The 6th Extinction (Sigma Force 10)

“Did I tell you I heard from Kat this morning?” Lisa asked, as if reading his mind.

He shook his head.

“She managed to find someone to watch the girls. You should have heard the relief in her voice. I don’t think she was looking forward to such a long flight with two young children in tow.”

He grinned as they headed back across the darkening bluffs. “I also suspect Kat and Monk could use a vacation from diapers and midnight feedings.”

Kathryn Bryant was Sigma’s chief intelligence expert, and Painter’s second-in-command, his proverbial right arm. Her husband, Monk Kokkalis, was a fellow Sigma operative, trained in forensic medicine and biotechnology.

“Speaking of diapers and midnight bottles . . .” Lisa leaned into him, entwining her fingers with his. “Maybe that’s a chore we’ll soon be complaining about.”

“Maybe.”

From her slight sigh, she must have heard the hesitation in his voice. They had, of course, spoken of having children, of starting a family. But dreaming was different from staring that reality full in the face.

Her hand slipped from his grasp. “Painter—”

A sharp and insistent bleat from his phone cut her off, saving him from any explanation—which was a good thing because he couldn’t explain his reluctance even to himself. His back stiffened at the distinctive ringtone. Lisa didn’t object as he answered, knowing that particular chime sounded only in the case of an emergency.

Painter lifted the phone to his ear. “Crowe here.”

“Director.” It was Kat Bryant. “We’ve got trouble.”

For his second-in-command to be calling him now, it had to be big trouble. Then again, when did Sigma ever deal with small problems? As a covert wing for DARPA—the military’s Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency—Sigma Force dealt with global threats of a scientific or technological nature. As director of the group, Painter had gathered a select group of Special Forces soldiers from across the different branches of service and retrained them in various scientific disciplines to act as field operatives for DARPA. If a problem landed in Sigma’s lap, it was seldom a minor concern.

While normally such an urgent call would set him on edge, he could not discount the relief he felt, welcoming the distraction. If I have to taste another piece of wedding cake or decide which centerpiece to go with which table at the reception . . .

“What’s wrong?” he asked Kat, bracing himself for the answer.

8:09 P.M.

“No, no, no!”

Jenna pounded the truck’s brakes, throwing her hard into the seat belt’s shoulder strap. Nikko tumbled off the seat next to her. As the husky scrambled back up, she stared into the rearview mirror.

The world behind her had become a smoky black wall, rolling relentlessly down from the highlands above. She had to get out of its path, but the road ahead turned in a hard hairpin, zigzagging down toward the distant basin of Mono Lake. To take that switchback would send them driving back toward the poisonous smoke. Twisting in her seat, she followed the curve of the road and saw the way did indeed lead back into that roiling cloud.

Despite the early evening chill, she wiped sweat from her brow.

Nikko studied her, trusting her to get them to safety.

But where?

She flipped on her high beams and studied the switchback ahead. She noted a faint pair of tire tracks aiming away from the gravel road and out into the open terrain of sagebrush and scrubby pinyon pines. She didn’t know where that thin track led. Certainly tourists and local teenagers often made their own illegal paths, camping in neighboring box canyons or building bonfires beside creeks. Heaven knows, she had chased plenty of them off herself in her role as park ranger.

With no other choice, she gunned the engine and sped to the switchback. She bumped the truck over the shoulder and onto the thin off-road trail. She raced along the rutted track, rattling every nut and bolt in the Ford. Nikko panted beside her, his ears tall, his eyes everywhere.

“Hang on there, buddy.”

The terrain grew more rugged, requiring her to reduce her speed. Despite the urgency, she couldn’t risk breaking an axle or ripping a tire on one of the razor-edged boulders. Her gaze twitched constantly to the rearview mirror. Behind her, the pall of smoke swallowed the moon.

She found herself holding her breath, fearing what was coming.

The path began to climb, cresting toward the top of another hill. Her progress slowed to a treacherous crawl. She cursed her luck and considered abandoning the trail, but by now the surroundings had turned even rockier. No direction looked better than the one she was following.

Committed now, she pushed harder on the accelerator, testing the extremes of the truck’s four-wheel drive system. Finally the slope evened out again. Taking advantage, she sped recklessly around a bend in the trail, clearing a shoulder of the hill—only to have the beams of her headlights splash across an old rockslide that cut directly across the trail.

She braked hard, but the pickup skidded on loose sand and rock. Her front bumper smashed into the closest boulder. The airbag deployed, slamming her in the face like a swinging bag of cement. It knocked the breath from her. Her head rang, but not loud enough for her to miss hearing the engine cough and die.

As her eyes filled with pained tears, she tasted blood from a split lip. “Nikko . . .”

The husky had kept his seat, looking no worse for the impact.

“C’mon.”

She shoved her door open and half fell out of her seat to the ground. She stood on shaky legs. The air smelled burnt and oily.

Are we already too late?

She turned toward the smoke and pictured the jackrabbit bounding out of that pall and writhing to death. She took a few steps—unsteady for sure, but not from poison. Simply dazed. Or at least she prayed that was the reason.

“Just keep moving,” she ordered herself.

Nikko joined her, dancing on his paws, his thick tail a waving flag of determination.

Behind them, the solid wall of smoke had grown ragged and wispy-edged. Still, it continued to fall toward her like an engulfing wave. She knew she’d never outrun it on foot.

She stared toward the top of the hill.

Her only hope.

She retrieved a flashlight from her truck and quickly headed upward. She picked a path through the rockslide, whistling for Nikko to stay close. Once through, she discovered a rolling meadow of bitterbrush and prickly phlox. The open terrain allowed her to move faster. She sprinted toward the crest of the hill, following the bouncing beam of her flashlight, climbing ever higher.