Extinction Age

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “I want a coordinated tactical withdrawal,” Kennor said.

  “Are you telling us to retreat?” Harris asked.

  Kennor paused, the words burning in his throat. “Yes. Order a full retreat from every city,” he said. “Get our men and women out of there and bring them home.”

  With nothing else to say, he turned away from his staff and hurried out of the room. In a sudden fit of rage he slammed the door behind him as he retreated for the first time in his career.

  Beckham had just enough time to dart around the next corner before the second grenade went off. The deafening explosion rattled the tunnel, and fragments of rock sprinkled from the ceiling. He closed his eyes and ran through the storm of debris, saying a mental prayer for the innocent lives that had been lost in the lair. In his heart he knew he’d done the right thing. No one should have to suffer like that.

  At least they had saved someone. In a time where every life counted, he considered it a victory. Chow carried the woman around the next corner and disappeared from sight. Beckham halted and turned to check the entrance to the tomb. A thick cloud of smoke lingered where the grenade had gone off. Chunks of stone filled the tunnel. He raised his .45 and waited for the smoke to clear.

  Beyond the perpetual ringing, he heard a howl. As the haze dissipated, he saw the source—a single clawed hand protruded from the pile. It curled and went limp after a final twitch.

  Beckham waited another second, just to make sure, and then ran. His team was waiting at a T-intersection. Timbo was bent over, his hands on his knees, panting heavily. Jinx stood guard in the middle of the corridor. He moved his Beretta M9 in a slow sweep as he searched the other tunnels for hostiles.

  “Valdez, you hold security with Jinx,” Beckham said. “The rest of you, take five.” He crouched next to Chow, who was busy dressing the injuries on the woman’s legs.

  “How is she?” Beckham asked.

  “Weak. But she’ll live.”

  He applied another bandage and looked up. “What are we doing, man? We can’t just run around down here forever.”

  Before Beckham could respond, the woman let out a long moan.

  “It’s okay,” Chow said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  She blinked, trying to focus on Chow and then Beckham.

  “Where am…” she began to say when her eyes widened with realization. She scrambled away from the two operators, dragging her legs across the platform until her back hit the wall.

  “Don’t be scared,” Chow said. “We’re here to help.”

  “What’s your name?” Beckham asked.

  The woman reached for the curtain of hair covering her filthy face and pulled it to the side.

  “Meg,” she whispered.

  “I’m Master Sergeant Beckham, and this is Staff Sergeant Chow. We’re Delta Force, and our team is going to get you out of here.”

  She glanced over at the other men. “How many are you?”

  “Seven,” Beckham replied.

  Meg let out a sad laugh. “You can’t save me. We’ll never make it out of the city.”

  Beckham exchanged a glance with Chow. Both of them knew she was probably right, but they were soldiers and admitting defeat wasn’t in their nature. Surrendering was death. They had to keep fighting.

  “We need to get back up top,” Beckham said as Jensen approached. “If we can find that Marine convoy we passed on West Fiftieth and Seventh Avenue, we can load up on ammo and pile into one of the Humvees.”

  Jensen nodded. “I was thinking the same thing, but I have no idea where the hell we are. Could be blocks away or could be miles.”

  “Any plan is better than running around in this maze,” Chow said.

  “I don’t like the idea of moving in the dark. Maybe we should wait for sunup when the Variants are less active,” Jensen said.

  “Not sure we’re going to last that long down here, sir,” Beckham replied. “We’re low on ammo and low on fuel.”

  Jensen looked over his shoulder and nodded. “I definitely don’t want to get cornered again without ammo.”

  “Then it’s settled. We go topside as soon as everyone has a chance to take in some nutrition and water,” Beckham said. He looked toward Chow. “Redistribute ammo. Make sure everyone has a mag for their primary weapon.”

  Chow nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  The operator hurried away with Jensen, leaving Beckham alone with Meg. He reached for his water bottle and gave it a quick shake. It was almost empty. He was just about to take a swig when Meg moaned.

  Beckham handed her the bottle. “Here, drink.” He helped her bring it to her lips and held it there as she finished it off.

  “Bet you’re hungry, too,” Beckham said. He pulled an energy bar from his pocket and peeled back the wrapper.

  “No,” she said, waving it away. “I feel sick.”

  “You have to eat. You’ll need your energy.”

  She studied the bar in the dim lighting like it was poison. Beckham pushed it closer.

  “You really think you can get me out of the city?” Meg asked.

  “I’ll do everything I can to get you out of here. I promise you that.”

  A pained grin broke across her face. “Guess not every man left in this city is a yellow-bellied coward after all.”

  Two Blackhawks hovered overhead. The blades chopped through the silence of the early morning as the smoke from the smoldering Chinook swirled across the tarmac.

  “Daddy!” Tasha shouted as the choppers descended. Kate grabbed the girl’s hand and held her back.

  “Doctor,” the Medical Corps guard said. “My orders are to escort you back to Building 5. Major Smith has requested your presence at the command center.”

  She shot him a glare. “Can’t he wait a few minutes? Their father is on one of those choppers.”

  The young man frowned and flicked his headset to his lips. “Command, this is Sinclair. Holding position on eastern edge of tarmac.”

  Kate couldn’t hear the response over the whirring of the Blackhawks’ rotors, but the man’s eyes told her she could stay.

  “Thank you,” Kate lipped.

  A beam from a spotlight centered on the wall of smoke creeping over the concrete. The soldiers roved the light from side to side, penetrating the thick haze. In the glow Kate saw two-dozen men trudging across the tarmac.

  Kate squeezed the girls’ hands tighter as the men emerged with their helmets bowed in defeat. Their uniforms were soiled with dried blood and ash.

  One of them stood taller than the others. She knew right away it was Horn. He jogged ahead when he saw them standing behind the concrete barriers.

  “Tasha! Jenny!” he yelled, picking up speed.

  “Daddy!” the girls yelled. Kate loosened her grip and let them run to their father. He scooped them up in his arms and held them tight. Hot tears blurred her vision as she watched. Tragedy had opened the door for a miracle, and once again a father was reunited with his daughters.

  -3-

  Meg ignored the rancid smell of sewage. She was more concerned with her shredded legs. When she had finished her first Ironman Triathlon, she’d endured the pain from the thousands upon thousands of rotations and footfalls that went into the one hundred forty mile race. That day, her muscles had been stretched like too-tight guitar strings. She had thought they were going to snap before she crossed the finish line.

  The agony she felt now was worse. She still hadn’t gotten a good look at the damage the creatures had inflicted. The tunnels were too dark for that, but she knew from the pain that it had to be bad.

  “Give me a weapon,” Meg said.

  The two soldiers carrying her down the tunnel hesitated for a moment. Beckham, the man on her right, shook his head.

  “No way in hell you can fight like this,” he said.

  “A weapon,” Meg repeated. “Please give me something. A knife or a gun.”

  “I’ll give you my knife before we go up top,” Beckham repli
ed.

  It wouldn’t replace her axe, but a blade would do. Steel always made her feel better—even if it wouldn’t do much against the monsters. Ahead, the other soldiers had stopped. They clustered around a skeletal ladder that led to a manhole.

  “Jinx, check it out. See if you can get eyes on the street,” Beckham said. “Chow, help me with her.”

  Meg groaned as the two soldiers helped position her back against the wall. Chow kept a hand on her shoulder to keep her from falling over. Her head felt foggy. The cloud was so thick she could hardly think. She could only seem to focus on one thing: the blade the man named Beckham had promised her.

  “I’m going to check these dressings,” Chow said. He crouched down in front of her. “This might hurt.”

  Meg gritted her teeth in anticipation. The faint scraping of metal sounded somewhere in the distance. The manhole, she realized, tilting her head for a better look. For a second, Meg’s heart caught in her throat as she remembered Jed and Rex dropping the cover into place, sealing her into this mazelike grave. Then she felt the presence of the soldiers who had come to help her, not abandon her. Meg’s breathing slowed and she relaxed while Chow examined the bandages he’d put on her injuries.

  Overhead, the man they had called Jinx climbed the ladder. His feet disappeared and moonlight flooded the tunnel, casting an eerie glow over the team that had saved her. Covered in ash, the soldiers looked like ghosts.

  The sight reminded her of one of her first days on the job. In the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, she and all the other rescue workers had looked a lot like these soldiers. That awful day had prepared her mentally for everything she’d seen since then—everything except the monsters.

  Meg cursed as Chow pulled away one of the bandages. She cursed again when she saw her injuries.

  Chow pushed his NVGs up and caught her gaze. “Don’t look,” he said.

  It was too late. Meg couldn’t pull her eyes away from the exposed muscle on her right calf. She wouldn’t be completing any triathlons again. Not that it really mattered—the only race she was likely to run again was away from the zombies, or whatever they were.

  “Hey lady,” came a voice.

  A soldier with an unmistakably Italian nose stood behind Chow. He stared at Meg with broken eyes. “Hey,” he said again.

  Meg managed a weak response. “What?”

  “How many made it out of the city?” he asked. “Before things got really bad?”

  She understood then. He was from New York. Probably Queens or the Bronx, judging by his accent.

  “I don’t know,” Meg replied solemnly, her heart hurting for the man. “Not many. When the virus started spreading, things got bad really fast. The Air Force took out the bridges first.”

  The soldier bowed his head. Before he could reply Beckham said, “Jinx, you got eyes?”

  Meg couldn’t hear the response, but saw Beckham’s features tense.

  “Went too far. That convoy is two blocks away,” Beckham said. “In the other direction.” He peered into the darkness of the tunnel leading to the east.

  An African-American man with the build of a career soldier spat and wiped off his mustache with a sleeve.

  “What do you think, sir?” Beckham asked the man.

  “Two blocks, ain’t far,” he replied. He stepped out of the moonlight and said, “I’ll leave this one up to you. You’ve gotten us this far.”

  “You boys ready for a quick jog?” Beckham asked his men.

  The other soldiers nodded and approached the ladder. Beckham crouched back down next to Meg. “When we get up top, Timbo’s gonna carry you.”

  His voice sounded so confident that for a moment she actually believed he would get her out of the city. She held out a shaky hand. “Fine with me. Long as you give me that,” she said, pointing at his knife.

  Beckham reluctantly unbuttoned the sheath and extended the handle to her. “Hopefully you won’t need it.”

  Instead of grabbing the handle, she put her hand over his. “Just promise me one thing,” Meg said, searching his eyes.

  The strength there told her she could trust him. He was not Jed or Rex. He’d proved that when he’d stayed behind to save her from the lair, and she could see by the way he interacted with his men that he wouldn’t abandon them, either.

  “If those things come—don’t let them take me again. You put a bullet in my head before that happens.” Meg coughed into her shoulder and then squeezed his hand harder.

  The man nodded once and she let go, taking the knife. Chow helped her up, but she kept her eyes on Beckham as he walked away. Like the rest of this band of soldiers, she had already started looking to him for leadership—for hope.

  “Looks clear up here,” Jinx said.

  Beckham stopped under the manhole, tilting his helmet into the light. “You take point, Jinx. Valdez, you’re on rear guard. Timbo, you think you can carry Meg up this?” He placed a hand on the ladder.

  “Yeah, no problem,” Timbo grumbled. He threw the strap of his rifle over a shoulder and approached her. “Hang on tight. Okay, ma’am?”

  She nodded and tensed her muscles as Chow handed her off to Timbo. He picked her up and draped her over his back with the grace of someone who had carried wounded comrades before. Despite his care, her legs hurt so bad she let out an uncontrolled whimper.

  The other soldiers were already moving up the ladder in single file. They disappeared one after the other into the night. Meg’s arms dangled over Timbo’s back. She gripped the handle of the blade tighter.

  Footfalls pounded the concrete above and a soldier said, “Go, go, go!”

  Timbo’s labored breathing reverberated through the narrow passage. Meg could feel each breath, his chest moving her up and down. Panic set in as he climbed. Sweat dropped from her forehead and plummeted into the stream of sewage flowing below.

  “Almost there,” Timbo grunted. “You just hang on tight.”

  The fear. The numbness. The radiant moonlight. It all washed over her, forming a sensation that bordered on an out-of-body experience. Then the warm trickle of what felt a lot like security replaced the numbness as Timbo emerged from the manhole.

  The soldiers fanned out across the street, setting up positions behind a cluster of vehicles covered in soot. Everything about their actions radiated experience. Timbo stopped behind a pickup truck as Jinx wedged his body through a narrow gap between bumpers. He slowly strode out into the intersection, scoping Ninth Ave as he moved.

  Nothing moved in the derelict streets or the absent windows of the skyscrapers towering overhead. The quiet city was a concrete and metal graveyard—a crumbling museum showcasing how things used to be.

  No one else seemed to hear the faint clicking of joints in the silence. Not in time, at least. Meg should have known not to trust the deceiving sense of security. It vanished in a heartbeat as a shadowy figure crashed into Jinx, and a pair of claws dragged him screaming into the darkness.

  For ten years, Kate had dedicated her life to science. In college, when her friends were choosing paths in fields like pediatrics, she had picked virology. Years later, when they were swabbing the throats of kids with colds, Kate was holding the hands of children who were dying of malaria in third world countries. Through all of it she’d been resilient, praying that her work would help those who needed it the most in some small way.

  Kate never thought for a moment she would be sitting in a room with the survivors of the worst virus the human race had ever seen. The fact that it had been engineered as a weapon made her feel so much worse. The very scientific discipline that was supposed to eradicate disease had wiped out most of the people on the planet.

  She fidgeted at the thought, still unable to completely grasp the nightmare she was living in. Ellis slid into her as he fell asleep with his back to the wall.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  Tasha and Jenny were curled up on the floor next to Riley. The young Delta Force Operator slept with h
is head propped up on a fist, his broken body cradled by a wheelchair.

  The lobby of Building 5 was crowded. The old and young. Men and women of all races. There was no discrimination here. The only conversations were hushed. Hands were held. Prayers were whispered, and tears were shed.

  This was the new world.

  In some ways it wasn’t all bad. Now that the Variants had effectively ended all human wars everywhere in the world, Kate supposed it didn’t matter what anybody believed anymore. Humans had finally set apart their differences and come together. Unfortunately, it had taken the imminent threat of extinction to bring them to this point.

  Shouting from inside the command center echoed down the hallway. Tasha pulled on Kate’s sleeve.

  “Are they yelling at my daddy?” she asked.

  Kate crouched down. “No, honey. They’re just talking. He’s going to be back in a few minutes.”

  Jenny trembled and sniffled. Sweat glistened under her auburn bangs.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Kate asked. She held the back of her hand to the girl’s forehead.

  Unblinking, the girl nodded and said, “I’m tired.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. You lie back down and try to get some sleep,” Kate said. It was just shy of four a.m., and the adrenaline from the attack was finally starting to wear off. Kate felt it like she was carrying a phantom weight. Beckham was trapped or dead in New York, and a third of Plum Island’s population had been killed. The truth hurt so bad she could hardly move.

  She snapped alert at the hoarse voice of the Medical Corps guard.

  “Doctors, Major Smith is ready for you,” he said.

  “I’ll watch ‘em,” Riley said. He straightened his back with a wince and rolled his chair closer to the girls.

  Kate nodded and followed Ellis into the sweltering command center. The stink of battle filled the air, reminding her of the medical tents from missions overseas. She could almost taste the sour stench of blood and sweat. Horn and the other survivors of Operation Liberty sat around the war table, oblivious to her presence.