Intended Extinction (27 page)

I withdrew
the pronged
piece of glass from my cheek and spit my own blood onto the roof’s dusty floor. My mind produced thick, black storms, and it took me a few seconds for my eyes to fully adjust. I could move my limbs, and nothing felt out of place. I looked up from where I had fallen, seeing the rickety shack hanging by a thread fifteen feet above, dust still pouring out of the hole I’d fallen through. The sun’s glare made my eyes tremble as I tried to locate Dodge and Celia. They were either still up there, or dead, somewhere far below on the Dustslum floor. I wondered what was worse.

I looked at my demolished helmet, discarded at my feet. The visor was completely shattered and pieces of the plating material were scattered everywhere. It saved my brain from becoming new shingles, but it was gone now. My communication was cut off. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. I took five more seconds to let my fears take me before I turned into an animal.

I still had my rifle, five clips of ammunition, two grenades, and a backpack full of supplies. I didn’t waste any time and began to scope the area. I was on the roof of the two-story row of homes separated from our row of three-stories, where the “nest” was perched—well, more like hanging now. In between each row of complexes were deep alleyways, overgrown with makeshift housing, ramps, and bridges of metal and wood.

On the other side of the three story row was an immense, circular courtyard, rimmed by similar two stories. That’s where I guessed most of the metal-heads were. That’s probably where the RPG was launched.

Once I had my bearings and a clear sense of the urgency, I withdrew my rifle and tore down the right side of the roof, trying to find out what happened to my friends. Being as quiet as I could, I approached the distorted bridge connecting the roof to a balcony of the second story across the gap.

Two levels below our old hideout was an archway, allowing access to the courtyard from the alleyway. The road was stricken with grassy veins and more debris than a city landfill.

I wasn’t surprised to see a metal-head stealthily moving into the ravine from the archway, weapon aloft. He was a prowling panther, leaving nothing but the reflection of his armor to give him away. I lied prone on the edge of the roof and lined up his head with my reticle.

I watched his limp body fall to the ground. I felt nothing. I didn’t flinch.

I waited. Sure enough, two minutes later, a small ball rolled into view, sprouting legs and crawling all over the dead body. They weren’t
that
stupid to come barging out in the open. That’s when I decided to throw my usual instincts out the window. I was done playing hide and seek.

I withdrew one of my grenades, pressed the button, held it for two seconds, and lobbed it toward the archway. It only bounced once before detonating a foot away from the mapping bot. The blast created a shield of smoke, allowing me to retrace my steps and flank their position from above.

I crossed the roof, protected by the smoke, and saw three soldiers, pressed against the archway’s tunnel wall. I kneeled, steadied, and fired. My bullets struck the first one in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. I refocused on the second, catching him miraculously in the face, spraying a nice gesso of blood all over the brick wall behind. The third finally caught on, retaliating with a few blind shots. The bullets were so scattered that I didn’t even bother moving. I finished off the first soldier and flew down the length of the rooftop.

I came to another bridge, which was the roof of a makeshift wooden home. I crossed the gap with just enough precaution to avoid slipping through cracks. As I was about to scale the next row of houses, shots fired from my right. The boards beneath my feet shattered and I fell into the room below, practically bouncing off of the floor. Planks and drywall crumbled around me, and more bullets broke into the fragile wood. I thought I was going to fall another twenty feet, but the rigged home held together.

I fired off a few shots in the direction of my foe through the porous wall to my right. Like a rabid beast emerging from a dense swamp, I came forth out of the broken debris and powered my way through to a new room. Giant windows welcomed light into the small living area, overlooking the courtyard. I crouched and slid my way through the room, approaching the windows.

A few houses down, I began to hear gunfire, and their subsequent echoes. They were distinct and hollow—a terror that could only originate from a Ramrod.

Well, that’s Dodge, all right. I had to believe Celia was with him.

I poked my head above the windowsill and caught a grand view of the courtyard below. A valorous statue stood in the center of the circle, wearing a thick layer of graffiti. A black humvee was parked a few feet away from the obelisk. I continued to scan, finding a few scattered soldiers, pinned against the walls. Most were too far for a clean shot, and who knew if there were more behind us.

For a moment, I drew a blank. How was I going to get across the courtyard? Dodge and Celia probably thought I was dead. But they must’ve heard the other gunfire. I sighed and nervously checked my ammunition. I still had more than plenty left. Plus five more clips. I focused and calmed my mind. We were going to get out of this alive. Tara and the others were counting on us. Hell, the world was counting on us even if they didn’t know it yet.

As I plotted my route, movement came from the connected room to my right. My gun was up quicker than my brain could register the impulses. It didn’t sound like heavy, metallic boots, but more like . . . bare feet?

I felt a sway of annoyance and anger inside.

Degenerates
.

I quickly breached the room, swinging my rifle and locking on to a boney, nearly hairless woman. Her skin was covered in mushy, brown Edge splotches, barely clothed by old, ratty rags. She was hiding behind a dusty armchair, eyes wide as if stitched open, and fingernails clawing into the high back cushion. Her mouth had traces of foam and her head bobbed back and forth. She was definitely using.

She giggled as I aimed at her skull.

I didn’t want to kill her just because she would make noise. For hell’s sake, I had done enough killing. What made me more disturbed was the fact that it probably wouldn’t matter in the end if I shot her or not. Maybe I could slip by without having to deal with her at all.

A small doorway was at the other end of the room, leading down to the archway tunnel. That was probably my best bet.

I ignored the disgusting woman and pressed my body against the windowsill, peering over the courtyard again. The soldiers were moving into the tunnel giving me a chance to flee once they passed through. All we needed was a car, but I didn’t want to make a scene driving around in their appropriately ambiguous, military-style humvee. We needed something a little more covert.

My neck snapped around just as the woman whispered, “D-d-d-e-demon.” She was like a ghost on cocaine, starting to laugh to herself while mumbling indistinctly. I shook my head. It was time to move. I crept below the window, and started to make my way to the stairs. Dodge’s gunfire had ceased, so I hoped they were on their way.

Just as I crossed the threshold, the atmosphere behind me was filled with an earsplitting shriek. Outside, deep voices called out to one another.

Before I had a chance to silence the worthless piece of trash, she was already gone, bumping her shoulder on the way out. The soldiers caught on quicker than I thought as a bullet grazed my shoulder pad. I slid into cover next to the doorway, hoping that Dodge and Celia took advantage of the attention I was getting. That was the only good thought I could muster.

Bullets penetrated the metal around me while I chucked my last grenade down the chute of stairs. Three seconds later, smoke and debris flew out of the stairwell like a mouth spewing chunks of food. After firing a few blind shots, I heard the Ramrod, farther away, reverberating across the courtyard like a siren of death. Huge metal clanks rang from the base of the stairs, and I was glad Dodge hadn’t deserted me.

I took a chance and spun around, seeing an empty staircase in a gray haze of smoke. I took each step with caution, barely grazing the landings. Dodge’s cover seemed sufficient enough, and I was able to make it down, stopping before the entrance to the tunnel.

I poked my head out into the road and pulled it back in. I captured a few straggling soldiers running away from the wrath of the Ramrod, leaving the exit to the courtyard wide open. It was the only chance I had. I stormed out of the doorway, and sprinted through the archway’s mouth. The sun hit my face as I cleared the threshold, taking a sharp right. I followed the curve of the circular courtyard, keeping my eyes peeled for Dodge or Celia, feeling the surging power in my legs with each stride.

Just as I was about to pass by a broken window, I heard the unmistakable voice of Dodge commanding me to duck. I did as I was told, sliding as if into home base and smashing into a dumpster. No sooner had I cleared the window than a .60 caliber sniper rifle shook the ground from within the structure. My head turned to see where the bullet was headed. An armored body slammed into the dusty road, taken from his mounted gunner position.

“Inside! Now!” snapped Dodge.

I took two seconds to catch my breath and refocus, and then bolted inside the home, happy to reunite with my friends.

“Thank God!” exclaimed Celia as I found them together, by the windowsill. Dodge was dissembling the Ramrod and Celia gave me a distressing look. I was surprised her glasses remained intact after all of that.

“Glad you two made it out in one piece,” I said.

“Wish I could say the same to you,” Celia replied, noting my lost helmet.

“There’s a car behind the building,” said Dodge. “We’re meeting up with the others. Let’s move!”

SIX YEARS AGO

“Right you
are, Jen,” the anchorman laughed, tapping his papers on the sleek desk. “Well, yesterday was a very special event for Jersey—the annual Tech Fest made its final tour to the city, bringing along everything fans anticipated. The event was all day yesterday, and will continue throughout the weekend. The two-story warehouse in Jersey City can house up to 100,000 people, which has been quite a sight to see. So, if you like those electronics, get downtown and see what the big deal is about.” He smiled wide and turned to his partner.

Everyone was smiling.

“You still here, Jordan?” spoke a voice from behind the cubicle. Jordan Dabbs broke away from the television and whirled around, her beads making a racket.

She sighed. “You know me, Eric. I’m surprised
you’re
here.” She played with her lip ring, something she always did when she was apprehensive.

He leaned up against the partition. “Oh, I’m just grabbing some things from the office. I’ve got a big project tomorrow and I—er—misplaced some files.” He folded his arms, his coat wrapped within.

The sun was sending its final rays of golden light into the office. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to the clock—a regular occurrence.

“Well, I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile, adjusting her glasses.

“I hope
you
can get outta here and have some fun for once. You work too hard,” he said, getting ready to leave.

“Well, there’s just too much to do sometimes.”

“Hey, are you going to that?” he motioned to the small Fuse attached to her desk displaying footage from the Tech Fest.

“I was planning on it, yeah. Why?” Jordan had a problem with flirting. She wasn’t too savvy with the whole dating scene.

He paused for a moment, wishing she would be a little more outgoing. “Well,” he said, “maybe we could go together? I could swing by at five tomorrow evening—we could grab some dinner and then head out there?”

Jordan realized she had just been asked out, something that rarely happened.

Eric?
she thought.
He’s so . . . not my type.
She was incredibly picky. About to make up an excuse, a thought suddenly erupted into her mind. It was an image of herself, going home to her boys, sitting with her freezer burnt dinner, watching her shows—all alone.

She audibly sighed and said, “You know what, that sounds great. Five works.”

“Great!” he beamed, “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Try to get some sleep, eh?” He gave her a wave and marched to his office.

Jordan swiveled back around, thinking about her last date, and the disaster it had been. Of course, that was months ago.

She took another glance at her computer screen, exiting out of files, and saving things she needed. It
was
getting late, her eyes were starting to become irritated. She closed another irrelevant window, revealing something she had been working on a few hours ago. She looked around to see if Eric was still nearby. As far as she knew, she was the only living soul in the whole building. She carefully saved the file into her encrypted folder.

As she exited the building, images of bloody walls and mangled lab techs filled her mind. The headline echoed across her skull:

GenoTec Experiment Gone Horribly Wrong

Her apartment door gave her the usual trouble. She heaved her shoulder into the worn wood and it broke free. Not a second after the door swung open, her boys leaped up, pawing and licking.

“Ox, Casey, settle down!” She dropped her bag onto the counter and bent down to pet and hug them. The two, large German Shepherds danced around her for a few minutes, getting their excitement out.

After feeding them and putting some leftover chicken in the microwave, she plopped herself onto the couch and exhaled. She grabbed her touchpad and activated the glass screen Fuse, a 90-inch beast that hung from the adjacent wall.

Why is it still recording the Spanish network?
she thought.

Flicking through a couple more stations, the microwave dinged, and she got up from the musty couch. Her body ached from sitting so long at the office. Working for the largest computer software company in the United States wasn’t the best thing—believe it or not. Jordan had worked there for five years now, going on six. Things were working out for her, but it was getting old. The monotonous atmosphere made her delve into
different
subjects.

Never giving herself any credit, except at the computer station, her life was slowly settling into nothing. She was devoid of friends—unless you categorize work acquaintances as friends—and she hadn’t been seeing anyone since college. Her level of independency was off the charts. When she took a personality test in her sophomore year, the results came back as “Extremely Introverted.” Those words had stuck into a section of her mind ever since then, branding her self-image as a creep. She was starting to accept it, too.

As she went to open the microwave, her cell phone buzzed in her purse. Judging whether to let it sit or not, she finally decided to leave her chicken and go for the phone. She read an unknown number. A little puzzled, she set it down.
Probably another insurance agency. Or worse
—
mom calling from another phone.
While she was rummaging through her fridge, the cell phone buzzed again. The counter vibrated annoyingly.

“What do you want?” she said aloud before picking up the phone, the same number arrayed on the screen. “Hello?”

There was a short pause.

“Miss Dabbs?” said a low, cold voice.

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Miss Dabbs, we have a job offer for you.”

“Excuse me?”

It wasn’t so much that someone had her number that made her feel uncomfortable. It was the chilling, breathy voice that caused goosebumps to sprout.

“We’re very interested in your research. We share a lot of your same . . . interests. We would like to help you.” The voice landed in her eardrum like hot acid. Her body tensed. “Miss Dabbs, I can assure you that we are not GenoTec. You know you’d already be dead if they knew. We look forward to meeting you tomorrow. We will be on the top floor, at the end of the south wing. Come alone. We’ll find you.”

The phone went silent.

Jordan pulled the device away in shock. Someone knew she was going to the Tech Fest tomorrow. Ten times more horrifying, someone knew about her research. Her heart was racing, and her palms started sweating. As she reeled over the mysterious call, the microwave made a jolting reminder beep.

——————

The commotion of the Tech Fest was enough to make Jordan gag. Thousands of people were swarming in the Jersey City MetaTapp Warehouse building. Huge floodlights adorned the walls, casting pools of clarity onto thousands of different little stands and shops. Different companies from all over the world were set up in the booths, advertising their goods. Items like phones, tablets, computers, vehicles, housing equipment, and any type of electronic you could think of. Most of it was compatible parts that could be made into personally designed merchandise. The customization was phenomenal. Behind all of the tech glamour, Jordan was sweating.

She had decided to come, despite her fears. Inwardly, she was a wilting social being—but in her heart, she had once shown signs of courage. It was that little seed of guts and hardheadedness that drove her to come.
She wanted answers.

They had to have been tracing her computer for years. They knew her skills. She was even semi-flattered by the proposal. Her brain was sizzling from so much thought.

Eric led her down the walkway, sifting through a cacophony of people too smart for their own good.

“Did you see the news last night?” he yelled over the tumult.

“No, I didn’t get a chance,” she mumbled, not really paying attention. She was trying to find an excuse to get away from him.

“They said some virus broke out in Nova Scotia—they said it’s killed a ton of people, and they’re worried about the possibility of spread.”

She nodded her head in acknowledgement.
Yeah, yeah, there’s always something new going around each year.

“Hey, I have to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.” She had no idea where the bathrooms were, but she knew the elevators were at the back end of the building.

“Hey! Meet at the food court when you’re done!” Eric called to her, barely audible.

Jordan was lost in the crowd of people. She pushed past person after person, trying to forge her way to the elevator.
Of course it’s at the end of the freakin’ place.
Boarding the elevator full of sweaty, raucous people nearly sent her into a coma.

After another ten minutes, she was nearing the south end of the second story. She found herself amongst a theme of booths that were advertising sporting equipment technology—things to help you play a better game. The more she moved, the taller the back wall became, and the tighter her spine coiled. There were a few end booths set up, none of them depicting anything remotely close to what she had in mind. She wandered for a little bit, then slowed to a stop.

They’ll find me
, she thought.

Someone bumped into her from behind, making her jump and swerve around.

The person was gone. It had just been a passerby. She relaxed and continued to pursue the moving wave of bodies and faces.

“Miss Dabbs?”

The hairs on her neck spiked and her heart palpitated. Turning around, she met eyes with a barrel chested, bespectacled, jet haired man. He could easily have passed for a professional football player. From the looks of him, Jordan thought he must have been Italian. He was eerie standing still amongst the fluctuating crowd.

“Are you the one that called me?” she asked, feeling slightly more comfortable with all of the bystanders moving around.

“I didn’t call you, no,” he said without expression. “But I can show you to the man that did. Follow me, this won’t take long.” He was wearing a baby blue t-shirt and blue jeans, strangely accompanied with red sneakers. The only thing that was even remotely unique about this man was the crimson tattoo of a cog on his left tricep—a gear.

“Where are we going?”

The mysterious man kept walking.

Reluctantly, Jordan followed the shiny black hair through the crowd, dodging the multitudes. With every step, she became more anxious, wondering why she had answered that phone call.

They finally arrived at a booth. There was no name attached to the top, nothing to identify what kind of station it was, just red drapery falling across the stand. Puzzled, Jordan continued, this time to the left of the booth, into a tight corridor.

The man ushered her into a sectioned off area. Nothing occupied the quarantine except two chairs, facing each other. Jordan spun around to find that her guide was barring the exit, folding his arms and giving her a distasteful look.

“You decided to show up,” said a voice from behind her. It was cold, and mildly raspy—giving an aged feel. It was the same voice she had heard last night.

Startled, Jordan whirled around to see a man in a black suit coat and slacks. His collar was undone, his cuffs were loose. His shoes were polished and he wore an expensive looking gold watch. As she eyed him further, his facial features lured her. He had receding white-blonde hair with a very prominent widow’s peak. His lips were noticeably chapped, and his eyes were dilated. A nasty scar occupied his lower left cheek.

His pointed nose flared at her. “I was worried you weren’t going to show.”

“Who are you?”

“Please, sit.” He motioned to the chair closest to her.

She sat, her body like a torsion spring.

“You can call me Vane.”

Jordan furrowed her brow. “Okay . . .”

“We have been monitoring your research, Miss Dabbs. It’s very articulate.” He noticed she was a little hesitant at the words. “You’ve dug deep.” He read her like a book.

“How can I be certain you’re not GenoTec?”

“You see that’s what I like about you, Miss Dabbs—you’re to the point. I know you’re nervous, but you act well under pressure, isn’t that right?”

How did he know all of this?

“Look, either I start getting some answers, or I’m outta here. There’s someone who’s probably really angry with me, wondering where I went off to.”

“I thought we told you to come alone?” his eyes flashed above Jordan’s head, to the Italian.

“It was just a date I could ditch easily. Obviously.”

He smiled again; things were starting to get a little weird. Weirder than they already were.

“All right, Miss Dabbs,” he began. “We’re not GenoTec. We represent a group of minds. A group of ideals. We are called Genesis.”

“Genesis?” she repeated. “Just the two of you?” Her tone came with a little sarcasm.

He smiled. “It appears that GenoTec isn’t exactly who they say they are. It appears your research has been correct.”