Extinction War

by Nicholas Smith

  The winged creatures flapped over rooftops and soared toward the glow of the blasts, while Tanaka drove the MATV deeper into enemy territory. The Delta Force Team Ghost logo on the hood was visible through a thin layer of smoke and fog that had settled over Paris.

  All around them were places Rico had told Fitz she’d always wanted to see: the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, the Louvre.

  Their short conversations about history and landmarks were the only good memories he’d made in Europe so far, and looking back at the woman, he realized again how much he appreciated her company.

  She sat in the back seat, staring at the historic landmarks with a face that was part smile, part frown—like a kid who had opened a birthday present but didn’t understand the contents.

  That about summed up Fitz’s feelings about the war in Europe. The excitement and buildup across the Atlantic had been met with loss after loss. This mission was Team Ghost’s last chance for a win.

  He gripped his MK11, the one thing he trusted besides his team and friends back home. The rifle had gotten him through multiple tough spots since he swore to defend the United States of America over a decade earlier.

  All it takes is all you got, he thought as he scanned the skies. The Reavers were moving in V formations toward the front lines.

  Reports hissed into his earpiece.

  The initial attacks were just tests—the Variant army version of recon and suicide units. Now they were hitting the EUF positions with all of their forces.

  “Wolf One, this is Wolf Two. We’re being hit hard by packs of juveniles,” reported a sergeant. “Requesting track support.”

  “Roger that, Wolf Two—sending you a mechanized unit. Hold the line at all costs until they get there,” replied the platoon lieutenant. “Wolf Three, sitrep.”

  “Got some Wormer tunnels in sight,” replied another sergeant. “They’re headed right for us.”

  The lieutenant raised his voice in reply. “Wolf Three, do not let them flank us.”

  Fitz pushed the black bead to his lips and switched to the channel with the Twenty-Fourth MEU. “Lion One, you’ve got Reavers incoming.”

  “Roger that, Ghost One. We can handle ’em. You just focus on the HVT. Over.”

  The sky continued to fill with the flying monsters. They lifted off from the rooftops of ancient buildings they had turned into rent-a-castles like gargoyles set in motion.

  Rico popped between the driver’s seat and passenger’s seat, pointing. For the first time in days, she wasn’t chewing gum. Instead of chomping, she let out a gasp.

  “There’s the Eiffel Tower,” Rico said.

  Fitz flipped his night-vision goggles into position to take a look. The beasts were pulling away in droves.

  “Unreal—there have to be hundreds of them up there,” Fitz said.

  “More like thousands,” Tanaka said.

  Dohi looked up from his map and scanned the skyline, then went back to studying.

  “How far are we from the coordinates?” Fitz asked.

  “We still have to cross the Seine,” Dohi replied. He flitted a small flashlight across the map. “Then it’s a straight shot to Notre-Dame, where those paratroopers last radioed in from.”

  “Watch out!” Rico screamed.

  Fitz twisted back to the front, bracing himself with a hand against the dashboard. Tanaka didn’t have enough time to swerve and avoid a Variant juvenile hunched over a dead soldier in the middle of the road. The beast looked up just as the cowcatcher fastened to the front of the truck slammed into its armored plating. A screeching followed—the combination of skidding tires and the monster’s high-pitched shriek.

  The MATV eased to a stop a hundred feet away from the beast. It somersaulted over the pavement and hit a wall.

  “Where the hell did that thing come from?” Tanaka whispered.

  “Everyone okay?” Fitz asked.

  Four nods and a tail wag from Apollo confirmed they were.

  Fitz opened the door and stepped out into the chilly night. The monster, a full-grown juvenile, was already pushing itself up on all fours. Scabby, chitinous armor covered a body three times the size of a human’s. Two almond-shaped eyes homed in on Fitz.

  “Fitzie, what are you doing? Get back inside,” Rico whispered, a bit too loudly.

  The beast took a step toward Fitz before he buried a 7.62-millimeter round deep inside its skull. The hulking monster hit the ground with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust that joined the knee-high smog.

  Fitz lowered his rifle and scanned the area for any hostiles. Despite the distant thump of explosions, the city was silent—there was no sign of other creatures.

  “Come on,” Rico said.

  Fitz quietly closed the door and ordered Tanaka to keep driving. They passed the dead EUF soldier, who lay on his back, and Fitz noticed that the man’s skull had been scalped like one of General Custer’s men at Little Bighorn.

  He forced himself to look away. Soldiers were dying back at the front lines—soldiers Team Ghost still had a chance to save.

  The Seine was just ahead. Stone walls covered in vines, and vegetation formed a barrier along the river. The explosions increased in the distance. Tanks had joined the din of the battle, and Fitz could even make out the crack of automatic rifles. The Variants were throwing everything they had at the EUF.

  But where were all the other creatures? The roads were mostly empty save for the single juvenile. There wasn’t another mutated Variant on the ground. Surely they weren’t all attacking the front lines …

  “No more stopping until we get to the coordinates,” Fitz said quietly.

  Tanaka gripped the steering wheel tighter and nodded. His iPod earbuds hung around his neck, and Fitz could make out the faint tune of rap music blaring from the device.

  He focused back on the road. The bridge crossing the Seine had taken a direct hit from a missile.

  Tanaka maneuvered around the twisted rebar and hunks of concrete littering the street. Once they were clear, he sped off the bridge. The diesel engine chugged as they retraced their route.

  Tanaka followed a road back to the Seine, where they crossed another bridge and turned onto Boulevard du Palais.

  Fitz balled his hand into a fist at the sight of an elephant graveyard of military vehicles scattered across the street. Scorched pieces of metal that looked like tusks extended from a truck blown to pieces by friendly fire.

  At the front of the line, an EUF Humvee sat idle, with all the doors wide open. Wormer holes peppered the ground. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened here.

  “That was the EUF HQ before it fell a few days ago,” Dohi said.

  “It’s called Sainte-Chapelle,” Rico said. “Residence of the kings of France until around the fourteenth century. It was built sometime in the mid-1200s.”

  The Gothic chapel, normally a gorgeous relic, was now abandoned in the war against the Variants. Reflections in the cracked stained-glass windows flickered in the flame-scorched night.

  The column had been driving away from the medieval chapel, a final attempt to escape before being overrun. Barbed wire fences and concrete walls formed a tight perimeter around the structure, but those barriers hadn’t protected the EUF soldiers trying to hold the nearly eight-hundred-year-old chapel and surrounding grounds. From the looks of it, they had put up a hell of a fight.

  “Keep moving,” Fitz said.

  Tanaka steered around the vehicles, taking to the shoulder and navigating around the tunnel openings. He cut across the lawn and pulled onto another road called Quai du Marché Neuf.

  Fitz turned the radio up to listen to the chatter about the battle raging on the front lines.

  The Twenty-Fourth and Eleventh MEUs were holding their ground, but the Second Calvary Regiment and all of the current three battalions from the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment were suffering major casualties from Wormers that had flanked their positions. On top of that, the ragtag EUF units were being torn apart by poor communication and lack
of leadership in commanding the troops on the ground.

  A frantic voice surged over the channel. “They’re gone! I need help. It—it burns!”

  The EUF operator who replied told the young man to get off the open channel, but he continued to shout. “My entire platoon was wiped out by an acid attack. I’m the only one left. I’m the—”

  Fitz turned the volume back down. “We have to hurry,” he said. The comms were a mess, adding to the confusion of separated units and commanders with little to no experience thrown into battle.

  “The cathedral isn’t far. Just another couple blocks,” Dohi said.

  Tanaka pushed the vehicle to its max speed and raced down the road. In another minute they were within eyesight of the spire and the flying buttresses on the east side of the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris. While Rico was admiring the architecture, the Second Cavalry Regiment had started the retreat from several locations. It wasn’t a surprise when Bradley’s voice boomed in Fitz’s earpiece.

  “Ghost One, we’re getting our asses kicked. Where are you?”

  “We’re closing in on the cathedral, Lion One. Heading in on foot now.”

  Fitz pointed to the side of the road. “Park us out of sight, Tanaka. We’ll head in on the western side for a better look.”

  Team Ghost piled out of the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. Rico hurried over and met Fitz in front of the hood with Dohi and Tanaka.

  Aside from the distant barrage of artillery fire, the street was eerily quiet. They scanned the rooftops and architecture of the apartment buildings towering over the street. Nothing stirred on the iron balconies or behind the French doors.

  Fitz gave his orders with hand signals: Dohi on point with Apollo, Tanaka on rear guard, Rico with Fitz. Eyes high and low. He finished by putting his fist on the Team Ghost logo.

  All it takes is all you got, Marine.

  Then he pulled up his smiling-joker bandanna and directed the team to move out. Each of the team members tapped the Ghost logo before taking off. Apollo went to work, his nose sniffing the ground, checking for a scent.

  It didn’t take long for him to pick one up. Apollo trotted ahead, moving in a snaky path while the rest of the team jogged after him into a narrow alleyway. Fitz checked the storefronts: an espresso and patisserie shop, a bar, a shoe repair shop. They were passing through a neighborhood that had been here for hundreds of years.

  A squawking stopped the team, and everyone moved for cover. Fitz and Rico took up position under a red awning and behind a bench. Tanaka and Dohi moved to the right side of the street, but Apollo remained standing in the center of the alley.

  Fitz let out a low whistle. The dog’s ears perked, but he stood his ground.

  “Apollo, get over here, boy,” Fitz said.

  The dog suddenly took off running, and Fitz barreled after him. Something really important must have caught his attention, because Fitz had never seen Apollo do anything like this.

  The other members of Ghost fell into position behind Fitz. They moved into the next street with weapons raised, sweeping over the layer of smog on the cobblestone.

  The skinniest Variant Fitz had ever seen bolted away from Apollo on all fours, moving more like a chimpanzee than a monster. Fitz raised his sniper rifle and centered it on the creature’s bony body. Pale flesh covered by cobwebs of blue veins seemed to stick to a bony, naked body.

  Holding in a breath, he waited for a shot, then squeezed the trigger. The suppressed barrel fired a round into the monster’s neck, nearly severing its head. Apollo continued running, right past the dead Variant.

  What the hell, boy?!

  Fitz waved his team onward and followed the dog’s tail through the knee-high level of smog. Apollo finally stopped outside an apartment building.

  Dohi was the first to get there. He looked around the next corner, then walked back to Apollo, who was sitting on his haunches. Fitz arrived a moment later with Tanaka and Rico.

  “Looks as if Apollo found those paratroopers,” Dohi said.

  Three men, or what was left of them, were sprawled on the ground. Fitz crouched down next to Dohi, who was checking their corpses.

  “Two-Face,” he said quietly. “Two-Face did this.”

  Fitz would have expected the bodies to be picked clean, but instead, they were covered in lacerations and mutilated beyond recognition. It was difficult to even decipher their gender.

  Rico had a hand cupped over her lips.

  “Why didn’t those things eat ’em?” Tanaka asked.

  Dohi pointed at another body hanging from a balcony above, the uniform and flesh skinned completely off the body. He looked over at Fitz and whispered, “Whatever did this is a different type of monster—an evil beast that’s not interested in food. This is just a game to Two-Face.”

  “I’ve got a really shitty feeling,” Tanaka said.

  Rico glanced over at Fitz, her hand still covering her mouth. There was terror in her gaze.

  “Police their ammo,” Fitz said, pointing to the guns scattered on the street. “We might need it.”

  After they gathered the extra magazines and a few weapons, they moved toward the apartment building overlooking the cathedral. Fitz wanted a look at their target before continuing any further, especially after seeing the dead paratroopers.

  Dohi was right. Whatever killed these men was evil—more evil than even the Alphas back in the United States.

  Tanaka took point and kicked open the door of the four-story building. They moved up a winding staircase with yellow-white wallpaper covered in mold. Fitz pulled his joker bandanna up higher over his nose to keep out the smell, not that it would help much.

  At the top floor, Dohi slipped into a hallway and found an open door on the west side. Tanaka remained in the passage, holding security with Rico and Apollo, while Fitz and Dohi moved into a dusty room. Furnished with crystal chandeliers, antique tables, and white couches, the place looked like something Fitz had seen on HGTV.

  Fitz made his way over to a pair of shattered French doors that opened onto an iron balcony. Across the street was the western façade of Notre-Dame. With Dohi’s help, he carried a desk in front of the window, where Fitz then set up his MK11 and bipod.

  Taking a seat, Fitz magnified his view of one of the most famous churches in the world. The western façade towered over a stone courtyard. He flitted the scope along part of a flying buttress on the other side of the building, and then focused on the stained glass of the rose window. The intricate design was breathtaking, and the window was surrounded by some of the most detailed stonework he’d ever seen.

  He continued to scan the structure, noting gargoyles and other statues on its face. Next, he took in the three front entrances on the western side and the decorative tympanum cresting each of the double doors.

  The second floor had more doors with tympanums on each side of the rose window. Above that were two towers. The eastern spire protruded over them, reaching toward the moon.

  Fitz saw the first beast in the glow. The Reaver was hanging on to the spire, watching over the city with reptilian eyes. Two more of the beasts were perched at the very top of the right tower, where they remained frozen like the gargoyle statues.

  “Contacts,” he said.

  Dohi brought up a pair of binoculars.

  A message hissed in Fitz’s earpiece. “Ghost One, Lion One, sitrep.”

  “In position, Lion One. Just need a single shot and the Queen is mine,” Fitz replied. “Unless you want to call in air support.”

  Another Reaver walked across the arched flying buttress on the eastern side. There were several more on the cathedral roof behind the towers.

  “Do you have a confirmed sighting?” Bradley asked.

  “Negative, sir, but she’s got to be here. The cathedral is surrounded by Reavers.”

  “So are a shit-ton of other structures in Paris,” Bradley said. “Until you have a sighting, Command will not authorize any air support. We can’t waste the fuel or the
bombs.”

  “Roger. Stand by,” Fitz said. He looked over at Dohi, who was still looking through his binoculars.

  “They have to be protecting the Queen.”

  Fitz agreed with a nod. “Yeah, but the question is, how do we get inside to kill her?”

  Dohi lowered the binoculars.

  “Leave that up to me and Tanaka. You stay here with Apollo and Rico. I’ll draw Two-Face out.”

  Davis stared at the MGM-140 Army Tactical Missile System delivery vehicles on the deck. They were angled west, toward Florida. She wasn’t sure how far out they were from the mainland, but she had a feeling they were within range of an SZT.

  “Ah, Rachel Davis, I presume,” said Wood. He walked away from President Ringgold, twirling his machete through the air like a kid with a play sword. Two soldiers in black armor, with their features covered by black masks, followed him toward Beckham and Davis.

  Two more soldiers had weapons angled at their backs. They were completely surrounded, which wasn’t really a surprise. Two naval destroyers, the USS Gridley and the USS Mustin patrolled the waters to the east. The bastards aboard made Davis sick. Did they not know how many sailors ROT had killed?

  She gritted her teeth and focused. All she had to do was delay the inevitable and wait for her friends.

  “This is going to be a lot of fun,” Wood said. He stopped about ten feet from Davis, his hazel eyes flitting to Beckham. “Look at you—the dog that won’t die.”

  “I should have known Kufman was part of your team,” Beckham said, his words slurred. He stood next to Davis, trying his best to keep his balance. Blood from the knife Kufman had jabbed in his back trickled down the new shirt Mayor Gallo had given Beckham at SZT 68.

  But Beckham wasn’t complaining. She’d never heard him complain, even once, since meeting him, and they had both known the risks of coming here. Fortunately, Wood seemed to have no idea a storm was barreling toward the Zumwalt—a storm of men and women loyal to the Constitution of the United States of America.

  She looked toward the leader of their nation. Ringgold was on her knees, tear-swollen eyes looking toward the sky. Three men guarded her, and at least a dozen more were standing at the edges of the deck. None of them seemed to be paying attention to the skyline.