Extinct Read online

  ALSO BY RR HAYWOOD

  The Undead Series

  The Undead Day One-Twenty

  Blood at the Premiere: A Day One Undead Adventure

  Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure

  Demon Series

  Recruited: A Mike Humber Novella

  Huntington House: A Mike Humber Detective Novel

  Book of Shorts Volume One

  Extracted Series

  Extracted

  Executed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by RR Haywood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503902459

  ISBN-10: 1503902455

  Cover design by Mark Swan

  -LF-

  (Miri)

  What you did, you did first.

  Thank you.

  Rich

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Prologue

  A tourist turns to smile at Konrad and Malcolm from the corner at the junction. His tourist guide and map clutched in his hands and his face showing the confused, harassed look of someone lost in a strange city.

  ‘Er . . . do you speak English?’ the tourist asks clearly and slowly with hope in his eyes that someone might be able to communicate with him.

  Malcolm grins. ‘You’re a bit lucky, mate,’ he chuckles. ‘You lost?’

  ‘You’re English!’ the tourist says with evident relief. ‘I have no idea where I am . . . Apparently this building should be a museum,’ he adds, looking at the building on the corner.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Malcolm says, nodding at the map. ‘Where you trying to find?’

  ‘Gentlemen, say a word and you die right here,’ Alpha says, showing them the pistol held under the map. The genial look vanishes in a second. His eyes dart between the two stunned men.

  ‘Just stay still,’ Bravo says almost politely, walking briskly towards them with his own squat black pistol held partly concealed.

  Men come in from all sides. All of them dressed in normal civilian clothing. Malcolm flinches. His heart jack-hammering in his chest. Konrad spins, seeing the net closing in.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Alpha says.

  ‘Easy, mate,’ Malcolm says, rushing the words out.

  ‘Mistake,’ Konrad blurts. ‘Seriously . . . don’t do this . . .’

  ‘Shush,’ Bravo whispers, moving to stand behind Malcolm.

  ‘Mate,’ Malcolm says. ‘Don’t . . . you don’t know who they are . . .’

  ‘They’ll fucking kill you . . . all of you . . .’ Konrad adds.

  ‘Do as we say and you live. Understood?’ Alpha says, his tone calm, his manner relaxed.

  ‘No.’ Malcolm grimaces at having to argue. ‘Don’t do it . . .’

  ‘Listen to him,’ Konrad urges. ‘You won’t get a—’ He stops speaking with a gasp as the ultrathin point of a stiletto blade sinks a millimetre into the flesh of his right thigh.

  ‘Not another word,’ Bravo mutters, holding the blade while apparently trying to see between them to the map being held by Alpha. ‘The blue light. Is it the device?’

  A flash of red snaps everyone’s heads over, followed a split second later by the boom of a large-calibre sniper rifle. Bravo’s head is removed. A second shot and Alpha is taken out, while Delta flies back from the rounds of the assault rifle slamming into his chest. More shots are fired in rapid succession, killing the agents surrounding Malcolm and Konrad with a swift and brutal assault.

  ‘Ere, Kon. They got a red one.’

  ‘I can see, Malc. Who’s that with them?’

  ‘No idea, Kon.’

  ‘That’s him!’ Emily shouts, pointing at Malcolm. ‘The one on the left.’

  ‘You sure, Emily?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Yep, definitely him.’

  ‘Can’t be,’ Ben mutters.

  ‘Blimey,’ Malcolm says, looking round the street. ‘They killed everyone, Kon.’

  ‘We did warn ’em,’ Konrad says, nodding at Malcolm.

  ‘We did,’ Malcolm adds, nodding back at him. ‘We said what would happen.’

  ‘Don’t stand there bloody gawping,’ Safa snaps. ‘The toilets are blocked up, we’ve got shit floating everywhere and a dead Nazi in the bunker.’

  One

  The Bunker, Monday morning

  ‘There are too many variables,’ Ben says. ‘I mean, we’re talking about the concept of predestiny. The whole fabric of life, the whole of everything . . .’

  ‘It’s a toilet,’ Safa says, standing next to him in the bathroom.

  ‘A blocked toilet,’ Emily says from next to Safa.

  ‘Tried a plunger?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Yes, Ben,’ Harry says, holding the dripping plunger in his hand.

  ‘Didn’t work then.’

  ‘No, Ben,’ Harry says simply.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Ben says, lifting his mug to sip his coffee. ‘Just use another toilet.’

  ‘They’re all blocked,’ Emily says.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Ben says again. ‘Hang on, why are you plunging this one if they’re all blocked?’

  ‘We didn’t know they were all blocked,’ Emily says. ‘Harry did this one and I went for a wee next door . . .’

  ‘I see,’ Ben says slowly while very aware of Safa staring at him. He turns his head to look at her, waiting for the comment. The same comment she has made every few hours for the last few days. ‘Not saying it?’

  ‘I don’t need to say it,’ she says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Stop no-ing me. The toilets are all blocked. We need Malc and Kon back.’

  ‘And there it is,’ Ben says with a groan.

  ‘And there’s no hot water,’ Emily adds.

  ‘I know, but the same thing I have said every other time still counts . . . Bringing Malc and Kon back could have countless consequences that could devastate . . .’

  ‘I vote yes,’ Safa says, cutting across him while holding her hand up.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says, holding the plunger up.

  ‘Aye,’ Emily says, holding her hand up.

  ‘No,’ Ben says, shaking his head.


  ‘Outvoted,’ Safa says.

  ‘Good luck telling Miri that.’

  ‘Good luck telling Miri what?’ Miri asks from the doorway behind them.

  ‘Toilet’s blocked,’ Emily says.

  ‘Tried a plunger?’ Miri asks.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says, holding the plunger up.

  ‘And there’s no hot water,’ Emily adds.

  ‘No,’ Miri says flatly.

  ‘Told you,’ Ben says mildly.

  ‘We need Malc and Kon back,’ Safa says, her tone already growing firmer in readiness for the battle.

  ‘And then what?’ Miri asks.

  ‘And then what what?’ Safa snaps.

  Ben groans, Harry sighs and lowers the plunger before rubbing a hand through his beard. Emily leans back against the sink.

  ‘Safa,’ Ben says slowly and very carefully. ‘We’ve been through this lots of times . . . Lots and lots of times.’

  ‘We take M and K away from that situation, then the British never track the device to Cavendish Manor and we never do the things we did to extract Bertie and Ria . . . and Tango Two,’ Miri says.

  ‘It’s Emily,’ Emily says quietly.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Safa says stubbornly. ‘Roland said you can’t unknow something . . . He said that . . . So we go get Malc and Kon and Emily will still be here.’

  ‘And what if Tango Two ceases to be here?’ Miri asks.

  ‘It’s Emily,’ Emily says quietly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Safa retorts. ‘You two overthink everything and we haven’t even checked yet if it worked and if the world still blows up in twenty-one one one . . .’

  ‘Twenty-one eleven,’ Ben mumbles, earning another glare from Safa.

  ‘The bunker is falling apart,’ Safa says, her voice dropping a notch, ‘but more than that . . . Malc and Kon are mates and we can’t just leave them dead. Ben came back for me and Harry . . . Didn’t that mess the timeline up? And if it did, we fixed it . . . same as we’ll do if getting Malc and Kon messes anything up.’

  A moment’s worth of pause in reflection at the new angle being worked by Safa in the ever-continuing debate, either that or the tiredness from the assault on Cavendish Manor and the multiple incursions into governmental war rooms just a few days ago are taking their toll.

  Ria killed her own mother and currently lies sedated in her bed with a gunshot wound to her stomach. The hot water has stopped working and half the shutters in the bunker are either jammed shut or jammed open. The filtration system on the back door is whirring with a noise it shouldn’t be making. The electrics are flickering, the lights fading, doors squeaking and mould growing in the corners of rooms from the lack of sunlight and ventilation.

  They killed scores of people during a sustained, prolonged and exhausting day of days that stretched them physically and mentally. They knew what they were going in for. It was a mission, a job, a thing that had to be done, and their faces and bodies still show the bruises, cuts and wounds. They can process and deal with all of that. They can spend long hours on Bertie’s island under the Aegean sun and swim in the warm waters of a pure unpolluted Mediterranean Sea. They can decompress and let the raw, brutal energy wane and recover. They can heal and go forward to the year 2111 to see if it’s still apocalyptic and if it is then they will fix it, but there is a line, and blocked toilets cross that line.

  ‘Harry’s a big man,’ Safa says, breaking the silence.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Big men do big shits,’ Safa replies, staring at the toilet.

  ‘Oh,’ Ben says mildly as Harry tuts in admonishment at the crass mention of his daily motions.

  ‘I’m going for a wee outside,’ Emily says, but stays leaning against the sink, staring at the toilet and the still water an inch below the rim. ‘Where does it go?’

  ‘What?’ Safa asks.

  ‘The waste. Where does it go?’ Emily asks again.

  ‘Where does the waste go?’ Safa asks Ben.

  ‘Why you asking me?’

  ‘You’re an egghead.’

  ‘I’m definitely going for a wee,’ Emily says, moving towards the door.

  ‘Shit,’ Ben says with a sudden wince. ‘Malc and Kon wouldn’t have risked raw sewage going outside . . . Must be a tank somewhere that we’ve never emptied.’

  ‘We’ve been here months,’ Safa says, screwing her face up.

  ‘Miri,’ Ben says, looking across to the older woman edging aside to let Emily pass. ‘We really need Malc and Kon back . . .’

  Emily snorts a laugh, walking out into the corridor and down towards the doors at the end with a big yawn and a stretch of her arms over her head that makes the yawn sound gargled and strained. Moisture in her eyes that she blinks away. Her muscles are still sore from two days ago. A general feeling of fatigue and a few painful points from the bashes and bumps. She pushes through the double doors into the main room, flooded with natural light, and ducks as she walks to see through the window at what the weather is like outside.

  A blue light flickers behind her, instantly forming a square doorway of shimmering iridescence and a man running through it whose voice comes to hearing mid-scream.

  ‘. . . ILY . . . EMILY . . . GET HIM!’

  She spins with years of practice drilled into her core and her eyes hardening to read the threat. The man looks terrified. His face bathed in sweat, but his eyes fixed on her.

  ‘EMILY!’

  He runs deeper into the room, veering away from the portal with a glance behind as a second figure comes through with a snarl etched on his face. Blond hair, square jaw, blue eyes, grey clothing and a black pistol gripped in his hand that lifts to aim at the first man.

  Everything on instinct. Everything on gut reaction. Emily snatches a plate from the big table and sends it flying at the man holding the pistol. He fires as the plate smashes into his face, knocking him back, the boom of the gun so loud and sharp in the confined space.

  ‘Get him, Emily!’ the first man yelps, diving for cover.

  She grabs another plate and throws it hard, then launches across the room. She knows neither of the men, but the first is unarmed, terrified and shouting her name. The second is angry, uniformed and holding a gun. The second plate hits his elbow as he plucks another shot. With a shout, he tries to aim at Emily, but she’s closed the distance and first feints left then goes right and low while kicking out with a leg sweep designed to take him down.

  His reactions are fast and he almost jumps the kick, but tangles at the last second and starts to topple while plucking the trigger. He twists as he drops with an obvious intent to slam his body weight into her. She rolls to the side and kicks up to drive the heel of her naked foot into his groin with an explosive impact that sags him mid-fall. He slumps down with a yelp and tears in his eyes, but still he tries to aim and fire. She vaults up and slams that same heel into his face, snapping his head over, then drops to grab the hand holding the gun to ensure the aim is away from her.

  ‘CONTACT! CONTACT!’ She bellows the words, knowing the shots will already be bringing the others towards her. The man fights her grip, suddenly lunging to sink his teeth into the back of her hand while scrabbling to pull a dagger from a sheath on his belt. He slashes out wildly, scoring the blade across her arm. She twists and yanks to free the pistol from his grip as he stabs up with the knife. No time to move away. No time to do anything other than point and fire. She sends two rounds into his chest, killing him instantly.

  ‘Oh my god . . . thank you, thank you . . .’ The first man runs to her side, his face still frantic with fear and worry. ‘Emily, thank you . . . you’re a bloody lifesaver.’ He leans in fast to kiss her cheek with an action so natural and unexpected she doesn’t even think to shoot him. ‘I hate this bloody job . . . I’m Malc, by the way . . .’ he yells as he runs through the portal that shuts down just as Safa bursts into the room.

  ‘HOW MANY?’

  ‘ONE DOWN,’ Emily shou
ts back, still aiming the pistol at the body. ‘The Blue was here . . .’

  ‘I saw it,’ Safa says quickly.

  ‘What?’ Ben asks, rushing into the room with Harry and Miri.

  ‘The portal . . . It was open . . . Two men came in . . .’ Emily reports.

  ‘Two?’ Miri asks, seeing one body on the floor.

  ‘One went back,’ Emily says. ‘He said my name . . . the first man . . . He ran in, he was scared . . . He shouted Get him, Emily . . . Then this guy ran in and fired at the first man. I got the gun off him . . .’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben says, coming to her side to look down at the body.

  ‘He, er . . . the first guy,’ Emily says, turning to look behind her again. ‘He said his name was Malc . . .’

  ‘Malc?’ Ben asks as the others snap heads over to stare at Emily.

  ‘He kissed my cheek and said he hates this bloody job,’ Emily says.

  ‘Malc?’ Safa asks. ‘Malcolm kissed you?’

  ‘He said he was Malc . . .’ Emily says, looking back round the room. ‘Brown hair . . . average build . . .’ She trails off on seeing the hard stares coming from Ben and Miri. ‘What? I’m not making it up . . .’

  ‘I saw the portal go off,’ Safa says, clocking the way Ben and Miri are staring at Emily.

  ‘You’re still here,’ Ben mutters. ‘He said his name was Malc?’

  ‘He said Malc,’ Emily says. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Safa, did you see him?’ Ben asks while Miri looks on with a growing frown.

  ‘No, I just saw the portal going off as I came in.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been Malc,’ Ben says.

  ‘He said Malc,’ Emily asserts again.

  ‘If Malcolm is alive to run in here, then he doesn’t die in Berlin,’ Ben says. ‘Which means they don’t track us to Cavendish Manor, which means your team don’t meet us and you don’t end up here—’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Safa exclaims. ‘You shot a Nazi . . .’

  ‘What?’ Emily snaps, finally looking down to take in the details.

  ‘A Nazi. You shot a Nazi.’

  ‘What on earth?’ Doctor Watson blurts, rushing into the room while pulling his trousers up. ‘Are we being attacked? I heard shots and— Good lord!’ he says, coming to a sudden stop on sight of the body. ‘Is that a dead Nazi?’