The Extinction Trials(3)

Owen stepped out and led his team into the building, the sixty pounds of suit and kit barely slowing him. He climbed the stairs as protocol required, feet pounding on the concrete. At the seventh-floor landing, he was barely winded, but Cole leaned over, panting, hands on his knees. Sweat covered his face behind the clear mask.

“Gotta log more gym time,” Owen called over the radio. “Training is half the job. Always—”

“Be prepared,” Cole said between gasps. “Copy that, sir.” A few seconds later, he said, “I’m ready.”

At apartment 1107, Owen pressed the doorbell with his gloved hand and waited. Cole was still breathing heavily behind his mask. When no response came, Owen pressed the doorbell again.

“Central, confirm occupants and vitals in 1107.”

“One adult female. One juvenile female. Both vitals normal.”

Owen banged on the door. Maybe the ringer was malfunctioning.

“Selena, what’s your status?”

He stabbed the doorbell and pounded the door again while he waited.

No response.

“Selena, do you copy?”

Silence over the radio.

“Central, confirm Selena’s location and status.”

“Selena is in unit 403. Vitals normal. Communication systems check failure.”

Cole stepped closer. “Want me to check on her?”

“No. Let’s get a status here first.” Owen eyed the door. “Central, open unit 1107.”

The lock clicked and Owen strode in and stopped cold.

A woman about his mother’s age lay on the floor. He rushed to her, jerked the thick outer glove off his right hand, and exhaled when he felt a faint pulse.

“Central, send an ambulance. Adult female unconscious. Probably asphyxiation.”

Owen glanced at his arm panel. Oxygen level normal. The panel had to be malfunctioning too. And so was central: it had confirmed normal vitals. The occupant was out cold.

Something was wrong here.

He replaced his glove and the suit re-pressurized.

“Central, I’m ordering a mandatory building evac. Possible gas leak and fire risk. Broadcast it and have the bots execute.”

“Confirmed, Lieutenant.”

“Selena,” Owen said, standing up. “If you read me, get out of the building.”

It didn’t add up. This many malfunctions? It was impossible.

The apartment was likely filled with gas. The unconscious woman indicated that. Unless she had been affected by something else? An intruder. Or a medical condition. Better safe than sorry.

“Central, vent unit 1107.”

Owen stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, waiting for one to open slightly.

Nothing happened.

“Central, I repeat, vent unit 1107.”

No response.

“Vent it, Cole.”

“Sir?”

“Get your ax out and make a big hole in that window. Right now.”

The young man had only used his ax in training a few times—and probably never expected to use it in the field, except perhaps in the oldest homes, and only after the firebots were destroyed, and he was the last line of defense. But Owen was proud to see his younger teammate unsheathe the shiny ax and charge toward the window.

Owen dashed down the hall, throwing doors open as he went. The second door on the left opened to a child’s bedroom. Posters of teen idols covered the walls. A jewelry box sat on a table, cheap imitation necklaces and bracelets spilling out as if it was a treasure chest waiting in an undiscovered cave. On the narrow bed lay a young girl, eyes closed, unmoving.

Owen moved like a man possessed, quickly, automatically. He scooped her up, kicked in the door to the bathroom, and laid her gently in the tub. He was about to check her pulse when fire exploded through the apartment.





Chapter Two





If the pain didn’t stop soon, Maya Young was certain she would die.

Her muscles burned.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

Her pulse throbbed in her neck.

Her body was drenched in sweat.

She wasn’t alone in her misery. The cycling class was filled to capacity, thirty women pedaling their stationary bikes to the music, huffing, glancing up periodically at the instructor, who was barely winded. The woman was a mix of a suburban mom and a military drill instructor. Her friendly, housewife exterior hid a merciless personality that seemed to delight in inflicting pain on those in her spinning class.

“Come on, ladies, one final push!” the instructor yelled. “Crank it up and let’s do this. No pain, no gain!”

Maya reached down and turned the bike’s resistance dial—just one click. She heard others cranking even higher, the sound like a hundred camera snaps going off at once, the clicks a disembodied guilt trip saying, “Why aren’t you turning yours higher like everyone else?”

She pumped the pedals, breathing hard. It felt like her bike had bottomed out in quicksand. She better get a ton of gain for this pain. Speaking of, if she ever met the person who first said, “No pain, no gain,” she would punch that person in the face. Hard.

After what seemed like an eternity, the instructor stopped pedaling and began clapping.

“Okay, that’s it! Nice job, everyone. See you again tomorrow. Reminder to check the schedule online tonight. Enrollment for the next eight classes opens at six.”