Extinction Gene Box Set | Books 1-6

by Maxey, Phil

  Jess and Landon surrounded the three kids, hurrying them forward, then helped them climb up onto the back of the middle wagon. On the back of the third a heavy M2 machine gun rattled off round after round, spraying through the mist, felling angular angry things that emerged then were torn apart, but tried to continue on regardless.

  The man untied a single horse that was tied to the first wagon, jumping up onto the animal and waved his hand above his head. “Go, go, go!” he shouted, and the younger man seated on the wagon cracked a whip, making the horses surge forward. The same thing happened to the second wooden and iron vehicle, almost jolting Landon and the others from their benches.

  The kids were on the floor, Jess hunched over them as the cracks and booms of gunfire continued and the concrete walls and glass windows sped by, the wagons thundering through the streets. Suddenly the screeches and roars had grown silent and only the shouts of the driver and the knocking of the wheels were left.

  Jess looked up. The dark silhouettes of the taller buildings had gone, and what buildings there were, were further back. She hadn’t realized but her left hand was holding Landon’s. Across from her, Meg, Arlo and Tracey were sat at the back of the wagon, left of Landon. “Is everyone…” The wagons started to slow and she sat completely up, trying to make out their new location through the fog, which appeared to be a two-lane road bordered by parking lots and trees. The convoy stopped completely and the man on the horse rode up to the side of the group’s wagon.

  He was maybe fifty with a face fit for the end of the world. Beneath a strong nose was a large mustache. He looked like he belonged in the 1880s, or at least on the silver screen. He took his hat off, adjusted his graying hair and put it back on. “I’m Isiah.” He looked at Tracey who wanted to look anywhere but at him. “When we get to where we’re going, you and me need to have a chat, young lady.” She nodded.

  “I am—”

  He held his hand up before Jess could finish. “I only want names if you survive the journey.” He turned his horse around to face the front again. “Let’s get the hell out of this city. Got a lot of riding ahead of us to catch up with the others.”

  Continued in book three.

  BOOK THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  12: 04 a.m, December 17th. Roof of Trailstone bank.

  Day 3.

  Lights flashed within the numb darkness that inhabited Daryl’s mind. Sparks and streaks which were accompanied with pain. A distant ache that ebbed and flowed from mild discomfort to an inferno of agony. He didn’t care, but a part of him was curious about this after life experience he was having. He was dead, right? Left for dead by soldiers and others on a roof…

  Was that a breeze?

  What claimed to be a part of his anatomy felt a pressure akin to wind blowing across his face…

  Could I be alive?

  He quickly dismissed the idea as insanity.

  No way…

  But he was definitely feeling human, bodily sensations. He concentrated his efforts for greater awareness on forcing open what he presumed were still his eyes, and with a cracking and ripping sound he succeeded.

  Stars…

  The void above him contained thousands of sparkling lights and as he took in the beauty of the icy cold night, a mist drifted across his view, which he quickly realized was his breath.

  I’m alive!

  The thought was meant to have been expressed with his vocal chords but instead pain surged through his body as his efforts to move stirred blood and that in turn ignited nerves to express their anger.

  Pain… too much… sleep… just let go… no!

  He had no idea how his heart was still beating, but somehow it was and he redoubled his attempt to move… any part of him.

  A screech rang out in the night, prompting his almost non-existent heartbeat to speed up and in turn provide extra sustenance to his muscles and tendons. The ice which was restraining his legs and arms, cracked and his right hand sprang up in front of his face. In the light from the moon he tried to move his fingers, but they stayed stubbornly fixed in place. Using them as a trowel he scraped snow and ice from his other arm then around his head and face and finally pushed into the floor of the roof. Pain was emanating from every part of him but the screeching was getting louder. And with the panic that was prompting him to move came questions.

  How am I alive?

  Why am I still…

  He suddenly realized he may not be still human. He might have changed. That’s why he survived! He slid his hand across where he thought his face should be, but felt nothing. He looked again at his hand, his digits now wavering slightly. It still looked human… So did the shape of his legs beneath his frosted pants and body below his jacket.

  Nothing made sense. He had been lying unconscious on a frozen roof for hours. Long after his dose of the vaccine should have stopped working, but yet, here he was sitting up, his back against… He turned around to face the ice free reflective metal of a vent, one which funneled warmer air from the building below. He moved his hand closer to it and felt… was it warm? He couldn’t tell, there was still no feeling in his appendages.

  The screech echoed around the street below again, but this time quieter. It was moving away.

  He moved his hands vigorously, shaking his fingers to try and make them of more use. The pain was less, being replaced with tingling which was almost worse, but he persevered until he clenched two fists and quickly rubbed his thighs, then calfs, trying to restore feelings to those regions. He could now feel the subtle difference in the warmer air behind him, and placed a hand on the top of the vent and pulled himself upright, first to his knees then with a final push to his feet, where he stood, wavering for a few seconds, the ground feeling as if it was made of sponge.

  He shook his head to disperse the vertigo, then for the first time fully took in his surroundings. A mound, covered in snow with a few ice encrusted claws sticking upright, sat a few yards away, but apart from that, the roof was empty.

  Arlene…

  *****

  12: 32 a.m. Highway 54.

  A blanket covered Jess up to her chest and the three kids up to their chins. They were sleeping despite the constant bumping from the wooden spoked wheels of the wagon. She judged the temperature to be around freezing, but oddly felt anything but cold. The others sat opposite were huddled together, shivering, most doing their best to get some kind of sleep. Her body felt heavy, drained of energy, and she knew if she just gave in for a moment, sleep would take her, but instead she had spent the last few hours going over what had happened since they left Denver. Trying to piece together her part in the story of the end of the world. Initially the urge had been to ignore what the man in the hazmat suit had said to her the day before, that her work for the betterment of humanity had in fact, ended it. But why would he lie?

  Wanted to use me… work for them…

  She subtly shook her head. The idea made her feel sick. She still didn’t understand what the point of all of it was. To release a biological agent into the ecosystem that caused humans and some animals to mutate, to blend into something else, into… things. Was it some kind of maniacal plan of a madman? She had only met the CEO of Biochron the once, at an internal award ceremony once she had won her third patent for them. She just remembered he seemed bored with the whole thing, and was only at the party afterwards for a few minutes, when which it was announced that Alfred Winters had a meeting to get to. Was the elderly man responsible for what had happened?

  She sighed. Maybe the questions to the ‘why’ were not important.

  Four more days…

  When she heard the president’s broadcast, she was elated. Less than six days left and the nightmare would be over, but now… that final endpoint, the destination she and her family were fighting to get to, felt like months away.

  She looked at the man in the driver’s seat, who looked just as cold as everyone else, then further to the lead wagon and the lone individual on the horse out front.
Plotting their path to… she had no idea. By her reading of the stars above, she figured they had been heading north for roughly two hours. A single flickering lantern on the front of the first wagon was all the light they had, and it was hardly any help in illuminating the world around them, save to highlight flickers of falling snow and what could have been cars the convoy moved around on the highway.

  Safe for…

  A light sparkled in the distance and the wagons slowed. Isiah rode forward, his horse moving into a trot then a gallop.

  The older man, the one they had first met in the church’s spire rode alongside their wagon, the double barrels of his shotgun waving left and right at the surrounding void.

  “What’s happening?” said Landon to him.

  “Not your concern,” he replied.

  “What’s your name?” said Meg to him. He frowned but on seeing her steely expression, relented.

  “Gregg. Gregg Mathews.”

  “I’m Meg Sullivan. Good to meet you, Gregg.”

  He touched the tip of his stetson then looked back out into the dark.

  “He’s coming back,” said Arlo, seeing Isiah returning. The man in charge briefly stopped, then waved the lead wagons forward.

  As they trundled along the highway, shapes and movement became apparent in the darkness up ahead, one of which a light was attached to, until they passed the first of what Jess counted to be twenty wagons, some with bonnets, and all full of people and the occasional caged animal. Most seated up front and some at the back of the wagons were well armed, but all sat in silence, scanning the fields and groups of trees which were scattered amongst the landscape.

  As Jess’s wagon moved near the front, taking up a place behind a few others, she looked at the ashen faces aboard the other vehicles and couldn’t help ask the question. Is this it? Are we all that’s left…

  You did this…

  She involuntarily squeezed Landon’s hand that she was still holding, making him flinch and look towards her. “Sorry,” she said, letting go. “How’s the arm?”

  “Don’t think it’s broken. Maybe sprained. I’ll manage.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  2: 48 a.m.

  Landon looked through his binoculars to the dark forms of roofs and buildings a mile or two to the west. Keeping the eye pieces steady with his single hand was proving a problem, but he couldn’t see anything obviously moving. The human mind would often look past the misshapen, the awkwardly placed, dismissing it as of no threat, as part of the landscape. Luckily as law enforcement he had been trained to do the opposite, to spot what most would not see. Still, nothing stirred amongst the almost complete darkness in the small town and that troubled him.

  “Well?” said Isiah, standing by his side. Gregg was to his left.

  He hadn’t had long to assess the man to his right. But he knew the type. Authoritative, alpha… psychotic. A wolf to lead the pack. He wouldn’t be surprised if Isiah had spent some time in prison and tattoos peeked from the collar around his neck and beneath his jacket’s sleeve. Landon hadn’t told him he was a former detective, but most former inmates would guess he was and Isiah probably thought the same. Right now though, as the three men stood on the raised piece of the highway overlooking the collection of innocent looking buildings, none of that mattered.

  He handed the binoculars to the man in charge. “See for yourself. Looks clear, but I should go down—”

  “Reckon, I’ll go with you,” said Gregg.

  Isiah studied the almost complete black, not seeing any danger, but still shook his head. “They’re down there, you can bet your ass on that. Hiding in the outbuildings. Vermin that we gotta clear out.” He looked at Gregg. “Take Campbell with you. That girl see’s like a cat in the dark. He heard Gregg sigh. “Just gag her if she won’t shut up.”

  Gregg nodded and moved off to the long line of parked up wagons.

  Isiah handed the binoculars back to Landon. “So you’re law, then.” It was said more as a statement than question.

  Landon nodded. “That a problem?”

  Isiah shook his head, turning back to the trail of wagons. “Nope. We’re going to need your type when we get set up.” He turned back to Landon. “Just as long as you remember who’s in charge.”

  “I’m just looking to get my family though this mess, but I’m happy to help out, keep everyone here safe.”

  Isiah nodded. “Good.” He went to move away, but Landon continued.

  “Thank you for saving us…”

  Isiah didn’t bother turning around and kept on moving, following Gregg. “We immunes need to stick together.”

  Isiah’s words stuck in Landon’s mind.

  We’re not immune… we’re fakes…

  He turned back to the more immediate problem, having another look at the town as a cold wind blew across him. In different times he guessed it would have had a population of a few hundred. A dark shape, hinting at an important building, bigger than most others he could see, was the closest. Perhaps a factory or a school.

  He turned and walked towards the bustle of wagons, some containing glows peeking out from covered backs. As he traipsed alongside them, hearing voices of the occupants, he was struck by how the scene looked. These people weren’t pioneers, but perhaps the only humans left for a thousand miles or more. He meant what he said. He wanted to help them get through the next few days and longer, but…

  ‘We immunes got to stick together…’

  How long would the remaining vaccine last? And then what? If the change wouldn’t kill them, Isiah and his people would.

  Can’t stay…

  He sighed, pushing the problem down deep where it could be ignored… at least for a day or two. He arrived at the tenth or twelfth wagon. Jess was already looking down at him from the back, as was Josh.

  “Have we found a place to stay?” said the boy enthusiastically, his body shivering.

  Landon nodded to him and Jess, who he knew was mentally asking the same question. “Could be. I’m going to go and check it out with some of the others…” The concern was obvious on his wife’s face, but this wasn’t the time for hesitation. They needed a place to hold up and the small town was as good a place as any other. He reached up first laying his hand on Josh’s shoulder, then briefly squeezing Jess’s hand. “It shouldn’t take long to know if we can stay here or not. An hour at most.”

  “You want some company?” said Meg, across the small aisle. He did, but he also thought she was the best person to protect his family. “I got this.” He then looked at Arlo who was doing his best to not be seen within his jacket. “Arlo, let’s go for a walk.”

  *****

  Landon scanned the dark square shapes and the trees they were nestled within at the end of the road. He was walking with four others. Arlo, the old guy Gregg, a younger man named Beau and a young woman called Campbell who wouldn’t stop talking, despite being told she could alert the things of their presence.

  “But… shouldn’t we wait—”

  “I swear to god,” said Gregg. “If you don’t—”

  “Fine!” she half whispered, half shouted, biting her lip.

  Landon ignored them both and kept his focus on the closest of shadows, the ones that stubbornly resisted being exposed by the single flashlight that Gregg carried.

  They moved past long dead towering lights which belonged to a baseball field, while a strong wind hurried clouds across the sky, sending icy flakes to the ground and their faces.

  Landon looked at the huddled man ahead of him. Arlo hadn’t said anything after being summoned on the trek into town, but Landon had brought him along for his own good, not that Arlo realized that. A guy like Arlo needed to be seen to be useful. Wasn’t much call for computer game players during the end of the world.

  Gregg stopped. His light illuminating a sign on a stone plinth, mentioning an elementary school. “If we don’t find anywhere better,” he grumbled, his breath becoming a plume of white mist. “Might be worth checking out on
our way back.”

  The others nodded and they continued on. At the edge of his cone of light, hints of modern single story homes could be seen.

  “What’s that?” said Beau, looking the opposite way to their right.

  Beyond a parking lot sat a block-like building.

  ‘Dave’s dollar store,’ was just visible above the glass doors.

  Gregg immediately walked from the concrete to a frost covered grass bank then onto the lot. The others followed, moving past a muddied white truck and finally joining the older man at the entrance.

  Gregg started to open it when Landon moved forward, his shotgun removed from his backpack. “Let me go first,” said Landon. Gregg frowned then took a step back while Landon gleamed what he could through the glass doors of the interior, which looked untouched and empty. “Looks clear.” He leaned on the door which opened with a slight creak. The air inside was noticeably warmer and smelled of candy and plastic. As he took a step forward, a noise which was part howl and part scream came from somewhere in the town, making half the group shudder with fright, and the other half raise their weapons.

  “Everyone, inside!” said Landon, moving into the room of well stock shelves.

  Arlo closed the door behind them, while Gregg clicked on his radio. “We’re inside a dollar store. Just heard… something in the town, maybe a few hundred yards off. Hard to—”

  “What? Brea… Repeat… Over.”

  The others started stuffing their packs with the contents of the store, while Gregg looked at the radio. The small bars on the digital display rose and fell. “Dang it.” He held it to his mouth and tried again.

  Landon had moved into a small back office. The smell had seeped from beneath the closed door before it was open, and the dead body, slumped over an old desk was not a surprise. Just visible beneath the empty contents of the man’s skull was a crimson soaked piece of paper.