Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate

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Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate Page 33

by Browning, Walt


  Normally, without the genetic modifications, his body would have taken many weeks to recover. But with the augmentations he’d already been given, Michael was told he’d be back to his normal training schedule inside of two weeks.

  The residual pain clouded his mind, and he decided to ignore the dull aches and let his body heal. After all, he’d been trained to ignore the pain. He closed his eyes once again and drifted off to sleep.

  The blare of the ship’s warning klaxon shook Michael awake. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. His arms were now unbound, and he could move his neck. Other than the bandage over his eyes, he was now a free man. Michael swung his legs out and staggered onto the floor. He stood for a moment, trying to gain his balance, but the bandages bound over his face left him disoriented.

  Michael began to grasp at the cotton wrap, feeling for the end of the tape that kept the gauze in place. After struggling for a moment, he grabbed the dressing and lifted it off his head.

  The pain brought by the room’s light knocked him to the ground. He dropped to one knee and covered his face with his hands. It felt like he’d looked directly into the sun.

  “You shouldn’t have done that!” A nurse yelled as she ran into the room. She directed him to a nearby chair. “Leave the eye covering in place.”

  “What’s going on?” Michael asked, as the nurse slid the bandage back over his head, bringing back a welcome darkness.

  “An air incursion.” The nurse curtly replied. “Now stay here and leave your bandages alone.”

  Michael nodded and sat back to await his sergeant, the man that he considered his father. Michael’s parents had died when he was just five years old and this man had stepped in to take their place.

  As he sat quietly in his room, he could hear past the screeching alarm. The sound of the ship’s automatic sentry guns, sending their deadly fléchettes into the air at over five thousand round per minute, blended with the shouts of the sailors and soldiers. It put a human background to the ship’s warning buzzer.

  Eventually the alarm stopped. The threat had been eliminated.

  Michael sat quietly, listening for the familiar footfalls of his surrogate father. Within a few minutes, he was not disappointed.

  The man’s smell was both unique and comforting. The unenhanced called it musky, but Michael described it more like an old stand of trees. The thick, wet smell of a copse of sturdy kapoks, which were found in the nearby island rainforests, were the closest thing he could compare it to.

  “Well, I hear that you are up and about!” Sergeant Jeremy Porter said. His booming voice filled the room as much as his heavy scent did.

  “Smells like you actually broke out in a sweat.” Michael replied with a smile.

  “You should have seen this one. I don’t know how it even got off the ground, it was so deformed.”

  Michael heard the scraping of metal on linoleum as Porter slid a chair over next to him.

  “I was told that you took the bandage off.” he said with much more compassion than reproach. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. But I thought I’d looked into the sun!”

  “Doc said that might happen. He’s going to come in and monitor your recovery. He said it would take a day or two more for the muscles in your eyes to adapt.”

  “Yeah, I wish he’d have told me that sooner.”

  “Give them a break. No one expected an airborne assault by an oversized turtle.”

  “A flying turtle?” Michael asked with disbelief.

  “That’s the closest thing I can compare it to. I’ve saved a video of it on my handheld.” Jeremy replied. “If the damn replay button works, I’ll show you later.”

  “I’d like to see that.” He replied.

  They both sat in silence for a few moments before the young man continued.

  “When can I leave?” Michael asked.

  “Soon enough.” The sergeant replied in his typical non-committal way. “As soon as you can see and walk. Just leave the bandages alone. They’ve got some more therapy for you to go through first. Now, get some rest, your body needs more time to recover.”

  “Yes, sir!” Michael said as he blindly gave a sarcastic salute.

  “It’s a good thing I love you.” The old man said.

  He bent over and gave Michael a squeeze on his shoulder as he kissed his forehead. “Now, just relax. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Two days later, Michael held his eyes shut tight as the last of the adaptation sessions came to a close. His skin felt different, at least to his enhanced senses. There was a slick but dry texture to his epidermal layer. His titanium hot points and their bony inserts had finally stopped hurting as well and he was able to go without any pain medication. Now his eyes were going to be unbandaged, and if everything went well, he would finally be able to rejoin his squad.

  As the last of the gauze was unwound from his head, the dimly lit room appeared and three doctors that Michael had never seen before stood next to Porter.

  “I know you.” Michael said to the man on the left. “You were here when I woke up. I recognize your smell.

  “I beg your pardon.” The man replied.

  “I told you. These kids are amazing. It’s all in my report.” Porter said.

  Michael stared at the man. The room was lit like a comfortable early evening.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Really?” Michael asked with some disdain. “I can see just fine.”

  “Just answer the question, soldier!” Porter briskly commanded.

  “Two, sir!” Michael barked, both surprised at the aggressive attitude and angry that his surrogate father had so quickly reverted back to becoming his drill sergeant.

  “What am I holding up?” A second man asked.

  Michael was about to launch another snide remark, until he noticed his dad’s stern demeanor.

  “A glove.” Michael replied.

  “Remarkable.” The second man said.

  “A red glove, if I have to be precise. With silver strips and a thick padded palm. It looks like a mechanic’s glove used with heavy machinery.” Michael added.

  All four men turned to each other and stared. But Michael noticed something odd. The men were facing each other, but their eyes didn’t appear to be focused. It was like they were staring past each other’s faces.

  “Unbelievable.” The third man finally uttered.

  “What’s so unbelievable?” Michael hesitantly asked.

  “Son,” Porter said. “There are no lights on. The room is pitch black.”

  “Oh.” That was all that Michael could say, finally understanding why their vision seemed unfocused. They couldn’t see each other. They were simply turning to face a voice that emanated from the dark.

  “I’m going to turn up the lights. Let me know if you become uncomfortable.” The first doctor said.

  As the light became brighter, Michael’s eyes adapted. His eyesight never strayed into uncomfortable territory. In fact, he barely noticed the shift in intensity.

  Finally, the doctor took his hand off of the dimmer switch. Porter was staring at him. He looked both shocked and impressed.

  “What is it?” Michael asked, as he saw the others gawking at him as well.

  “You look…cool.” Porter casually replied.

  The sergeant picked up a mirror.

  “Before you take a peek, you need to know that you look different.”

  “How different?” Michael said with some panic.

  “Woah!” Porter said, holding out his hand to steady the frightened boy. “I didn’t say you looked bad. In fact, if I could get that mod, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “Let me see.” Michael pleaded. “Please!”

  Porter gave the mirror to the worried, young man. Michael stared in the mirror, trying to decide if he approved of the look or not. Sensing the boy’s uneasiness, his adoptive father put his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

  “Embrace it. It’s not li
ke you can do anything about it now.”

  Michael nodded, looking at his modified eyes. What had been a pair of dark brown orbs were now a deep shade of green. The pupil was more oval than round and yellow tendrils flared through the emerald colored iris, giving his eyes a slight starburst appearance.

  “Well?” Jeremy asked.

  Michael closed his lids for a few moments then quickly opened them. His eyes had taken on a cat-like appearance. His iris had morphed into a vertical slit then quickly relaxed back into their now normal, oval shape.

  “I’m a freak.” Michael said unconvincingly.

  “Yeah. But you’re a totally cool freak!” Porter replied. “And I like the color change.”

  “Why did that happen?” Michael asked, as he stared into the mirror.

  “Probably for light gathering.” One of the three replied. “We weren’t sure how your eyes would change, but that’s the most likely answer.”

  Michael continued to exam his new look. At rest, his pupil was oval with a slight, dark line that extended out at the 12 and 6 o’clock position.

  “Could you make the room dark again?” Michael asked.

  Porter slowly lowered the light in the room and Michael watched his pupils shift from ovals into cat-like slits. Finally, as the light went out completely, his pupils became large disks, their diameter filling most of his iris, gathering what ambient light was dribbling in from under the room’s outer door.

  Porter suddenly flipped the lights completely back on, and Michael’s eyes quickly adapted. His ocular muscles instantaneously pulled his pupils back into a tight oval. There was no pain, nor was there any loss of visual acuity during the almost instantaneous transition from pitch black to bright light.

  “Cool.” Michael whispered.

  “I told you.” Porter replied, as he took the mirror.

  “Let’s step outside.” One of the three ordered, and Michael followed them into the hall.

  One of the men pointed to a nurse’s station desk that was at the end of the dimly lit corridor. It was a good thirty meters away.

  “If you would, please tell me what I’ve placed on the wall above the desk over there.”

  Michael stared down the long tunnel, suddenly realizing that his eyes had magnified his vision. Everything zoomed into focus, like he was looking through a pair of binoculars, only his peripheral vision was hyper-focused as well. The whole wall came into view, not just one small part of it. He could see the entire three-foot-tall board in the same area of focus. He didn’t need to scan the up and down to see what was there.

  “You taped an old-fashioned coin onto the board.” Michael said casually, although he could feel his heart racing at the discovery of his new-found power.

  “Unbelievable.” One of the three said.

  “It’s an old penny.” Michael continued, earning a couple of gasps from his small audience.

  “Dated 2037.” He finished.

  Michael decided to add that last bit of information, just to show off. Jeremy looked at him, admonishing his bravado with a slight shake of his head. Michael just shrugged.

  “Showboat! Was that necessary?” Jeremy whispered, as the others quietly spoke among themselves.

  “Hey, you guys made me.” Michael replied.

  “Don’t lump me in with them.” Jeremy said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve always been perfect.”

  “Thanks, pop.” Michael replied.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, kid. I’ll still kick your butt if you get out of line.”

  Michael smiled. Both of them knew that the old sergeant wouldn’t stand a chance against the young man if it ever came to blows. Besides the enhancements that made Michael a superhuman fighting machine, Jeremy was handicapped by prior injuries from battles long ago fought.

  But the smile wasn’t at the bravado of the statement. It was at the tenderness of its intent. Porter cared for him, and like most men, their emotions were found in the edges and not the substance of the words themselves. Deep down they both knew that each loved the other. Words couldn’t describe that, and neither expected the verbalization of something that both of them found so self-evident. Michael gently squeezed the old man’s arm. And for both of them, that was enough.

  The three scientists broke their impromptu huddle.

  “We’re going to let the hard points continue to integrate so there won’t be any need for further sessions other than a weekly visit back here for neural stimulation. That will help his nervous system properly integrate with the hot points.”

  Michael smiled for the first time in weeks. Porter nodded and replied.

  “When can I get him back with his squad for training?”

  “As a squad, not for a while.” One of them replied. “We’re now ready to enhance the other three. But as far as physical training goes, he’ll be ready next week. No restrictions.”

  This earned a contented grunt from both Marines.

  “In fact, please push this young man. He needs to stretch his wings.”

  The scientist rummaged about in an old, stained leather messenger bag and drew out a bound stack of papers from inside a well-worn cardboard folder.

  Handing the paperwork to Jeremy, the scientist continued. “Here is a recommended training schedule. Follow it precisely and mark his progress. This will help his squad-mates and their development.”

  “Aye-Aye, sir.” The both replied with a smile.

  “Carry on, gentlemen.” The man replied, as the three strode down the hallway, congratulating themselves on the success of Michael’s latest implants.

  The older man opened the folder and read while his young companion stood quietly at his side. Although he was bursting at the seams to get back to the outside world, Michael knew enough to stay quiet and wait for his orders.

  “Four more days.” Jeremy said, as he closed the folder.

  “Four more days stuck here?” Michael groaned.

  “No.” Jeremy smiled. “You’re can leave anytime. Four more days before we see how much I can make you sweat.”

  “YES!” Michael quietly shouted as he pumped his fist.

  “Get your things.” Jeremy said.

  “Aye-Aye, sir.”

  “I’ve missed you.” Porter said.

  “Me too.” Michael replied with a smile. “I just want to come home.”

  About the Authors

  Walt Browning was born in Northeast Ohio. An avid athlete in High School, he went on to play college Rugby and Golf, competing against future PGA professionals John Cook and Paul Azinger. He is a doctor and continues to practice today in Central Florida, where he started his career almost 30 years ago. A personal friend and successful author, Angery American, encouraged him to try his hand at writing. His first book, the highly rated “The Book of Frank: ISIS and the Archangel Platoon”, is available on Amazon and led to a collaboration with A.A on the Charlie’s Requiem series. Charlie, a 28-year-old drug rep, is caught in Orlando after an EMP destroys the country’s electric grid. Her attempts to survive the chaos and horrors of a society destroyed create a fast-paced story of death and redemption. The first book in this series sat at the top of Amazon’s dystopian category for over a month.

  Walt’s future as an author looks bright, with planned novels in the medical mystery/action genre. further dystopian/science fiction novels and of course, the continuation of the Extinction Survival series.

  For more information, please visit his website: www.waltbrowning.com

  Also, I keep up on Facebook: facebook.com/waltbrowning

  Nicholas Sansbury Smith is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Hell Divers series. His other work includes the Extinction Cycle series, the Trackers series, and the Orbs series. He worked for Iowa Homeland Security and Emergency Management in disaster planning and mitigation before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. When he isn’t writing or daydreaming about the apocalypse, he enjoys running, biking, spending time with his family, an
d traveling the world. He is an Ironman triathlete and lives in Iowa with his wife, their dogs, and a house full of books.

  Are you a Nicholas Sansbury Smith fan? Join him on social media. He would love to hear from you!

  Facebook Fan Club: Join the NSS army!

  Facebook Author Page: Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Twitter: @GreatWaveInk

  Website: NicholasSansburySmith.com

  Instagram: instagram.com/author_sansbury

  Email: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Foreword by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  — 1 —

  — 2 —

  — 3 —

  — 4 —

  — 5 —

  — 6 —

  — 7 —

  — 8 —

  — 9 —

  — 10 —

  — 11 —

  — 12 —

  — 13 —

  — 14 —

  — 15 —

  — 16 —

  — 17 —

  — 18 —

  — 19 —

  — 20 —

  — 21 —

  — 22 —

  — 23 —

  — 24 —

  — 25 —

  — 26 —

  — 27 —

  — 28 —

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

 

 

 


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