Free Intended Extinction by Greg Hanks Page A

couch. I didn’t want to draw attention, so I resisted the urge to cry out. I pulled the arm, only to find that it belonged to a middle-aged man. The majority of his body was horribly bruised and broken. More clipping gunfire rang to my right. I skittered over crumbled pieces of ceiling and tried not to breath.
    Through the mists, I thought I saw a huddled girl, running toward Tara’s nook. I stumbled upon a piece of wood and crashed into the floor. I cursed madly and rolled over to my back. Pieces of my body alerted me to their plight. A large sear adorned my left forearm and my right leg had a laceration running vertically from my knee to my ankle, splitting my jeans.
    Behind me, dancing beams of light filtered through the fog. Heavy boots crunched toward my position. I hid myself under a pile of rubble as best as I could and played dead.
    Through a small gap in the loose debris, I witnessed a shadowy figure step into view with a blinding light on the tip of the rifle he was holding. He was garbed in a black suit comprised of armor-like padding, dim red lights, and stretchy, yet constricting undergarments. His helmet was tinted and malevolent, shaped to his skull.
    I closed my eyes and prayed that I would be invisible.
    I felt his boot land next to my ear, and to my horror, his light shined on my face; I only hoped I had covered myself enough.
    His head jerked to the Turmont entrance, as if he had heard something. He nodded, and I figured someone was speaking to him. He hesitated for a moment, like he had his hands on his prey, but couldn’t disobey a precious order.
    And with that, he was gone. I let out a gasp and opened my eyes. I pushed off the minced concrete and scampered to the nook. I wasn’t leaving until I found Tara. The small annex was mostly unaffected by the event. A polished door stood at the back of the room, beckoning me.
    Smoke and ash followed me into the cool chamber and I found the nearest wall. I slid down and tried to catch my breath. I examined my leg, watching the soaking blood seep through my jeans. The room was fairly small, with just one other exit. There was a counter with some pamphlets on the right, and a sectional couch. The glass table that was stationed next to the sofa was shattered.
    A soft noise came from behind the sofa and I frantically tried to prepare myself.
    I wanted to shout something threatening, but nothing came.
    A brunette stuck her head out and I gasped with relief.
    “Tara! You’re alive!”
    “Mark! Oh, my God!”
    As I watched her, the head of a second girl in her late-twenties slowly rose from behind the couch.
    “Are you okay?!” I asked.
    “I’m fine. Are you okay?” she exclaimed, rushing over. We embraced and looked at each other, trying to read our feelings.
    “Who’s that?” I asked.
    “I’m Kelly,” the other girl said, coming around the couch. “I was in here when it happened.”
    Kelly had massive brown eyes, with permanent bags underneath. Her hazel hair hung over her shoulders, accented by blonde highlights.
    “Are you all right?” I asked, seeing the fear in her eyes.
    “You tell me,” she said. “What in God’s name happened out there?”
    I sat up and twitched in discomfort. How the hell would I know?
    “We were just sitting in the computer room,” began Tara, “and then there was an explosion. That’s about it.”
    Kelly shook her head. “I heard gunshots . We’ve got to get out of here.” She strode across the room and pressed her ear to the other door.
    “Mark, your leg,” said Tara, viewing my shin with concern. I waved it off and tried to get to my feet. She held me down and said, “Wait, let me try to stop the bleeding. At least for now.”
    She ripped off her shirt, leaving her in an orange tank top, and crafted a makeshift tourniquet, quickly fashioning it around the wound. It looked faulty, but seemed to work for now. She finished examining my leg with distaste and looked back to Kelly.
    “Do you know a way out