“Kill her!” Wood ordered. He backed away, his boot hitting the corpse of one of his fallen soldiers. He looked over his shoulder at a team of approaching Army Rangers, their MK-16s pointed in his direction. A man even bigger than Kufman led the group, fully decked out in black armor and wearing a skull bandanna over his mouth.
He pointed at Wood and shouted, “Drop your weapon!”
Wood responded by firing off a shot that whizzed past the man’s arm and another that cut through the armor over his right thigh.
He lined up a head shot.
Click. The magazine went dry on the next trigger pull.
The injured soldier stumbled but held his ground, gripping his thigh, and screamed, “Don’t shoot the president!”
Wood took a step backward as the team charged. He felt a pair of hands grab him and looked over at Kufman, who flung Wood into the chopper like a rag doll.
He quickly managed to right himself, his eyes instantly flitting up to find the president, ready to kill her right here and now, but the woman was gone.
“No,” Wood said, scrambling across the two seats for a better look. He caught a glimpse of her being whisked away to safety by the team of Army Rangers across the deck.
“Get back here, you coward!” he shouted, scooting back out of the chopper.
Kufman was still firing at the Rangers, who had all taken up position behind another Little Bird. Bullets punched through the metal and shattered the windshield.
“It’s over, Wood!” someone shouted. “Put down your weapons!”
“Parker fucking Horn,” Kufman grumbled. He changed his magazine and looked at Wood.
“He’s right, sir. It’s over.” He holstered his pistol, drew his knife, and stepped out into view. “You’re done, Wood, but I’ve still got one last thing to do.”
The big man with the skull bandanna mirrored him, blood cascading down his leg where Wood had shot him. Wood didn’t recognize the soldier, but Kufman sure seemed to know this man—knew him so well he was apparently willing to throw Wood under a train for a chance to fight him.
“Just you and me now, Big Horn! Just as it should have been all those years ago!” Kufman yelled.
Horn waved his men back, pulled his skull bandanna down, and grinned wide enough to show his crooked teeth. “All right, you son of a bitch. Let’s dance.”
28
Fitz sat in the troop hold of the Pave Hawk, looking down at Tanaka’s corpse. Dohi and Rico sat across from him. Apollo was on the floor, resting his head on his paws. Every eye in the belly of the bird was on Fitz.
He shook his head, ordering his friends to stand down. His war was over in Europe, and he was being taken back to the States to stand trial for the murder of Colonel Zach Wood. There was no need for more bloodshed, not if he could stop it.
“You can’t do this,” Rico said. “Master Sergeant Fitzpatrick just helped save Paris.”
Rollins didn’t reply.
Dohi pointed at Tanaka’s body. “We just lost our brother helping save Paris, and you show up to arrest him?” He shook his head. “You piece of shit. You disgust me.”
That got the officer’s attention. “My orders were to bring Fitzpatrick in, but keep that up and I’ll court-martial both of you.”
Dohi, weaponless, clenched his fists and looked at Fitz.
“No,” Fitz said to both Dohi and Rico. “There’s nothing you two can do.”
Apollo growled, sensing the tension.
“It’s okay, boy,” Fitz said.
“Listen, I don’t like this any more than you, but I’ve got orders from General Nixon,” Rollins said. “Wood has his daughter, and he’s in control of the safe-zone territories. There’s no fighting this. I’m sorry.”
The apology sounded sincere, and Fitz appreciated it, but he was more worried about Beckham, Horn, Kate, and his other friends than himself. If Wood was in control of the United States, then none of them were safe.
“The dog’s got to go in too,” Rollins said, looking ruefully at Apollo. “Wood wants them both.”
“Fuck that,” Rico said, standing. “If anyone touches the dog or Fitz, I’ll kill them myself.”
Rollins sighed heavily. “That sounds like a threat. Is that a threat, Sergeant? Because a threat will get you court-martialed.”
She looked at Fitz, and then at the three men standing across the troop hold. Apollo stood too, his tail dropped between his legs.
“Take a seat, lady,” one of the men said.
Rico glared at the soldier. “Lady? Hah! That’s funny.”
“Stand down,” Fitz said. He shook his head again and said, “Stand down, Rico. You too, Apollo. It’s not worth it. We’ll have a trial. The truth will come out.”
One of the pilots shouted that they were about to set down, and Fitz looked out of the open troop hold as they passed over the final city blocks on the way back to the front lines. Smoke funneled into the sky from destroyed buildings. Fires raged on rooftops, and the streets were covered in ash.
Variants galloped away, their pallid flesh seeming to glow in the moonlight. Fitz spotted armored vehicles giving chase, their weapons blazing at the retreating monsters.
The battle for Paris was almost over, and Fitz had a feeling the battles for the other cities across Europe were nearing an end as well with the elimination of the Queens.
Two-Face, Fitz thought. The demons were dead.
The Queens had been the key all along, discovered by a half-mad soldier and his pet mouse in Rome.
In the end, the mutated armies had turned on one another, mad with hunger, tearing through their own ranks and eating one another after Fitz had helped bring down their leader in Paris.
He took solace in the fact that their mission was a success, even though it had cost so many lives: Stevenson and Tanaka. Michel, Maman, and the other Ombres who had made the ultimate sacrifice. All of the other marines and soldiers from the United States and the European Unified Forces.
But the soldiers weren’t the only ones who had made this victory possible. Kate, Ellis, and so many other scientists had helped bring down the monsters the military had created.
Fitz could live with his punishment now that it was over. This wasn’t the first time in his life he’d felt as though he deserved it. Perhaps the time had come for Fitz to pay for his sins.
The Pave Hawk lowered over the streets where the battle to hold the front lines had occurred. By the light of the moon, he saw the destruction: Bodies littered the street where Wormers had tunneled. Tanks, Humvees, and MATVs sat idle, their armor still sizzling from acid attacks.
Rico tried to get Fitz’s attention, but he refused to meet her gaze. He couldn’t. Through all the ups and downs of their missions, he’d realized that he had feelings for her—feelings that he would never be able to act on now that he was being sent back to the States. It was better to leave that door closed than to glimpse what might have been.
The chopper set down a moment later, the tires jolting. Rollins walked over and grabbed Fitz by the arm while his men jumped outside. Fitz glanced over his shoulder to look at Tanaka’s corpse, covered by a sheet in the back of the troop hold.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Fitz said.
Dohi, Rico, and Apollo followed them into the street. Nixon’s soldiers fell in line alongside the group. One man took point, and another moved to rear guard, guiding them away from the chopper. Across the park, tents had been set up outside the FOB, and soldiers were running across the staging area. Vehicles raced down the road with supplies and injured soldiers. Gunshots rang out sporadically, snipers taking down any Reavers that were stupid enough to show their deformed faces.
The last thing Fitz had thought he’d be doing was returning here in handcuffs.
A group of men were crossing the park toward them. He couldn’t see their faces in the dim light, but he could see one of them was limping and had his arms around two other soldiers.
“All right, let’s go,” Rollins said. He pu
lled Fitz away from Dohi and Rico, ordering them to stay put. Apollo trotted alongside Fitz, loyal to the end.
“Where are you taking him?” Rico shouted. Dohi’s fists were clenched again, and his chest heaved with unspoken fury.
Three of Rollins’s men stayed behind to guard them, their rifles cradled but their posture stiff.
“Keep moving,” Rollins said, pulling Fitz away.
They walked toward a Humvee with doors wide open, waiting to take Apollo and Fitz to an aircraft that would fly them home.
“What the hell is going on here?” growled a familiar voice.
Fitz looked back to see Colonel Bradley limping after him, his right arm around Major Domino and his left around another marine. His leg was in a brace, and his forehead was covered with a bandage above his missing eye.
Rollins halted to face the marines.
“I’m taking this prisoner to the airfield to be flown back to the United States,” said the lieutenant.
“Prisoner?” Bradley asked. His voice sounded hoarse from too much screaming.
“That’s right,” Rollins said. He didn’t show Bradley the courtesy of a salute.
That seemed to infuriate Bradley even more. He limped forward until he was just inches from Rollins’s face.
“That’s right, sir,” Bradley snarled.
“Sorry, sir, but I’m under strict orders to take Master Sergeant Fitzpatrick to the airfield.”
Bradley reared back. “You son of a bitch. You told me you were flying out there to evacuate my men—who saved our asses, by the way—and instead you’re arresting him?”
“Him and his dog …sir.”
“Hah,” Bradley said without humor. He looked at Fitz and then at Domino. The other soldiers who had accompanied Rollins had all circled around. Dohi and Rico caught up, both of them carrying weapons now.
Fitz sighed. Shit was about to get real.
He couldn’t let anyone die for him.
“I have to go with them,” he said.
“You’re not going anywhere, son.” Bradley gestured toward Domino and said, “Give me Bertha.”
The major unslung the rocket launcher and handed it to Bradley. Rollins’s eyes widened at the sight of the FIM-92 Stinger.
Bradley hefted it up onto a shoulder, his entire body seeming to shake under the weight. “I’ll send one of these up your ass if you try to take Fitz.”
Rollins swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the moonlight.
“Sir,” Domino said.
“Not now,” Bradley said. He glanced at the other soldiers. “Drop your weapons and step away from Master Sergeant Fitzpatrick.”
Rollins shook his head. “Sir, we’re under orders from General Nixon, and I’ve been told to court-martial anyone that tries to stop us.”
“Sir,” Domino entreated.
“Goddamnit, not now, Major,” Bradley snapped.
“But, sir, I’m getting a transmission from Command. Apparently something is happening Stateside. Sounds as if a battle has broken out between ROT and the forces still loyal to President Ringgold.”
Rico had crept around behind Rollins and raised a revolver to the back of the man’s head. She thumbed the hammer back with a click.
“You’re not taking my Fitzie,” she growled.
Fitz closed his eyes at the words. All this time Rico had felt the same way about him. Why did they both wait until now to show it?
When Fitz opened his eyes again, Rollins had his hands up. He slowly turned with both arms in the air.
“How about we wait to see who wins this battle back at home,” Dohi suggested. “Then, if Nixon still wants Fitz, we’ll fight you for ’em.”
It was one of the longest speeches Fitz had ever heard Dohi deliver. Fitz looked at Apollo. The dog, tail wagging, pushed his muzzle up and licked his cuffed hands.
“Works for me,” Bradley said, lowering the missile launcher. He winked at Fitz. “You did good, son. When this is all over, no one from Team Ghost will be going to prison. You’ll be getting medals. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”
Davis couldn’t control her body. The hallucinations, the burning, the itching—it was slowly taking her over. But one final thought rose above the pain.
Kill Andrew Wood. Kill Andrew Wood.
She repeated the mantra, blocking out the other voices telling her to kill everything in sight. It was the only thing keeping her humanity intact. Images of Blake and Ollie emerged in her distant memories, but she pushed those away too—she would be joining her husband and nephew soon enough.
The hemorrhage virus and the VX-99 nanoparticles were racing through her bloodstream. They were turning her into a beast, but they were also keeping her alive. The infection seemed to be speeding up her healing at a propulsive rate. She wasn’t sure how it worked, but she was going to use this second chance to finish what she had started.
Distant explosions and automatic gunfire sounded from all directions, distracting her amplified senses. She searched for her target, sniffing the air like an animal and scanning the faces. It was the sight of Master Sergeant Horn that made her pause. Somewhere in her demented mind, she remembered the ceremony months ago when President Ringgold had promoted Davis, Horn, and Beckham. Horn was her friend. He was—
Rip his throat out and pull out his entrails through his mouth, said the voice in her mind.
She bit off a chunk of flesh from her arm instead, satisfying the voice momentarily. When she looked up again, Horn and one of Wood’s soldiers had barreled into each other on the deck. The ROT man managed to get on top. He punched Horn in the face, knocking his skull bandanna aside.
Horn raised his head and bit the ROT soldier’s ear off.
A scream of agony sounded, and the man reached up to grip the frayed flesh. Davis focused on the spurting blood, licking her lips. Horn spat out the hunk of cartilage and then tackled the man, knocking him onto the deck.
“Kill the fucker, Kufman!” yelled a familiar voice. This was the voice she was searching for.
Her eyes roved toward the speaker, and she licked her lips at the sight of Wood. He was crouched behind the helicopter like a coward.
Ever so slowly, like a lion stalking prey, she emerged from behind a wall of crates. After a few quiet steps, she fell to all fours and galloped toward him, using her back legs to spring forward.
Wood continued watching the two men fight, his back turned and oblivious to the threat barreling toward him. The voice that came from her mouth wasn’t one she recognized—it was truly more animal now than human. She screamed wordlessly as she pounced.
He turned just before she plowed into him, his eyes reflecting shock more than fear. Davis knocked Wood to his back.
“No, please,” Wood shouted. “No!”
Davis fought to hold him down, but the bastard was stronger than he looked. Luckily, so was she. The other Army Rangers were moving into position with their guns angled at the decks behind Davis. Several of them pointed their barrels at her face.
She had to make this quick.
Rip his tongue out, said the voice in her head. It was a good suggestion, but she didn’t have time to make him suffer. Blood dripped from her face onto his pockmarked skin.
“No,” he choked, trying to blink away the infected blood.
She was giving him a literal taste of his own nightmare. But she wasn’t going to let him turn into something like her. He was going to die at her hands—right here, right now.
The crack of knuckles on bone sounded, and Davis looked up as Horn hit Kufman in the face again, but Kufman hardly flinched. He swung a knife at Horn, who jumped back, planted his feet, and landed an uppercut to Kufman’s gut. The blow lifted him off his feet an entire inch. He dropped his blade and bent over, gasping for air, and Horn used the opportunity to swing a downward punch that smashed into Kufman’s temple with a loud crack.
Horn spat on the ground and walked over to the doubled-over traitor, kicking the blade away from Kufman’s reach.
&
nbsp; “Should have done this a long time ago,” he grumbled.
Kufman looked up, fear in his ruthless gaze as Horn grabbed his head and twisted it with a quick snap.
As Kufman’s body crumpled to the ground, Horn looked over at Davis. Momentarily distracted, she let her grip on Wood loosen enough for him to start shouting again.
“I’ll kill you, you c—”
Davis pushed her fingers into Wood’s eye sockets. He screamed soprano. She pushed harder and harder, his voice cracking as his eyes popped like broken egg yolks.
A bullet punched through her chest. The second bullet slammed into her back, knocking her off Wood.
“No!” Horn shouted, raising his hands. “Hold your fire!”
She rolled onto her back and looked over at Wood. He squirmed and screamed next to her, clutching at his ruined eyes. Horn ran over and hunched down, reaching out to help her, but then backed up when he saw she was infected.
“Shit, Captain. I-I’m …” Horn stuttered.
“S’okay,” Davis managed to slur through her fever.
She dragged herself over to Wood. He wasn’t dead yet, the bastard. She bent down, inhaling the sweet scent of his fear, and then tore his fucking throat out. Hot, salty blood filled her mouth. Wood jerked once and then fell still.
It was over.
Her last mission was complete.
Get up and kill them. Murder them all! screamed the voice in her mind.
She gritted her teeth, resisting with her final strength. Shouts rang out all around her, and sporadic gunshots popped in the distance.
Davis drifted in and out of consciousness. Not even the supersoldier serum could save her now. She wasn’t going to heal from these bullet wounds. She opened her eyes one last time to look at the beautiful blue sky, limitless over the open ocean, a sight she had loved more than any during her days at sea. A cloud the shape of a mountain rolled overhead, casting a cool shadow over her fevered skin.
Her vision faded, and the voice telling her to kill finally retreated. As though from a great distance, she heard Horn shouting.
“He’s infected! We have to get him back to the Abe Lincoln.”
Extinction War Page 36