The rain increased, splattering the street and funneling into a sewer grate. Beckham took a few steps away from the Humvee and pivoted to look at the other side of the road. That was when he noticed the insects and birds had all gone silent.
He stood there in the eerie quiet, listening for anything besides his own breathing. Between his damaged vision and hearing, he was starting to feel like a blind, deaf dog. For a Delta operator, it was beyond frustrating—it was humiliating.
A low thumping broke the silence. Beckham slowly turned to locate the noise and recognized the drone of helicopter rotors.
Flathman’s baseball hat suddenly emerged over the edge of the roof. He slung his rifle over his back and started climbing down. Halfway down the ladder, he put his boots out on the sides and slid down to the ground.
He pointed at the Dumpsters. “We have to hide, Captain.”
Ah, hell no, Beckham thought. The brain-rattling whomp whomp of the rotors grew closer, so close it was as if the bird was right overhead.
Flathman dove into the first Dumpster. Holding his breath, Beckham climbed in right after Flathman, who pushed Beckham down into the mound of trash as the chopper passed over the building. They waited in the stink for several terrible seconds before finally getting up to peek out over the side.
A Black Hawk traversed the skyline, lights blinking as it moved higher into the gray sky.
“Who the fuck is that?” Beckham asked.
“Who do you think?” Flathman replied. “It’s ROT. Bastards were at my outpost.”
Beckham nearly choked on the putrid scent of trash as he watched the helicopter. “Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so.” Flathman’s voice was confident, and Beckham kept his mouth closed, not interested in arguing with the lieutenant anymore. Whatever was in the Dumpster smelled like stagnant swamp water. His blade sank into something that had the consistency of bony salmon, both horribly soft and crunchy at the same time.
He moved his blade to see the decayed corpse of a Variant, bulging sucker lips deflated like the tires of the pickup on the road. A pair of hollow eye sockets stared up, the yellow eyes gone.
“Aw, shit,” Flathman said. “I forgot about those.”
“Forgot?”
“My men helped clean this street of dead Variants after Kryptonite killed most of them. They don’t half stink, do they?”
As soon as the thump of the chopper had faded away, Beckham climbed out of the Dumpster. He exhaled a long breath and then heaved up what was left of his lunch.
Flathman dragged his boots on the concrete, leaving behind a blackened paste.
“What do we do now?” Beckham asked, wiping off his mouth.
“Go to the outpost and see if ROT left anything behind.” Flathman pulled off his Cubs hat and examined the fabric. “Goddamnit, I got shit all over it.”
“LT, stop worrying about that damn hat. Are you sure the outpost is empty now?” Part of Beckham was hoping there were a few ROT soldiers left behind to kill, but the mission right now was to find a radio and supplies, not seek revenge. That would come later.
“No, but what other option do we have?”
Beckham nodded. “Then let’s get our asses moving.”
They climbed into the Humvee, but Flathman hesitated before starting the engine, narrowing his eyes at the windshield.
“What?” Beckham asked.
Flathman asked the question Beckham had also been wondering about.
“Why the hell would ROT pack up and leave right now? Do they know something we don’t?”
Pregnant during the apocalypse: It wasn’t exactly the way Kate had planned things. In fact, she had never thought she would be a mother at all.
She stirred in the cramped bunk. The jets searching for them had given up, but no matter which way she positioned her body, she couldn’t get comfortable. Javier Riley did not want to sleep.
She couldn’t sleep either, what with the rattle of Big Horn snoring in the bunk above her. He sounded like a pit bull having a bad dream. His muscular arm hung over the bunk, twitching in the darkness.
The snoring didn’t seem to bother his daughters. Tasha and Jenny were curled up together in the bunk across from Kate. Both of them were exhausted from being on the run for so long.
Kate was still trying to grasp everything that had happened. After settling into their new home on Plum Island, she had thought they would all be safe—that they would have a chance to start over.
Now she was on a submarine heading for a fleet of ships in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and once again people were assuring her that she would be safe. There was only one place she felt safe anymore, and that was in Reed’s arms. A thousand miles separated them, assuming he was even still alive.
Thinking about Plum Island reminded her of Pat. They’d had to leave his body behind when they fled the island. She imagined Pat rotting in the sun, his dark black hair blowing in the wind.
It was all too much. She just wanted to shut it all off, to disconnect from the memories. But since being evacuated to the USS Florida, she had only managed a few minutes of sleep. She knew it wasn’t good for the baby, and that knowledge only made her feel worse.
For the next several hours, she lay there staring into the darkness, thinking of everyone she had lost. Were her parents on that list? She had written them off as dead, and after hearing what was happening in Europe, she almost hoped they were. The mutated monsters sounded more terrifying than anything she had experienced in the States.
A knock on metal snapped her out of her trance sometime in the early-morning hours. Horn nearly fell off the top bunk. He swung his legs over and jumped down.
“Who the hell’s there?” he grumbled, disoriented. “Girls, where are you?”
“Over here,” Jenny said.
The privacy curtain hanging over the doorway peeled back.
“Doctor Lovato?” asked a voice.
The curtain opened farther and let in a ray of light that captured Horn’s hulking frame. He was wearing a pair of white briefs—and nothing else. Kate looked away, choking back a snicker. Unlike Horn, Kate slept fully clothed, prepared to get up at a moment’s notice.
“It’s okay, Horn.” She sat up with a hand on her stomach.
Horn grabbed his pants and put them on as Ben Nelson opened the curtain all the way. Tasha and Jenny squinted into the light.
“My apologies for waking you,” Nelson said, “but President Ringgold would like you to meet her in the operations room.”
Horn slipped a navy T-shirt over his disheveled hair. “Hang on just a sec.”
“It’s okay,” Kate said again. “You stay here with the girls and get some more rest.”
“You sure?” Horn said, one of his arms stuck in the shirt.
“I can walk on my own,” Kate said with a reassuring smile. Horn sat down on the bed with his girls and watched Kate leave.
Nelson shut the curtain behind Kate and handed her a cup of coffee. Kate took it with thanks, but she didn’t drink any. As a scientist, she knew a moderate daily intake of caffeine was perfectly safe for pregnant women, but as a first-time mother, she didn’t want to take any chances.
Sailors passing by kept to the sides of the passage to allow Kate and Nelson through, as if they were something special. Kate sure didn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary. If anything, she felt useless.
Nelson didn’t speak during the short trip through the submarine. Outside the operations room stood Chief Petty Officer Ivan Petrov, a short man with a five o’clock shadow and bushy eyebrows.
“Welcome, Doctor Lovato. Please follow me,” Petrov said with a slight Russian accent.
Kate and Nelson followed him into the operations room, where Captain Steve Konkoly and President Ringgold were looking at several monitors in the dim lighting.
“I had no choice, General Nixon,” Ringgold was saying.
Nixon’s rough voice came over the speakers. “If I had known about Wood earli
er, I could have sent a few ships back to stop him. But we’re in quite the mess, President Ringgold. I’m losing the war in Europe, and now you tell me the United States is headed for civil war.”
Ringgold looked over her shoulder but didn’t signal for Kate to join her at the comms.
“We’ve taken heavy losses in Italy, France, Spain, England, Germany. The EUF has retreated to a handful of strongholds. I’m afraid if we pull any troops now, Europe will be lost forever,” said Nixon.
Ringgold leaned down closer to the comm system. “We can’t afford to let Europe fall, but we can’t help anyone if we lose the United States of America.”
“I understand, Madam President,” Nixon replied promptly. “I can send you two destroyers and a sub to help track down Wood and finish him off, but that’s all I can spare without jeopardizing our mission here.”
Konkoly nodded and whispered, “We need as many ships as we can get to capture the Zumwalt.”
“Thank you, General,” Ringgold said. “I’ll have my people send you the coordinates.”
“Nixon doesn’t know about the fleet we’re heading for?” Kate whispered to Nelson.
“It’s a secret. We can’t risk ROT sympathizers leaking that information.”
Kate nodded, but she didn’t feel any safer. It seemed Wood had spies everywhere.
“Stay safe, President Ringgold,” Nixon said.
“Give ’em hell in Europe,” Ringgold said. She turned to Kate. Judging by the dark circles under the president’s eyes, she hadn’t slept much either. “I’m sorry to call you in so early in the morning, but I wanted to discuss something with you before we meet the fleet.”
“It’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” Kate said.
Ringgold cut right to the chase. “I’ve spent the last hour being briefed on the Variants in Europe. General Nixon is losing the war.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“The Variants there are undergoing”—Ringgold paused to search for the word—“mutations.”
Ringgold glanced down at her empty coffee cup and frowned. She looked around for Nelson, but he was hanging back with Soprano near another station.
“Here,” Kate said, offering the president her cup.
“Thanks. I’ve been living off this sludge,” Ringgold said, wincing. “Worst coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”
“I probably shouldn’t be drinking any anyway,” Kate said, placing a hand on her belly.
Ringgold nodded and said, “The reason I bring up the Variants is because we’re about to join the Thalassa, a French research vessel that I’m told is studying the creatures in Europe. Maybe you can help them design another weapon?”
Kate stopped the president before she could go any farther. “I don’t know how much more I can do. I’ve been researching the hemorrhage virus for seven months now. I helped design two bioweapons that killed ninety percent of the world’s population.”
Kate flinched at a pain in her stomach. Javier Riley was moving again, responding to her agitation. “The truth is, I’m done designing weapons. I just don’t think I can do it again. I didn’t become a scientist to destroy; I became a scientist to save lives.”
“But you have saved lives, Kate. The weapons killed monsters, not innocent civilians. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”
Kate frowned. She hadn’t told many people about her brother, Javier, who had been infected early on during the outbreak. Her first bioweapon had almost certainly killed him. No matter how many times people told her she wasn’t to blame, the guilt weighed heavily on her conscience.
“Maybe a bioweapon isn’t the answer,” Ringgold said. “Either way, the researchers aboard the Thalassa need you in the fight against the new monsters in Europe. You’re the brightest scientific mind in the world, Kate. And I’m not just saying that to stroke your ego.”
“I don’t know,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Ellis had a few theories about the juveniles and mutating monsters in Europe, but he’s gone now. I …” Her voice trailed off at the memory of her friend and lab partner. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I can.”
“I understand, Kate, but I hope you’ll reconsider,” Ringgold said.
Kate didn’t have a chance to reply. Captain Konkoly walked over, clearly waiting for an opportunity to speak.
“Yes, Captain?” Ringgold said.
He bent down next to her and said, “Ma’am, the radar is clear. Do I have your permission to surface?”
“Go ahead. And Kate? You can take the day to think about it. But I need your answer tonight. The French are going to head back to the mainland tomorrow morning.”
Kate sighed. “I’ll give it some thought.”
A few stations away, Konkoly stood with Chief Petty Officer Petrov and his bulky second in command, Lieutenant Commander Bonner.
Bonner sat down at the comms. “Prepare to surface,” he said into the mic. The message played over the master intercom system. Sailors rushed through the passageway to their stations. Petrov repeated the message over the ballast control panel.
He looked up at Konkoly. “The board is all green.”
Konkoly gave a nod to Bonner. Now that the ballast tanks were all confirmed closed, the order to blow the tanks was given. A moment later, the Klaxon sounded three times. The ballast tanks blew, and the submarine slowly rose from the frigid depths.
The hull creaked as the pressure on the rising vessel reduced. Kate knew that if anyone were listening on the radar out there, they would hear everything.
She tried not to worry and turned to Ringgold with a question that she was frightened to ask but needed to have answered before she tried to sleep again.
“Have we picked up anything on the comms about Reed?” Kate asked.
“I’m sorry Kate, but if ROT does have him, they’re not talking about it.”
“What if he’s not with ROT? What if he’s somewhere else? What if he’s trying to find me?” Kate knew how crazy it sounded, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.
Ringgold seemed to contemplate the question for several moments. “I suppose we could send something out over the channels that would tell him you’re alive, but not where you are. A message only he would understand.”
The sound of the tanks blowing echoed through the submarine.
“Steady,” Konkoly said across the space.
“What about just the words ‘Javier Riley’?” Kate said.
Ringgold gestured for Konkoly, who stepped over.
“Captain, I’d like to send a brief message out over the comms to a friend who might be out there listening,” she said.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Madam President.”
“No one will know what it means besides the person we’re looking for,” Ringgold said.
Konkoly pursed his lips, clearly unmoved.
“Javier Riley is the name of my unborn son,” Kate said. “His father is somewhere out there, and he could be looking for me. Please, Captain. Please send out a comms message to let him know we’re still alive.”
“Two words, Captain,” Ringgold said. “That’s an order.”
6
Davis hadn’t seen an infected for over an hour. She pressed her sweaty face back to her rifle’s scope and zoomed in on the corpses. Davis and Diaz had killed more than fifty of them that day. The sight of old friends and colleagues sprawled over the beach and bobbing in the water had made Davis sick twice now. She couldn’t afford to throw up again. They were about to make their move, and she needed all of her energy.
“The water looks as though it’s calmed down,” Davis whispered. She glanced over at Diaz. “You ready?”
The younger woman scratched at a swollen mosquito bite on her neck. “I’m ready.”
Davis stood and swung her MK21 rifle over her back. She pulled out her M9 instead and limped away from the lookout. Diaz followed her down the stairs, and they set out across Fort Pickens toward the
GW.
The two women strode out across the terrace and halted at the edge of the beach. They had to pass through a minefield of corpses to get to the water and then wade through the surf with more of the scattered dead. After swimming to the carrier, they would then climb a ladder to the deck, which was littered with yet more bodies.
Davis pushed onward despite the gruesome sights ahead. She hated delaying things that were hard. She had learned at a young age to take on the hard tasks first, to get them out of the way. Today was no exception.
When they reached the beach, Davis took point, navigating among the bloated corpses as quickly as possible. Some were badly disfigured from the virus, and others had taken rounds to the skull, erasing their features. But Davis did spot several people she recognized. She passed Tom Miller and Rebecca Hamman halfway down the sand. Eric Michaels and Jay Sopa were lying by the water’s edge, staring up at the sky. She mentally apologized to each of them as she passed.
The surf brought what appeared to be a log onto the beach next to Jay. The object rolled across the sand and came to rest a few feet from Davis’s boots. She took another step closer and saw it was a muscular arm with a skull tattoo—the same tattoo she remembered seeing on Lance Corporal Black’s arm.
Diaz put a hand to her mouth, cupping her lips and bending down as if she was going to throw up when she saw it. Davis put a hand on her friend’s back.
Quick and steady, Rachel. Quick and …
The mantra helped Davis concentrate. She led Diaz away from the gore, both of them preparing their weapons as they walked. They didn’t have any dry bags to put their gear inside, so they waded out into the surf with their rifles above their heads. As soon as they were deep enough, they started treading water and moving toward the ship, using one arm to swim and the other to hold their weapons in place. Under normal conditions Davis would have used fins, but normal conditions no longer existed.
Small waves lapped at Davis’s face as she worked her way through the surf. She breathed through her nose, careful not to swallow any of the salt water. Five minutes out, her legs were already starting to cramp. Her right arm was locking up too, the injuries starting to burn. Normally swimming would have been therapeutic, but not in choppy water, and not while holding a twelve-pound rifle over her head.
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