The Extinction Series | Book 6 | Primordial Earth 6 Page 4

  “Stop it,” she protested, fending him off.

  “Why?” he asked, not letting up for a second.

  “The others will hear us,” she said with a blush.

  “So? We’re not doing anything,” he said.

  “I know, but—”

  “Just shut up and kiss me back, will you?”

  “Okay,” Rogue said, giving in.

  They locked lips until Brittany’s voice broke them apart. “Hey, that’s my bunk.”

  “Sorry, we were just making out. Nothing more,” Rogue said, scrambling upright.

  Brittany sniffed with disapproval. “Tony’s about to make dinner. If you’re hungry, you’d better get your asses out here.”

  “We’re coming,” Rogue said, hauling Seth to his feet. “Time to eat.”

  “This is going to be a long trip,” he grumbled.

  “Stop complaining. It’s for a good cause,” Rogue said.

  “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s going to be a long, frustrating trip,” he replied.

  They stepped out onto the deck and joined the rest of the group. It was already late in the day, and Jessica had dropped anchor for the night. The boat drifted in the current, gently rocking back and forth.

  The sound and smell of sizzling fish drifted from the kitchen, teasing their nostrils. It was enough to drive anyone mad, and it was a relief when David broke out a deck of cards. Playing Go Fish distracted them from their hunger and allowed them to relax.

  After the third game, Tony emerged from the kitchen with a triumphant grin. “Dinner is served. Help yourselves.”

  A mad scramble ensued as everyone vied for their share, but it turned out to be unnecessary. There was more than enough to go around, even for a big-eater like Bear.

  Rogue settled down with a plate piled high and took a deep whiff. The first bite melted in her mouth, and she sighed with pleasure. The fried fillets were just right. Crunchy on the outside, soft and flaky on the inside. “You’ve outdone yourself, Tony. This is delicious.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a huge grin. “It’s my own recipe.”

  “So, who won the fishing competition?” Jessica asked.

  “He did,” Seth mumbled.

  “You owe me, Bear,” Jessica said.

  “You bet on Seth?” Rogue asked, quirking an eyebrow at Bear.

  “I did,” Bear said.

  “Why?”

  “I had to. No one else would.”

  Laughter ensued, followed by silence as everyone settled down to eat. The sun dropped behind the horizon, and filled the skies above with streaks of mauve, red, and yellow over an orange background. It painted a beautiful picture, the perfect backdrop to their day.

  “How about a game of poker?” David suggested after dinner.

  “Not tonight. We’re close to Kalama and should reach it early tomorrow morning,” Tony said. “We should get some sleep. Who knows what the day will bring?”

  “Excellent idea,” Jessica said. “It’s a long hike from the harbor to the airport, and we’ll need our energy.”

  “That settles it. Off to bed, people,” Seth said.

  Everyone got to their feet and headed toward the cabin, Rogue included. She climbed into her hammock and settled in. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids. “Good night, everyone.”

  “Goodnight,” the rest chorussed.

  With a smile tugging at her lips, Rogue closed her eyes. Tomorrow, the real adventure begins, and I’m ready for it.

  Chapter 5 - Imogen

  Imogen and Casey waited an entire day before they dared to leave the relative safety of the living quarters. The afternoon passed slowly while they huddled inside, followed by a long, sleepless night. Neither one of them spoke because there was nothing to say. The expedition was over, and all that remained was to pick up the pieces.

  The next morning, Imogen rose with the sun. She took a quick shower and donned fresh clothing. She liked bright colors, and it showed in her ensemble: an orange spaghetti-strap top, a crimson shirt, jeans, boots, and a denim jacket. Plastic wristbands in every color of the rainbow decorated her arms, and she pulled her wild copper curls into a tight knot. Freckles dusted her milky-white skin, and her bright green eyes gleamed with curiosity behind a set of equally green spectacles.

  Once she’d finished with her ablutions, Imogen made her way to the kitchen. Along the way, she passed by the empty rooms that used to belong to her friends and co-workers. It was hard to believe that Ralph and Allen were dead. The thought of their corpses rotting in the sun was enough to make her sick. They deserved a proper burial. If there’s enough left of them to bury.

  She paused in front of Jessica’s room and lingered. Crumpled clothes lay strewn across the floor, and a pair of mud-encrusted boots stood in the corner. Jessica had never been the neatest of people, preferring to live life one minute at a time. Her loss hit Imogen the hardest. Not only did she admire Jessica for being a gutsy go-getter, but they were also friends.

  Many a night, they sat in the tower and looked at the stars while sipping on a glass of wine. Now, Imogen had to give up the search and return home empty-handed, abandoning her friend to her fate. I’m sorry, Jessica. So, so sorry.

  With a sigh of reluctance, she closed the door and continued down the hall. From the kitchen came the sounds of cooking, and her empty stomach growled. She’d been too upset to eat the previous day, preferring to go hungry. Now she longed for a solid meal. The kind that stuck to the ribs.

  Casey looked up when she entered the room and gestured to a seat at the breakfast table. “Sit down. The food’s almost ready.”

  “Thanks,” Imogen said. Casey handed her a cup of coffee, and she cradled it between her palms. She took a sip, grimacing when the bitter brew hit her taste buds. Casey liked it strong enough to strip the paint from a wall. It did the trick, however, and perked her right up. “Are you ready for today?”

  “Not really. Are you?” Casey asked.

  “Nope. Not at all,” Imogen admitted. “To be honest, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I think we should start by making certain the Spinosaurus is gone. I don’t want to be caught with my pants down again,” Casey said, ladling oatmeal into two bowls. She added a squirt of maple syrup and a knob of butter to each. “Here you go.”

  Imogen spooned the thick porridge into her mouth, savoring its sweet, buttery goodness. It settled into the pit of her stomach and soothed the knot of anxiety that had formed there overnight. “That’s a good idea. We can use the tower for that.”

  Casey took the seat opposite her, and they settled down to the serious business of eating. Once they’d finished their breakfast, Imogen washed the dishes while Casey wiped down the counter.

  Bright morning light streamed through the window above the washbasin, and a chill breeze tugged at the curtains. It looked like another cloudless day, the kind Imogen usually enjoyed. Instead, she felt nothing but dread at the thought of what awaited them outside.

  With the last dish dried and packed away, she wiped her hands on her pants. Her shotgun stood in the corner, and she picked it up and reloaded the magazine. Casey followed her example, and they headed toward the front exit.

  Imogen lifted the bar from its brackets with a grunt of effort and cracked open the door. She stuck her head through the opening and looked around. “Err, it seems clear enough.”

  “Seems? You’d better be damn sure,” Casey said in an acerbic tone of voice.

  “The only way to be sure is by getting up into the tower,” Imogen said, eyeing the distance between them and it. She stepped outside and closed the door behind them. For a moment, she hesitated. “I think we should make a run for it.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  “Ready?” Imogen tensed her muscles.

  “Ready,” Casey affirmed.

  “Go,” Imogen cried, sprinting toward the tower.

  It wasn’t far, but it felt like a hundred miles to Imogen. The entire way,
her skin prickled in expectation of an attack. Her head swiveled around on her neck, and her heart banged inside her chest like a drum.

  “Almost there,” Casey cried, her breathing harsh to the ears.

  Imogen grunted in answer, saving her oxygen for more important tasks. At last, they reached the office and ducked inside. She’d left the door open the day before, and everything was still as she’d left it.

  Imogen cast a regretful look at the map on the wall. She’d take it with her when they left, but the mission was over. In time, her mother would select a new team led by a new leader, one that wouldn’t include her. My adventures are done. This is it for me.

  The thought was enough to make her want to tear at her hair and scream at the heavens. She didn’t want to moulder away in some sterile laboratory, or lecture to students in a dusty library. Even less did she want to shake hands and grease palms while posing for pictures—the life of a politician. Yet, she knew that was what the future held in store for her, and there was nothing she could about it.

  Casey knew none of this and barreled toward the stairs. Imogen followed her up the creaky steps and into the control room. It was dark inside. Dark and dusty. Monitors and control boards lined the walls, silent for over twenty years now. The tower was nothing but an ancient relic from a future Imogen could hardly remember. Still, she found it fascinating, and it provided an excellent look-out point.

  She moved toward the bank of windows on the other side, the glass free from dirt and grime. They took turns washing it, keeping it clean for their use as a watchtower. That and stargazing on clear nights.

  Imogen raised her binoculars to her eyes and searched the grounds. She started close to home, studying the area around the hanger, tower, and living quarters with close attention. Then she panned out, sweeping the runway and its surroundings all the way to the fence.

  It was empty, with no signs of the Spinosaurus. It was pretty obvious where the creature had broken through, though. The wire gaped open, and the support beams sagged to the ground. From there, an open field led toward a rocky ridge and a line of scraggly trees. Beyond that lay the river, and she guessed the wounded beast had returned to its familiar habitat.

  Finally, she lowered the binoculars. “It’s gone.”

  “Are you sure?” Casey asked with more than a hint of nervousness.

  “I’m sure. It’s badly injured, and it would seek a familiar place to lick its wounds and recover. We won’t see it again. Not us, in any case,” Imogen said.

  Casey breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a hole in the fence and two dead bodies next to the hanger,” Imogen said. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen scavengers already.”

  “Maybe they came during the night,” Casey suggested.

  “Maybe, but we’d better remain on our guard,” Imogen said.

  “What’s next?”

  “Now we dig. We have two people to bury,” Imogen said. “Do you know where the shovels are?”

  “In the hanger,” Casey said, and a feeling of horror pervaded the room.

  “I guess we have no choice but to look,” Imogen said.

  “Uh-huh. Like ripping off a bandaid.”

  It turned out Casey was right. Scavengers, probably the winged type, had ravaged the bodies of Ralph and Allen. Little remained and digging the grave required less effort than they had expected.

  They took turns digging a hole in the soft earth next to the well. One wielded the shovel while the other stood guard. They’d blocked the opening in the fence with an old Jeep, but the threat of more creatures looking for a feast remained.

  Next, they gathered up Ralph and Allen’s remains, wrapping them up in clean sheets. They buried the two men next to each other and built a grave marker using a wooden post and a hot poker. It was crude but better than nothing.

  Afterward, Imogen lingered next to the graves, uncertain what to say. She stared at her blistered palms and marveled at how fragile the flesh was, and how quickly life could end. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Do you want to say something, Casey? A prayer, perhaps? I’m not… I’ve never… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I might have something buried in the back of my mind,” Casey said, folding her hands together.

  Imogen mimicked the gesture and lowered her head. After a few seconds of silence, the soft intonation of Casey’s voice filled the air as she recited an old prayer.

  Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

  Imogen blinked away tears and shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I wasn’t that close to either of them. Does that make me a hypocrite?”

  “No, sweetheart. It just means you care,” Casey said, patting her on the back. “Death is harder on the living than the dead.”

  “I guess,” Imogen said with a sniff.

  “Come on. We still have work to do, and there isn’t much time left,” Casey prompted.

  They walked toward the hanger and surveyed the damage. It was extensive, and Imogen feared their chances of flying home were slim to none.

  The Spinosaurus had rampaged through the building with murderous rage. The Cessna-172 had been reduced to a crumpled tin can. The barrels of aviation fuel were ruptured as well, crushed beneath the beast’s stampede.

  Imogen stepped over the rubble, trying to avoid the puddles of gas on the floor. Equipment, pallets, and supplies lay strewn about while part of the ceiling had collapsed onto the forklift. The rest of the hanger creaked ominously whenever the stiff breeze whistled through it, and she hoped it wasn’t about to cave in on them. “What about the 152?”

  Casey walked toward the Cessna-152 and inspected the wings and body. To Imogen’s immense relief, she said, “It’s fine. It’ll fly.”

  “What about fuel?”

  “I don’t think Allen had the chance to top up the tank. There’s enough left to get us home, though. Barely,” Casey said.

  “So, we’re leaving?” Imogen asked with a mixture of despair and hope. Despair because she was abandoning Jessica and the others to their fate. Hope because, despite everything, she wanted to live. The thought of the Spinosaurus returning for round two was enough to make her sick.

  “We’re leaving,” Casey confirmed. “I’ll taxi it out onto the runway and perform a few checks, but it should be good to go.”

  “When do we go?” Jessica asked, deferring to the pilot’s expertise.

  “In the morning. It’s getting late, and we still need to pack,” Casey said.

  “Alright,” Imogen said with a brisk nod. “I’ll get my things ready.”

  “Pack lightly,” Casey said. “The 152 can’t carry a lot of weight, and we don’t want to strain the fuel reserves.”

  “I don’t have much. Besides, my mother will send in a clean-up crew to collect the rest,” Imogen said.

  “What about Jessica, Lee, and Barry?” Casey asked.

  “I’ll convince my mother to send someone to look for them. Maybe they’ll still be alive,” Imogen said.

  “Yeah. Maybe,” Casey replied with little conviction.

  Imogen shared her emotions. She doubted her mother would waste precious resources on three people lost in the wilds. Nor was it likely they’d be able to survive for so long on their own. But she had no other choice. The die was cast.

  Chapter 6 - Kat

  Kat moved through the crowded hallway on dainty feet, careful not to step on any of the patients that lined the walls. They were crammed in like sardines, lying on pallets, mattresses, blankets, and sheets. Basically, anything that she could get her hands on, even pieces of cardboard.

  The sound of coughing rang in her ears, a never-ending symphony that followed her into her dreams at night, and the smell of disinfectant burned her nostrils even though she wore a mask.

  “Help me, please,”
an old man pleaded, reaching out to her with a frail hand.

  “I’m here,” she replied, dropping to her knees on the floor. “What’s wrong?”

  “I… I can’t breathe,” he said before his entire body convulsed.

  Blood sprayed from his lips and stained the sheet that covered his emaciated body She felt for the pulse in his wrist, and her heart dropped. It was weak and thready, little more than a ghostly thrum beneath her fingertips. It won’t be long now.

  Kat reached into her pocket and removed a silver hip flask. It used to belong to Callum, but she’d commandeered it for exactly this purpose. It was filled with a tincture made from Valerian root, a potent sedative.

  “Here, take a sip of this. It will make you feel better, I promise,” she said, placing the bottle to his lips. “Do you have any family? Someone who can sit with you?”

  He swallowed the bitter mix and sighed. “Th… thank you, but I’m… alone. Martha… she passed a year ago. Heart attack. We never had any kids.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Kat said, squeezing his hand. The bones felt brittle beneath her touch, and his skin was as dry as paper. “Are you thirsty?”

  He shook his head. “Just… tired.”

  Kat watched with a deep mixture of regret, and sadness as the old man drifted into sleep. It was unlikely he would wake up again, but at least his suffering was over. There was nothing else she could offer him but an easy passing.

  Finally, she stood up and continued on her way. It was hard, but she had no choice. There would be more deaths before the day was out. Deaths she could’ve prevented if she had the proper equipment and medicine.

  She reached the waiting room a few minutes later and made her way to the exit. Claustrophobia had her in its grip, and she needed a couple of minutes to herself. Outside, the sun was bright, but the air held a marked chill. Yet another sign of the coming winter.

  Despite the early hour, people rushed by in the streets. They walked with their heads held low and masks plastered to their faces. Gloves covered their hands, and each person kept at a healthy distance from the other. Volunteers distributed disinfectant, protective clothing, soap, and other necessities at corner stands while more cleaned public spaces and educated citizens on preventative measures.