Extinction Cycle (Short Story): Extinction Lost (A Team Ghost Short Story)

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  A loud crack sounded to Webb’s left. He cupped a hand over his ears and watched the head of the Reaver explode inside the Black Hawk. Ears ringing, he turned to see the smoking barrel of Fitz’s MK11 sniper rifle.

  When Webb looked back to Badger 1, it was gone, hidden by the cloud cover. Dohi remained calm and steady on the big gun, scanning for a target.

  Snow tore into the side of the troop hold, and the cold bit through Webb’s layers. He let out a breath in a puff. The blades thumped above them, and for a moment it seemed like everything had slowed to a stop.

  When the clouds finally cleared Webb searched for Badger 1, but where there should have been a Black Hawk, there was only open sky.

  Stevenson broke the silence. “Odds just got worse, Rico.”

  Apollo let out a whine as Fitz lowered his rifle. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he said. “Those things are still out there.”

  Webb tried to nod, but he just stood there shivering, and not from the cold. Team Ghost had already lost a fire team, and they weren’t even at the target yet.

  MASTER SERGEANT JOE Fitzpatrick had planned on taking a nap on the helicopter ride, but instead he spent the trip watching the sky for Reavers with the rest of his team.

  Badger 1 was gone… lost in an attack by monsters that should never have been out this far. Webb, the Crew Chief, had said they were migrating to find food. On top of the attack, Fitz had other worries on his troubled mind. Rumors had reached the European front that something was happening back in the States‌—‌rumors of a coup, and attacks on Safe Zone Territories.

  Fitz winced as he twisted in his seat toward the cockpit. He had to keep frosty. Worrying about his friends back home wasn’t going to do any good when he was all the way out here and couldn’t do anything to help them.

  “Tito, how far?” he asked.

  “Five minutes from the target.”

  Jagged mountains rose along the coast in the distance. Below, icebergs floated through the blue water like ice cubes. A wall of mist covered a harbor full of fishing boats and drifted up toward the rocky shoreline.

  Fitz strained for a better look for the small fishing village. Most of the residents were Inuit, but there were several locals living here that had worked for the government and in the top-secret lab.

  Badger 2 pulled alongside and together, the two choppers flew inland. They passed over rocky beaches and turned toward a road that curved along the shore. On the top of a hill overlooking the harbor, the first houses finally came into view. Wood structures with peeling red and blue paint lined the elevated terrain like colorful gravestones.

  Tito and his co-pilot circled along with Badger 2. The main city was just three blocks of aging structures. From above, Fitz couldn’t see much. Snow covered the terrain and most of the road.

  Dohi looked back from the door gun.

  “No sign of tracks down there,” he said. “Variant or human. But the snow could have hidden any recent activity.”

  Fitz nodded back. They were about to drop into a ghost town and he had no doubt the monsters were hiding somewhere down there. He just hoped they weren’t going to run into anything like the abominations in France. Black Beetles, Pinchers, Wormers, or God only knew what else was out there. Part of him was glad to have a break from Europe.

  He stood and looked for a spot to land. A red church with a short steeple sat on a cliff overlooking the harbor. There was plenty of room for a landing zone there.

  “Tito, take us down by that church.”

  “You got it.”

  Fitz reached down to check Apollo’s vest. The dog had suffered another injury at the Basilica of St Thérèse in Lisieux, France, but hadn’t required stitches like Fitz’s shoulder.

  Apollo licked Fitz’s hand and rubbed his wet muzzle against his arm.

  “Hold still, boy,” Fitz said. He grabbed dog boots from his pack and then slipped them over the Shepherd’s paws one at a time.

  Apollo didn’t like that. He swiped at the ground, trying to remove them, but instantly stopped when Fitz shook his head.

  Glancing up with sad, amber eyes, the dog obeyed his handler.

  Wind from the rotors whipped up the snow covering the LZ, forming a circular mound several feet deep. Tito and his co-pilot hovered over the church and waited for Fitz’s orders.

  “All right, Ghost. Lock and load.”

  Webb stepped up to the open door and glanced down.

  “Look’s clear, Tito,” he said.

  Tito slowly lowered the chopper as Team Ghost slapped magazines in their weapons and applied final layers of clothing. Fitz pulled the laughing joker bandana he’d inherited from Staff Sergeant Alex Riley, around his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled in an effort to keep the painful memories from muddling his thoughts.

  All it takes is all you got, Marine.

  He slung his MK11 over his back and pulled his suppressed M4. After palming in a magazine, Fitz stepped to the open door. Wind gusted below from the rotors, stirring up more of the white grit.

  He eyed the landscape one more time for contacts. The church, terrain, and road beyond were clear.

  “Take us down!” Fitz yelled over the noise.

  Tito lowered them a few feet from the ground without touching down.

  “Go, go, go!” Fitz yelled. He put a hand on Rico’s back and patted her. She jumped out after Dohi and Stevenson. Fitz waited for Tanaka and then grabbed Apollo under the belly.

  “Good luck, Master Sergeant!” Webb shouted. “I look forward to hearing of your victory!”

  Fitz looked at the middle-aged crew chief. He had the timid stare of a man that had never seen combat. But that wasn’t the only reason Fitz knew he had never fought a Variant. No one that had fought the monsters would look forward to hearing a story like that.

  “Good luck, brother,” Tito said over the comms.

  Fitz nodded and jumped out. His blades sank into the powder and he ducked and ran toward the church. Badger 2 came in next, disgorging the six Marines of Fox Team. Like Ghost, the men were all dressed in white camouflage. They shouldered their M4s and swept the muzzles across the terrain.

  Surrounded by his men, Sergeant Jackson Mapes jogged over to Fitz carrying a Benelli M4 tactical shotgun. He was one of the shortest Marines Fitz had ever met, but what Mapes lacked in height, he made up for in muscle and speed. At forty-five, he was still one of the fastest Marines in the 24th MEU.

  “Form a perimeter,” Mapes said to his men. They fanned out, and took knees with their rifles pointed in all directions. The exposed faces Fitz could see all looked young, far too young to be out here. But that was partly due to a new rule. The military now allowed anyone over the age of sixteen to join.

  “Dohi, you and Tanaka do some quick recon. Don’t go out too far,” Fitz said.

  The men were running before Fitz had finished his sentence. He watched the choppers traverse the skyline as Stevenson and Rico took up position with the members of Team Fox.

  Tito and the other pilots were headed to a small rebel-run outpost forty minutes away. Forty minutes was a hell of a long time if Ghost and Fox ran into trouble. But it beat having to wait if the choppers went all the way back to the USS Forest Sherman.

  Fitz drew in a breath of icy air through his bandana.

  “Master Sergeant, this sure as hell doesn’t look like the foothills to me. I don’t reckon you know where the hell we are, do ya?” Mapes asked. A thin layer of snow stuck to the man’s graying five o’clock shadow. His breath reeked of cigarettes, and his crooked teeth reflected years of coffee drinking.

  “We’re approximately three miles from the target,” Fitz said. “Figured it would be safer to hike in and clear the town of any hostiles first.”

  Mapes raised a bushy eyebrow. “A three mile hike in this weather could take us a while, especially if we have problems along the way.”

  “I’m not waltzing into the facility without knowing what we’re up against. The evidence is in this village. If someone is
still alive here then maybe we can figure out what happened,” Fitz said firmly. He pulled his map out again and gestured for Rico and Mape to crowd around.

  “You think someone could have survived in this shit hole of a village?” Mapes asked.

  “We’re going to find out,” Fitz replied. “There are a dozen houses and other buildings between here and the target. I’m recommending we split up to search some of them.”

  Mapes picked at a gap between his yellow teeth, a nervous tick. It was his way of saying he didn’t agree. Fitz noted it with a grain of salt.

  “Sergeant, you take Fox this route.” Fitz traced a line northwest through the village toward the foothills. “I’ll take Ghost to search this route and we rally here, at the target.”

  “And if it’s not there?” Mapes asked.

  “Then we search until we find it.”

  “Weather is getting worse,” Rico said.

  The light snowfall had turned into flurries. Fitz squinted at the sheets of snow in the distance. He could hardly see the house at the top of the hill.

  “We rally in two hours,” Fitz said. “If you find anything, you radio it in, but otherwise, radio silence.”

  Mapes dipped his helmet, slightly. Another tell.

  “You got it, Sergeant?” Fitz asked.

  “Yes.”

  Fitz directed his gaze at Rico. “You and Stevenson clear the church before we head out.”

  “Master Sergeant.”

  The voice pulled Fitz to his left. Dohi was there, his eyes sharp and intense. His tan skin was red from the cold, but he had insisted on not wearing any facial protection. Fitz was afraid to ask what had the big man spooked.

  “Tanaka and I found something…” Dohi said. “You better come take a look.”

  Flurries fell to the ground, adding a fresh layer of powder that crunched under Fitz’s blades. He followed Dohi and Tanaka around the back of the church with Apollo trotting behind him. The rest of Ghost and Fox held the perimeter.

  Fitz raised his rifle to scan the gray sky and the harbor over the cliffs. The slight movement prompted a jolt of pain across his raw injury. The stitches tightened every single time. It was a small price to pay. He had walked away from the battle at the Basilica St Thérèse with his life, something countless innocents couldn’t say. Memories of Michel, the other children that had died there with their brave caretaker, Mira, were tattooed on his mind.

  All it takes is all you got Marine.

  He blinked away the memory and kept moving.

  Ahead, Dohi pointed at a wood shed with double doors. The one on the right was frozen shut, but the left door was slightly ajar.

  Using his fingers, Dohi told the story. No contacts, but there was something inside. Fitz lowered his rifle as he walked the five steps to the open door. He took in a breath to test for the rotting, sour-fruit smell of the monsters. There was a trace of sweat and saliva on his bandana, but nothing to indicate Variants.

  Dohi flipped on a light and directed it inside. “Take a look.”

  Fitz followed Dohi and Tanaka through the opening expecting to find a stack of frozen bodies like Team Ghost had discovered in Building 8 over seven months ago. But this was not a meat locker.

  They had stepped into a single tomb.

  “What the fuck?” cracked a voice.

  Sergeant Mapes stood behind them, staring at the same narrow, seven-foot wood cross Dohi had discovered. Instead of a crucified model of Jesus hanging on the cross there was a juvenile Variant.

  Or at least Fitz thought it was. Where there should have been armor plates covering its extremities there were ribbons of exposed muscle, stretched and purple from the cold. Icicles hung from the sucker-mouth on the beast’s face. Ribs were cracked and flayed open like a grenade had exploded inside its chest. The organs, stomach, and intestines were all missing.

  Fitz recalled the tape they had heard on the flight in.

  There are bones and some sort of…

  Had the military stumbled across something similar inside the lab?

  “What the hell happened to this thing?” Tanaka said. He pulled his Katana and used the tip of the blade to raise the beast’s chin for a better look.

  “Jesus,” Fitz whispered.

  Empty sockets greeted them, only strings of muscle where the eyes had once been. Fitz couldn’t pull his gaze from the anatomy. He had never seen the inside of a juvenile before. What little left there was to see…

  Tanaka sheathed his sword and stepped back. “This is some truly evil shit. What do you make of it, Fitz?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it… I mean, I have, but not from juveniles. Variants do this to one another, and to humans, but I’ve never witnessed this behavior from the offspring.”

  Fitz studied Dohi for a reaction, but the man simply stroked the ice out of his silver goatee.

  “We should get moving,” Mapes said. “We’re wasting time in here.”

  Fitz glanced at the monster one last time, his guts twisting. Something was very off in this fishing village, and he had a feeling it all had to do with the buried Nazi facility they were supposed to find and destroy.

  They returned to the church where the other team members were waiting. Stevenson and Rico stood on the front steps, weapons cradled and relaxed.

  “You find anything?” Fitz asked.

  “Nothing alive,” Stevenson said. “What about you?”

  “Nothing alive,” Fitz replied.

  Stevenson smirked and Fitz walked up the steps to peer into the church. Snow swirled inside from the gust behind him, a mini tornado whipping the grit down a row of pews and up into the rafters. A Christian cross with a model of Jesus hung above an altar at the other end of the room.

  The sight made Fitz shudder. He performed the sign of the cross and closed the doors to seal the room. The other soldiers continued raking their muzzles across the terrain around the church.

  “All right Ghost and Fox, we’re moving out,” Fitz said. “Good luck, Sergeant.”

  Mapes simply nodded and waved Fox away from the church. His men fanned across the snowy terrain and moved northwest. Within moments the wall of flurries had swallowed them.

  Fitz didn’t like splitting up, especially after what they had discovered in the shed, but one thing he had learned over the past seven months was that you never put all your eggs in one basket. It had almost destroyed the American military during Operation Liberty. They were already down a fire team, and someone had to complete this mission.

  “Combat intervals, Ghost,” Fitz said. “Dohi, you got point. Stevenson, you’re on rear guard. Rico and Tanaka you stay close to me and Apollo. High and low, watch the rooftops and sky for Reavers.”

  “I can’t even see the sky,” Stevenson said.

  “Do your best,” Rico said.

  As Dohi raised his gun and walked past, Fitz reached out to stop him. “You all right, brother? I can put someone else on point.”

  “I’m fine, Master Sergeant,” Dohi replied confidently. He spat a chunk of licorice root into the snow and jogged ahead. He was definitely moving slower than normal, and Fitz could tell the man’s ribs and his head were bothering him, but Dohi was the last one to ever complain. When he did talk, it wasn’t about himself.

  Team Ghost set off to the northeast, following Dohi up a curving road that was hardly visible under the drifting white. There were still no signs of tracks. Even the tire marks were buried.

  The whistling wind echoed as they began their hike. It rose and fell like waves slapping then receding at the beach. Fitz kept to the road where his blades sank through only several inches, crunching the gravel beneath.

  Apollo trotted ahead, sniffing the snow every few feet. Team Ghost watched their zones of fire with muzzles sweeping for hostiles, moving with calculated precision. Fitz pushed his scope to his snow goggles to scan the sky again. If the Reavers were out there, he wouldn’t have much warning. The road, framed on both sides by mounds of snow and red wood houses
, provided little cover. They were sitting ducks out here for the winged abominations and whatever else prowled in the quaint fishing village.

  A voice over the wind snapped him from his thoughts.

  “What did you see back there, Fitzie?”

  He lowered his scope to see Rico walking to his left. The frosted pink tips of her hair protruded from her stocking cap and helmet. Her dimples widened as she chewed on a stick of bubble gum.

  “Juvenile corpse…” He didn’t want to spook her, but she had a right to know. “Flung up on display like a macabre shrine.”

  Rico stopped dead in her tracks. “What... What do you mean?”

  “Some sort of science experiment. Hell if I know. I don’t know what it means, or who did it.”

  Rico gave him a meaningful look before she shouldered her rifle. “I don’t like this, Fitzie. I don’t like this one damn bit.”

  The howling wind seemed to answer her.

  Fitz pushed on, his blades crushing the compact powder into the gravel. The cold was slowly working into his layers and his fingers were icing inside of his gloves. He moved them to keep the blood flowing. They had hiked for ten minutes, and he was already cold.

  A sensation of being watched stopped him mid-stride.

  “What is it?” Rico asked, slowly turning with her rifle.

  “Something’s out there… watching us from afar. Studying... scrutinizing us.”

  “You’re freaking me out.”

  “Sorry. Just keep your eyes peeled.” He slowly scanned the terrain and the sky. The creatures had evolved to see in the dark, but could they see through the dense sheets of snow?

  Fitz continued toward the hilltop. According to the map, the village was on the other side. Dohi stopped near the top, crouched, and balled his hand into a fist. Then he got onto his stomach and scoped the village below. A wave of snow glided over his body as he lay there, still like a fox waiting out prey.

  Fitz hung back with Rico and the others. He pulled his bandana down and wiped his fogged snow goggles while they waited. Dohi had the best eyes, ears, and nose in the team. He was a full-blooded Navajo tracker, and Fitz was glad to have him. If anyone could sense the monsters coming, it was Dohi and Apollo.