EMERGENCE Extinction (Emegence Series Book 5) Read online

  EMERGENCE

  Extinction

  Volume 5

  By JT Sawyer

  Copyright

  Copyright October 2018 by JT Sawyer

  Edited by Emily Nemchick

  Cover art by EbookLaunch.com

  No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, scanned, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Join JT Sawyer’s Facebook page to follow his book research and to get updates on future releases. You can also sign up to be a part of his reading team at http://www.jtsawyer.com

  Prologue

  Six Days after the Battle for MacDill

  The airborne landing in the grassy meadow had gone smoothly, and Reisner coiled up his parachute, stowing it under a fallen maple tree near the edge of the forest. He waited in the dark for the rest of the twelve-man team to regroup at his location. Along with Connelly, Nash, and Porter, the remainder of his hastily formed assault team was comprised of a mish-mash of personnel from the Army Rangers, Air Force Para-Rescue, and MARSOC. Two days ago, Dorr had tasked his group with one objective: discover if there was indeed a super-alpha at the secluded countryside estate on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. However, fourteen hours ago, that changed when the heat signatures of all of the alphas suddenly disappeared. Reisner’s mind still swirled with theories on what had happened, and it was disconcerting that even Selene was unsure what had occurred that instantly obliterated any trace of the paras or their current whereabouts. The same thing had occurred in dozens of other locations around the world where there had been prominent clusters of alphas, and Reisner was in search of the answer. The surrounding countryside near Savannah had been the scene of numerous attacks on civilian and military convoys before the attack on MacDill, which led General Dorr’s intel staff to focus on this region. Further investigation revealed that a number of straggling drones and alphas had crossed into Georgia after the battle, with their direction of travel leaning towards Savannah. Whatever was going on here was enough to raise plenty of red flags for Dorr, and Reisner agreed that they needed boots on the ground to determine if this was the para epicenter. Reisner’s team, along with a Predator drone overhead for support, would hopefully be the surgical instruments for slicing through the mysteries engulfing this area.

  Nash came up to his right, pointing at a slew of muddy tracks in the meadow. “Looks like a bulldozer plowed along here—a large group of creatures quickly moving through during the past few days.”

  “Yeah, but heading where?” said Porter, pointing to the northeast. “This direction leads into the mangrove swamps near the ocean. Did they all hop on a ferry?”

  They heard Pacelle’s distant voice from the Lachesis come into their headsets. “The area is still clear—no signs on SAT or thermal imagery whatsoever of any creatures within fifty miles of your location.”

  Reisner glanced around the field, the pungent odor of trampled earth piercing his nostrils as a cold breeze floated across the silent grounds. Not even an owl or any bird sounds in the area—there’s nothing left alive in this region. He motioned for them to move forward, with Reisner leading half of his team along the treeline towards the three-story estate while Nash took the rest and arced around to the front of the building.

  Passing a decorative wooden gazebo thirty yards from the back porch, Reisner saw piles of discarded wooden crates and white cardboard boxes. He let his rifle-mounted flashlight shine over the inscriptions, which revealed it was pharmaceutical packaging. He moved his head slowly so the helmet cam could relay the findings back to Selene aboard the Lachesis, then he moved up the steps of the wraparound porch. The rear door was ajar, and he slipped inside, followed by three of his team while two remained outside.

  If it weren’t for the ghastly streaks of blood and viscera adorning the marbled floors, Reisner would have thought they had entered a palace somewhere in Europe, given the ornate furnishings and architecture. The only thing that had shown up on a records search for the property was that it had belonged to Roland Whitmore, a billionaire who had formed his empire from the defense industry. After clearing the rooms on all three levels, Reisner walked around the den upstairs, examining a large wall-sized map near the veranda. It had hundreds of red marks peppering the surface, with small, handwritten notes jotted down beneath some of the larger spots.

  “These points correspond with a similar map Dorr has, showing all of the current military bases and civilian outposts of significance left around the world,” he said as Connelly and Porter came up alongside him.

  Porter pressed his face closer, squinting at the fine handwriting. “And who penned the fucking comments here? I mean, this is some detailed shit on troop numbers, structural weaknesses of the perimeter, and air capabilities.” He looked back at Connelly then over at Reisner. “Do the paras have their own military advisor now, or is one of our own being forced to work with them?”

  Connelly had been flipping through a notebook beside him when she suddenly stopped and thrust it into the beam of Reisner’s flashlight. “This writing is identical but look at the date.” She slid her finger to the bottom of the page. September 16, 2014. Reisner raised an eyebrow then squeezed the book shut to examine the leather-bound spine, which just showed the initials RW stamped on the side.

  Reisner motioned with his hand at the desk then up at the map. “It appears that Whitmore is the author of all of these notes then. The real question is: is he being coerced by the paras or,” he paused to glance around the room, “is he this mystery creature Selene believes to be the supreme alpha?”

  Porter scrutinized the notes and journal, shaking his head. “Shit, if this thing can write then that means it never suffered any brain damage after it was infected.” He let out a deep sigh, his forehead wrinkling. “So, what else can it do—fire a weapon, drive, fly a plane? I mean, what the fuck are we dealing with here? Are the other alphas going to be capable of that too, eventually?”

  Reisner’s eyes darted around the room as he tried to sort through the terrifying implications. “If that were the case, I think we would have seen some signs of that from the other alphas around the world by now. If this creature possessed those abilities, wouldn’t it have relayed them to the rest of its kind to be used against us?”

  “This creature must be the only one that can pull that off,” said Connelly.

  Reisner looked over to the right at a large portrait on the wall, whose plaque indicated it was a painting of Roland Whitmore. The lanky man was dressed in a blue three-piece suit and appeared gaunt and frail rather than a powerful business magnate in the defense industry. Reisner moved slowly around the room, examining the papers on the oaken desk. “These are all chemical formulas similar to the ones Selene showed me for manufacturing synthetic hormones.” He picked up a piece of paper that contained handwriting identical to the type found on the wall map. It showed mathematical calculations coupled with chemistry equations for synthesizing pharmaceutical compounds. Is this really from this super-alpha? God, I hope not. He shook his head, reflecting back on Selene’s past briefings about the alphas’ intelligence along with the uptick in recent activity around Savannah. Despite the muggy conditions, he felt a chill run down his spine as he glanced back at the portrait of Whitmore.

  “We’ve come across other sites with alphas before and never seen anything with this level of sophistication. This has to
be from something more advanced, like we’ve all suspected,” said Reisner. He looked at the handwritten notes, the complex equations, and then up at the intricate plotting of points on the map. “So calculated and precise—this is beyond mere animalistic intelligence. This one has an IQ that is off the charts.” He looked around at the others, his eyes widening. “If this is their general then we are up against a much greater adversary than anyone could’ve anticipated.”

  “All the more reason to hunt this fucker down and remove his head,” said Porter.

  Reisner licked his dry lips, his throat parched, as if he had just crossed a barren stretch of desert. “Agreed. For now, gather up all these papers, journals, and anything else of significance and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Heading towards the hallway, Reisner heard Nash’s voice coming into his earpiece. “Boss, you’re gonna want to see this—we discovered a series of sub-levels beneath the main house. This is where all the drones must have been located and their…their…” He heard Nash clear his throat, his voice lowering. “And where all their victims were kept.”

  Reisner trotted down the steps and followed one of the Rangers through the kitchen and into a small foyer that revealed a hidden door leading down some hewn stone steps. The pathway ahead was already illuminated by glow-sticks and the intermittent beams from the headlamps of the rest of Nash’s group, who were scouring the rooms he walked past. As Reisner descended to the third level, he felt like he had dropped into another century, as the architecture changed from modern post-and-beam construction to hand-hewn wooden rafters and primitive stone masonry. Swaths of blood and crusted entrails lined the steps in some locations, and Reisner felt like he could hear shrieks of agony pouring forth from the fissures in the walls as his mind tried to piece together the horrors that had unfolded down here.

  “Over this way,” said Nash, his voice echoing off the narrow passage as Reisner stepped onto the bottom level. He heard the sudden roar of a generator that Nash fired up as he entered an old wine cellar and saw his friend standing near a table filled with glass beakers and polycarbonate containers amidst a jumble of pharmaceutical compounds.

  The faint trickle of diesel fumes in the room did little to cloak the stench of rotting flesh. Nash pointed with the muzzle of his AR towards three dismembered figures partially adorned in white lab coats, slumped in the corner. “Looks like they were part of some kind of production team,” Nash said, pointing to the table.

  “We found research notes upstairs that tie in with this,” said Reisner, peering at the medical equipment spread around the floor then at the mangled figures crumpled together on the ground. “I’m starting to think that the paras are forcibly recruiting people into doing their bidding, then when the task is completed…” He thrust his chin at the grisly remains before him.

  Nash motioned with his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s something else.” Nash led him back past rows of floor-to-ceiling wine barrels and veered to the right, stopping before a steel gurney. He saw a folded floral-print shirt and jeans on a small table beside a pair of gold hoop earrings and a peach-colored hair barrette. Resting on the floor below was a pair of tan boots, their laces tucked inside.

  “It’s like whoever was here just lay down for a medical procedure—almost like they weren’t worried about anything,” he said, pointing at the tidy arrangement of items on the table.

  “Or were drugged,” he said, nodding back towards all the pharmacy equipment near the entrance.

  “Here’s what really gets me though,” said Nash, stepping aside to reveal an IV stand with a half-dozen depleted bags. He took one, holding it up while massaging this thumb over the gray droplets in the corner. The lifeless remains of a threadlike parasite were suspended in the fluid. Nash set it down next to a portable ultrasound device.

  Reisner felt his throat constrict as a grimace formed on his face. “This is looking like that scene we came across in Phoenix with those women in the tunnels—only way beyond what was going on there.”

  “A hundred paras disappear from our thermal imagery overnight and now this—what the hell is going on, boss?”

  He clutched the grip on his rifle. “Evolution. They’re changing—evolving again, is my guess—and at this rate, who knows what we’ll be dealing with next.” As he said it, his stomach tightened further, and he wondered what new development their already strained military would be facing in the weeks ahead. And whether the human race could still outpace the rapid developments of this new predator that was bent on their extermination.

  Chapter 1

  Magnolia Plantation

  North of Charleston, South Carolina

  The sun was just rising over a thick band of fog that clung like a bridal veil over the two-hundred-acre gardens as Roland stood and looked at the silent plantation ahead. He and his group of thirty-eight alphas had arrived the night before, and there had been little time to examine his surroundings, but now he was sure this place would be suitable for his experiment. He had intentionally kept the drones away from their location, as their heat signatures were easily detected by the military. Regrettably, only the alphas possessed the intellect and ability to raise or lower their body temperature through the willful manipulation of the parasites coursing through their core and limbs.

  Roland was now relying solely on his alphas for protection, and he had his drones massing in the cities along the western borders of South Carolina and Georgia to keep any probing eyes in the sky away from the coastal regions. He knew enough of the military’s attack and surveillance capabilities from his previous life that he was sure they would be relying on UAVs and satellite images to search for him.

  There was a flutter of sensation at the base of his cervical region as the large, ropy parasite undulated slightly, followed by the pleasant release of endorphins that flooded through his body. This always occurred when there was a positive turn of events, and their arrival on foot at this isolated location meant an end to the grueling, non-stop trek north from his estate in Georgia. They had clung to the swampy coastal regions to avoid contact with other humans and had been careful to avoid the main roads and open fields.

  An alpha that Roland had left behind in the woods outside his estate had relayed images of a small unit of soldiers examining his former nest, leading him to believe they had discovered that Savannah had been at the center of the attack on MacDill. With his newfound ability to alter his body temperature and cloak his heat signal, he had relayed this to his alphas throughout the world and instructed them to relocate to more isolated areas outside the larger cities. He knew the populations of his drones would suffer horrible deaths in the coming months with an increase in the deadly bioagent production, and soon that segment of his brood could face extinction if something wasn’t done. So far, only the U.S. had access to this deadly weapon, and his tactical efforts at eradicating human populations in Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, and elsewhere continued unabated. For now, his sole focus was on completing the experiment he had begun on the young woman known as Rose back in Savannah. His immediate goal was to see if there was a way to create more alphas with his abilities. This quest is all that matters now—regardless of the cost.

  Scattered in the marshy grass around him were his precious alphas. Their shared perception of their surroundings, which was instantly transferred to his psyche, made Roland feel like he had an amplifier attached to his brain, causing the croaking of frogs and the din of birdsong to be more intense than if he were standing alone. To his right, nearly pressed against his side, was his twin sister Kat. The burns and wounds she had sustained on her face and torso along with the loss of her left arm during the battle at MacDill gave her body the appearance of shredded bark, while the blackened shoulder socket where her arm had been resembled a charred stump. Only their minds, connecting in their familiar twinspeak, confirmed that the grotesque creature was his sister.

  The sixteen human beings they had fled with were gone, used as mobile food to provide m
uch-needed nourishment for him and his alphas as they surreptitiously covered nearly forty miles in two days. Only one woman remained—and she was precious cargo for Roland’s new undertaking.

  How long will we stay here? Kat’s voice whispered into his mind.

  Roland glanced at a large greenhouse in the center of the lush grounds, the domed top of which jutted out defiantly from the fog. He looked back over his shoulder at the unconscious figure of the comatose woman lying on the ground beside the alphas, who had taken turns carrying her. He thought back to the transfusions of his blood that he had given to Rose back in Savannah. Until the other one like me is born and is mature enough to leave here. This woman was late in her first trimester before the pandemic—it is uncertain how long this new process in the evolution of our kind will take.

  Roland looked overhead at the flight of a red-tailed hawk circling above and then heard the chatter of a tree squirrel behind him as it darted away. This place brims with the energy of many living things and will help sustain us for now. He wasn’t sure himself what that meant, but an innate sensation had compelled him to this location, and he sensed they would be able to obtain nourishment from the pockets of human survivors spread around the countryside.

  Roland deftly walked across a patch of rotting oak leaves, his bare feet pressing into the mud, letting out a sucking sound with each step. He knelt down and brushed a strand of Rose’s brunette hair from her face, then he closed his eyes, feeling the developing psychic connection between him and the metamorphosis occurring with the new life inside of the pale woman.

  He was unsure whether what he was attempting would work or even how he would proceed at each step, but instead he was driven by an overpowering instinct to pursue his present path. He thought back to his youth, when he intentionally kicked apart a large anthill in his backyard, watching in fascination as the workers scurried to protect the pupae and carry them into the shade. There was no forethought—only an impulsive drive to protect the others regardless of the cost to themselves. To protect the brood and ensure its survival.