Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “President Ringgold, we need to leave. NOW!” Kate yelled.

  Ringgold had her hand cupped over her mouth, but managed a weak nod. They crossed the small room, and Kate grabbed the handle of the exit hatch. The locking mechanism clicked and she pushed the hatch open, leaving Carmen and Yokoyama behind.

  Meg strolled across the lawn with Tasha and Jenny on each side. She wanted so badly to hold their tiny hands, but instead, she gripped the rubber of her crutches tighter. In a few days, if Dr. Hill agreed, she was going to toss the metal pegs into the ocean. Depending on her mood, maybe she would do it even if he didn’t agree.

  “When’s my daddy coming home?” Tasha asked.

  “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

  “Is he fighting the monsters again?” Jenny asked.

  Meg stopped a couple hundred feet from where Riley and Fitz were briefing a group of soldiers.

  “No, he isn’t fighting them, but he’s helping others fight,” Meg explained.

  “Like those guys?” Tasha asked. She pointed to the soldiers.

  “Yes, like those men. Do you want to watch?” Meg didn’t want them overhearing anything scary, but they were bored. And besides, she missed Riley. He had been so busy with the troops, she’d hardly seen him recently.

  Both girls nodded, and Meg crutched over to the landing outside Building 3. Riley was talking about a mission to New York and explaining how the creatures moved and attacked. Something about pack behavior and other shit Meg didn’t care to know. She carefully took a seat on the concrete steps and put her arms around the girls. When she married her husband, they’d agreed not to have children, but spending time with the girls had shown her how much she really enjoyed kids.

  She gripped the girls tighter, her mind wandering like the Blackhawk patrolling the sky over the island. The briefing, or training, or whatever it was, continued for another fifteen minutes. Lieutenant Rowe and Major Smith were answering questions now. She had tuned out for most of it, but her ears perked up when she heard a Marine ask who would be leading the mission.

  Rowe turned to Riley and Fitz. For a moment her heart skipped a beat. There was no way Riley could go back out there. Not like this.

  “Corporal Fitzpatrick will be leading the squads into New York. Don’t let his appearance deceive you. I’m sure Fitz can outrun most of you, and he sure as hell is a better shot,” Rowe flashed the first grin—the first sign of any emotion—Meg had seen since she’d met him.

  Fitz dug his right blade into the grass like a batter stepping up to the plate. He managed a grin and said, “I know you’re all scared. Heck, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t. But the Variants can be killed. I’ve killed more of the monsters than I killed insurgents in Iraq. And I’m not proud of it, but I killed quite a few insurgents.” He bowed his head slightly, his auburn hair blowing in the breeze, a memory surfacing on his mind.

  He looked up again, the smile gone. “Be smart out there, stay frosty, and tomorrow we will return with a juvenile Variant. And God willing, in less than two weeks we will win this war.”

  The words resonated with a few of the Marines.

  “Oorah!” someone yelled.

  “Oorah.” Fitz said in a deep voice.

  Within a few seconds, all of the men had joined in. Rowe stroked his jawline, then held up a hand. “Thank you, Corporal,” he said. “That’s all for tonight, so get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  The Marines dispersed, but Riley didn’t move his chair. He glanced over at Meg, his features lacking enthusiasm. There was a frown on his face, and she knew why. He wanted more than anything to go out there with the other soldiers. Fitz patted him on the back, acknowledged Meg with a short tip of his head, then followed the other men across the lawn.

  Both girls were nestled next to Meg on the top step, pointing out the shapes of clouds to each other. She didn’t disturb them, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to go hug Riley.

  “What do you mean Fitz is leading a strike team to New York?” Beckham said. There was no holding back the shock in his voice. He had suggested Fitz train a team, not lead it. He didn’t bother asking Lieutenant Davis why she hadn’t informed him of the decision earlier. He was too mad for that.

  “Lieutenant Rowe thought he was the most qualified man on Plum Island,” she replied.

  “Shit. We’re the most qualified teams left in the world, but we’re not being sent out there.”

  “We should be,” Garcia added.

  The Variant Hunters and Team Ghost were still on the deck of the GW. Behind them, Marines talked quietly during a short break. The gusting wind couldn’t hide the trepidation in their hushed voices.

  “I specifically ordered Fitz to guard the island,” Beckham said. “We need him in Tower 4. He’s a sharpshooter the island can’t afford to lose.”

  Davis blinked her crystal blue eyes as if she was considering a sharp response. After a pause, she said, “Corporal Fitzpatrick is no longer under your command, Master Sergeant. He reports to Major Smith. I’m sorry, but he is leading the men from Plum Island to New York.”

  “And Smith authorized this?” Horn asked. He flared his nostrils. It was the same thing he always did before he blew a gasket. He was worried about Fitz and his girls. Beckham didn’t blame him. There were so few of them left that losing Fitz would be unbearable.

  No. Fitz isn’t going to die.

  Beckham took a knee in front of Apollo, scratching the dog’s ears. His nose sniffed at the air, and he leaned in to give Beckham a wet kiss on the cheek.

  “Yes, Major Smith approved the orders,” Davis said. She blinked again and crinkled her nose, one eye on Horn. Beckham shot his friend a glare that said back off.

  “If Fitz is going out there, then I want Apollo to go with him,” Beckham said. The dog wasn’t doing anyone any good cooped up on the ship, and he would protect Fitz with his life.

  Davis twisted her lips to the side. “I suppose I can arrange that. We have a Blackhawk leaving for Plum Island in...” she looked at her watch. “An hour.”

  Beckham stroked Apollo’s fur and bowed his head until they were touching. Apollo’s wet snout brushed against his forehead. He didn’t want to let the dog go, but doing so made him feel like he was helping his friend.

  “You take care of Fitz, boy,” Beckham said. “Don’t let anything happen to him.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a notepad he had used to write notes on for Operation Condor.

  “You got a pen?” Beckham asked Davis.

  She pulled one from her pocket and handed it to him. Beckham tore out a piece of paper and scribbled a message to Fitz, then tucked the note into Apollo’s satchel. The dog wagged its tail as it licked Beckham’s cheek a second time. Rising to his feet, Beckham handed Davis her pen. “Thank—”

  A shout from a ladder leading to the CIC cut him off. “Lieutenant!”

  Captain Humphrey stood at the top of the stairs, his hair blowing wildly in the wind. “There’s a situation on the Cowpens.”

  The rising fear of losing Apollo and Fitz shifted into full-blown panic. Kate was on the Cowpens, and so was President Ringgold. He reached for the .45 on his hip, unstrapping the buckle.

  “Brett has escaped,” Humphrey said. “Get over there ASAP and kill that son of a bitch. Eagle Five is warming up right now.”

  “Yes, sir!” Davis shouted back.

  Beckham whistled at the sailor patrolling the flight deck with a German Shepherd. “I need you to watch Apollo!”

  The man ran over and grabbed Apollo by the collar.

  “If Master Sergeant Beckham isn’t back, make sure the dog is on Eagle Three in an hour,” Davis said.

  The sailor nodded, holding Apollo tightly. The dog could sense something was wrong; he growled and fought in the man’s grip.

  “You have to stay, I’m sorry boy. Protect Fitz,” Beckham said. He patted Apollo’s head and hesitated for a single second, looking at the dog one last time before yelling, “Let’s
move, Ghost!”

  Chow spat his second toothpick of the night on the deck and ran after Beckham and Horn. Apollo howled after them. Then came a pounding of boots, and when Beckham glanced over his shoulder, Garcia, Tank, and Thomas were following them.

  “We need weapons,” Horn said.

  Beckham pulled his .45 and raced after Davis, who was already halfway to the flight deck. “I’ve got the only one I need.”

  On the horizon, a red light flashed from the satellite tower of the Cowpens like the beacon of a lighthouse warning ships away from danger. Most men would have run the other way, but like so many times before, Beckham led his men toward the threat.

  The Blackhawk was airborne five minutes later. Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters sat on the gunship in silence, all of them sorting through pre-combat thoughts. None of them asked the obvious question of how Lieutenant Brett had escaped. All that mattered was killing him before he killed anyone else.

  Before he hurt Kate or President Ringgold.

  Beckham shut the thought down before it could do any more damage. He was going into battle. He needed his confidence, not his fear, driving him forward. He watched Apollo on the flight deck, still fighting his handler. The dog’s barking faded beneath the chop of the rotors. Beckham forced himself to look away, and turned back to the Cowpens.

  He opened the cylinder, checked the six .45 rounds, and then snapped it back into place. The bird descended over the stern and touched down on the Cowpens’ helipad. Davis jumped onto the deck and ducked under the rotors. Beckham and crew followed close behind. A squad of sailors in tactical gear met them on the deck, M16s in hand. They distributed weapons to Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters.

  “This way, Lieutenant,” one of the men said.

  They passed RIM-66 surface-to-air missile launchers and ran for a ladder that led to the next level. Two soldiers draped in shadow were waiting at a hatch.

  Davis paused there. “What’s the situation, Sergeant?”

  Beckham slung the rifle and pulled back the hammer on his .45, one eye on the dark-skinned sergeant at the hatch.

  “Lieutenant Brett killed both technicians preparing him for execution about thirty minutes ago. He then proceeded to kill the guards stationed at the brig. The blood trail leads to the lab next, where he killed Dr. Carmen. From there, we’re not sure where he went. We have two teams searching for him. Fortunately, Dr. Yokoyama escaped. “

  Davis cupped her hand over her earpiece. “Yes, Mr. Vice President, I’ve just landed...I’m not sure, sir. Stand by.”

  “Where’s President Ringgold?” Davis asked the sergeant.

  “And Dr. Lovato?” Beckham added. He could hardly hold himself back; his muscles ached to move.

  The sergeant shook his helmet. “I’m afraid we don’t know.”

  -17-

  “We can’t stay in here,” President Ringgold whispered.

  Kate continued searching the storage room for a weapon in the faint light. The room was lined with shelves, but there was nowhere to hide. And Kate saw no weapon in sight. “If we go back out there, we risk running into Lieutenant Brett,” she whispered. “We need to stay here. Wait for soldiers.”

  She quietly rummaged through a box of supplies. They had locked themselves in the storage room after escaping the lab. What they’d witnessed defied everything Kate knew about the Variants. The creatures didn’t use weapons, but Brett had killed Dr. Carmen with a knife. Then again, Brett wasn’t really a Variant. His platoon was infected with VX-99 in 1968, not with Dr. Medford’s hybrid version from 2014. That meant he was even more dangerous. If he could use a knife, he could open doors, and Kate suspected he’d even used one of the dead guards’ keycards to get into the secured lab.

  Kate grabbed a broom and jammed it through the wheel handle of the hatch.

  Where the hell are all the soldiers?

  As if in in answer, the pop of gunfire echoed from the passage outside. A flurry of rounds pinged off the bulkheads. Kate put her ear up to the hatch to listen. A muffled scream followed, but it wasn’t Brett’s hoarse voice. This was a sailor.

  Two more shots rang out, silencing the scream.

  Kate found President Ringgold’s haunted eyes in the dim light. Another screech reverberated through the passage outside. Kate backed away from the door and retreated several steps to stand by the President, her hands cupped over her mouth.

  A torrent of gunshots ricocheted off the overhead outside the storage room.

  “No, please... NO!” someone shouted.

  There was another shot, and the wet crack of a bullet breaking through a skull.

  Then only silence.

  Not a lucky shot. An execution.

  Kate staggered backward, her fears realized. Brett could use a gun.

  Over the blare of emergency alarms came a scratching of a blade over metal. Kate took another step away from the hatch, inadvertently ramming a shelf and knocking several boxes onto the ground. The clanking reverberated through the room.

  Heart lodged in her throat, Kate held in a breath and froze, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth. The scratching grew louder and closer, until it stopped just outside the hatch to the storage room.

  “Kate,” Ringgold whispered.

  Kate held up a finger as the hatch rattled. The thin broom handle shook violently, clanging against the steel.

  Voices called out somewhere in the bowels of the ship, muffled and distant. Reinforcements were finally coming. Kate hurried to the corner of the room with Ringgold. Together, they tipped over one of the shelves and crouched behind it. The President gripped Kate’s hand tightly in her own and began to mouth a prayer.

  Kate knew Beckham was out there somewhere, searching for her. It was only a matter of time before they found Brett, but it was also only a matter of time before Brett—

  The broom handle snapped in half, the splintered pieces dropping to the floor.

  Kate was still holding in a breath as the wheel twisted and the hatch clicked open. Light streamed into the room, spreading a blanket of red that crept toward Kate and Ringgold.

  In the doorway stood the emaciated frame of Lieutenant Brett. Shoulders hunched and torso withered, his awkward posture sent a chill through Kate.

  He explored the room with deranged eyes as if everything he was seeing was completely new to him. The circling red lights illuminated his droopy skin, sagging muscles, and the pistol he gripped with brown, horned fingernails.

  Ringgold grabbed Kate’s arm as he craned his neck toward the shelving unit. Brett swept it aside almost casually. He slowly aimed the barrel at the President. Kate held up her hands and shifted her body in front of Ringgold.

  “Please, you don’t have to do this, Lieutenant Brett!” she cried.

  He tilted an ear ever so slightly as if he didn’t quite remember his own name. Gun trembling in his hand, he croaked. “Th-ey...”

  The pounding of footsteps echoed down the hall, but Brett didn’t turn.

  “They,” he coughed. He rotated slightly to look into the passage, veins stretching across his pale skin. In a rapid movement, he turned back to Kate and Ringgold, eyes wide and wild. “Hurt me... Destroyed me!”

  Kate held her hands in the air. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you, but the killing has to end. You can stop it, Lieutenant.”

  “Medic!” someone shouted down the passage. The soldiers had found the sailors Brett had already killed.

  Kate winced as he pushed the gun at her.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Kate whimpered. “Please. You don’t have to kill anyone else. I’m...I’m pregnant.”

  Brett’s eyes centered on her stomach. His wrinkled face twisted in a grimace and he tilted his head slightly as if he was trying to understand.

  Kate dropped one hand to shield her stomach. “Don’t do this, Lieutenant. I know there is a good man locked inside you. They didn’t destroy all of you. Lieutenant Trevor Brett would not kill an innocent child.”

  A croak
escaped Brett’s mouth as he attempted a reply. His next strained words were lost in the crack of gunshot. Kate closed her eyes on reflex, her muscles tightening to prepare for the bullet that would end her life. In that fraction of a second, she realized the irony: in the end, her life would be taken by the man that had started it all—and by a bullet, not by the claws of a monster.

  There was a second shot, then a third.

  Ringgold shrieked in pain. Kate’s eyes snapped back open to a sight she didn’t understand. Brett slumped to his knees in front of her. The top left side of his skull was blown away and there was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should have been. What was left of his insides slopped through the exposed rib cage and onto the ground with a wet plop. The pistol fell from his hand, and clanked next to Kate. A soldier kicked it away from Brett’s reach and rushed to Kate’s side. Her heart was kicking so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Kate!” the man said. “Kate, are you okay?”

  The voice was familiar, but her vision was blurry as though she was looking through thick glasses. She blinked away the stars, and the room came into focus. Beckham was staring down at her, his lips still moving.

  “I’m okay,” Kate said.

  Horn, Chow, and Lieutenant Davis ran into the space. Sailors and Marines waited in the passage, radio chatter echoing. Kate gasped for air, her hand still on her stomach. Beckham joined the other soldiers surrounding the President.

  “She’s been hit,” someone said.

  “Get a medic!” yelled Lieutenant Davis.

  Brett’s mangled corpse was sprawled a few feet away, pooling blood surrounding his withered body. His eyes were locked on her, and he blinked one final time before they rolled up into his ruined skull—finally at peace after a lifetime of living in a nightmare.

  Kate looked to President Ringgold. Her white blouse was covered in blood. Horn pressed his hands over the lapel pin on her collar. Beckham was on her other side, holding one of her hands.

  “Where’s the medic?” he shouted.

  “On the way,” Davis said.