15
Beckham awoke with a splitting headache to find himself lying on the floor with half a dozen guns pointed at his face. But it sure beat waking up to a Variant slinging him onto some sewer wall. As long as these men weren’t ROT soldiers …
He tried to move his legs, but his boot and blade were bound. When he moved his hand, a chain rattled from the handcuffs that were attached to the bottom of a metal seat.
The cold metal beneath his body vibrated, and he realized the loud thumping noise wasn’t the sound of his heartbeat in his ears but the chop of a helicopter’s rotors. There were voices too, all muffled. Beckham saw why when his vision cleared. Six men, all wearing black CBRN suits, were sitting in the troop hold of a Seahawk helicopter. His rattled brain finally managed to focus enough to remember what had happened on the rooftop.
He’d been pinned down at Outpost 46 with Lieutenant Jim Flathman, surrounded by the infected from the SZT. The Seahawk he was in now had descended from the sky to pluck Beckham from the rooftop. He recalled the team of soldiers fast-roping all around him and laying down covering fire to hold back the hordes of infected.
One of those soldiers had asked Beckham a series of questions—questions that Beckham had apparently answered incorrectly. The last thing he remembered was the butt of a rifle to his head.
Now they were pointing their guns at him in the dimly lit troop hold, their eyes watching him.
This wasn’t the first time Beckham had had weapons pointed at him by friendly forces. Back on the USS Truxtun, he had stared down the barrel of Staff Sergeant Jay Chow’s rifle. It wasn’t the kind of thing that got easier with repetition.
Beckham looked down the row of seats and saw a woman who wasn’t in a CBRN suit. It took him a few seconds to recognize her.
“Is that you, Rachel?” he slurred.
Davis ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. Instead of a CBRN suit, she wore a frayed uniform that was ripped and soiled with blood and mud. She watched him sadly and stood, only to be forced back into her seat by one of the soldiers in a CBRN suit.
“He’s not infected,” she said.
Beckham glimpsed her holstered side arm. If Davis was armed, then Beckham knew these soldiers weren’t aligned with ROT—if they were, Beckham and Davis would already be corpses.
“Captain Beckham,” said a man with dark skin covered in camouflage paint. “I’m Senior Chief Petty Officer Randall Blade, with SEAL Team Four. Can you understand me?”
Beckham focused on the man’s eyes behind his plastic visor. This was the SEAL who had given Beckham a hard tap with his rifle on the rooftop.
“Where’s Kate? Where’s Horn? Where’s President Ringgold?” Beckham said. He tried to push himself off the floor with his stump, but fell back down to his stomach.
“Stay still, Captain Beckham,” Blade said.
Though his voice was calm, Beckham knew the man wouldn’t hesitate to blow his brains out if he suspected Beckham was infected.
“Do as they say,” Davis said. “You were exposed to the virus, Captain.”
“I’m not infected,” Beckham said. “Please, please tell me where Kate is.”
Instead of answering him, Blade asked, “Captain, do you have a headache, fever, nausea, itching, or abdominal pain?” Blade asked.
Beckham recalled hearing these exact questions from the Medical Corps doctors at the decontamination facility where Team Ghost had been examined right after the raid on Building 8.
“Captain, please answer the question,” Blade repeated. “Do you have a headache, fever, nausea, itching, or abdominal pain?”
“I have all the above,” Davis said before Beckham could reply. “And I’m not infected. Come on—he’s clearly still in his right mind. He needs water, a couple of bandages, and some chow, not an interrogation. The man’s a Delta Force operator, for god’s sake.”
Blade wasn’t swayed. He kept his weapon trained on Beckham, and so did the other SEALs. The crew chief unholstered his M9 and chambered a round.
“Captain Davis, you know this is just protocol—” Blade had started to say when Beckham looked up and said, “I have a headache because you hit me in the face with your rifle, Senior Chief.”
The thump of rotors filled the troop hold with a rhythmic din. Beckham kept his face raised to meet Blade’s gaze, hoping his answer was enough for the SEAL.
It wasn’t.
“My men are alive today because we never break protocol. So either you answer our questions or I’m going to be forced to put you down again. Don’t make me do that, Captain.”
Beckham lowered his head and looked at himself for the first time since waking. His tattered uniform was covered in blood and gore.
“I’m not infected,” he said. “I would be experiencing symptoms by now.”
“You know that’s not necessarily true,” Blade replied coldly. “The incubation period ranges from minutes to hours.”
“Fine,” Beckham said. He knew the last thing he should do right now was argue, but he did have questions that he needed answered. “You got a family, Senior Chief?” Beckham asked, raising his head again.
After a brief pause, the SEAL said, “Yeah, I do. My wife and son are at SZT Nineteen in Los Angeles, but my daughters were both killed in the outbreak. What’s that have to do with anything?”
“I’m sorry about your daughters,” Beckham said. “I have a son on the way myself, and I’d really like to get back to his mother. I want … I need to know where she is and if she’s okay.”
Blade and his team remained silent. Beckham scanned their faces, or what he could see of them behind their visors. They were all in their early or midthirties—not the greenhorn grunts Beckham had fought with on other missions, but not hardened, half-dead veterans like him either. These SEALs were probably some of the most experienced and capable warriors left in the American military.
Captain Davis looked to Blade, her eyebrows drawn together in a straight line. “I’m pulling rank here, Chief. The man lying on the floor in front of you is a national hero, and I’m not going to treat him like a dog.”
Blade grunted when she crouch-walked across the troop hold. “Captain Davis, please do not approach—” he began to say.
Davis cut Blade off with a glare and then sat down beside Beckham. She reached into a gear bag for a bottle of water and screwed off the cap.
“Go ahead,” she said, holding it out so he could drink.
Beckham lifted his mouth and greedily accepted the water. She gave him half the bottle and then screwed the lid back on.
“Kate’s safe,” Davis said. “She’s with President Ringgold, Master Sergeant Horn, and the rest of your friends at an undisclosed location.”
Beckham heaved a long sigh, unable to contain his relief. He relaxed on the cold floor. “I heard her message, and I knew she was still out there.”
For a few seconds neither of them said a word, but Beckham could see she wanted to talk about something.
“They’re all dead,” Davis finally said.
It was hard to hear over the rotors. “What?”
“My crew. Every single soul aboard the GW. I had to put them down after the infection spread,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Beckham thought of all the men he had killed over the past seven months. “I had to put Flathman down. He saved me, and I killed him.”
“He was infected?” Davis asked.
Beckham nodded. “It was my fault. I panicked and made a rookie mistake, took a shot without thinking, and he ended up covered in infected blood.”
“I feel as if this pain is getting worse,” she said. “I’ve lost everyone.”
“I wish I could tell you it gets better.”
Blade waved at Davis and yelled across the troop hold so she could hear. “We’re two hours from our target, Captain.”
“Let’s get him uncuffed and off the floor,” Davis said. “We’re going to need his help.”
“With all due respect—” Blad
e began.
She cut him off with, “That’s an order, Senior Chief.”
Blade bent down to unlock the cuffs, but he kept the zip tie around Beckham’s boot and prosthetic. Davis helped Beckham up into the seat. He winced in pain as he sat down but quickly said, “I’m fine, it’s just my arm.”
“This is a bad idea,” Blade said. He returned to his seat and motioned for his men to keep their guns on Beckham.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Davis asked.
“A real meal?” Beckham shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Ronaldo, hand me one of those MREs,” Davis said.
The crew chief grabbed a pack from a bag and tossed it over to Davis. Beckham knew he needed the energy to get back to Kate. He tore into the MRE and downed the food like a Variant, the SEALs watching from across the chopper anxiously.
By the time Beckham finished his meal, the shock of the attack on Outpost 46 had finally subsided. He still had the pounding headache, but knowing Kate and his friends were safe helped relieve the pain of his other injuries. Having a belly full of food helped too. He almost felt as if he could fall asleep.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
“The Greenbrier,” Davis said. “The PEOC, specifically.”
Beckham finished chewing and narrowed his brows. “What? I thought it was hit by a missile loaded with the hemorrhage virus.”
“It was,” Davis said. “We’re going to see if anyone in the PEOC is still alive. Vice President Johnson is the key to rallying the SZTs.”
“He’s dead,” Beckham said. “Everyone there is dead.”
Blade finally lowered his rifle. “That may be true, but we need to get inside the PEOC to obtain proof of what happened there. Our mission is to find evidence and relay it over the radio channels to the SZTs. They have to know what Wood has done.”
“Did he really declare himself president?” Beckham asked.
Davis nodded gravely. “The bastard has convinced most of the SZTs to rally behind the ROT flag.”
“What about General Nixon?” Beckham asked.
“He’s got Wood believing he’s remaining neutral and focusing on the war in Europe for now. But Nixon has sent President Ringgold’s fleet two destroyers to help find the USS Zumwalt,” Blade said. “Who knows how long we have until Wood discovers that, though.”
Davis stroked her long, chiseled chin, as if in deep thought. “At least we were able to neutralize the GW.”
Beckham looked at Davis, seeing the pain in her features. He didn’t ask how it had been destroyed, because he had a feeling he already knew.
“I don’t like the idea of raiding the PEOC,” he said. “Why not just try to find Wood and take him out?”
“And turn him into a martyr? No. We have to bring the SZTs back to our side before we kill him. Our orders came from President Ringgold,” Blade said. “She feels this is the best option.”
Beckham nodded. There was only one thing he could do now, and that was to help. “Someone give me a gun. I can still fight,” he said.
Blade smiled wryly. “Sorry, Cap. You may not be infected, but you sure as hell aren’t coming with us.”
“So what do you expect me to do while you break into the PEOC?”
“Crew Chief Ronaldo and Captain Davis are going to watch you,” Blade said.
“Like hell,” Davis said. “I’m coming with.”
Blade shook his head. “You’re both from the same breed, aren’t you?”
“That’s how we survived out here this long,” Beckham said. “You have a better chance of surviving if you bring us with you.”
Blade glanced down at Ronaldo and, after a brief pause, said, “Get Captain Davis a CBRN suit, but Captain Beckham stays with you after we put down.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” said Horn. “You should stay here, Kate.”
Kate finished stuffing a shirt in her bag and turned to face Horn. He was standing in the entry hatch to the quarters Kate had been assigned on the USS Abraham Lincoln, still decked out in his tactical armor and carrying his M249. A second rifle was strung over his back, and two pistols were holstered on his thighs. There was also a blade that could have passed for a small sword in a sheath across his black chest armor.
She went back to packing her bag, talking as she worked. “You heard President Ringgold. Reed is out there and he may have been exposed to the virus, and even if he wasn’t, there are thousands of newly infected people at the SZTs from ROT attacks. Those researchers need my help.”
“I still think it’s a bad idea to leave this ship. Why the hell did Thalassa leave the fleet, anyway?”
“Maybe they didn’t feel safe here,” Kate said. “Not that I blame them. Ringgold is a wanted woman.”
Horn scratched at the red stubble on his chin and ducked into the room. He walked over to the bunk. Standing over six feet tall, he towered over her.
She had a feeling he was also thinking about Tasha and Jenny, whom Kate had promised to look after, but Kate had already talked to Donna, Bo’s mother. She was going to look after the girls while Kate was gone.
“Think about all the people we could save,” Kate said. “Think about what would happen if Wood uses another missile loaded with the hemorrhage virus. I have to do this. I should have gone in the first place.”
“But going back to the lab could put the baby at risk, right? Reed would want—”
Kate shook her head. “I’m not going to be inside a lab. I promise.”
Horn let out a half snort, half cough. “Fine, but I’m going to escort you to the ship with my team. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. I’m not letting you go by yourself. Besides, no one’s vetted those scientists. I’ll be coming on board to make sure they’re not a bunch of looney tunes.”
“Okay,” Kate said with a chuckle.
“Wait,” Horn said. “Are you sure this shit isn’t all just a ruse? I mean, I’m no expert—hell, I hardly even passed high school chemistry—but I thought you said a long time ago there is no cure.”
Unlike Kate, who had almost immediately started designing a weapon after the outbreak, these French scientists had focused on finding a cure. She’d never looked for one because the evidence she’d seen pointed to the epigenetic changes being irreversible.
But what if she’d been wrong? What if she could have found a cure months ago? What if she could have saved her brother?
“What were you going to say?” Horn asked.
“I don’t know all the answers, okay?” Her words came out fast and snippy. She shot him a rueful look. “I’m sorry. These pregnancy hormones are a roller coaster.”
Horn held up a hand. “Okay, but explain this to me. A cure would mean they could make someone infected with the hemorrhage virus normal again?”
“Theoretically, yes.”
“What about the juveniles, or the monsters we’re hearing about in Europe?”
Kate shook her head. “Not those. They aren’t human anymore. I’m not sure they ever were. Maybe the cure could stop future mutations. I simply won’t know until I see what these scientists are doing.”
“I won’t lie—I don’t understand a word you just said,” Horn said.
“Just leave this to me, okay?” Kate zipped up her bag and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go say good-bye to the kids.”
Less than an hour later, they were in a Seahawk flying east toward the Thalassa. Kate sat next to Horn in the troop hold along with the Army Rangers he had planned to lead to the White House before Ringgold told him to stand down. Kate could see these men were all itching for a fight. They wanted to go after ROT, and Horn wanted to bring his best friend back.
The farther the pilots flew east, the farther Kate felt from Beckham.
I’m going to make sure your dad makes it home safe, she thought to her baby.
Horn smiled at her and then crossed the troop hold to sit
next to one of his men. He talked privately over a comm channel with the rest of the team. Kate wasn’t tapped into the frequency and couldn’t hear any of the conversation, but it probably would have made about as much sense to her as her science spiel had made to Horn.
It was almost midnight by the time Kate saw the outline of the Thalassa on the horizon. The white boat with a yellow stripe and blue hull stood out in the dark waters. She could even see the dolphin painted on its side in the moonlight.
“Prepare for drop,” one of the pilots said. He maneuvered over the bow of the ship, and Horn helped Kate walk over to the open troop hold. The pilots weren’t able to land, but they got close enough that Horn jumped out. He turned around and helped Kate down. The other Rangers hopped out after them and followed them toward the deck as the pilots pulled back into the sky.
A woman in a black trench coat stood on the deck waiting, coattails and silver hair whipping in the wind.
“I’m Doctor Adriana Bruno,” the woman said with a thick Italian accent. She held out a hand.
“Doctor Kate Lovato.”
Bruno looked over Kate’s shoulder at Horn and his men. “I wasn’t informed President Ringgold was sending an armed escort.” The Italian scientist glanced once more at the weaponry Kate’s entourage had brought on board and said, “Please follow me, Doctor Lovato, but the muscle must stay put.”
“No way,” Horn protested.
“Horn’s with me,” Kate said. “It’s not negotiable.”
Bruno shrugged. “Fine. He comes, the rest stay.”
“Park it here,” Horn instructed his men.
The Army Rangers did as ordered, while Horn and Kate hurried to catch up with Bruno. She was already walking toward a hatch that opened to a ladder. At the top was the operations room, where several officers were watching over the control panels and monitors.
After brief introductions to the ship’s captain and crew, Bruno led Kate and Horn down to the labs.
“These have all been retrofitted,” she said. “The primary function of the Thalassa before was as a fisheries research vessel. A few days after the outbreak, we brought our labs here, and we have been sailing for the past seven months.”
Extinction War Page 19