The Sixth Extinction: America (Omnibus Edition | Books 1 – 8)

by Johnson, Glen

  Alex and Troy exited the truck.

  Troy casually walked over to the grass verge, then threw up. He stood with his hands on his knees.

  Alex heard screaming. It sounded like Jessica. He could hear Frank and Naomi shouting for help. He could hear Lindell’s voice joining in.

  As Alex ran to the back of the truck, he noticed the shrapnel from the firetruck had embedded itself down one side of the container.

  As he rounded the end, looking inside he could see the shrapnel had punched its way through in several locations.

  Frank was bleeding from a slice on his arm.

  However, that wasn’t what was causing the panic. The problem was the piece of metal pipe that was pierced through Jessica’s left thigh.

  79

  Doctor Bachman

  The underground bunker, in an elevator

  Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania

  To Bachman’s utter relief, when he got closer to the elevator, he could see a small green light illuminated on the button. He held his breath while he pushed it. Then, with what felt like hours later, after a ping the elevator swished open. It was a large industrial service car. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

  Bachman stepped inside. He turned to find a series of buttons. There were fifty-eight stops. He wanted to get as close to the surface as possible, so he clicked the topmost button. With a ping, the doors swished closed. With a small jerk, the car started its ascent.

  He leaned against the wall. Relief flooded through him. It was nice to be moving without having to exert any energy.

  He scanned the large rectangle box. The car was sporeless. He contemplated removing the mask. Then it dawned on him to be able to breathe fresh air wasn’t simply as easy as pulling the mask off, he had to undue the plastic, protective suit – open himself to the outside world.

  He decided it wasn’t worth the risk. He wouldn’t have time to zip the equipment back up if the spore suddenly started pouring in through the vents – they moved as quick as the wind itself. Or, if he found the topmost level the elevator went to was overrun with clouds of the infectious black spores, he would have the same problem.

  It was hard to tell through the thick suit and the sound of his own heavy breathing, but he was sure a gentle, calming, soft music was being piped into the elevator.

  Bachman watched as the light slowly made its way up the list of floors. With each new light, he was expecting the car to grind to a halt.

  Suddenly the image of the crashed car in the shaft where the large pod climbed up sprang into his mind’s eye.

  What if it was ripping open the doors above right now, snapping the cables, and was about to send me plummeting back down to end up twisted among the wreckage?

  Just paranoia, he told himself. He had no choice; he had to take the risk. He would never make it to the surface with the little amount of air he had left.

  He checked the regulator. Only eight and a half minutes left.

  It dawned on him that no one else was calling the lift to other floors. He was glad of the distraction.

  Maybe you can only access this lift through certain areas of the bunker, and most people don’t have clearance or even know about its existence; he reasoned, not wanting to concede that everyone was dead, turned into spore growing roots.

  He wondered if the pods had made it to the surface yet, and was the bunker spewing forth clouds of black spores into the sky outside, washing the world anew with a different strain of the infection, like a vast black, unstoppable volcano?

  Bachman registered the phone for the first time. He had been in so many elevators that most things just didn’t register anymore. He normally only had to push one button; everything else was superfluous to his normal needs. Most of the time he was too busy rushing around to count buttons.

  He fumbled with the thick rubber gloves. After he picked it up, he felt stupid. He couldn’t place it anywhere near his ear, so it was as good as useless. But there was something he could make use of though. As the phone was lifted a section he first though was simply black plastic buzzed to life. It was a video com feed, so the person needing assistance could see whom they were talking to, to possibly help calm them. Or if someone wanted to pass new information along to someone on the way to repair something, if there was a problem with their personal radio.

  Do radios work this far underground, with so much rock around? he wondered.

  Then he noticed the video feed was showing something.

  He moved closer to the small screen. He placed one knee on the floor to get closer.

  The camera at the other end of the feed had been knocked onto the floor, showing a small room, possibly a maintenance control room that had black spores circling the ceiling. A chair had tipped over, with heavy work boots and the hem of overalls hanging over the top. The bottom of the chair hid the rest of the body. However, it didn’t hide the blood and gore splattered everywhere, and the collection of roots climbing the desk, filing cabinet, and wall behind, with the little mushroom-like stalks puffing out more deadly spores, and the large upward pointing thin pod.

  80

  Captain Stitt

  In the Hospital

  A military installation outside New York City

  Captain Stitt was livid. Yet to look at him you wouldn’t realize it. What you would notice was his uniform was singed in places, and he had a nasty, weeping burn on the right side of his neck and across his forehead – a gift from a piece of hot flying shrapnel from the burning building.

  Five soldiers had survived the infected attack, due to Stitt having one of his gut feelings, something he always took notice of. So while most of his men thought the fire, he and his five best men headed over to the hospital.

  When they got there, they noticed that all the drips had been removed from the captive men.

  Stitt was mad. These people were becoming a pain in the ass. He noticed the man whose wife they had euphemized was also missing.

  Red faced, and seething, he walked the corridors with his knife, cutting the throats of the men who were just starting to come around from the effects of the morphine. He didn’t want to waste bullets, or unintentionally let the new group of arrivals know he was on to them.

  His men followed his example.

  Stitt then checked up on the third floor. He knew they wouldn’t be there, but he wanted to check on his two men he left behind. He expected them to be tied up. They had both been bludgeoned to death. He underestimated their cruelty.

  His men were dropping like flies.

  Who were these people?

  Then on the way down the levels, one of his men noticed the infected pouring into the street, heading for his men fighting the fire. He knew they had been drawn by the inferno. It was a risk pulling the men off the barricades, but he had no choice. And if he was honest, he didn’t realize there was that many infected in the area. He sent out regular patrols to cull numbers around the town. He thought he had it under control.

  He realized he had become arrogant due to the supposed safety of his barricaded town.

  Stitt stood and watched his men get ripped apart. There was nothing he could do, there were just too many. He stood in silence with his five remaining men and watched the carnage. No one offered to go down and help.

  Then, just as they were about to head down, to find a safe location, cut his losses and lick his wounds, he saw the truck forcing its way through the horde of creatures.

  Stitt wanted to watch them be overrun and get pulled from the vehicle. He was annoyed even more when the two black brothers arrived in one of his jeeps and saved the day, just in time, the truck was almost done for.

  One of my fucking vehicles!

  He would have smashed the window and opened fire, but it would have been a waste of bullets at the distance. He might have hit the windscreen, but he had no hopes of penetrating the thick metal container. Moreover, the creatures would be aware of his location. They would be sitting ducks if the creatures churned up the l
evels towards them.

  Stitt watched the events unfold. The infected. His men. The truck. The jeep. The fire. The slaughter. Once they miraculously escaped, against all the odds, leaving just a handful of creatures behind – most chased after the retreating vehicles – Stitt, and his five remaining men headed down through ER and out onto the street into the pouring rain and heat from the burning building. Another explosion rocked the street. Some hot shrapnel hit Stitt in the neck and face, and punched through the cheek of one of his men, and gashed the arm of another.

  Together Stitt, who was pissed off and in pain, and his men jogged to the main gate. There was a few straggling infected left behind, which were soon put out of their misery with a bullet to the brainpan.

  His men didn’t think their Captain could get any angrier, until they realized the two brothers had taken all the munitions for the remaining .50 cal, and the gas, and then ripped the wiring out from under the hood to stop anyone else from using the jeep.

  The worst was the tank. They must have poured gasoline down the barrel and ignited it. Smoke churned out of the barrel and small rivet holes, and the metal was too hot to touch even in the pouring rain.

  The five men, one with an open wound in his cheek, and another with a bleeding arm, all stood and watched their commanding officer just stand in the rain, staring down the street. He then turned quickly and strode between them.

  “I’m going to kill each and every one of them,” he stated. “And I know just how. Follow me, I have a plan.”

  His men fell in behind.

  Stitt whispered, “They will all be dead by nightfall.”

  PART FOUR

  The Long Road

  81

  Alex, and everyone else

  In the truck, on the side of the highway

  Just outside New York City

  Jessica’s screams pierced the air.

  “Try and keep her quiet,” Lindell shouted to be heard over her screeching.

  Frank and Bonnie were trying to stop the bleeding. Luckily, the inch-wide pipe was the only thing stopping her from bleeding out, and as the white-hot pipe had pierced the metal of the truck and then Jessica, it had cauterized the wound. The blood was running because Frank and Bonnie were messing around with it.

  Lindell and Alex climbed into the back of the container.

  “We need to go back to the town, to use their medical equipment,” Bonnie stated, as her hands were getting covered in blood as she held the wound.

  “Leave the wound, you’re making it worse!” Lindell said. He rubbed a hand over his head. Then he placed his shotgun against the wall.

  “Not an option,” Lindell said. “It’s just too risky. We don’t know how many people are still back there, or how many infected are still swarming in, following the sounds of the explosions, and the trailing smoke.”

  “You’re kidding?” Frank said. The priest knew he was right. They couldn’t risk them all due to one single person. He just didn’t want to hold onto another dying person.

  Jessica stopped screaming. She fainted from the pain. Now she was relaxed, and not stressing out; the blood slowed a little.

  “I’ll go back with someone in the jeep,” Alex volunteered. “Then not everyone will be at risk.”

  “We have just acquired the jeep; we can’t afford to lose a vehicle like that, with its weapon.” Lindell didn’t like making calls like this, but he had no choice. Someone had to take charge and take decisions.

  Jessica was going pale. The bleeding had clotted around the wounds now they weren’t fussing with it.

  Lindell knelt and examined her leg. Either the priest or Bonnie ripped the jeans away from the wound. It revealed a piece of pipe about an inch around, melted either end, with about five inches sticking out of each side of her large left thigh muscle. The muscle was torn and discolored. It looked like the femur may have also been shattered due to how limp the leg looked.

  Naomi stood by the back doors, smoking. She wasn’t looking at the commotion, rather, with her one good eye, she was surveying the fields and trees. She blew a long plume of smoke into the darkening sky. The first few stars were starting to shine. She missed going to the roof of her apartment, smoking a joint and just lying on her back, watching the planes fly over and the few stars that could be seen through the pollution. She was amazed at how many more stars could be seen just a short distance outside the city. It looked like a handful of diamonds had been tossed into the sky.

  Terrance kept watch. He heard the screams, and arguing, but that wasn’t any of his concern. If his brother wanted him, he would call his name. His priority was manning the weapon, keeping them all safe. He watched the road like a hawk.

  Lindell noticed Cody lying on his back, unmoving and uncaring, unconcerned with the activity around him. His eyes were open staring at the metal ceiling – seeing nothing, while murmuring to himself.

  He’s going through the grief process; everyone handles it differently. At least he’s quiet and not shouting and fighting; Lindell thought.

  Frank and Bonnie tried to make Jessica as comfy as possible, considering the container was completely empty apart from the people inside. There was nothing to rest her on. Nothing to cover her with.

  Bonnie used her knee as a cushion for Jessica’s head. She sat stroking her blonde hair, making soothing sounds, as if trying to get a baby to sleep.

  “I will tell Troy to keep an eye out for somewhere to stop. Somewhere that might have something we could use to make her more comfortable. I will keep a look out as well.” He didn’t need to say, while she slowly died and there is nothing we can do about it.

  In all the confusion, Bonnie never asked where her brother was, presuming he was still in the truck’s cab, keeping watch.

  “The best bet is to keep moving, find somewhere safe that we can make her as comfortable as possible.”

  And that was it; Alex and Lindell climbed from the container.

  After they secured it, Alex turned to Lindell and said in a whisper, “Juan got infected, he didn’t make it.”

  “Jesus!” Lindell rested his head against the cold metal of the door. He didn’t ask for details. Details mattered little. Dead was dead.

  Alex changed the subject. “Jessica’s not going to make it is she?”

  “It will be a miracle is she does. As soon as she wakes up, and the shock hits her system…” he let the words fade. There was nothing else to say.

  82

  General Lockwood

  In his office

  Raven Rock Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Half a mile underground

  Lockwood was locked in his office. He could hear the commotion outside – screaming, shouting, and the sound of furniture getting upturned, and almost continuous gunfire.

  Everything went bad so quickly. At first, reports were sketchy. After the alarm was sounded, and people calmly started heading for the elevators, General Lockwood tried to raise someone on the phone, to find out what the situation was. He hadn’t ordered a drill today. He shut the door to try and dull out the sound of the alarm.

  He couldn’t raise General Gordon, or any of his circling cloud of lackeys.

  He never liked Gordon, who was a star above him. He was arrogant and flippant to everyone. He strode in and out of Lockwood’s mountain as if he owned the place.

  Lockwood unclipped his hand gun. He held it in a vice-like grip. He couldn’t remember the last time he held his gun with the thought of firing it.

  Ten years?

  He could hear footfalls, people running and screaming.

  What is going on out there?

  He didn’t have the nerve to open the door. He didn’t class himself as cowardly, just a logical thinker. Why open the door and invite the problem inside? He didn’t get to the top by making rookie mistakes.

  A series of bullet holes peppered his door, splintering the wood. It caused him to crouch down behind his large mahogany table. He was glad it was made from hardwood.

  What
the fuck is happening in my bunker?

  He had hundreds of soldiers positioned throughout the complex, inside and out. Whatever they were shooting at had somehow got passed them all, through layers of security and blast doors. The only other scenario was some of the infected had escaped.

  Something slammed against the door, causing a loud thud. He could hear a man screaming like a frightened child. He could then hear the man slide down to the floor, still crying out, and the sound of his boots kicking against the ground as if trying to push him further back.

  Suddenly, a black curved spike pushed right through the wood. A dribble of blood ran from the end. The screaming stopped. In quick succession, the black insect-like appendage stabbed through four more times. Blood now poured down the inside of the General’s door, soaking into the carpet.

  What the fuck?

  The General grasped in fear. He forced a hand over his mouth, to stop anymore involuntary cries.

  It was deadly silent outside.

  It’s gone! Whatever it is, it’s gone! He sagged with relief.

  Lockwood’s eyes were glued to the door with its holes and running blood. Then, seeping through slowly was a dribble of black spores. They ran up the door, gathering on the ceiling.

  No! No! It can’t be? How?

  He fumbled open some drawers looking for a gasmask he knew was around there somewhere. He found it in the large bottom drawer. He quickly pulled it on.

  Then, with the sound of splintering wood, the black spike punched through the door. However, this time, instead of pulling it out, it dragged the appendage down, ripping the door asunder. Whatever it was; it was making its way into the office.

  83

  Captain Stitt

  In a car on the highway

  Just outside New York City