Mark Alpert - Extinction

After a while she turned away from the children and stepped out of the cave. The sun was directly overhead, lighting both sides of the ravine and the brown river at the bottom. She stared longingly at the lush fields on the other side of the river. The slope was much gentler on the western side, and it was covered with trees and farms and grazing cattle. If there was a trail that went down to the river, she and the boys could possibly swim across and find refuge in one of the farm villages, but so far the trail had followed a level path, about halfway between the river below and the peaks of the mountain range. Layla estimated they’d walked about seven miles yesterday, and they might have to walk another seven miles before they reached the northern end of the ravine. With a shiver, she wondered if the boys could make it.

And then she saw the raven. It was big and black, at least two feet long, perched on the mountainside about five yards to her right. It had been staring at Layla the whole time, probably waiting for her to drop a piece of food. Pretending not to see the bird, she bent over to scratch her ankle, and at the same time she scanned the ground for a suitable rock. When she found one, she palmed it in her right hand and stood up straight.

She was still facing west, but out of the corner of her eye she judged the distance to the raven’s perch. The bird probably weighed close to four pounds. It would make a good meal for two hungry children. Although Layla had never played baseball or softball, she knew she could throw a rock with speed and accuracy. It was a fundamental human skill, unique to the species. No other animal could coordinate the hand and eye with such precision, making the dozens of small adjustments needed to hurl a projectile at its target. It was such a complex maneuver that only an intelligent being could execute it. In fact, human intelligence might have arisen simply to perfect this crucial ability, which had been so essential to survival for so many millions of years.

Slowly, languidly, Layla pulled back her right arm. Okay, she told herself, it’s time to show the world how intelligent you are. Prove that you’re smarter than that bird.

Her arm whipped forward and the rock whizzed through the air. Startled, the raven flapped its wings, but the rock hit it square in the chest, knocking it sideways. Layla scooped up a larger rock and slammed it down on the raven’s head, putting the bird out of its misery.

She whispered, “I’m sorry,” as she picked up the ugly carcass. Then she started to collect dry grass for making a fire.

After finishing their lunch, Layla and the boys hiked for three hours, going five miles farther north on the mountain trail. But they were still nowhere near the northern end of the ravine. If anything, the snowcapped peaks seemed even higher in this part of the range. On top of the highest summit Layla saw a tall radio tower, with a prefab trailer at its base.

During the first two hours of their march, the boys had been energized by their meal of roasted raven—which hadn’t tasted so bad, actually—but now they were lagging. Layla tried to encourage them to walk faster by singing various songs she thought they might recognize. She was in the middle of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” when they came around a bend in the trail and saw a broad shelf of rock jutting from the mountainside. The shelf was covered with a thin layer of soil, and rooted in the dirt were half a dozen dead trees. Standing below the farthest tree, about a hundred yards away, were the first two people Layla had seen since she escaped from the Operations Center. She grabbed the boys and ducked behind a boulder.

Jesus, she thought, what an idiot I’ve been, singing those stupid songs! Now everyone within earshot knew there was an English speaker on this mountain. But when she peered around the edge of the boulder, she saw the two figures still standing under the dead tree, apparently oblivious. They were a man and a woman, both elderly and dressed in rags. The man was stripping bark off the trunk and passing the pieces to the woman, who stuffed them into a cloth sack. Squinting, Layla caught a glimpse of their faces, which were gaunt and wrinkled. Their hearing was probably bad, she thought, which explained why they hadn’t noticed the singing. What’s more, they definitely weren’t Modules. Supreme Harmony wouldn’t incorporate such old people.

Layla made a decision. She grasped the boys’ hands and looked at them intently. “Wu Dan, Li Tung, I need you to do something. I want you to go to those two people.” To make herself clear, she pointed at the boys and then at the old couple. “Talk to them, okay? Tell them you’re hungry, you’re tired, wŏ è le, wŏ lèi le . They seem like nice old folks, so they’ll probably help you. But don’t tell them your names or where you live, all right? Because if you do, they might send you back to Tài Hé .” Frowning, she pointed south, toward the Operations Center. She could tell from the frightened looks on the boys’ faces that they understood this last sentence at least.

Staying behind the boulder, Layla pushed the boys forward. She assumed it would be less confusing for the old folks if she remained hidden. Wu Dan and Li Tung walked hesitantly down the trail at first, but after a few seconds they broke into a run and yelled “ Wŏ è le! Wŏ lèi le! ” as loudly as they could. The man and woman stopped stripping bark off the tree and stared at the frantic children, who made for an unusual sight with their shaved heads and school uniforms. But instead of greeting the boys and asking them what’s wrong, the old couple started shouting angrily and sweeping their arms in furious “Go away!” gestures. The boys stopped in their tracks, bewildered. Layla was also puzzled—what was wrong with these people? The old man picked up a stick and waved it at the children, while his wife hefted the sack of bark and retreated northward, following the trail around another bend in the mountainside.

As Layla watched the old woman disappear around the bend and the old man slowly back away from the schoolboys, the explanation became clear to her. The elderly couple wasn’t supposed to be there. They were trespassing on government property to collect firewood, and they were terrified that someone would report them. Still, the encounter wasn’t a total loss. Now Layla knew they weren’t far from a village. If she and the boys just followed the trail a few miles farther north, they were bound to come across some friendlier people.

And while she was entertaining this optimistic thought, she saw the old woman again, running back to her husband. The woman dropped the sack of bark and screamed in Mandarin. Behind her, a small gray cloud came into view, gliding around the bend in the trail. The old woman looked over her shoulder and fell to the ground, and a thick tendril from the gray cloud descended upon her. The rest of the swarm charged forward, rushing toward the old man and the schoolboys.

Supreme Harmony observed the beginning of the war.

The first shot was fired from the Xichang Launch Center in Sichuan Province. An SC-19 rocket roared into space and released its payload, a guided missile that streaked above the atmosphere at 30,000 kilometers per hour. Supreme Harmony was linked to the Chinese orbital-tracking systems, so it was able to watch the missile rise to an altitude of 700 kilometers and approach the American reconnaissance satellite. Designated Lacrosse 5, the satellite was passing over the East China Sea, in position to provide radar coverage for the swath of ocean around the U.S. Seventh Fleet. At exactly 4:32 P.M. China standard time, the guided missile slammed into Lacrosse 5, instantly turning the orbital radar station into fifteen tons of high-speed debris.