Extinction Edge (The Extinction Cycle Book 2)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Jenny tapped Kate on the arm. “What are those things?” she chirped.

  Kate flipped the lid of the laptop down. “Just some pictures.”

  “Can we see?” Tasha asked. “I’m bored.”

  Kate stood, stretched, and faked a smile. “I have a better idea.”

  Both girls glanced up, their eyes curious.

  “How about we play a game?”

  Jenny clapped her hands together. “Like hide and seek?”

  “Yeah,” Tasha replied. “Can we play hide and seek?”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t think this would be the best place to play that game.”

  Tasha’s shoulders sagged. She twisted a red lock of hair with her fingers and said, “When’s Daddy coming home?”

  “Soon, honey. He and Beckham will be back before you know it.” She held out her arms and said, “Come here.”

  Tasha and Jenny stepped into Kate’s embrace. She held them tight, feeling a warm tear on her neck.

  “I’m scared,” Jenny said.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” Kate said. “You’re safe here.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  A second tear fell on Kate's neck. And this time it was one of her own.

  Beckham whirled and blasted a Variant in the face. It skidded to a stop a few feet away from the shop entrance.

  “Hold the line!” he shouted. As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw how fucked they were. He was staring into a blackout zone. 50th Street was shrouded by smoke. The thick curtain of haze seemed to cling to the concrete. But it was too late to retreat now. The only way out of this mess was to fight.

  Gunshots cracked from every direction. Beckham focused on the shapes of Marines rushing for cover—or were they Variants? He couldn’t make out a damn thing.

  More gunfire. Screeches and screams from wounded men and dying monsters.

  It was chaos.

  A round whizzed past Beckham’s helmet. He ducked for cover. Two more bullets hit the concrete ahead of him, chunks of rock hitting his exposed flesh.

  He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the man next to him. Was it Horn? No, too skinny. Had to be Chow.

  Beckham shouted again. “Fall back!”

  A blast from the other end of the street shook the ground. The shockwave from the explosion hit Beckham’s position, covering him in dust.

  “Why the fuck are they using antitank missiles?”

  A second explosion came from above. The missile hit one of the buildings. Dust and fragments of metal rained down on the street. Beckham was on the sidewalk now, Team Ghost surrounding him. The Variant that had crashed out of the shop lay in a puddle of blood a few feet away. Their only protection was an overturned food vendor cart. Blackened hotdogs and scorched fruit littered the concrete.

  There was more gunfire, and a third shot from one of the Bradleys.

  The sidewalk trembled.

  Then the chain guns flared to life. The 25mm rounds pounded the building, impacting with the force of mini-missiles. Beckham scanned the smoke screen for his own target. There, barreling toward their position, he made a Variant moving on all fours. Raising his weapon, he fired and sent the creature tumbling head over feet back into the wall of gray.

  Another came from the side. Then another. He fired again, and again, the sound of gunfire drowning out the clacking of joints.

  Drops of rain hit his visor. Or was it blood? Beckham wiped away the liquid and searched for the next target.

  A fourth blast from a Bradley’s launcher rang out. The concussion sent a shockwave of air through the street. The sound of screaming Marines found its way past the ringing in Beckham’s ears. Adrenaline flowed through him, and his internal processor clicked on. He fired from habit, instinct taking over. A bullet clipped his backpack and sent him spinning. He dropped to the concrete and then pushed himself back up on a knee, just in time to see another Variant rushing across the street.

  He squeezed the trigger without restraint, screaming into his mask.

  The creature’s chest absorbed the rounds, jerking it left and then right. A high-caliber round from one of the Rangers finished the job, taking off its head.

  Another Variant took its place. Then a second. And a third. The trio waited in the periphery between smoke and light. Hunched and coiled, searching. The smoke swirled around their deformed shapes.

  Beckham fired relentlessly, aiming for their heads. The bullets took off the first creature’s limbs. It flopped on the concrete like a fish struggling for air. His next shots were more precise, splattering chunks of skull and soft tissue on the car behind the Variants.

  “Smoke’s clearing!” Horn shouted.

  Beckham finished off his magazine, killing three more of the creatures that were making a run for his position. Their bodies slumped to the concrete, twitching. Blood oozed from multiple gunshot wounds.

  “Hold your position,” Beckham yelled. Reaching for a new magazine, he added, “Changing!”

  The ringing in his ears waned. Snapping the fresh mag into his weapon, he froze and listened. A few random shots rang out in the distance. When the echo ended, an eerie quiet passed over the convoy. He couldn’t hear a single thing. As the haze lifted, Beckham raised his muzzle and swept it over the battlefield, expecting to see Marines sprawled over the terrain. Instead he only saw a couple mangled Variant corpses. There wasn’t a single dead Marine in sight. And there were no moans or screams from any wounded men either.

  Beckham turned to his left and counted five helmets. Team Ghost was accounted for. Across the street, Jensen emerged from behind a crushed cab with team Charlie. Alpha and Bravo stood behind a squad car a hundred yards to the left.

  There were only a handful of Marines stumbling away from the protection of the Humvees. He counted twelve, including Sergeant Valdez.

  “Where the hell are all of the bodies?” Horn said, changing a magazine.

  Beckham examined the street again. Where there should have been corpses, there were only streaks of blood.

  “SITREP! Give me a fucking SITREP!” Valdez screamed. “Where’s Rodney and Libby? Where the fuck is everyone?”

  The adrenaline that had fueled Beckham earlier broke down in his system. Dread replaced the energy when he realized where the closest blood trail led. He followed the red across the concrete, moving slowly, the muzzle of his weapon leading the way. He stopped at the edge of an open manhole. Dropping to a knee, he bent and peered inside.

  He didn’t need a flashlight to see the crimson water below. The Variants had dragged away half of the platoon into their lairs. He finally understood why the satellite imagery and recon teams had only accounted for a couple thousand of the creatures.

  “We better get moving, Boss,” Horn said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Someone better get Command on the line,” Beckham said. “Tell them we found their missing Variants.”

  A hand on his shoulder pulled his gaze upward. Jensen stared down at him. He stripped the mask away from his mouth. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “What are the odds of General Kennor ordering in an airstrike with thermobaric missiles? We could pound the shit out of those sewers and subways!”

  “I doubt that’s going to happen,” said a voice. Gates strolled over to the hole with Valdez on his flank. “I just got off the line with Command. We’ve been ordered to continue to the target zone and set up the FOB.”

  “With all due respect, sir, we aren’t going to make it to the FOB if we’re attacked again,” Beckham said.

  “Those are General Kennor’s orders,” Gates said.

  “Does he know what we’re dealing with?” Jensen spat on the concrete and wiped a sleeve across his lips.

  “We did receive a warning from Command. Apparently they received a message from Plum Island,” Gates said. “A doctor there claims the Variants can see in the dark and have moved underground.”

  Beckham spoke without thinking. “Kate.”

  Gate
s regarded him with a quick glance. “Yeah, Dr. Lovata.”

  “Lovato,” Beckham corrected. He peered back into the dark manhole. The concrete under his feet suddenly seemed paper thin. He stood and backed away from the edge, a chill trembling through his fatigued body.

  “We need to keep moving,” Gates said. He motioned Valdez to follow him and they hurried back to their command Humvee.

  “He’s going to get us all killed.” Jensen said. He kicked a chunk of rock into the hole. It landed with a plop. A shriek answered, the sound reverberating from deep within the tunnel.

  “If we can secure that FOB, we might have a chance to hold those things off. It’s our only chance,” Beckham said. He followed Jensen back to the convoy. The sunset, bloody orange against a darkening sky, silhouetted the oblique skyscrapers. It would have made the perfect post-apocalyptic painting.

  Meg was aware of the distant gunfire but wasn’t sure if it was real. Her mind was a blank slate; she couldn’t remember where she was or how she had gotten there. The darkness didn’t help. She couldn’t see much of anything. When she tried to move her numb body, it didn’t respond.

  There was no pain. Not at first. She focused on wiggling her fingers. They moved. That was a good sign. She wasn’t paralyzed. Next she moved a toe, and then her right foot. It was caught on something—something coarse and sticky.

  Twisting, she fought to move. Fear bit her like jagged teeth. She remembered now. The monsters had dragged her down into the water. Anger followed when she remembered Jed and Rex sealing in her into the tunnel.

  Those bastards, she thought. She hadn’t trusted Rex, not since the outbreak. The man she’d followed into burning buildings had transformed into a coward. And Jed? The Marine proved that not all soldiers were brave. Now she knew why she had found Jed hiding under a Humvee. Heroes, so it seemed, were in short supply during the apocalypse

  If she could have moved her head, she would have shaken it in disgust. But whatever slimy substance she was stuck in made that impossible.

  Meg focused on her surroundings, squinting in the darkness as if it would help. She concentrated on fuzzy webbed shapes to her right. At first glance they looked kind of like tree branches, but they were covering something. A bulb shape. Something curled up. She saw the same thing in her peripheral vision. And she could see one of them above her, too. Everything seemed blurred though, like she was looking through a thick piece of glass.

  Was she still inside the tunnels?

  She had to be. But where were the monsters?

  Afraid to take a breath, she listened for the clicking of joints and scratching of claws. Somewhere in the distance there was the trickle of running water, but there was no sign of her captors.

  She could feel her heart beating now. Her body warmed as the blood started circulating again. When the numbness passed she finally became aware of the substance covering her body. She was stuck to a wall, covered from her legs to head in some sort of sticky slime. Her left arm was plastered to her side. The only thing she could move was her right hand and her feet.

  Meg squirmed again, tearing a patch of skin on her forehead in the process. The result was a sharp jolt of pain that made her eyes well with tears. She held back a scream, breathing rapidly through a small hole in the filmy substance.

  The pain passed, and the numbness returned. At least she could move her head now. Careful not to rip anymore skin, she tilted it to the side.

  Moonlight illuminated a pool of dark water below. She was in some sort of collection room, with waterfalls of sewage cascading out of tunnels. The walls and ceilings were lined with more of the same fuzzy shapes.

  With no small amount of effort, she finally moved her right hand and ripped her arm free. The pain was a small price to pay for the range of motion that allowed her to strip the film over her face away.

  She pulled her hand away, studying the gel webbing across her fingers. That’s when she saw the others. There were so many. Hundreds of other human prisoners, plastered to the walls and ceiling with thick rose colored vines that looked like tree branches.

  It finally hit her. She was in some sort of lair.

  A flash of motion followed by a clicking made her heart leap. She froze, not daring move an inch.

  The bulging shape of one of the creatures skittered across the ceiling.

  “No,” she said, her lips quivering. “Please no.”

  Another figure fell into line behind the first. A third and fourth joined in a moment later as the beasts awoke. Within moments, the ceiling and walls were crawling with pale, naked flesh.

  This was no lair. This was a meat locker. Full of human flesh. The place where the monsters came to feed.

  As the moonlight faded away, she let out a scream and closed her eyes, praying that her death would be quick and painless.

  -17-

  An involuntary jerk shook Kate’s body. She awoke in the same leather chair she’d slept in for countless nights. She rubbed her temples, her mind held captive by a fog that wouldn’t clear.

  Kate wished that Reed was there to hold her and tell her everything would be okay, even if they both knew it was a lie. She couldn’t think of him now. She had to keep focused, for the sake of her team and Horn’s girls.

  What time was it?

  With a sigh, Kate rose from her chair. She moved like a zombie, slow and sluggish. If only the Variants were like the shambling undead creatures that pop culture had obsessed over. Then maybe, just maybe, the military could defeat them.

  Flipping the lid on her laptop, she punched in her passcode and waited for the system to boot. She checked a wall clock as the computer loaded. It was after ten. Tasha and Jenny were probably fast asleep back in her personal quarters. She would check on them in a few minutes. But first she had something else she needed to finish.

  General Kennor had issued a request for all scientific outposts to compile reports detailing new information on the Variants. He wanted to know what their weaknesses were. The two-paragraph document on Kate’s screen proved the creatures didn’t have many. There wasn’t some magical pill or treatment that would ever bring them back. And there was no easy way to kill them, besides a bullet to the head.

  Sighing, Kate reached for a cup of cold coffee and slurped down a gulp. The bitter taste made her cringe. She shivered, goose bumps rising on her arms. It was so cold.

  Her teeth chattered as she typed. She wanted to finish the report before going to bed. That way Cindy and Ellis could look it over in the morning. But when she got to the end of the document, she paused. The cursor blinked. She didn’t know how to finish the memo. She read it over for the fourth time.

  CDC Report #21

  Location: Plum Island

  Author – Dr. Kate Lovato

  RE: Variant Research

  Overview

  Reports from across the country indicate approximately ten percent of those infected with the Hemorrhage Virus are recovering from the virus after exposure to the biological weapon VariantX9H9. Scientists are calling these creatures Variants. The epigenetic changes caused by the VX-99 nanostructures from the Hemorrhage Virus have caused irreversible effects. The Variants continue to change, showing remarkable evolution.

  Test Results:

  * Glands are producing a consistent stream of hormones that in turn are causing stem cells to proliferate and circulate through the bloodstream. The result is faster than average healing.

  * Microscopic setae, nails and flexible joints allow for increased speed and agility.

  * Eyes have developed more cones and rods for increased ability to see in dim lighting.

  * Cochlear hair cell growth and regeneration allows for hearing loss reversal and improvement.

  * Remarkable concentrations of fibrocytes circulating in the bloodstream allow for rapid healing of dermal layers.

  * Improved vascularization allows for expedited and improved growth of blood vessels to injured regions. This in turn restores physiologic nutrient and oxygen delive
ry as well as cell waste removal.

  The epigenetic changes are all a result of the VX-99 nanostructures found in the Hemorrhage Virus. Amplified physical senses, rapid healing, increased agility and strength are transforming the Variant population into excellent predators with traits expressed from multiple species.

  Treatment:

  There appears to be no treatment, and epigenetic changes demonstrate no evidence of reversibility. The only significant known weakness is a sensitivity to light.

  Kate palmed her forehead. The report told Command nothing that they didn’t already know, and the one weakness they had identified was embarrassing. Sensitivity to sunlight was hardly an Achilles’ heel. The Medical Corps staff had performed grueling tests on the creatures, some bordering on torture, but none of them had revealed anything substantial. It made sense, Kate thought, considering the Variants could heal faster and didn’t seem to be bothered much by pain.

  After spending her entire adult life studying medicine, it pained Kate to admit there wasn’t anything science could do to save the human race. She bit her bottom lip and then finished typing the document.

  Fitz paced around the small guardhouse marked L4 with a smile on his face. It felt good to have a rifle in his hands again and the vantage point was spectacular. The eight-by-eight box had a view of the entire island. A cool spring breeze gusted through the windows. It was intoxicating. Salty, fresh. Clean. An amazing improvement from the putrid scents back at Bragg.

  He took in a long breath and swung the muzzle of his M24 over the window to the east. A maze of barbwire fences zigzagged across the beach. Yellow signs warning of electric shock hung every hundred yards or so.

  No one was getting through that barrier without making a lot of noise and severely shredding some flesh. He swept his rifle to the south, scoping the domed buildings.

  Industrial-sized light poles lit up the center of the hexagonal post. He could see several Medical Corps guards patrolling the circular concrete path connecting the buildings. The entire place gave him the creeps. It reminded him of the Area 51 books he’d read as a kid.