Mass Extinction Event (Book 8): Days 109 to 116

  Copyright 2019 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: May 2019

  The battle for Boston is over, but there are still dangers lurking in the city. And as Elizabeth and Thomas arrive, they discover that old enemies are waiting to strike back.

  Desperate to find her father, Elizabeth sets out to see if anyone knows whether he survived the battle. She soon learns, however, that the city's new rulers don't take kindly to people digging into the past. Before long, she's thrust into the middle of a deadly power struggle, and she's forced to take a role in a fight she doesn't even understand.

  Meanwhile, Thomas and Carter encounter a familiar face. The dead are still walking, and a cure for the sickness is about to fall into dangerous hands. But what is the mysterious Project Atherius, and why are powerful people willing to do whatever it takes to become part of the project's main plan?

  Days 109 to 116 is the eighth book in the Mass Extinction Event series. The book ends with a cliffhanger, and readers are advised to start with the first part of the series.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Day 109

  Day 110

  Day 111

  Day 112

  Day 113

  Day 114

  Day 115

  Day 116

  Epilogue

  Days 109 to 116

  (Mass Extinction Event book 8)

  Prologue

  Several years ago

  “You know your problem, Joseph?” Mike said as he finished the last of his coffee, and then grabbed his cellphone from the table. “You're too much of an optimist.”

  “I just got done explaining why I hate people so much,” Joseph replied. “Now you're calling me an optimist?”

  “Right, because you expect so much of everyone.” Mike got to his feet and slipped his cellphone into his pocket. “That's why no-one can ever please you. You expect so much from all the people around you, you think they can all be so much better than they are, and you're angry when they disappoint you. You need to temper that constant state of optimism, my friend, or you're never going to be happy.”

  “Go screw yourself,” Joseph replied, rolling his eyes. “And tell those idiots at the office that I'll be late back from lunch. I need to go take a dump. Now bowel movements are one thing I can be optimistic about.”

  He smiled as Mike walked away, but then the smile faded and Joseph found himself staring at his half-empty coffee cup. He'd enjoyed his usual lunchtime rant, and he was glad that – as usual – Mike hadn't been able to counter any of his points. This was the first time, however, that Joseph had ever been called an optimist, and he wasn't sure that he liked the idea. It stung. He was going to have to think of a response and make sure the people at work didn't start to -

  “Joseph Aldred?” a voice said suddenly.

  Startled, Joseph turned and saw a thin, tall man standing nearby in a dark suit.

  Smiling, the man reached out a hand.

  “Or should I call you Joseph Drachman?” he continued. “You seem to go by a few different names.”

  “Parent issues,” Joseph replies, deliberately not shaking the man's hand. “It's a long story. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I want five minutes of your time,” the man said, and now he held up his briefcase as if it contained something important. Something that Joseph might care about. “Do you mind if I take a seat?”

  Joseph tried to think of a reason to send the man away, but he wasn't quite ready for his lunchtime bowel movement and he figured he might get some entertainment from this idiot.

  “Be my guest,” he said finally. “Sit. It's a free world, right? At least, that's what everyone keeps saying. I'm not entirely convinced that I agree, but nobody really asks me, do they?”

  “Maybe they should,” the man said as he carefully pulled the chair back, inspected the seat, and then took his place opposite Joseph. He placed the briefcase conspicuously on the table, even going so far as to move a few items to make sufficient room. “You work at that run-of-the-mill pharmaceuticals company down the road,” he continued. “The place is a hive of idiots, and unfortunately it can be difficult for a good man – a smart man – to rise through the ranks. As I'm sure you've noticed, idiots look after their own.”

  “I'm used to it,” Joseph muttered, although he was eyeing the man cautiously and after a moment his gaze shifted to the briefcase. “It's just how things are. That's the problem with idiots. They think they're the smart ones.”

  “I'm here to offer you an opportunity,” the man replied. “How would you like to come and work for some people who'll truly value your abilities as a pioneer. As someone who can think outside the box. Or are you comfortable in your current rut? Are you afraid to be given the opportunity to prove yourself? Would you prefer to stay where you are and rot, to happily grumble and complain, rather than contributing to something that will change the world.” He paused. “My name is Maxwell Carver, and I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime. Should you be willing to listen to me, of course.”

  Joseph continued to stare at the briefcase for a moment longer, before looking once more at the man.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “I'm listening. Shoot.”

  Day 109

  Elizabeth

  Any moment now. Any moment and it's going to -

  Suddenly the phone starts ringing and I step forward, lifting the receiver and waiting for the message to start again. I hear the usual faint buzzing sound, and those clicks that seem to be part of the signal. Each millisecond seems to last forever, and I feel a flicker of panic as I realize that maybe this time the message won't come at all, that maybe it was all just a fragile hope that was too good to be true. That we're alone again.

  And then, just as the fear feels as if it's going to crush my chest, the same male voice begins to speak:

  “This is a recorded message from the United States government. Today is day one hundred and nine of the crisis. Survivors are requested to make their way to their nearest large towns or cities. If it is not safe to travel, remain in your current location and await help. Government agencies are continuing to coordinate our response to this event.”

  Is that it?

  Apart from the change of day, the message is exactly the same as it was before. A moment later it starts up again, but I set the receiver down as I feel a cold sense of panic in my chest.

  Ten seconds ago, I was terrified that the message wouldn't come again. Now I'm feeling almost the opposite: I'm frustrated that it's just the same message, repeating over and over. Over the past twenty-four hours, has nothing changed? Did no-one think to update the message, to maybe add more details? It's difficult to think of a more infuriatingly vague message to send out to people. At the back of my mind, I'm even worried that it might just be some kind of old automated system that suddenly kicked into life, that this isn't really a moment of hope after all. Either way, one thing's abundantly clear.

  We have to get out of this place.

  “Did the person say anything else?”

  Startled, I turn to see that Polly Musgrave is standing in the broken doorway, silhouetted against the bright street outside. There's dust in the air, which seems to be pretty typical for this rundown old town.

  “No,” I say, forcing a smile in an attempt to make her relax. “Just
the same as yesterday. It rings every hour, day and night, and it's always just the same thing.”

  “But it's good that someone's ringing us, isn't it?” she replies, her voice sounding a little uncertain. “It's good that the phones are working.”

  “It sure is,” I tell her. There's no point foisting my fears and concerns onto her. She's just a kid. “It means there are people out there who have started fixing things. And you heard that helicopter in the distance last night. Stuff's going on out there. We just have to get moving and go find out exactly what's happening.”

  “And then will everything go back to normal?”

  I hesitate for a moment, before limping over to join her. I want to say something that'll make her feel better, but I'm not sure where to begin so I kneel down and look into her eyes. She looks scared, but also very serious. She has a near-constant furrowed brow, and I can tell that she's still thinking about her dead father. For a few seconds I feel as if anything I say will be completely hopeless, and I definitely don't want to lie to the poor girl. At the same time, I'm the adult in this situation so I need to rise to the occasion. Wow, that's a shocker. I'm having to act like an adult.

  “Normal's a tricky word,” I say finally. “I don't know if the world is ever going to go back to how it was, but if the worst is over then at least we can start trying. And that's better than... Well, it's better than doing anything else, right?”

  I wait, but she doesn't reply.

  She's still just staring at me.

  “I was in New York when it all started,” I continue. “Have you heard of New York?”

  She nods.

  “I guess you've seen pictures, huh?”

  She nods again.

  “I bet it looked pretty cool.”

  “It looked busy,” she replies, furrowing her brow. “It looked like everyone was running around all the time, and no-one had a chance to relax.”

  “The place was deserted by the time I left,” I explain. “All that life and activity was gone. I can't even begin to imagine how we're going to clear up this mess. But you know what? We'll find a way, because we have to start clearing up. And we might not get back to how things were, to what felt normal, but we'll create a new world and eventually that will start to feel normal. Does that make sense?”

  She pauses, and then she nods again.

  “Good,” I reply, before getting back up and leaning for a moment against one of the salon's windows. My body is still so stiff and sore, and having only one foot doesn't exactly help. “Now let's get outside,” I continue, limping forward toward the door. “It's kinda dusty inside and -”

  “Will Daddy come back?”

  I stop and turn to her, and I see that she's still staring at me.

  “I... What did you say?” I ask.

  “If things go back to normal,” she continues, “then does that mean Daddy will come back? I'm waiting for him.”

  “Your father...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that I have no idea how to have this conversation. From what Thomas has told me, Polly saw her father get killed and she even acknowledged that he was dead. I thought she was dealing with things pretty well, and now it seems she thinks Doctor Musgrave might somehow get magically resurrected.

  “I bet your father would be really proud of you,” I tell her, trying to side-step the question a little. “You've got to just carry him with you all the time, in your heart.”

  “Do you carry your father in your heart?” she asks.

  “I do.” I pause, thinking back to the last time I saw him. “I think about him a lot.”

  But my father's not dead, I want to say, even if I don't know for certain that it's true.

  “Is he coming back?” she asks.

  “I don't even know if he's -”

  Stopping myself just in time, I realize that maybe this isn't the right moment to bring up the subject of death again. Besides, I truly don't know what happened to my father once the battle began in Boston, and I can't help but cling to the hope that somehow he survived, that maybe he escaped and that he's out there somewhere. That I'll see him again. I mean, we made it this far, which seems pretty unlikely given all the craziness in the world. All we need is for our luck to hold out a little longer.

  “What do you say we go and look for more candy in that store down the road, huh?” I ask, reaching a hand out toward her. “Candy lasts longer than any other type of food. And I don't know about you, but I could really use some right about now.”

  Thomas

  “This really is the last of it,” I explain as I struggle to drag the cart around the corner. “I'm absolutely positive that there's not another drop of oil anywhere in the whole town.”

  Gasping, I finally reach the side of the truck and I let go of the cart's handles. My arms are burning from all the effort of dragging the damn cart across town, and for a moment I have to lean against the side of the truck and get my breath back. Knowing my luck, Carter's about to give me yet another job to do, and I don't want to admit that I'm struggling. With the way things are right now, people are only useful if they're strong or smart, and I'm sure not smart. I guess I'll just have to keep working until I drop.

  Realizing that Carter hasn't said anything since I got back, and hearing the sound of her rummaging through items in the rear of the truck, I step around and peer inside.

  Sure enough, she's examining the military supplies that we accidentally took when we 'borrowed' this vehicle. Craning my neck, I try to get a better look at exactly what we've got, but I can't quite see.

  “There's some seriously high-grade stuff in here,” Carter says suddenly, holding up what looks like a metal football. “Patterson clearly liked to come out equipped. I think they must have been planning on doing some other work on their way back to Boston. Did you realize there are even some fucking landmines in here?”

  “Is that safe?” I ask, taking a step back.

  “I don't know.” She turns to me, and as she does so she drops the metal football.

  I flinch and pull away, but the football is already rolling out of the truck and it quickly drops harmlessly to the ground.

  “That's just some kind of location device,” Carter says with a smile, having clearly enjoyed freaking me out. “Some of the other stuff is more dangerous, though. The landmines are fine until they've been armed, and the grenades all have their pins in, and I'm confident that everything's in a stable condition. It's a decent haul, though. We've struck lucky.”

  “Just when we won't need it,” I point out as she struggles a little to climb down from the rear of the truck. “I mean, if that phone message is right, all the madness is going to stop.”

  “That's a big if,” she replies. “Anyway, the madness won't end. Madness never does. It'll just be a new type of madness taking over from the old.”

  “But at least it sounds like the world's going to go back to normal. Well, not normal, but things are going to start getting better.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “You heard the message,” I point out. “We all did.”

  “And it's just a little too good to be true,” she replies. “Face it, Thomas. There's not going to be some kind of fairy-tale miracle that ties things up nicely. If anything, a sliver of hope is just the world's way of salting our wounds. Things are only going to get worse. This is a mass extinction event and those tend to be terminal. If you don't believe me, ask the dinosaurs.”

  “That's kinda pessimistic,” I suggest.

  “On the contrary, it's the optimistic point of view.” She pats me on the shoulder before limping past me and heading around toward the side of the truck, where she stops to look at the cart full of oil bottles that I dragged here. “Believe me, you don't want to hear my pessimistic thoughts right now, because they are very pessimistic.”

  She peers down for a moment at one of the bottles.

  “By the way, how's your friend Edith?”

  “Her name's Elizabeth,” I remind her, “and s
he's still getting better. Nothing major, but steady progress.”

  “No nasty relapses into being a zombie?”

  “I think I'd have mentioned it if that had happened.”

  “Good point. So she's fine?”

  “She seems to be doing okay.”

  “How delightful. And Penny?”

  “It's Polly,” I say with a sigh, “and she's also fine. It looks like the cure is really starting to work.” I pause for a moment. “So are you getting their names wrong because you just don't care, or is there some other reason?”

  Instead of answering, she picks up one of the bottles and carries it around to the other side of the truck. I don't follow; I stay right where I am and listen to the sound of her pouring the oil into the truck's tank. To be honest, I'm starting to think that she's losing her mind, which isn't unreasonable given that her sickness is only being held back by a combination of home-brewed medicine and sheer dogged determination. I don't know everything about engines, but I've seen what she's been putting into this vehicle since sunrise and I'm pretty sure it's never going to run again.

  Joe would know what to do. He'd have had this thing up and running by now.

  Reaching down, I double-check that the gun is still in my pocket. Carter told me the other day that I have to shoot her if she becomes a zombie, and I'm starting to think that the moment will arrive sooner rather than later. And while I initially joked to myself that it'd be a pleasure, I'm actually starting to think that I might not be able to do it when the time comes.

  “Boo.”

  Startled, I turn and find that she's come up behind me. She laughs as she pushes past me.

  “Come on,” she says, “help me pour as much of this oil into the engine as possible.”