Extinction Point: The End

bike and be anywhere she needed to be in less than ten minutes. In New York City, she would have spent more time stuck in traffic jams than she could afford, so she stuck with her trusty bike. For longer jaunts, she would usually just take the subway.

Of course, no matter how much she loved the job and the city, there would always be days like today. It was sweltering hot, 92 degrees with 65% humidity. When you coupled the coma inducing humidity and heat with the idiot receptionist and her equally annoying boss, you had the makings of a less than perfect day. But Emily didn’t mind too much, it was almost noon and she had her first story for the day in the bag, which meant she was already ahead of the game.

She had a choice now; head back to the newsroom or grab a bite to eat at a local cafe and then write-up her article. Emily pulled her smart-phone from its holder on her belt and checked her itinerary for the day. She had another three hours before her next appointment, so the choice was hers.

There was a small Internet cafe a couple of blocks away that she knew also did an astoundingly good BLT sandwich. At the thought of it her stomach gave a little grumble. Well, that decided it then. Emily unlocked the chain securing her bike to a NO PARKING sign, slung her backpack over her shoulder and set off in the direction of lunch.

* * *

Emily brought her bike to a stop in front of the cafe. Glancing through the large storefront window into the interior, she could see the place was deserted. She had her pick of tables to set up her computer and spread out her notes, leaving enough room to eat her sandwich. She chained her bike to the security rack the store had courteously installed just outside and walked into the cafe.

Emily felt the sweat under her armpits chill uncomfortably enough for her to give a little shiver as she entered the air-conditioned interior of the cafe. The mellow sound of smooth-jazz, smell of roasted coffee and fresh baked bread immediately grabbed the attention of her senses. Her stomach gave an anticipatory grumble.

In complete contradiction to her reception at the doctor’s office, a warm and honest smile from the cafe’s owner greeted Emily as she walked to the counter. “Good afternoon, young lady. What can I get for you today?” he asked, a slight accent betraying his Italian origins.

“I’ll take a Cappuccino,” Emily said after looking over the chalkboard list of coffees, “and a Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich to eat in, please.”

The cafe was deserted, the lunchtime rush still an hour away, so she had her pick of tables. She chose a four-seater near the window where she could keep an eye on her bike while she ate. Emily pulled her laptop computer from the backpack and hit the on button. It only took a minute for the computer to boot-up and locate the cafe’s wireless Internet signal. Emily clicked on her email-client and waited for it to load any emails she’d received since going incommunicado over the past couple of hours. There was a message from her editor at the paper reminding her to get her stories in before deadline along with the usual collection of spam promising to increase her penis size and offering cheap prescription medication imported directly from China. Nothing important.

She pulled up her web browser and checked CNN. There was the usual potpourri of stories on the news website’s front page: conflicts still raged across some Godforsaken third-world country; a politician had been caught with his pants down again; reports of some weird weather throughout Europe, and some thoroughly uninspiring stock-market numbers that meant her 401k was going to be worth even less than it was yesterday.

Emily clicked on the weather article and began reading.

The Associated Press was reporting strange phenomena throughout most parts of Europe, the article said. Local government agencies were reporting an “unknown red precipitation” with no apparent meteorological cause. The first case had been reported in Smolensk, Russia over  twelve-hours ago with similar reports of what the news agencies had conveniently, if somewhat unoriginally, labeled ‘red rain’, coming in from Finland, Sweden, Poland, Germany, the UK, and Spain as the day had progressed.

“Anything interesting going on in the world?” the cafe owner asked, as he placed the plate with her sandwich next to her steaming cup of coffee.

Emily looked up and smiled, “Not unless you want to talk about the weather,” she said. Apparently, that didn’t appeal to the cafe owner as he fired another smile her way before walking back to his counter. Emily took a large bite from her sandwich, careful not to let any crumbs fall on her keyboard—it was absolutely delicious—and continued reading the news report.

CNN had decided to eschew the European press’ red-rain nomenclature and labeled the phenomenon Blood Rain, instead. Right, her reporter’s brain thought. Good move; give an arbitrary weather phenomenon a scary sounding name and it makes the whole non-event sound that much more frightening and threatening. It virtually guaranteed a front-page article and would probably give the writer a chance at a couple of follow-up stories, too. Lucky bastard!

The news piece also had a selection of quotes from eyewitnesses to the ‘Blood Rain’ epidemic sweeping across Europe. The witnesses reported the rain had begun falling at around 12:30 pm, seemingly from nowhere. “It smelled funny and when I licked it, it tasted like sour milk,” one witness in Smolensk had said.

Why the hell would you stick that stuff in your mouth? Emily wondered. The level of some people’s intelligence never failed to amaze her. Who knew where it came from?

There was no denying it was an interesting story, she had to admit, but the probability was that some unknown chemical plant in an equally unknown part of Russia had gone all Chernobyl and was spilling this toxic red shit into the atmosphere. And, knowing the former Soviet Union’s track-record for reporting these kinds of accidents, well, it would probably be months or even years before the offending chemical plant was located. Even then the Russians would maintain their lie, lie until you die policy of non-admission. Some things just never changed.

Emily took another large bite from her sandwich and glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter: 12:28 the digital display showed. Time to get my ass into gear. She began the process of shutting her computer down and packing it away for the bike ride back to the paper.

Outside the cafe, she could see the daily bustle of life in New York City continuing as it had for countless years. The people changed, the buildings got dirtier and taller, but it all really just boiled down to folk getting on with their lives, doing the best they could to stay in the rat race.

Emily loved it.

“That’ll be eight-seventy-five,” the Italian man behind the counter said. Emily swiped her debit card and typed in her PIN, pocketing the receipt in a small pouch she carried with her. Come tax season every little bit would help.

“Have a great…” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes looking over her left shoulder, out into the street behind her. “What’daya thinks’ going on out there?” he asked almost to himself, and Emily noticed a slightly confused look cross the man’s face as she twisted around to see what he was talking about.

 Through the store window, she could see heat-shimmer playing off the sidewalk and the asphalt covered road. Instead of the usual hustle and bustle she had noticed just a few minutes earlier, she saw many of the pedestrians were now simply standing still. Most were shading their eyes against the bright sun as they looked skyward.

“What the…?” exclaimed Emily, taking a step closer to the window.

From the cloudless New York sky, a crimson rain had begun to fall with the force of a light summer shower. The drops pattered onto the scorching sidewalk, and began collecting into small bloody red puddles.

A thick glob of the red liquid splashed against the store window. Emily watched it slide slowly down the glass; it seemed far more viscous than normal rain and she suddenly had an inkling of how appropriate the label ‘blood rain’ was. In the space of a few seconds, the light drizzle increased to a heavy shower. Rain pummeled the sidewalks, roads and buildings beyond the sanctuary of the cafe. It clung to the glass of the window like mud, or, more appropriately, like blood splatter at a murder scene. Gravity slowly pushed it down the windowpane, leaving a bloody trail of the viscous liquid behind. More drops hit the window, these ones were larger and hit with enough force she could hear the thump of the impact against the glass. It was almost as loud as hail.

Pedestrians, who had until moments before stood staring in confused fascination at the bizarre spectacle,