. I was about to feed him.” Rhiannon gestured to a bottle of baby formula sitting next to the chair.

  “I’ll do it,” Emily said. She moved a fold of blanket from the boy’s body and looked adoringly at her son. To say that he was a miracle was an understatement. She clucked at the boy and he smiled awkwardly back at her, squirming gently in her arms, both hands now reaching out for her, lacing around her outstretched finger. He is just perfect, she thought.

  He had Emily’s same high cheekbones and nub of a chin (although not my ears, thank God for small miracles) and the same shock of hair and slender lips as his father. But it was Adam’s eyes that truly set him apart; they followed his mother’s face with innocent interest, his ruby-red irises sparkling like stardust, responding to the tiny scintillations of red that dotted Emily’s own eyes, glowing with their own faint luminescence. And, in that briefest of moments, Emily sensed the unbreakable connection that existed between her and her child. She sensed him reaching out with his young, inquisitive mind, exploring, and from around the planet she heard a chorus of other voices answer, welcoming him to their strange new world.

  Well, here we are again. As always, there are a few people I would like to thank. It should go without saying that I owe a debt of gratitude to the 47North team, who continually amaze me with their creativity and precision.

  To my editor, Jeff VanderMeer, cheers, mate.

  And, of course, I want to thank you, the fans and readers of Emily, Thor, and her new compatriots. Hopefully this book has answered some of the burning questions you have emailed me since the release of Exodus.

  I had always envisioned Emily’s journey to have taken up three books, but she has taken on a life of her own and demands that I tell more of her tale. And as we all know, you don’t mess with Emily, if you know what’s good for you. So, there will be more books to come in her universe.

  Make sure you check out my website at www.DisturbedUniverse.com or join my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/pages/Paul-Antony-Jones/150633681672260, for news and updates on her new adventures.

  Paul Jones

  November, 2013

  Photo by Paul Jones 2011

  A native of Cardiff, Wales, Paul Antony Jones now resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. He has worked as a newspaper reporter and commercial copywriter, but his passion is penning fiction. A self-described science geek, he’s a voracious reader of scientific periodicals, as well as a fan of things mysterious, unknown, and fringe-related. That fascination inspired his first novel, Extinction Point, and its first sequel, Extinction Point: Exodus. Emily Baxter’s adventures will continue in future installments of the series. Join the author’s mailing list at DisturbedUniverse.com.