Extermination Day (8 page)

“Abe’s wife always fixes him chicken salad on Tuesdays, so of course he tosses in his sandwich with a little sticky note attached: Do not eat—property of Abraham Conner. After he threw it in, the vortex dissipated. So much for science and chicken salad. We’ll figure this out eventually though.”

Funny that these serious scientists actually had a humorous side, Jeff thought. Throwing random objects into a mysterious vortex was something he and his buddies might do after a night of drinking.

Dr. Chen touched the screen a couple of times and forwarded through about a week’s worth of videos. “Here’s when the light bulb goes off and he, or I, that is, figure out what’s going on.”

The Chen in the video was even more excited. Jeff moved closer to the screen.

“I was sitting at the lab today, staring at the quantum device, wondering how the hell I was going to get that stupid vortex to generate any usable energy, when out of nowhere,
Pop!
a chicken salad sandwich goes flying out of the other side of the machine. This was the same sandwich that Dr. Conner was eating last week. I tested it and found his saliva still fresh on it. The sandwich showed no sign of mold or decay at all. So my new hypothesis, as fantastic as it sounds, is that the vortex is some sort of temporal transport mechanism. We’ll be doing further testing based on this hypothesis.”

Chen pounded on his desk a couple of times, startling Jeff. But the doctor was grinning.

“The greatest discovery in the history of mankind comes as a result of a chicken salad sandwich,” quipped the present-day Chen, shaking his head. “The video entries continue on, discussing various experiments and the tweaking of the device, largely through trial and error. We eventually figured out that the directional spinning and polarity of the subatomic black holes can be reversed to send objects into the past as well as the future. We also learned how to calibrate the number of subatomic black holes, the fuel if you will, to control for the distance that objects can be sent forward or backward as well as for the mass of the objects. Of course, the prototype device at Harvard that my younger self and staff were working with was only a couple of feet high and a couple wide. Much, much smaller than the Lechuguilla device that you see out there.”

Jeff could see what Chen had here, basically a treasure trove or a time capsule from the future. “So you received all this information—the video journal and I presume all the relevant data from the experiments, all the calculations and so forth—twenty years ago. This was basically a blueprint from the future on how to build a time machine.”

“Yes, Mr. Madison.”

“So all along you had this information and didn’t share it with any of us?” Holly yelled out in disbelief from the corner. She had come out of her counting trance and had obviously listened to Chen. “We all thought you were a genius the way you planned this project. Solving complex quantum equations in your head and guiding the calibration of the device with little to no errors. Each day coming up with breakthroughs that even our brightest scientists had never thought of. The whole time you were just reading off a script.”

“A script that I wrote, Holly. Remember that,” Chen said fiercely, his face flushed. “I made these discoveries, along with most of the other scientists here, once before. The hard way. The second time around with this information just accelerated the process. And we’ve already passed what was done before in scope and complexity by at least a decade. Besides, I had a reason to accelerate the project along much faster than it would’ve progressed normally. Have a look at this last video entry dated yesterday, January 15, 2038.”

A new video popped up in the screen.
The familiar Harvard lab came into view again but this time it was Dr. Conner speaking. His speech was slurred and his nose was bleeding. “This last message is to those of you in the past. Dr. Chen is dead, as are most of the others. We don’t know . . . ” Conner began the fit of coughing that Jeff had seen many times over the last few hours. Conner fell over, blood streaming from his face. He was still holding his portable, trying to talk into the camera. Then a hand covered the camera lens and the room started to spin. It looked like Dr. Conner had thrown the portable with the last of his strength.

As the camera spun, they could see several people slumped dead over their computer desks in the lab, then suddenly the video showed blue sky. The camera continued to spin, flashing between sky and dirt until finally it lay pointing to the sky. Sounds of a construction bulldozer
rumbled in the background. A few seconds of darkness flashed on the screen, a crunch was heard, and then a man with a construction hat bent over the device.

His chunky, bearded face appeared
on the video as he picked it up. In the background was the construction site of the future location of the experimental time travel prototype device. Bulldozers plowed the ground beside the Harvard Science Building.

“What the hell?
" said the burly construction worker. "Hey J. P., come look at this. Seems like somebody’s lost their computer equipment. Shit, I ran over it. I hope I didn’t damage it too much. Name says Dr. Patrick Chen. You mind taking this to the office? I’m sure the good doctor is looking for his stuff. Wow, this is a cool cellphone. Wonder where he got it.” The construction worker starting fiddling around with the device, and the video shut off.

Dr. Chen pointed at the video. “So, as you can see, I knew something horrible was going to happen, I just didn’t know what. And more importantly, I didn’t know the scope of the incident, whether this was something that happened just in the
Harvard lab or on campus or what. At least not right away.”

He swiveled to face Jeff.

“At the time I received the data drive, it was twenty or twenty-five years in advance of the technology we had at the time. I could figure out some of the basics, but not everything. And it had been damaged slightly when the bulldozer ran over it. I knew there was more data that could be recovered, so I sought out the smartest computer expert I knew at the time, a former student who was an instructor in the computer science PhD program at Harvard, Franklin Whittenhouse.”

Jeff peered at Chen, eyes wide. “The founder and CEO of
Whittenhouse Electronics? The billionaire?” Franklin Whittenhouse was one of the richest men in the world.

“The same.
Franklin was smart enough to figure out how the device worked and bold enough to build a business around what he learned. That one device, with technology from twenty years in the future, enabled a small renaissance in electronics and communications and is largely what runs most of our electronics today. Whittenhouse was able to build on what he learned and take that knowledge to new levels. Anyone without his skills wouldn’t have been able to do the same.”

“Amazing,” Holly said. “What other data was
Whittenhouse able to uncover from the device?”

“This,” Chen said as he pulled up one more video. “This is information taken from the Internet and save
d in the device’s cache. It’s a satellite image of the grounds at Harvard.”

The screen showed small dots on the ground. As Chen enhanced the video, Jeff realized the dots were bodies, scattered everywhere.

“We were also able to enhance video from other areas around Boston, and the scenes showed much of the same death.”

“So you did know,” Jeff said, his anger rising. “Dr. Conner was right; you knew that everyone was going to die and you did nothing to prevent it!”

“Why didn’t you tell us about all of this.” Holly was sobbing. “You said a few days ago only that there was the chance of a terrorist attack. You never said you had a video from the future showing that attack killing everyone in Boston. We could have done something to help our families. Everyone is dead because of you. Conner was right to call you a mass murderer!”

“Wait, wait, let me explain,” Chen said, thrusting his hands angrily into the air. “I went to the U.S. government immediately after learning about the video. No one believed me. I was talking about a time machine that I hadn’t even invented yet. They thought I was a nut-job, some crazy scientist who’d lost his marbles. It wasn’t until I’d built a prototype of the device and showed it to the government brass that they started to take me seriously.

“Even then, though, they were thinking that this would be a localized terrorist attack on the Boston area. We had no evidence to show us otherwise. None of us knew the scope of the deaths, nor did we know about the virus. The general with oversight on the project suggested that we move everything to a safer location outside the city. I thought that was a good idea and given the larger scope of construction and the need for a large particle collider, I thought it best to move the facility to a remote location, underground, in case there was any sort of accident. The result was this base.”

He stood, paced a few steps, and returned to his chair. Jeff made room for Holly, who had come close. Her face was flushed, her eyes red and wet. Jeff guessed his face was as pale as hers was red. Agent Mullins was standing stoically beside the remains of his fallen comrade, guarding him even in death. Jeff wished that someone would come and take what was left of Tom so that they could start to prepare a decent burial for him. He didn’t even know if the man had a family.
Of course that family might all be dead as well. Chen too glanced at the man, pausing for a second before continuing.

“As today, D-Day, approached, I urged the general to look at evacuating the Boston area or at least issuing a warning. A few days ago he contacted me and said that there was no valid intelligence indicating any type of attack. They’d been closely tracking governments and extremist groups to see if there was any chatter, planning, or movement in the Boston area, and he said there was none. He saw no reason to create a panic by evacuating a large city. I discussed with him the real possibility that we had changed the time stream, that an attack was being planned but with all the attention on Boston, they had changed the target city.”

Jeff knew how hard it was to get the government moving on anything, even a threat like this. There were always doubters and there were always lazy bureaucrats who didn’t want to get off their asses for anything. He could imagine what the leaders in Boston had been thinking. That if they evacuated the city and nothing happened, they would look like idiots and probably lose their jobs. Besides, what would they tell people, that a video from the future told them there would be an attack? The resulting panic would cause millions of dollars in damages and probably result in deaths as well.

“The general felt that there was a small possibility that another city could be attacked,” Chen said. “So, as a contingency, since the president’s State of the Union address was planned for that night, he thought it might be wise to send an elected member of the government to this location for safekeeping. We are underground here, after all, and security is tight. I specifically asked for Vice President Paulson because if something were to happen, with his experience he’d be able to take charge. No offense, Mr. Madison.” Chen raised a brow at Jeff, his sarcasm clear.

“None taken, Doctor. Paulson is a seasoned military and political veteran, and certainly able to take over the presidency at a moment’s notice, just as he has done in the last few hours.” Jeff directed a smile at the asshole, wondering if he’d get another shot at punching the old man’s face in.

“The vice president had a scheduling conflict and apparently needed to be somewhere else,” Chen said, disgust coloring his voice. “So, I told the staff here a few days ago that we had information that a terrorist attack could happen on the fifteenth, but that we didn’t know the extent of it. I told them to warn their families but to keep it quiet to avoid a panic. Some people have simply become desensitized to warnings and chose to do nothing. Others, like Dr. Conner, quickly built safe rooms for their families in case something did happen.”

He opened his hands, as if offering a rationale. He certainly wasn’t apologizing, Jeff guessed.

“So I did everything I could with the information I had. If I had known the attack was going to be so extensive, then I would’ve tried to warn more people. Although
I'm sure many wouldn't have believed me, and from what we’ve seen, there is really nowhere to hide from this virus.”

“Oh, I think you could have done more, Chen,” Jeff said. “A hell of a lot more. It may be hard to get the government moving, but that’s no excuse. By the way, where is your family?”

“None of your goddamn business,” Chen said, fire in his eyes. He jumped to his feet, though Jeff hadn’t moved any closer to him.

As they glared at each other, fists clenched, Mullins drew his pistol and stood between them. He was an imposing figure.

“They’ll be no more of that, gentlemen.”

“He’s right,” Jeff said. “We need to keep our heads.”

“What should we do?” Holly asked.

“For now we continue with our work,” Chen told her. “Let’s head back to the control center and see how the launch preparations are going. If we can send enough information back in time about this attack, we can prepare a defense next time.” His eyes widened as he added, “We have the chance to rewrite history.”

2:50 am, January 16, 2038

Greenbrier, West Virginia, USA

“Who’s hurt?” Colonel Demetrius hollered over the internal speaker.

“My leg is broken, and I’m pinned in over here,” Paulson said.

“I . . . I think I’m okay,” said Melinda.

“My arm, it feels like it’s broken!”

“Who said that?” Demetrius demanded.

“Cameron Farrow. I’m having trouble breathing too. I think I have several broken ribs!”

“Special Agent Jones, Colonel. Just bruised up over here.”

The fire, crackling and noxious, was quickly growing. They had only moments to get out before the plane burst into flames. Paulson wrenched and pulled at his trapped leg. The pain was excruciating. He tried to move the twisted metal that was wrapped around the leg like a bear trap, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Mr. President, where are you?” Demetrius bellowed.

“Over here!” He banged some piece of metal next to his arm.

Demetrius was a shadowy figure crawling over the broken debris of Air Force One. He found Paulson and reached down to feel his leg. He pulled at the metal, bracing against a twisted seat, but it wouldn’t move.

“Agent Jones, get over here! We need to free the president.”

Jones crawled over and both men tugged at the steel trap.

“I can’t get it to move at all,” Jones said. His face dripped sweat and creased with strain.

Melinda had found a fire extinguisher and was frantically spraying wherever she could, but the fire was tricky, growing and getting closer by the minute. Smoke started to fill the cabin.

“Is everyone getting oxygen through their helmets?” Demetrius asked.

Everyone acknowledged yes.

From the light of the flames flickering around him, Paulson could see fairly well. He looked down at his mangled leg, saw how it had been twisted up and to the side at an unnatural angle right at the knee. He knew the ligaments had been ripped apart.

“Melinda, bring me that fire extinguisher,” Paulson said.

She handed it over, no doubt expecting him to put out the flames around them. Instead he raised it above his head and swiftly swung it down with both hands onto his broken leg.

There was a loud cracking snap as the extinguisher hit his contorted leg, and the flash of pain was so severe, Paulson thought he was going to vomit.

“Ahhhhh!” he screamed over the sound of the flames and the still falling debris. “Motherfucker!”

Paulson peered down, saw that he’d accomplished his goal. His leg was straight enough to be pulled from the metal surrounding it, which was good, because he didn’t think he could bash it again.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, grunting, trying to stay conscious.

Demetrius and Jones pulled him out of the seat and they made their way to the nearest opening in the fuselage. Melinda, helping Farrow, followed.

“Here’s Bigsby!” Farrow hollered. “I think he’s unconscious.”

Melinda bent over and tried to pick up the Washington Post reporter, but she straightened up quickly.

“I need help!  He’s too damned heavy!”

“You go, Colonel,” Paulson said. “Agent Jones can carry my old bucket of bones out of here.”

Demetrius and Melinda grabbed Bigsby as best they could by both arms and struggled to pull him from the wreckage. Lieutenant McMiller rushed over to help as well. The group managed to jump a few feet down to the ground through a large, gaping hole in the side of the cabin and land on the runway tarmac. Paulson watched them pull Bigsby to the edge of the wrecked plane.

“This guy’s got to weigh over four hundred,” Demetrius said. “I don’t know how we’re going to get him away in time; the plane is about to go!”

The entire plane was covered in flames, and dark smoke billowed into the night sky.

“Look!” Melinda ran off and almost immediately came rushing back, pushing a luggage cart that had fallen out of the storage compartment. “Here, put him on this,” she said.

Somehow they were able to flip Bigsby over onto the cart and start rolling him away from the plane. Paulson limped away as fast as he could with his arm around Jones’s shoulder, using the agent for support.

“Wait!” Paulson suddenly remembered that Dr. Peebles had been in their cabin as well. “The doctor is still in there!”

“I’ll get her,” Demetrius said through his intercom as he ran back to the burning plane, disappearing into the smoke.

Paulson and the others kept moving, as far as they could away from the plane. Other passengers were streaming in all directions. Some were carrying and helping others who’d been injured. Everyone was wearing thick winter clothing and gas masks. A steady snowfall whirled
around them and with the plane burning in the background, lighting the night sky, the scene looked like something out of an eerie apocalyptic thriller.

A small explosion ripped through the back of the plane, then another tore open the front as the fireball continued to grow. The American flag on the tail darkened and melted away. Finally a violent booming explosion rocked the earth.

The force of the blast hit Paulson in the back like a tank and knocked both him and Agent Jones to the ground. Millions of pieces of flaming debris fell around them. A sharp piece fell inches from Paulson’s head. Painted on it was one of the stars from the U.S. flag.

Air Force One lay in shambles behind them, flames eating away at the once great plane.

The heat from the fire was intense on his bio-suit as Paulson sat in the snow. A chill winter wind cut sharply through the air and ran up his spine. As he watched the plane burn, three shadowy figures rose up from the tarmac and struggled to move away from the wreckage. They were all wearing bright orange bio-suits.

Agent Jones left Paulson’s side and ran toward them. One of the three was limping. Jones managed to get the injured person over to where Paulson was sitting and the others followed.

“Glad to see you're alive, Mr. President,” Dr. Peebles said. “I would never have made it out without the help of Colonel Demetrius and Lieutenant McMiller here. I owe them my life.” She tapped her side. “I hurt my hip, but I can start treating the injured as best I can right now.”

“I’m happy to see you as well. It looks like we have a lot of injured, but we need to make it to the Greenbrier base first. Treating people here just ensures that they’ll be exposed to the virus and die later on.”

“He’s right,” Demetrius said. “We need to move out as fast as we can. I’ll check all around the wreckage of the plane and tell the survivors to head to the parking lot. We need to find a shuttle or enough cars to get us to the base.”

Demetrius ran out to the haggard shapes standing huddled in small groups watching the burning plane. Paulson struggled to his feet with the help of Agent Jones.

“We need to get moving,” Paulson said. “Come on.”

The group made their way across the tarmac. Lieutenant Darren
McMiller was in the lead, pushing the luggage cart still holding an unconscious Bigsby with Dr. Peebles hanging onto it for support, followed by Agent Jones assisting Paulson, and Melinda helping Secretary Farrow. 

The bulky spacesuit-like bio-suit was tight, scratchy, and constraining. Paulson wasn’t one to normally feel claustrophobic, but the helmet made him feel he needed to be out in a field breathing fresh air. As he walked, the suit made a plastic rubbing sound, and the edges of the visor were starting to fog up, making it hard to see.

“That was an explosion back there, just after the plane touched down, wasn’t it Cameron?” Paulson asked Secretary Farrow after switching over to a private com-line.

“I believe so, sir,” Farrow said solemnly.

“Then someone sabotaged the plane. How the hell would they be able to do that? Air Force One is one of the most secure aircraft in the world.”

“I don’t know how it happened, sir. It looks like we’ve been infiltrated on multiple levels in a highly coordinated strike.”

“The last few hours have certainly been unprecedented.” Paulson gritted his teeth in anger. “We have to move forward from here with the assumption that we have a traitor in our midst, one willing to die for their cause.”

“That blast was certainly meant to destroy the plane and kill everyone on board. If the
saboteur survived the crash, he’ll be looking for the next opportunity to finish the job.”

“We need to be on guard at all times, Cameron.”

Melinda watched Paulson, a concerned look on her face as she helped carry Farrow. She obviously overheard their conversation. Although he couldn’t be truly sure, Paulson felt he could trust her.

“Melinda, if you heard any of that, I ask you to keep it to yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

It was dark and nothing was moving out on the tarmac, so they headed to the entrance to the terminal as fast as they could. The pain in Paulson’s leg was
cutting through his entire body, but he tried to put it out of his mind. He’d been injured in combat and this was no different.

When they entered the gate area, they found it eerily quiet. There were no people around, living or dead. The only movement was the flickering of computer screens automatically updating flight arrival and departure times. They passed through the waiting area into a retail corridor with a few shops and restaurants.

Where were all the people? Could they all have just gone home when word of the virus hit the news? At such a small airport very few travelers, if any, would be expected at this hour and most of the airport night crew would probably have left before the blizzard hit.

A loud and frantic high-pitched bark broke the silence and echoed through the halls of the dead airport. As they passed a small coffee shop, they found a pet crate, complete with barking pet, its owner nowhere in sight.

Melinda, Paulson’s staffer, broke momentarily from the center of the group and headed over to the crate.

“The poor thing is going to starve to death,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “We can’t just leave it here, trapped in the cage to die.”

She reached down and opened the cage, and a small white poodle came out slowly, hesitating at first. Then it walked over to Melinda and began whining, pitifully. Melinda reached down to pet it, but the dog growled and barked loudly at her.

“Aw, poor baby, she’s scared,” Melinda said.

“Don’t touch anything,” McMiller yelled. “Leave the dog where it is and just keep moving.”

The group had started walking when the dog turned and suddenly charged toward
McMiller. Before he could move, the little thing bit him on the leg.

“What the fuck! Stupid little dog,” he yelled, trying to kick it away. But the little poodle was strong and held on tight. It was obviously panicked and confused by the absence of its owner and the empty, unfamiliar surroundings of the airport. It didn’t help that they were wearing biohazard suits, so the dog couldn’t tell what they were.

McMiller kept kicking his leg, trying to dislodge the dog, and finally he reached down and grabbed it by the neck to wrench it away. As he did so, the dog tore a small hole in the leg of his biohazard suit and cut him with its sharp little teeth. Paulson watched a small line of blood trickle down McMiller’s calf. He threw the dog to the side and quickly reached down to cover up the hole. The little dog continued its terrified, frantic barking from a distance.

Apparently the suit had been weakened from the heat of the flames back on the plane. That was the only explanation for such an easy breach of a sturdy bio-suit. Paulson wondered if his suit was weakened as well. They would have to be very careful until they made it to the base.

“It’s just a small tear, I’ll be okay,” McMiller said into his microphone. “I have a repair kit with the suit.”

He pulled a repair can from his waist and sprayed it on the tear. The spray sealed the hole completely, but Paulson didn’t know whether it was already too late for
McMiller. The virus was in the air all around them, so even a tiny breach in one of their suits could be enough for it to get in and cause an infection. Paulson hoped McMiller was lucky. Surviving a plane crash only to die from a poodle bite minutes later would be a cruel irony.

“Shit, come on,” Demetrius muttered. “Let’s keep moving,”

Paulson glanced around as he walked. The small airport looked pretty much the same as it had when he visited before. It served the small town of Lewisburg, West Virginia, and Greenbrier County. The rural, sparsely populated area was a popular outdoor tourist destination offering hiking, skiing, and rafting on the rivers that ran through the Allegheny Mountains. The Greenbrier resort was actually located in the White Sulphur Springs, a small West Virginia town of about 3,000 people.

They continued through the airport past the check-in aisles. An alarm when off when
McMiller crossed through the metal detectors.

“I guess they don’t get many passengers packing this sort of weaponry,” he joked, waving his gun in the air.

Once they exited the main terminal, they hurried to the parking lot and found no hotel shuttles in sight. There were only a few cars in the lot and one truck. It was not enough to carry everyone, so Dr. Peebles suggested they try the rental car parking lot. In the Avis and Alamo lots they found three vans as well as a number of larger passenger vehicles.