Extinction Crisis

by James D. Prescott

  “Kay,” Ron answered, his voice hoarse, like a man intent on abusing it with a few cartons of Marlboros.

  “I got your message. What’s going on?”

  “I take it you haven’t looked at the paper today.”

  Kay minimized the call and opened the Post’s website.

  Page Not Found.

  “Huh?”

  Ron let out a sick little laugh. “Nope, you are not hallucinating.” His words ran together as though smoking wasn’t the only thing he’d got up to.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “The paper’s been shut down, Kay. Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Shut down? By who?”

  “Who else? The president signed an executive order citing national security, blah, blah, blah.”

  Warm beads of sweat trickled down Kay’s brow. “But they can’t do that, Ron. Not to a paper this big.”

  “They’ve done it, Kay. It was a risk we were willing to take, remember? We called their bluff and they had a full house. Turns out we had nothing but a lousy pair of threes.”

  “There’s no federal judge worth his salt who won’t overturn the order.”

  “Kay, wake up. We’ve been muzzled. By the time a judge sits his ass on the bench to render a decision, it’ll be too late. And we’re not the only ones either. I’ve been told that anyone who continues to run your story will suffer the same fate. Looks like you cleared out your desk just in time.”

  “I didn’t know this was coming, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  She heard the clink of ice as Ron downed another drink. “I’m sure you didn’t. Either way, what does it matter? The press is only a pillar of democracy.”

  It seemed that democracy was becoming an old-fashioned concept, but she kept that to herself. Engaging in a philosophical conversation with a drunken news editor wasn’t going to end well.

  “I’d wish you good luck,” he said, his words trailing off only to suddenly come back at full strength. “But I don’t think luck’s got anything to do with it.” Ron hung up after that and Kay stood staring down at her phone, wondering how things could get any worse.

  •••

  After her conversation with Ron, Kay made her way onto the westbound platform. She took a seat at the very end and waited. Opened in 1977, McPherson Square’s vaulted ceiling and futuristic look made it one of Washington’s most iconic metro stations. But iconic or not, trains were only coming once every thirty minutes or so nowadays. She scanned the small handful of faces as each one pulled in. The idea that the subway would soon be closed for good was another sign the natural order of things was being irreparably worn away. Total anarchy hadn’t taken hold just yet, but it was not far off.

  At the other end of the station, two men descended the staircase, making their way along the platform. One of them was unusually large and muscular, the other confident and ruggedly handsome in a Chef Ramsay sort of way.

  The men approached and sat down on either side of her. Kay felt her pulse quicken.

  Kay’s hands were folded over the gun in her purse. The larger man covered her hands with one of his own, the way a father might do to a young child.

  “No need to worry,” he said in a deep, resonating voice. “We won’t hurt you.”

  She let out a skittish laugh. “If I had a nickel…” she started to say before the other man cut in.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as rather we dispense with the small talk. I love pleasantries just as much as the next man, but I think you’ll believe me when I say we ain’t got time to dilly-dally. I’m Ollie and the lug next to you is Sven.”

  Sven winked.

  She turned back to Ollie. “You’re the Australian I spoke to on the phone,” she said, keeping her hands where they were. “I normally don’t meet contacts in person. It’s safer that way.”

  “Contacts?” Ollie asked, his face twisting in confusion.

  “Isn’t that why you’re here? For a story? I should tell you I’m currently out of a job since the government just saw fit to close down the Post.”

  “We heard,” Ollie told her. “But we’re not here to be your contacts. We each have something the other needs. I read your exposé on Sentinel. I gotta say, that was some ballsy stuff.”

  “Maybe, but look where it got me.”

  “Darling, you and your lot were heading into the dustbin anyway. You merely sped the process up a little.”

  She stared into his dark eyes and saw he was dead serious.

  “Dissenting voices make it far too difficult to run an authoritarian regime,” he told her. He aimed a finger in the air. “Given what we’re up against, it should come as no surprise that’s the direction the world is heading in. When times are scary, people yearn for safety, security, often at any cost. By the time the threat is over, it’s often too late.”

  “So President Myers is a dictator? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not quite. He’s just a patsy. Sentinel’s the real power behind the throne. And like most groups with a radical goal, there’s actually some logic to it. I should know. I was one of them once. But somewhere along the way that goal became secondary to the thirst for power they needed to realize their vision. Sentinel wants to save humanity. There’s no blaming them for that. But the way they’re going about it will certainly make our fate so much worse.”

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” she said.

  Ollie nodded. “It took me a hell of a long time to understand that.”

  “You’re a crusader,” Kay said, sizing him up. “Battling anyone and anything for what you believe.”

  Ollie smiled, liking where she was going with this.

  “But you also have a weakness,” she went on. “How do you know you’re on the right side?”

  “You’re a smart Sheila,” he said, grinning. “I’ve made mistakes in the past, I won’t lie. Even Sven here’s mucked things up a time or two.”

  “So now you’re trying to stop Sentinel,” Kay said, cutting to the chase.

  “That’s the idea.”

  “But how do you know they aren’t really the good guys? Maybe you’ve been hoodwinked again?”

  Ollie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Here’s how I know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up sheaf of papers and handed them to her.

  “What is this?”

  “Go ahead and read it.”

  Kay did so. Blazoned across the top was the Homeland Security letterhead. Beneath that were rows and rows of names. A paragraph at the top identified them as dissidents and ordered the local authorities to round them up for detainment and processing. Kay ran a trembling finger down the list until she came to three she knew all too well: Felix, Thereze and Kayza Mahoro.

  “I heard about this, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Well, believe it,” Ollie said, handing her another piece of paper. This one was an email from a Dr. Alan Salzburg to President Myers. The two documents were nearly identical.

  “Myers is taking orders from Dr. Salzburg,” Ollie explained. “And Salzburg heads Sentinel. Which effectively means Sentinel is in control of the United States. They’ve erected what they call correction camps for troublemakers. They can call them anything they want, but you and I both know what these really are.”

  “Concentration camps,” Kay whispered. She had to curl her right hand into a ball to stop it from shaking.

  “Trust me,” Ollie said, sarcastically. “It gets better. They built these camps at low elevations all along America’s East Coast.”

  “Why not inland where they could keep it secret like they did during World War II?” Kay asked.

  “Great question and the answer is simple. That ship is expected to slam into the ocean right off the coast of Newfoundland. Beautiful place, by the way, but it’ll be vaporized in an instant. The resulting impact will cause a massive tsunami that will flood most of the east coast, killing the tens of thousands of dissidents impris
oned in the various camps. So you asked me how I knew I was on the right side. That’s how.”

  “What can I do about any of this?” Kay asked, struggling to hold it together. “I can’t even get the cops to go collect my fiancé’s dead body.”

  Ollie’s face changed. “I’m sorry about your bloke, I really am. From what I could tell, he was a standup guy. But don’t worry, Sven here had a few members of our group take care of him.”

  “Really? How did you know?”

  “We’ve been looking for you. You’re not an easy woman to find, Kay.”

  The smile on her lips held little joy. “I’ve been told. So what can I do?”

  “Help us get the word out, for starters.”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t you hear? The Post was shut down, along with a bunch of other news organizations.”

  “That’s right,” Ollie conceded. “Although shut down is not entirely accurate. They’ve been taken over and will be rebranded as propaganda machines to only disseminate Sentinel’s point of view. Most of your colleagues who wouldn’t go along chose to quit. The ones who raised a stink were put on a list and shipped off. But for as long as the internet’s still running,” Ollie said, taking her by the hand, “there will be folks eager to find out what’s going on. You’re one of the few who knows and has the reputation to convince them.”

  “You want me to start a blog or something?”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “But what will stop the authorities from tracking me down and sending me away?”

  “Kinda hard to catch someone if they don’t stay in one place,” he told her.

  She regarded him quizzically.

  “That’s right, you’ll come with us. Besides, we have someone who can bounce your IP through so many countries Sentinel will think you’re a bloody kangaroo.”

  Kay pulled her hand from Ollie’s grasp. “Maybe whoever got you these documents can also find out where my parents are being held. You agree to free them and I’ll help you with whatever you want.”

  “What you’re asking is dangerous.”

  Kay folded her arms, staring into his eyes with stark determination.

  A few tense moments went by before Ollie sighed. “Okay, we’ll do it.”

  “By we you mean you and Sven, right?”

  Ollie shook his head. “If you want your parents sprung, then you’re coming with us. There’s just one quick thing we need to do first.”

  “Oh, really, and what is that?” Kay asked, not liking the sound of that.

  The dimpled grin filled Ollie’s face. “Prevent the launch of a nuclear missile.”

  Chapter 19

  47 hours, 11 minutes, 03 seconds

  Mia increased the brightness on her helmet light as she traced the vines growing along the walls.

  “I’m not sure why I didn’t see this earlier,” she said to Jack over the radio, clear excitement in her voice.

  Jack was kneeling down, studying something on the ground. He got up and came over. So too did Anna.

  “What is it, Dr. Ward?” Anna asked.

  “Take a look at the direction these roots are growing in,” she said, drawing a line with both index fingers from the center of the chamber toward the arched doorway. “Do you see anything unusual?”

  “There are no cracks in the foundation,” Jack said. “I mean, this place looks like it’s sat abandoned a long time, but apart from the tangle of jungle plants, the structure itself appears to be completely intact.”

  “I believe what Dr. Ward is getting at,” Anna interjected, “is that all of the vines appear to be heading in the same direction.”

  “That’s right. And when you trace them back to their source…”

  “They lead directly to the canisters,” he said, completing her thought. “Are you suggesting at one time this was some sort of plant farm?”

  She nodded. “I’m suggesting that, one time, this room was used to grow and house vegetation and that for some reason, something went wrong and the plants got out.”

  “You make it sound like they escaped,” Stokes said, sneering.

  Anna spoke up, eager for clarification. “Is it your hypothesis that the plant life from this chamber is responsible for giving rise to the jungle outside?”

  “I’m suggesting it’s possible,” Mia said, leaning back. “But what doesn’t make sense is why anyone would do such a thing. We’re missing an important piece of the puzzle, I can feel it.” Between two thick yellow vines at her feet, Mia noticed a patch of moist earth. She dug her gloved fingers in as deep as they would go, curled them into a hook and pulled up a series of smaller roots, over twenty in all.

  “There are plenty more down there,” she said.

  “What are they?” Jack asked, moving in for a closer look.

  Anna ran a laser over the shriveled strands in Mia’s hand. “They are the remnants of older vines,” she said. “But the stuff that looks like soil is nothing more than the composted remains from ages past.”

  “So you’re saying these things have been growing down here for thousands of years,” Jack inferred.

  Mia looked over at one of the shattered transparent cases. “Maybe even longer than that. The being who destroyed this plant nursery or greenhouse or whatever the heck it was must have done so a very long time ago.” She thought at once of the bones they’d found. “Do you think the Mesonyx people could have done it?” she wondered aloud.

  Jack nodded, the light inside his helmet illuminating lips pursed in thought. “It’s possible, but why would they vandalize the place?”

  “What if the structure around the portal wasn’t a shrine?” she said. “What if it was meant to be a barrier?”

  Just then Kerr’s agitated voice cut in. “Sergeant Stokes, I think you guys better cut it short and get back up here.”

  “Something wrong?” Stokes asked, the tiniest hint of concern audible in his otherwise steady voice.

  “Peterson saw something in the bush and went to investigate. We tried raising him on the radio and he’s not answering.”

  “Be right there,” Stokes replied. “Okay, folks, time to leave. Pack up your gear, we can always come back later.”

  They did as he suggested and hurried out of the chamber and up the vine-covered staircase.

  “Peterson, do you read me?” Stokes called out over the radio. They waited several agonizing seconds with no reply.

  “We already tried that, Sarge,” Diaz told him, wide-eyed. “He’s not calling back, I think he might have fallen down a hole or something.”

  “Which way did he go?” Stokes asked.

  Kerr aimed a finger toward a gap in the brush. “He went that way.”

  “All right, let’s all spread out five yards apart and head in that direction.”

  They did so, calling Peterson’s name over the radio as they went. Mia’s pulse was scampering in her chest as they crossed the difficult terrain. She had seen the video of the large creature Jack had filmed his first time here. If a creature like that was walking around, there was no telling what else might be lurking about. They moved up a rise, all the while heading deeper into the jungle. Fingers of alien sunlight streamed down through narrow gaps in the canopy high above. Near the treetops, tiny red wisps danced about in a dazzling acrobatic display. To Mia’s right, Ivan rumbled along, avoiding only the largest of trees. Anything smaller he simply crushed under his tank treads.

  Mia’s audio sensors relayed the buzzing of Anna’s drones circling nearby. If Peterson was close, they were sure to find him. As if on cue, Stokes ordered them to stop and to get down.

  Jack swung his rifle around. Ivan circled back noisily, aiming for a spot next to Stokes.

  “Dammit, Yuri, will you tell that shit-for-brains robot of yours to stay put!”

  Yuri gave Ivan the order.

  “Affirmative,” came Ivan’s reply as he skidded to a stop five feet behind the sergeant’s crouched form. With red flickering eyes, Ivan scanned the terrain b
efore them.

  They were standing on the small rise, overlooking a depression in the landscape where the foliage wasn’t nearly as dense.

  “I think I see Peterson,” Stokes said in a hushed, deliberate voice over the radio. He didn’t need to whisper, but the fact that he did told Mia the news wasn’t good.

  “One o’clock, next to the base of the red palm tree,” Stokes said. Of course, it wasn’t a palm, but who could be picky at a time like this?

  “There ain’t nothing left but a pair of legs,” Kerr cried, fighting to stay cool.

  “Where’s the rest of…?” Jack started to ask when they saw Peterson’s legs get lifted three feet off the ground before crashing back down like the bottom half of a discarded child’s toy.

  The something else came into view and the question was no longer where the rest of him had gone, but what was the creature with the blood-soaked mouth hovering over him? It made a low gurgling sound and surveyed the area before returning to its meal.

  Two of the creature’s six top-jointed legs were clasped onto Peterson’s corpse while the remaining four were used to brace its three-hundred-pound frame. The creature’s neck was long, its head a narrow tube studded with rows of eyes and punctuated at the tip with a circular array of sharpened teeth. Its flesh was shiny and grey and vacuum-sealed over an assortment of protruding bones.

  From where they stood, it was a twisted cross between a house centipede and an anteater. For terrifying seconds they watched as the creature shoved its tubular head into the mess of Peterson’s remains, coming out time and again with chunks of the man’s flesh.

  “That’s no way for any soldier to die,” Stokes said, pressing the glass of his helmet against the scope of his M4. He squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession, hitting the creature with every shot. It stumbled back with surprise, emitting a loud cry of what Mia could only guess was pain. But then it leapt back onto those six spindly legs and charged at them.