Intended Extinction (7 page)

Everything was
chaos
and darkness. Fires crackled, people screamed, and sparks flew. The claustrophobic smoke surrounded me like a cage as I tried to get my bearings. My brain was scattered, much like the debris all over the floor.

Deep, scrambled voices came from the entrance, shouting . . . tactical positions?

Gunfire?

No, it couldn’t have been.

I snapped—everything focused and I crawled behind a table flipped on its side. I skated in something wet and collided with a mound of crushed concrete. The whole floor was covered in crimson.

Someone shouted a few yards away. “Find them!”

The smoke was unusually thick. Maybe the terrorists—or whoever they were—couldn’t see either. I didn’t want to put it past them, though.

I had to take a chance. I didn’t have much time.

I crept around the self-destructive lobby and tried to keep low. My eyes felt like they were being seared with the bottom of a scalding frying pan. I spotted a lifeless arm lying limp on the ground; the rest of the body concealed by a couch. I didn’t want to draw attention, so I resisted the urge to cry out. I pulled the arm, only to find that it belonged to a middle-aged man. The majority of his body was horribly bruised and broken. More clipping gunfire rang to my right. I skittered over crumbled pieces of ceiling and tried not to breath.

Through the mists, I thought I saw a huddled girl, running toward Tara’s nook. I stumbled upon a piece of wood and crashed into the floor. I cursed madly and rolled over to my back. Pieces of my body alerted me to their plight. A large sear adorned my left forearm and my right leg had a laceration running vertically from my knee to my ankle, splitting my jeans.

Behind me, dancing beams of light filtered through the fog. Heavy boots crunched toward my position. I hid myself under a pile of rubble as best as I could and played dead.

Through a small gap in the loose debris, I witnessed a shadowy figure step into view with a blinding light on the tip of the rifle he was holding. He was garbed in a black suit comprised of armor-like padding, dim red lights, and stretchy, yet constricting undergarments. His helmet was tinted and malevolent, shaped to his skull.

I closed my eyes and prayed that I would be invisible.

I felt his boot land next to my ear, and to my horror, his light shined on my face; I only hoped I had covered myself enough.

His head jerked to the Turmont entrance, as if he had heard something. He nodded, and I figured someone was speaking to him. He hesitated for a moment, like he had his hands on his prey, but couldn’t disobey a precious order.

And with that, he was gone. I let out a gasp and opened my eyes. I pushed off the minced concrete and scampered to the nook. I wasn’t leaving until I found Tara. The small annex was mostly unaffected by the event. A polished door stood at the back of the room, beckoning me.

Smoke and ash followed me into the cool chamber and I found the nearest wall. I slid down and tried to catch my breath. I examined my leg, watching the soaking blood seep through my jeans. The room was fairly small, with just one other exit. There was a counter with some pamphlets on the right, and a sectional couch. The glass table that was stationed next to the sofa was shattered.

A soft noise came from behind the sofa and I frantically tried to prepare myself.

I wanted to shout something threatening, but nothing came.

A brunette stuck her head out and I gasped with relief.

“Tara! You’re alive!”

“Mark! Oh, my God!”

As I watched her, the head of a second girl in her late-twenties slowly rose from behind the couch.

“Are you okay?!” I asked.

“I’m fine. Are
you
okay?” she exclaimed, rushing over. We embraced and looked at each other, trying to read our feelings.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“I’m Kelly,” the other girl said, coming around the couch. “I was in here when it happened.”

Kelly had massive brown eyes, with permanent bags underneath. Her hazel hair hung over her shoulders, accented by blonde highlights.

“Are you all right?” I asked, seeing the fear in her eyes.

“You tell me,” she said. “What in God’s name happened out there?”

I sat up and twitched in discomfort. How the hell would I know?

“We were just sitting in the computer room,” began Tara, “and then there was an explosion. That’s about it.”

Kelly shook her head. “I heard
gunshots
. We’ve
got
to get out of here.” She strode across the room and pressed her ear to the other door.

“Mark, your leg,” said Tara, viewing my shin with concern. I waved it off and tried to get to my feet. She held me down and said, “Wait, let me try to stop the bleeding. At least for now.”

She ripped off her shirt, leaving her in an orange tank top, and crafted a makeshift tourniquet, quickly fashioning it around the wound. It looked faulty, but seemed to work for now. She finished examining my leg with distaste and looked back to Kelly.

“Do you know a way out from here?” she asked.

“Yes. Let’s just hope it’s clear,” responded Kelly, touching a few options on the keypad.

Tara helped me get to my feet and we trudged over to the door. She only had a few cuts on her face, nothing too serious. I was grateful for her support, but it should have been me helping
her
.

We reached the side of the door, and looked at each other.

“We stay together, okay?” I said, indirectly including Kelly, too.

Tara bit her lip and nodded.

“It’s not far,” said Kelly, “There’s a corridor, then a left turn. After that there’s one more corridor and we’re home free.”

“Let’s do it,” I said.

The glossy
door
slid upward. We stepped through the threshold into a white-washed corridor. Our footsteps echoed as we ran across the pearl flooring. We came to a “T” and took the left turn.

Home free. Home free . . .

The next corridor was just as bright as the last. I was expecting to see the beautiful sight of golden glass doors, but was let down when another corner presented itself.

“Don’t worry,” said Kelly, practically reading my mind, “the doors are just past the turn.”

We sped up and approached the exit, not thinking of what we were going to do next. That would come later.

As Kelly took the corner, a blur of tar pushed her back.

Kelly!
I screamed inwardly, too shocked to vocalize. The thick, metallic shaft of a suppressor jolted as the rifle discharged. Kelly’s head jerked to the side and she fell to the hard ground, blood pooling around her.

The rest of the killer’s body rounded the corner. My reflexes tightened and I lunged forward, trying to protect Tara from another bullet. I hit the armored man with such force that we reeled into the opposite wall. The soldier fired arbitrary rounds into the air as we toppled onto the floor. Tara’s shouts were silenced by my adrenaline and rage.

Realizing that Tara was in shock and might not grab his weapon, I tried to hold him down. I braced his thighs with my knees and struggled to keep his wrists to the floor. I screamed at Tara to go for the weapon, but he was too capable; he twisted his arms out of my lock and hammered my face with a metal fist. I gasped and fell over, tasting blood in my mouth. I felt hands clench the back of my shirt as he heaved me toward the corner where I smacked my shoulder and crumpled at the base of the wall. Disoriented, I turned to see him. An amoebic, ballistic-suited man stood above me, gripping a silver dagger.

He raised his hand, ready to deliver the serrated knife into my skull.

“Duck!”

I dropped my head.

A hollow blast tore my eardrums and I heard what sounded like paint being splattered over the wall. Pieces of heavy synthetic plating and debris hit my back and legs while I kept my hands protecting my brain. I felt warm slime seep into my clothes. I coughed and nearly threw up onto the floor. I regained some of my composure and looked to the exit. Another man stood in front of me, looking down the sights of a shotgun.

“C’mon! They’re gonna come for ‘im!” said the mysterious savior, lowering his weapon and helping Tara to her feet.

I remained in my heap of filth, shaking. Someone’s entrails were covering me like a spandex leotard, Kelly had been killed, and I was almost impaled by a six-inch blade.

“Will you get it together?” said the man sharply, snatching the enemy’s rifle and walking toward the doors. He had short, brown hair, with heavy eyebrows. His nose and cheeks were cratered and splotchy, which fit his furious stare.

“What about Kelly?” asked Tara with magnified eyes.

“You kiddin’?” he scoffed. “If we lug her around, we’ll be dead before we can make it across the street.”

Tara turned to Kelly’s lifeless body, kneeling above her bloody mess. A giant hole gaped over Kelly’s right eyebrow, slowly oozing blood down her temple. Tara struggled to hold back her wail of shock, putting a hand over the girl’s face and closing the soulless eyes.

“Look, if you two are just going to sit there like a couple of idiots, that’s fine with me. I’m out of here.” The man started for the doors.

I noticed the small storage room to his right where he had most likely been hiding.

“Wait!” I said, pulling myself together. I wiped most of the chum from my clothes and went to grab Tara. “We can’t stay here. Let’s at least get somewhere safe.”

“I . . . I don’t know if I can, Mark,” she replied.

“Yes you can. You’re strong. We can do this,” I said, offering my hand. I was trying extra hard to keep my eyes forward; the headless corpse behind me, littered with blood and brain matter stung my sanity.

She daintily grabbed my hand and we left the gruesome scene behind us. We would have time to disengage later.

“What’s your name?” I asked the stocky fellow.

“Davidson,” he said brusquely, peering into the twilight.

“I’m Mark, and this is Tara,” I said, and thanked him for his arrival.

“I didn’t ask. And you can thank me once we’re safe.”

“Do you know how to use one of these?” said Davidson, holding the sleek rifle. “It’s an MLM-GR assault rifle, but it looks like it’s got some modifications.”

“I can handle it,” I said softly, grasping my new toy. I hadn’t shot a weapon for at least six or seven years, but how hard could pointing and pulling a trigger be?

Covered in a pale steel, with a few glowing lights on the stock, the rifle brimmed with advanced technology. I pulled out the short magazine, checking the number of rounds. Atop the body was a sophisticated sighting system, with built-in zoom capabilities. The suppressor sat flush against the barrel’s chassis. It was armed ready to kill.

“All right,” Davidson said, “we’ve got to move quietly. Let’s hope we can make it to the other block.”

I pulled the rear as we followed Davidson into the antechamber. The darkness outside was overwhelming, a giant smothering blanket. Davidson peered out of the glass and nudged the door open.

A whoosh of air entered the antechamber. I gripped the handle of my MLM tighter and prepared myself for anything. Davidson looked both ways and nodded to us. We hurried behind him and left the Turnmont in our wake.

Manhattan was chaotic. Shouts and echoing voices flowed from all directions. The glowing light of flames surged to our right, still burning from the earlier attack.

“Looks like we got lucky,” said Davidson, lowering his shotgun as we crossed the street.

“We better get rid of these weapons, don’t you think?” asked Tara. Her face was red and her voice sounded as if she were talking through a snorkel.

“If I hadn’t had this shotgun back there, you two’d be lying in your own pool of blood. No way in hell I’m givin’ this up. Tonight changes
everything
.”

I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean?”

Davidson raised an eyebrow. “Are you two stupid ‘er somethin’? Nothin’ like this has happened since pre-Edge, ‘n now these guys come all dressed up in some sort of high-tech gear, killin’ everythin’ in their path?
This
is a huge deal.”

Okay, this guy needed to settle down.

“Why would someone do this?” asked Tara, looking back to the Turnmont. The exit doors were still alight, the bodies lying where we had left them.

“Hell if I know,” said Davidson, spitting to the ground. “But one thing’s for sure, GenoTec’ll be all over this place in about five minutes, questionin’ everyone in a ten mile radius.”

“Slate . . .” I mumbled to myself.

“What?” asked Tara.

“Didn’t you hear him? He
knew
something was gonna happen,” I said, lowering my weapon a little.

More people were piling around the burning building. It was a good thing we were behind a few stranded cars, otherwise someone might have seen our arsenal.

“Archturus Slate?” said Davidson, bewildered. “The CEO of GenoTec was at the Turnmont tonight?” He scoffed.

“He was standing right in front of us,” I rebutted. I turned back to Tara. “Something’s not right.”

“Look,” started Davidson, “you two can have your little pow-wow. I’m not stickin’ ‘round for GenoTec. I would scram too, if I were you.”

I sighed, but realized it was no use. Davidson took off toward the north, keeping his shotgun low and against his leg. I wondered where he had picked up the weapon in the first place.

Tara sighed. “Mark. Kevin’s still in there.”

Her comment was so endearing and real that it invaded my spine and filtered throughout my body.

I shook my head. “Tara I don’t think we can go back.”

She bit her lip, turning to the building. “What do you mean?”

I grabbed her arm, making sure she focused. “Those Collectors led us here . . .”

“No. Slate was there, too. There’s no way GenoTec could be behind this.”

“I don’t want to be right. But I don’t want to take a chance, either.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked desperately.

Suddenly, Tara’s attention turned to the Turnmont doors. She gasped and pulled me down, so only our heads were visible above the car’s hood.

Two men in armored suits stood inside the brightly lit hallway, dealing with their fallen companion. Another came outside, clearly looking for someone.

“We need to run,” I said. “Let’s just get the hell out of here. The east side of town is deserted. Maybe we can lay low for a bit and figure this out without
them
on our back.”

Tara’s eyes started to pool with tears. She turned back to the glass doors one last time before saying, “Okay. Let’s run.”