The 6th Extinction Read online

  “What was this venture backing?” Kat asked.

  “Over the years, Hess’s investigation into shadow biospheres had uncovered a slew of new extremophiles, organisms that thrive in harsh and unusual environments. Such microbes are great resources for the discovery of unique chemicals and compounds. Couple that with the exploding field of synthetic biology, where labs are testing the extremes of genetic engineering, and you have potentially a very lucrative enterprise.”

  Gray knew that billions of dollars of corporate money were already pouring into such ventures, from giants like Monsanto, Exxon, DuPont, and BP. And when it came to such high stakes, corporations often placed profit ahead of safety.

  “If you’re right about private sector money funding Dr. Hess’s work,” Gray asked, “could this accident have been some form of corporate sabotage?”

  “I can’t say, but I’m doubtful. His corporate-funded research was fairly altruistic. It was called Project Neogenesis.”

  “And what was its goal?” Kat asked.

  “A lofty one. Dr. Hess believes he can slow down or halt the growing number of extinctions on this planet, specifically those losses due to the actions of man. Namely pollution and the effects of climate change. I heard Dr. Hess once give a TED lecture on the fact that the earth is in the middle of a sixth mass extinction, one great enough to rival the asteroid strike that killed off the dinosaurs. I remember him saying how a mere two-degree increase in global temperature would immediately wipe out millions of species.”

  Kat knit her brows together. “And what was Dr. Hess’s plan to stop this from happening?”

  Raffee stared around the room as if the answer were obvious. “He believes he has discovered a path to engineer our way out of this doom.”

  “With Project Neogenesis?” Kat asked.

  Gray now understood the name’s significance.

  New genesis.

  He glanced to the smoking image still fixed on the screen. It was indeed a worthy goal, but at the same time, the man’s hubris had possibly cost thirty men and women their lives.

  And with a chill, Gray sensed this wasn’t over yet.

  How many more would die?

  4

  April 27, 8:35 P.M. PDT

  Mono Lake, California

  I can’t hold out much longer.

  Jenna lay flat on her belly beneath the rusted bulk of an old tractor. She had a clear view of the helicopter idling in the meadow beyond the ghost town. She took a flurry of photos with her phone. She dared not use the flash feature for risk of being spotted by the assault team on the ground. It had taken stealth and teeth-clenched patience to creep from the barn to this meager hiding spot.

  She craned her neck to track the broad-shouldered man sweeping in a circle around the small cluster of dry structures crowning the hill. His flamethrower roared, shooting out a blazing ten-foot jet. He set fire to the grass, to the bushes, to the closest buildings, turning the hilltop into a hellish landscape. Smoke rolled high, reminding her all too well of the poisonous sea that kept her trapped here.

  She might not be able to escape, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t leave something behind, some clue to her fate, to what happened here.

  She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She had done her best to capture as many pictures of the helicopter and the armed men as possible. Hopefully someone would be able to identify the aircraft or recognize the few faces she had captured digitally. Using the zoom feature, she had gotten a close-up of the giant wielding the flamethrower. His features were burnished, possibly Hispanic, with dark hair under a military-style cap and a prominent purplish scar that split his chin.

  As ugly as that guy is, he’s gotta be in some law enforcement database.

  Knowing she’d done all she could, she rolled to her side and found a pair of eyes shining back at her, reflecting the firelight. Nikko panted silently, his tongue lolling. She ran a hand from the crown of his head to his flank. His muscles trembled with adrenaline, ready to run, but she had to ask more of him.

  She reached and secured the strap of her cell phone’s case to his leather collar, then cupped his muzzle, meeting that determined gaze.

  “Nikko, stay. Hold.”

  Reinforcing her command, she held a palm toward him, then clenched a fist.

  “Stay and hold,” she repeated.

  He stopped panting, and a small whine escaped.

  “I know, but you have to stay here.”

  She gave him a reassuring rub along both cheeks. He leaned hard into her palm, as if asking her not to go.

  Be my big brave boy. One more time, okay?

  She let go of his face. His head drooped sullenly, his chin settling between his paws. Still, his eyes never left hers. He had been her companion since she first started out as a ranger. She had been fresh out of school, while he had just finished his own search-and-rescue training. They had grown together, both professionally and personally, becoming partners and friends. He was also there when her mother had died of breast cancer two and a half years ago.

  She shied away from the memory of that long, brutal battle. It had devastated her father, leaving him a faded shell of his former self, lost in grief and survivor’s guilt. The death had become a gulf that neither could seem to bridge. Jenna had also secretly had a BCRA gene test performed, an analysis that confirmed she carried one of the two inherited genetic markers that indicate a heightened risk of breast cancer. Even now she hadn’t fully come to terms with that information, nor shared the results with her father.

  Instead, she dove headlong into her job, finding solace in the raw beauty of the wilderness, discovering peace in the turning of the seasons, that endless cycle of death and rebirth. But also she found a de facto family in her fellow rangers, in the simple camaraderie of like-minded souls. Most of all, though, she found Nikko.

  He whined again softly, as if knowing what she must do.

  She leaned close and touched her nose to his.

  Love you, too, buddy.

  A part of her desperately wanted to stay with him, but she had watched her mother bravely face the inevitable. Now it was her turn.

  With her record of events secure and hidden with Nikko, she knew what she had to do. She gave Nikko a final rub, then rolled out from beneath the tractor. She needed to lead the others as far away from the husky’s hiding place as possible. She doubted whoever hunted her knew about her service dog or would even worry about him if they did. The endgame of the hunters here was to eliminate any witnesses who could talk. Once that was accomplished, the assault team should leave. Hopefully after that, someone would come looking for her—and find Nikko and the evidence she had left behind.

  It was all she could do.

  That, and give her hunters a good chase.

  She set off at a low sprint, aiming away from the flames toward the darkest section of the hilltop. She made it fifty yards—then a shout rose to her left, a triumphant bawl of a hunter who had spotted their prey.

  She ran faster with one last thought burning brightly.

  Good-bye, my buddy.

  8:35 P.M.

  Dr. Kendall Hess jolted at the staccato retorts of rifle fire. He sat straighter in his seat, straining his shoulders as he struggled to see out the helicopter’s side window. The plastic ties that bound his wrists behind him cut painfully into his skin.

  What was happening?

  He struggled through a foggy drug haze. Ketamine and Valium, he guessed, though he couldn’t be sure what sedative had been shot into his thigh after he was captured at the lab.

  Still, he had witnessed what had transpired after the helicopter had fled the base. His entire body ached at the memory of the explosion, of the countermeasures he had managed to release as a last resort. He prayed such drastic action would contain what had escaped from the Level 4 biolab, but he couldn’t be certain. What he and his team had created in that subterranean lab was an early prototype, far too dangerous to ever be released into the re
al world. But someone had let it loose, a saboteur.

  But why?

  He pictured the faces of his colleagues.

  Gone, all gone.

  Another burst of gunfire echoed across the fiery hilltop.

  Kendall had been left with one guard in the helicopter, but the man stared out the other window, plainly lusting to join the hunt. If only the pilot had failed to spot the fleeing truck earlier—from its logo, a park ranger vehicle—Kendall might have held out some hope, both for himself and for anyone within a hundred miles of his former lab.

  Again he prayed his countermeasures held. The smoke contained a noxious concoction engineered by Hess’s team: a weapon-grade mix of VX and saxitoxin, a blend of a paralytic agent with a lethal organophosphate derivative. Nothing living could survive the slightest exposure.

  Except for what I created.

  His team had still not discovered a way to kill that synthetic microorganism. The engineered nerve gas was only meant to contain its spread, to kill any organism that might carry it farther afield.

  As the barrage of gunfire continued out there, he pictured the unknown ranger doing his best to hold out, but the man was clearly outnumbered and outgunned. Still, the ranger kept fighting.

  Can I do any less?

  Kendall struggled through his drug-induced fog for clarity. He pulled at the snug plastic ties, using the pain to help him focus. One mystery occupied his full attention. The saboteurs had shot everyone at the base or left them to die with the explosion.

  So why am I still alive? What do they need from me?

  Kendall was determined not to cooperate, but he was also realistic enough to know that he could be broken. Anyone could be broken. There was only one way he could thwart them.

  As another spate of gunfire erupted, Kendall twisted his arms enough to punch the release on his seat harness. As he was freed, he tugged the hatch open and fell sideways out of the cabin. He managed to catch one leg under him as he hit the ground. He used the support to propel himself away from the helicopter.

  A shocked bellow rose from the cabin, coming from the lone guard—followed by a loud crack.

  Dirt exploded near his left foot.

  He ignored the threat, trusting that his captors wanted to keep him alive. He fled headlong, stumbling with his arms still tied behind him. His legs tripped on scrubby grass and ripped through snagging bushes. He aimed for the smoky darkness swirling around the lower slopes of the hill.

  That path led to certain death.

  He ran faster toward it.

  It’s better this way.

  With the hunt for the ranger occupying everyone’s attention, he grew more confident.

  I can make it . . . it’s what I deserve—

  Then a shadow overtook him, impossibly fast, shivering across the landscape, lit by the fires blazing on the hilltop. A hard blow struck him in the lower back, sending him sprawling facedown into the scrub brush. He rolled over, scrabbling backward on hands and feet.

  A massive shape stood limned against the flames.

  Kendall didn’t need to see the ragged scar to recognize the leader of the assault team. The figure stalked over to him, raised an arm, and slammed down the steel butt of a rifle.

  With his hands still pinned behind him, Kendall couldn’t deflect the blow. Pain exploded in his nose and forehead. He collapsed backward, his limbs gone rubbery and limp. Darkness closed the world to a tight, agonized knot.

  Before he could move, iron fingers clamped on to his ankle and dragged him back toward the helicopter. Thorns and sharp rocks cut into his back. They might need him alive, but plainly it didn’t matter in what condition.

  He blacked out for several breaths, only to find himself waking as he was tossed into the cabin. Orders were barked in Spanish. He heard the words apúrate and peligro.

  He translated through the daze.

  Hurry up and danger.

  The world suddenly filled with a dull roar, then teetered drunkenly. He realized the helicopter was lifting off.

  He rolled enough to peer out the window. Below the skids, dark figures ran across the hellish landscape of the burning ghost town. It seemed the helicopter was abandoning the rest of the assault team.

  But why?

  The pilot gesticulated wildly toward the ground.

  Kendall stared closer. He suddenly understood the threat. The poisonous cloud of nerve gas was beginning to waft upward from the surrounding valleys. At first he thought the smoke had been stirred by the passing craft’s rotor wash, but then he understood.

  Updraft!

  The blazing firestorm here was pushing up a column of hot air. As it rose from the hilltop, it drew the deadly gas along with it, pulling it like a veil over the burning summit.

  No wonder a swift evacuation had been ordered. Kendall stared at the hulking form of the leader seated across from him, a weapon across his knees. The other’s gaze was also out the window, but he stared skyward, as if already writing off his teammates.

  Kendall refused to be so callous.

  He searched below for some sign of the beleaguered ranger. He held out no hope, but the fellow deserved some witness, or at the very least, a final prayer. He whispered a few words as the helicopter whisked away—ending with one last entreaty, staring down at that black, swirling sea of poison.

  Let me be right about the gas.

  Above all else—nothing must live.

  5

  April 27, 8:49 P.M. PDT

  Mono Lake, California

  Jenna crouched inside the dilapidated remains of an old general store. She hid with her back against the graffiti-scarred counter at the rear. Above her head, rows of wooden shelves frosted with cobwebs held a handful of antique bottles with age-curled labels. She fought not to sneeze from all the dust and did her best to ignore the pain in her upper arm. A trace of fire from a bullet had grazed her bicep.

  Hold it together, she told herself.

  She strained to listen for the approach of any of the armed men, a task made more difficult by the pounding of her heart in her throat. She was lucky to have held out as long as she had, playing cat and mouse among the few remaining buildings that had not yet been torched.

  She had only made it to safety now because of the distraction of the helicopter’s lifting off. The sudden departure confused the hunters long enough for her to make a mad dash into the store. But like the others, she was equally baffled by the change in circumstances here.

  Why was the helicopter abandoning those on the ground? Or was it merely departing long enough until she was found and dispatched?

  A moment ago she had caught a brief glimpse of a lab-coated figure being dragged back into the aircraft’s cabin. The man was plainly a captive, likely one of the researchers from the military base. The distance was too far for her to pick out any details to identify the prisoner. Had the helicopter left to discourage another escape attempt?

  She wasn’t buying that.

  Instead, something must have spooked the aircraft away.

  But what?

  She desperately wanted to pop her head up and search for whatever that new danger might be out there, but she couldn’t trust that the armed men wouldn’t complete their assignment. She had already gleaned these were hard men with military training. No matter the risk, these soldiers would stay on task—which meant eliminating her.

  The crunch of glass drew her attention behind her and to the left. She pictured the open window on that side. Someone must have climbed through there versus using the front door. Earlier, using the roar of the helicopter as cover, she had shattered one of the antique bottles from the shelves overhead at every point of ingress: two windows and a door.

  Using the noise as a guide, she popped up and aimed her only weapon. A shadow crouched ten feet away, silhouetted against the fiery glow outside. She pulled the trigger. A blue spark of brilliance shot from her gun and struck the figure. A sharp cry of incapacitating pain followed as the Taser’s barbs struck home. />
  She vaulted over the counter as the assailant collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. She aimed her Taser X3 and fired a second cartridge to silence him. She was taking no chances. Her weapon held a third round, but she knew it wasn’t enough. It was why she had set up this ambush in the store.

  She crossed to the man—now unconscious, maybe dead—and relieved him of his rifle. She holstered her Taser and quickly ran her hands over his assault weapon. While she rarely carried a side arm, she had taken the mandatory weapons training. The rifle appeared to be a Heckler & Koch, model 416 or 417. Either way, it was similar enough to the AR-15 she had practiced with on the shooting range.

  She hurried to the door, dropped to a knee, and brought up her rifle. She studied the view. The cry of the soldier had not escaped the attention of the other hunters. Through the smoky firelight, men ran low among the burning remains of the ghost town. They were attempting to flank her. She aimed for the closest man and fired a burst of rounds. Dirt blasted at his toes, but one round struck the man’s left shin and sent him crashing to the ground.

  His teammates darted for cover. While it wouldn’t stop them, her attack should slow them down. Return fire peppered the facade of the general store. Rounds ripped through the old wood like hot coals through paper. But she was already moving, dashing back to hide behind the thick-beamed counter. She would make her last stand here, intending to take out as many of the others as she could.

  Once in position, she rested her rifle on the counter and searched through the night-vision scope for her next target. She kept a watch out both windows and the door. It took her a little time to adjust to the zoom. For a moment, she captured a view of a man in the distance, far out in the meadow. Though he wasn’t an immediate threat, it was his frantic action that momentarily snagged her attention.

  He ran toward the ghost town, his rifle tumbling out of his hands; then he fell to his knees. His back arched in a convulsive spasm before toppling on his side in full seizure. She remembered the jackrabbit and suddenly knew what had driven the helicopter away.