Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate

by Browning, Walt

Shrek stood motionless, as if trying to decide what to do. After a few moments, he limped over to Hope then turned around and looked back. The dog straightened up and thrust out his chest. His tongue lolled out, and Carver could have sworn that the Mal nodded, as if to say, “I’ve got this.”

  “Bewaken,” Carver gently said, using the Dutch command to stand guard.

  Hope put her hand in Shrek’s mane as Carver mouthed, “I love you” to her just before he spun and left.

  “We love you too,” she belatedly replied. “Come home.”

  It could be days before she would find out his fate. Until then, all she and Shrek could do was worry and wait.

  Shrek

  I hear Carver and his mate awaken. They try to move quietly, but even at my age, I can hear them like they are right next to me.

  My job is to protect Carver’s mate and offspring. I lie next to his son’s bed and listen for the enemy. For many years, I have not heard nor smelt them.

  I hear Carver bathing himself in the streaming waterfall. His mate is shuffling in the eating area. I hear the fire ignite and smell the morning coffee.

  I still do not move.

  Soon, Carver comes into the sleeping room. He is dressed in his battle gear.

  I stand up to join him.

  My body hurts.

  My legs ache as I walk, and when I try to run, a pain shoots down my back.

  I can push through it and go to battle with my master once again.

  I move to the door and wait for Carver to leave. We will be a team again.

  When he stands and looks at me, I can sense his sadness.

  It is true that I am not what I used to be.

  I am still strong and will fight through the pain just to be at his side one more time.

  He squats next to me and tells me no.

  He commands me to guard his mate and son.

  I stand quietly, hoping he will change his mind.

  He does not.

  I do my duty and go to his mate’s side.

  I turn and face him. I draw myself up and stand strong. He will know that I will do my job, no matter what. I will die to protect them.

  He nods at me and I nod back.

  I will be here for them both.

  Because I am Shrek.

  I am the killer who hunts in the night.

  I always win.

  It is just who I am.

  Beckham Hall

  Carver

  Carver walked to Beckham where the camp’s soldiers were meeting for a final run-through. He had no illusions about Los Angeles and expected the worst. The intensity of the atmosphere in the large dining hall was a far cry from the camp’s attitude just a month prior. That was just after they found Camp Pendleton empty.

  After they took control of the Marine Corps base, there was a serious discussion about whether or not to proceed downtown. The case for ignoring the Variant infestation grew stronger with each passing week. It had been months since Mettler had been overrun, and, with the discovery of the abandoned camp, there was growing sentiment for keeping the status quo.

  Carver couldn’t blame them for wanting to ignore what was essentially a phantom existential threat. The camp seemed safe, and people didn’t want to shake that up. That all changed when they lost contact with another settlement just last week. This was the second colony to suddenly go offline.

  After losing radio contact with the town, Freedom’s drone was sent to investigate. The wafting smoke from the burned-out houses was visible on the Fire Scout’s camera well before it arrived. When it got to the colony, the scene was identical to Mettler.

  After seeing the devastation, it was decided not to send another rescue team. The colony’s location was well north of Los Angeles, and it would have been a good day’s journey under the best of circumstances. There was no point driving all that way, just to confirm what they could see from their drone’s overhead camera. The settlement was a total loss.

  The Freedom’s MQ-8 Fire Scout was a VTOL (Vertical Take-off and Landing) aircraft rather than the traditional fixed-wing variety. It was launched from the same helicopter pad that the ship’s Seahawk used.

  Because it was a remote-controlled helicopter, the drone operator was able to hover in place just a hundred feet above the destroyed mountainside village. The Fire Scout moved back and forth above the ravaged town, searching for survivors. There were none, not even a single corpse. The only remnant of the settlement was the burning husks of its buildings and the nearby cultivated fields. Nothing seemed out of place, other than a small sinkhole that had opened up on the outskirts of the hamlet. The drone driver made a mental note to check prior videos of the area, but he failed to follow through. It wasn’t important enough in the grand scheme of things. The town was dead. End of story.

  Riverside, California

  Intersection of I-15 and SR 91 (Riverside Freeway)

  The loss of the town changed the narrative. Once again, the horde in Los Angeles had overrun one of the human settlements, all without being noticed by the overflying drone. Lost Valley realized that any other colony, including themselves, could be next. The city needed to be purged of this horror. They contacted all the other enclaves for help. Three hundred more soldiers were added to their ranks, including some from Catalina Island. Shader, now over fifty years old, was one of them.

  “Hey. We’re coming up to the 91 intersection,” Carver said to Shader, who was riding shotgun. “Can you tell me what lane to take, or can’t you see that far anymore?”

  The old SEAL grunted. He was getting used to Carver’s bad humor.

  Shader had always kept his hair “high and tight.” Now that he’d been domesticated, he let it grow out, revealing tight curls of silver. Carver saw him with his new look and immediately began the verbal barbs about his age.

  Truth be told, Shader was getting bored living on the island. His wife was Catalina’s veterinarian and had far more to do on a daily basis than he did. With a growing cattle and bison population, along with the addition of just about every other farm animal, she never stopped working.

  While his wife did her job, Shader kept watch over the island. As the acting sheriff (he was voted in against his will), he cruised the roads of the nearly empty town. With housing for thousands and a population in the hundreds, the majority of the city of Avalon lay unused. The only action he had seen in the years living there were accidents that resulted in injuries. Shader was the town ambulance driver as well as their sheriff, transporting patients in the back of his pickup truck to the city’s makeshift hospital.

  “I may be going blind, but your driving skills still suck,” Shader remarked.

  The two men continued trading verbal barbs to the delight of Gary Gringleman and Kyle, who sat in the back seat of the armored HUMVEE. Whenever one of the old warriors would get a good jab in, the two boys would look at each other and crack a smile. It was obvious to the young men that Carver and Shader had a deep affection for each other. Satire and humor were the way men communicated with other men they cared about.

  Carver pulled up onto the ramp and let the vehicle idle.

  “How long do we need to wait?” Kyle asked.

  “Not long,” Carver said as he checked his watch.

  “Actually,” Shader said, looking east on 91, “they’re here.”

  Black exhaust billowed into the distant sky, and soon, three Oshkosh M1070 tank transporters rumbled into view. The oversized eighteen-wheelers each carried an M1 Abrams tank from the Marine Corps Ground Combat Center based at Twentynine Palms, located just past Palm Springs. The tanks were followed by seven Stryker troop transports, each filled with Marines who had survived the viral infection.

  The small group of grunts from the Marine Corps’ 1st Battalion, 1st Marines had managed to stave off the infected. Since then, they’d lived off the combat center’s stores and only recently had begun trading with the other colonies. Carver had heard that their numbers weren’t that high. If the Stryker transports were full
, they’d likely sent most of their warriors.

  The convoy came to a stop and a short, barrel-chested Marine jumped out of the passenger side of the lead transport. If his stride and demeanor were any indication, he was the man in charge of the detachment.

  Carver and Shader both left the HUMVEE and met the man halfway.

  The Marine removed his helmet, tucked it under his left arm, and reached out to shake hands. “Lieutenant Burke.”

  Carver and Shader both introduced themselves as they exchanged pleasantries.

  Burke was a tough-looking grunt. Although clean-shaven, his beard was already beginning to shade his face. His MARPAT camouflage patterned uniform fit tightly, not from fat, but because of thick muscles that stretched the uniform’s fabric. He wore a sidearm and had a battle rifle slung at his side. But that’s not what made him look so formidable. It was the way he talked and handled himself. Though both Carver and Shader towered over the Marine, Burke’s confidence and attitude made him seem bigger than he was. In the end, the man left no doubt that he was in charge of his men. If Shader or Carver had any ideas that they were going to give Burke commands, those notions were quickly dispelled.

  The men stood in the cool sunshine for a while. After a minute, Carver and Shader returned to their vehicle.

  “He wants to get together with us and review our plans before we proceed,” Carver said to Gary and Kyle. He grabbed a backpack from the cargo area that contained their maps and other intel.

  “Didn’t we do that already?” Kyle asked.

  “I reminded him of that very thing,” Carver replied, obviously exasperated at the situation. “He has some suggestions for us.”

  “Great,” Gringleman sighed. “We’ll grab our rifles.”

  “No need. Just me and Shader. Burke wants to meet at the back of that pickup truck.” Carver pointed at an abandoned Chevy on the road next to the first transport.

  “You two stay here while we sort this out,” Shader said, looking up at the late-winter, morning sky. “At least it’s a comfortable day.”

  Kyle and Gary leaned on the HUMVEE as the two older SEALs strode over to the waiting lieutenant. About a half hour later, they returned, shaking their heads.

  “Once I got to know Gonzalez,” Shader said, “I thought I liked the Marines. That guy is one hard-assed SOB.”

  “What happened? Was there something in the plans he didn’t like?” Kyle asked.

  “Something?” Carver replied sarcastically. “He tried to change everything. He wanted to do some classic military moves. Have a three-pronged attack with flanking maneuvers.”

  “I reminded him that we’ve been dealing with the Variants for over five years,” Shader added.

  “Haven’t they had problems with them?”

  “Not really,” Carver said. “Most of the Marines made it through the initial infection. Unfortunately, the entire division was called up to clean out the local towns.”

  “Between Palm Springs and its surrounding area, there were over fifty thousand residents. What you have over there” —Shader pointed at the convoy of military vehicles— “is what’s left of the 1st Battalion. The Marines who went out never came back. Those guys are either support or office personnel.”

  “That’s including Burke. He’s an oh-four-thirty-one,” Carver added.

  “What’s an 0431?” Kyle asked. “You two know we don’t know that stuff.”

  “Occupational Specialist 0431 is logistics and embarkation.”

  Kyle still looked confused.

  “He packs everyone’s bags,” Shader said sarcastically. “He’s a glorified luggage handler.”

  Kyle shook his head. “And he wants to tell you two how to fight the Variants? I can see why you’re a little pissed. If he’s being such a problem, can we rely on them to help?”

  “Yeah. I watched his NCOs during our talk. I’m confident they’ll follow our lead, no matter what the lieutenant says.”

  “How many Marines did they bring?”

  “Sixty-two.”

  “All of them were office or support?” Gary asked.

  “Yeah. But they’ve all been through basic training. As they say, a Marine is first and foremost a rifleman, no matter what his specialty. I’d say they’ll be an asset—as long as that little turd of a lieutenant stays in line,” Shader said.

  “Our radios are all on the same squad frequency now. Whatever I send, they’ll all pick up. If I read the two sergeants correctly, they’ll follow my orders,” Carver concluded.

  “Let’s hope so,” Shader added. “Otherwise, we could be walking into the world’s biggest clusterfuck.”

  Pershing Square

  Downtown Los Angeles

  One hour before dusk

  It took the rest of the day to get to the rally point and organize the men and equipment. Every colony was represented, even the small family operations in the hills along the coastline. One group had come from as far away as Big Sur State Park, an almost three-hundred-mile trip. The recent loss of the community about a hundred miles south of them had shaken their confidence. They had as much to lose as anyone.

  Both SEALs looked over their makeshift battalion. They had almost four hundred men and women under arms. That included three battle tanks, twenty-four armored personnel carriers, and dozens of HUMVEEs, along with an assortment of busses and pickup trucks.

  Each APC and HUMVEE had a mounted machine gun. Most of the Strykers were similarly equipped, but a few were specialized. Two had TOW laser-guided rockets on top, and the third had a 105mm tank cannon. These three Strykers, along with the tanks and Everly’s SuperCobra, were going to play a major role in Carver’s plan.

  “Here they come,” Shader said, pointing north toward the U.S. Bank Tower. Four soldiers were jogging down the road. They arrived at the plaza a few moments later.

  “Report,” Carver said.

  “The charges are in place,” Lucas Reedy said, huffing from his run.

  The young man held up a high-frequency radio transmitter. Its signal would detonate a combination of RDX and C4. The placement of the explosive material had been determined by the eggheads on Catalina. With any luck, the implosion of the tower would kill any Variants in or on the building. If their calculations were off and the tower remained, the Hellfire missiles on Everly’s SuperCobra, along with the tank and Stryker rounds, should weaken the structure enough to collapse it. The trick was to get the remaining Variants inside the building. That’s where Carver would come in.

  “I think we’re ready,” Carver said. “Set off the fireworks after they pick me up from the roof.” Over the radio, he gave further instruction. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get to our positions.”

  The rumble of the military armored vehicles shook the pavement. Black smoke spewed into the air, creating a dark cloud above the assembly. The thick exhaust seemed to linger over the plaza before a gust of the Santa Ana winds blew the pollution off to the southwest.

  The rest of his battalion moved to their pre-planned positions around the U.S. Bank Tower.

  “Everyone will be in place soon. You better get going,” Shader said. His concern was palpable.

  There were only two vehicles left in the plaza. Shader had command of a Stryker and would stay with Lucas and his detonator. Carver had a HUMVEE. He’d be its only occupant, save one other. Rex was joining him for this final mission.

  Carver stripped down to his BDU pants and a t-shirt. He removed all his tactical gear, including his vest, helmet, and battle belt. The only things he kept were his M9 handgun and two M67 fragmentation grenades, along with a spare pistol magazine. They all found a place in his waistband or one of his pockets. He took a jar of the rancid-smelling masking grease, affectionately called Variant cologne, and smeared it liberally on his exposed skin. He massaged a good amount into the war dog’s fur and vest, as well.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” Carver said.

  “You better,” Shader replied before giving his friend a hug.
>
  Carver broke away before he could change his mind about the mission. He put the dog in the back of the HUMVEE then hopped into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. Lucas continued to stand outside the Stryker, staring at his dog. He walked up and leaned into Carver’s window.

  “You bring him back,” Lucas said.

  “I’ll do that. I never left Shrek, and I won’t leave him. I’ll go down before I let that happen.”

  Lucas continued to stare into Carver’s eyes. Eventually, he backed up and nodded. “I believe you. You sure I can’t go with you? Rex is my dog. Plus, I know where I put all of the explosives.”

  “Another body will only make things more complicated.”

  “I could do this instead of you,” Lucas replied. “I’m a lot younger.”

  Carver would have smacked the kid for challenging his age, but Lucas had a point. He was about to run up seventy flights of stairs. He was past forty and had to beat hundreds of Variants to the rooftop deck, a climb of nearly a thousand feet.

  Carver lifted his foot from the driver’s well, showing off his tennis shoes. “I dressed for the occasion. In fact, take this. I’ll need it when I get back.”

  Carver reached into his front thigh pocket and handed Lucas his pen and spiral notebook. It was the infamous “Book of the Dead,” where he kept track of all who had been killed or went missing.

  “I don’t want to add your name to this,” Lucas said.

  “I don’t either.”

  Lucas nodded then backed away from the HUMVEE and gave Carver a salute. “Good luck.”

  “For the love of Christ, Lucas, I’ll be fine,” Carver replied, shaking his head.

  He punched the accelerator, and the HUMVEE sped off. They were a mile from City Hall. Shader and Lucas gave each other a somber nod. The final battle for Southern California had just begun.

  Grand Park

  Downtown Los Angeles

  Carver

  The sun was close to the horizon. The tall buildings to the west masked the dying light as long shadows were cast across the cityscape. He stopped at an intersection next to the urban park and checked his watch. It had been nine minutes since he gave the order to proceed back at Pershing Square. He counted down the remaining sixty seconds, then hit the PTT button on his handheld radio.