James Rollins - The 6th Extinction

Jason typed in Stella and tried various common iterations, but with both a number and a symbol required, the possibilities were too broad, too variable. It still could be anything.

He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

“Tell me about your father,” he said. “What sort of man was he?”

A small trickle of confusion entered her voice at this odd question. “He… he was smart, loved dogs, was a stickler for details. He believed in order, structure, everything in its place. But when he loved something… or someone… he did it with all his heart. Never forgetting birthdays or anniversaries, always sending presents.”

These memories slowly warmed the cold grief from her words.

Jason rubbed the scruff on his chin. “If he was that structured, then your father likely wouldn’t have picked something whimsical as his code. It would be something practical, yet personal, to him.” Jason turned to Stella. “Like your birthday.”

“Maybe…”

Jason leaned over the keyboard, glancing back at her. He typed as she told him her birthday, using the British order for denoting dates.

17 JANUARY, 1993

He held a finger over the enter button. “This password does have an upper and lowercase letter, along with numbers and one symbol.”

Stella’s hand found his, squeezing hopefully.

He hit the button.

The same error message came up.

“That’s not it,” he said.

He had been so sure. It had felt right.

He tried the Americanized version.

JANUARY 17, 1993

Another failure.

A defeated tone returned to Stella’s demeanor. “Maybe we should just give up.”

Jason considered this option. He pictured that tide he had witnessed below, flowing away from that the earlier blast from Wright’s camp. That tidal wave of panic was surely rolling inevitably toward the station.

But maybe I’m wrong… maybe one blast wasn’t enough .

Plus so far, that sonic cannon continued to remain silent.

Surely that was a good sign.

Dylan Wright lay in a bloody pool, racked in pain, barely able to move. He felt the nymphs squirming inside him.

I’ve become their nest .

Others fed upon his flesh, latched on to his legs, his arms, his face. They wormed under his clothes, burrowed beneath his skin, and explored every orifice.

In his right hand, his three remaining fingers clutched a small device. Shortly after being abandoned, he had pulled it from his belt. He must have passed out for a few minutes, but death would not take him.

Not yet.

Not until I do what I must .

He moved his thumb to the button of the remote activator for the LRAD 4000X — and pressed it.

Distantly, the world wailed, mourning its own doom.

If I must die this way, then let Hell take the rest of the earth, too .

Gray covered his ears against the sonic assault, staring back the way they had come.

“Turn us around!” he hollered.

Kowalski had stopped the CAAT at the edge of the river, not far from the blasted-out bridge. They had almost made it back to the substation when the LRAD ignited once again.

What the hell?

Even at this distance, the barrage rattled everything on the vehicle and everyone inside it.

A moment ago, they had both searched for noise-suppression gear aboard this CAAT, but all they found were moldable earplugs, which they quickly donned. The crew working on the LRAD must have nabbed those more powerful sound-muffling headphones.

“Never make it to that camp without better protection,” Kowalski warned. “By the time we got there, our eyes would be bleeding, probably our brains, too.”

Gray knew his partner was right. He stared across the river toward the glow of the Back Door.

Then, Jason, it’s up to you. You need to bottle this place up tight .

“What do we do?” Kowalski asked.

Gray considered his options. “I know one piece of noise-suppression gear we overlooked.”

“What’s that?”

Gray shifted out of his seat and retrieved something from below. He returned with it in his arms.

Kowalski nodded when he saw it. “That oughta do the trick.”

Let’s hope Jason is just as resourceful .

Up in the substation, the wail of the LRAD rattled the glass in the frames and vibrated the floor underfoot. Stella and Jason stood at the window, staring across the Coliseum toward the pool of light near the back wall.

Had Gray failed to stop Wright?

Someone had plainly reactivated the large dish.

“Look down there,” Stella said. “There’s a CAAT stopped on the far side of the river.”

Jason had already noted the twin spears of light glowing along the floor.

But are they friend or foe?

The answer wasn’t as important as stopping that blaring train whistle that was driving all life down here toward the surface — or better yet, sealing that far exit permanently.

Jason returned to the control console. His last entry — Stella’s birthday — was still entered with the red error message overwriting it. He hadn’t tried anything else, stuck with a vague certainty that he was right about the password being Stella’s birthday.

What am I missing?

Working swiftly, he tried other variations, abbreviating JANUARY to JAN. He changed 17 to 17TH. He tried writing the Latin and Greek equivalents, the ancient languages her father preferred.

Nothing, nothing, and more nothing .

Jason pounded his fist on the console. “Is there something else we’re missing about your birthday?”

Stella shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

Jason fought to concentrate, which was made especially hard by the muffled screaming of the LRAD.

“From your description,” he said, “your father was a stickler for details, not prone to flights of fancy.”

“Right,” she said. “Maybe with the exception of this place. Antarctica. To him, the bottom of the world was always a magical place.”

As magical as his daughter…

Then the answer dawned on him.

Of course .

People often employed a simple trick to make obvious codes seem more complicated, yet still maintain their simplicity or significance. That solution would have been especially amusing to someone whose only fancy was Antarctica, the land at the bottom of the world.

Jason typed in the new password and hit enter.

A green acceptance window opened.

“You did it!” Stella said.

Jason stared down at the accepted code.

3991,YRAUNAJ 71

It was Stella’s birthday, simply written backward, a flipped-around version, like how one would have to reverse the globe in order to view this continent properly.

Jason clicked on the acceptance window to reach the detonation controls. A new screen opened with simple instructions. Jason followed them to the letter until at last a red warning blinked with a button that read Detonate .

Jason shoved back and motioned Stella to take his place.

“You should do this.”

She nodded, reached forward, and touched that button.

Gray stood atop the CAAT when the world jolted underfoot, bouncing the vehicle on its treads. A thunderous boom accompanied it. He glanced back toward the distant station — then up to the Back Door.

Good job, kid .

But in case those bunker busters failed to fully collapse the mouth of the cavern system, Gray lifted his own improvised noise suppressor and rested it atop his shoulder. Considering it had been Dylan Wright’s weapon of choice up top, it was no surprise Gray had discovered it below in the man’s CAAT.