Extinction

4: The Investigation

4 The InvestigationThe dawn rose before any of the attacking military unit from the previous night had woken; they slept soundly, whilst groups of bureaucratic military men arrived at the breeding farm to survey and assess the damage. Major Robert Kellor, the most senior military intelligence officer available, had been assigned the complicated task of sorting out the disaster. At six-foot-three and 100 kilograms Kellor had an imposing frame, piercing blue eyes and dark brown cropped hair. As he peered through the murk of first morning light, Kellor could see the c*****e below from his vantage point above the farm. Assorted shades of grey rubble and red brick lay in neat piles next to undamaged parts of the complex. Kellor began to trace in his mind the precise route that the enemy had taken through the fence and into the main building. He made his way down to the first point of contact to track the route for real on foot. During this time of investigation he could not believe what he saw. Kellor knew that the enemy had never been so brazen with their attacks in the past. As the minutes ticked by, one thought filled his head: neat and tidy job!. There was nothing extravagant about it; maximum damage and minimum fuss. Impressive and depressing.

Kellor entered the main building, carefully avoiding the destroyed security doors and intermittently stopping and hunting for evidence until he eventually stumbled upon the first dead guard. Kellor looked down at his boots and in the gloom found that they were squarely placed in a pool of thickly congealed blood. The deceased guard was laid face down in what was almost the recovery position. Sliding his blood-tainted boot under the bruised hips of the stiffened guard, Kellor rolled him over with a swift flick. He winced as his torchlight revealed the guard’s bloodied trousers, which had been torn down to his ankles. His shorts were cut away and there, where this fine specimen’s testicles had been, was a gaping and gory wound. Closing his eyes, he smiled at the thought of some meathead muscle-bound grunt walking around with this guy’s balls in her pocket. He would wager that she had always wanted a pair of them for her very own. Moving on, Kellor approached the cryo-womb and was abruptly halted by one of the many junior soldiers now guarding the base.

‘Excuse me Sir. I need to see some ID,’ the soldier ventured politely, recognising Major Kellor’s rank.

Kellor glared at the young private. He did not have a problem with the request in the slightest, but he liked to keep his subordinates guessing about his disposition. As Kellor passed his Eurostate ID over he smiled.

‘Will this do for you Private?’

‘Yes Sir, fine, thank you Sir,’

Kellor immediately dropped his smile, huffed and looked over the soldier’s shoulder into the blackened room.

‘Sir, I have orders that nobody is to enter the Cryo-womb at this moment in time. Too many hazardous chemicals about, Sir’

‘Let me be the judge of that private,’ Kellor overruled.

Kellor strode forward, pushed past the soldier and entered the previously sealed Cryo-womb. While he stood there inspecting the surrounding damage, Kellor took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his nose and mouth. The sharp acrid air stabbed at his eyes. He felt the bile surge into his throat as the fumes seeped through the improvised cotton mask and down into his lungs. All manner of twisted metal bounded Kellor. There were cables and pipes hanging from the ceiling like vines in a jungle. In fact, as he negotiated his way through the room, he had to crouch down to avoid them as he manoeuvred around the spoilt embryos that covered the floor. Before very long, Kellor’s eyes were smarting and he thought that maybe the soldier was right about the chemical hazards within the cryo-womb. Kellor decided that it was best to leave, but as he attempted to do so a twisted embryonic chamber caught his eye in a darkened corner of the room. Upon closer inspection, Kellor was sure something was amiss – or more amiss than had been immediately obvious.

‘Probably around sixteen fertilised egg flasks,’ he thought to himself with a wry smile. By now his eyes were burning and tears ran down into his makeshift mask. Kellor left the room in a hurry; he had seen all he had needed to see.

The soldier relaxed as the Major walked past him and, without turning to speak, Kellor passed an order to the Private in a mildly choking voice, ‘Don’t let anyone in there Private, not without clearing it with me first and this time do it or I’ll have your balls!’

With tears still streaming from his eyes, Kellor set out for the Incident Command Centre that had been hastily set up in the site canteen.

The heavily scuffed double doors swung gently back into position after Kellor had barged through them and found himself in the harsh fluorescent-lit, windowless canteen. The bright unnatural light bounced off the plastic surfaces that covered the whole room and his eyes began to sting once more, as if lulled into complacency after the relief of the cool, damp morning air. Squinting as he looked around and his gaze finally settled on the gaggle of men fussing around maps of the local area. Directly between them and Kellor sat none other than the top man himself. His back was facing Kellor, but he knew the outline very well indeed from the incessant state television broadcasts. European President James T. Wells was a small dark-skinned man of immense power and stature, the driving force behind male dominance. Sitting to his left at a respectful distance was his so called ’Hatchet Man’, the boyishly good-looking Callum Daniels, dressed in an expensive suit.

‘A more complete pair of gangsters you could not hope to find,’ thought Kellor.

The clock on the wall read 06:50 hours and Kellor knew from experience that it would be a very long day. He took a seat nearby and waited for the panic in front of him to die down. Closing his eyes, Kellor rested the back of his head against the canteen wall.

‘A very long day indeed,’ he thought once again and finally began to relax after his morning’s efforts.

Kellor opened his eyes with a start as he sensed the presence of another close by. He quickly glanced back at the clock on the wall. The time now was only 06:57. As he got shakily to his feet, Kellor felt decidedly sick and he knew that he was not totally clear of the chemical fumes that he had inhaled in the cryo-womb. He faced the man in front of him, trying hard to regain his composure.

‘You’re the best we’ve got?’ sneered Daniels as Kellor’s drowning senses struggled slowly to the surface.

Kellor's teeth clenched in anger but somehow he managed to pull his lips into a pathetic smile.

‘I’m afraid so Sir. Well the best that’s available at this moment in time Sir,’ he replied a little too sarcastically.

Looking around, Kellor now saw that the general panic had subsided and that President Wells was on his own, apart from some boffin in the standard issue white coat.

‘Major Kellor, would you be so kind as to give President Wells some of your very valuable time. We are under the impression that you’re here to do a job!’

Furious at being spoken to in such a demeaning manner Kellor began to think of a suitable riposte, but eventually decided just to nod submissively. He followed Daniels without further deliberation and, as they approached James Wells, he was introduced to the President and Professor Alexander Chenenko. President Wells immediately began to speak, as if addressing the nation on state television.

‘We have a critical situation here Major. But we must prevail in the face of overwhelming odds,’ he explained dramatically.

Kellor found it an extreme turn-off to hear President Wells recite his on-message information in the stereotypical language of a politician, but listened all the same.