“I don’t mind ‘em as long as they aren’t going inside of me.”
Without warning, Kate inserted the tip of the needle into a plump vein and pushed in the cocktail. She quickly pulled it out again and put a cotton swab over the pinprick of blood forming on the surface of his skin.
“All done,” she said with a warm smile.
Ellis placed a finger over the swab. “Thanks. What’s next on the agenda?”
“I’d like to see how Patients 1 and 2 are doing.”
“But we just injected them a few hours ago.”
Kate disposed of the needle and washed her hands. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and said, “I need something to keep my mind off Operation Extinction.”
“Fine,” Ellis said. He opened the door to the lab and walked into the hallway where Cooper and Berg were waiting.
“We’re heading to Building 4,” Kate said.
“Follow us, Doctor.”
Kate spoke to Ellis openly as she walked. Her fear of Wood’s men was still there, but she figured the best course of action was to continue acting as if nothing was wrong.
“I want to make sure we have the bioreactors online and ready to go as soon as possible,” Kate said. “We can’t speed up cell growth once we start the batches, but we can ensure we’re producing as many as possible by coordinating multiple batches. Colonel Wood has already lined up three other locations.”
“That’s a good start,” Ellis said. “But we’re going to need more than four. What about other countries?”
“Wood said to leave that up to his science division,” Kate said. She recalled the conference call from the night before. The colonel had answered Kennor a little too quickly and smoothly about coordinating the production of Kryptonite. She had been so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t thought twice about it.
Until now.
The mid-morning sun beat down on them when they got outside. Kate felt a trickle of sweat forming on her forehead. She dragged a sleeve across her brow and tried to think. If the first stage of Operation Extinction was successful, they could start the bioreactors immediately. They needed two weeks to expand the cell line and produce enough for deployment. But in two weeks, the human population would have dwindled dramatically worldwide. The thought made Kate stop in her tracks.
“You okay, Kate?” Ellis asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I did,” Kate said. “Billions of them.”
Fitz spat from the side of Tower 3. He watched the glob plummet and then whip away in the breeze. For the past three hours he had been on sentry duty, watching Apollo chase seagulls on the beach.
He brought the scope of his MK11 to his eye and glassed the post, stopping on Building 4. Kate and Ellis stood at the bottom of the steps with two Medical Corps soldiers dressed in all black. Fitz centered his crosshairs on the guards. Both had the same emotionless expressions, and, weirdly enough, the same mustaches.
Why the fuck would Wood’s men be trailing Kate and Ellis? There was plenty of security on the island, but it still seemed like a waste to assign two soldiers to guard Kate and Ellis. Unless that wasn’t their primary mission.
Fitz made a mental note to keep an eye on them. He was bored as all hell anyway, and doing some recon wouldn’t hurt anything.
A yelp pulled Fitz’s attention to the grass below his tower. Apollo glanced up with a ball of fur struggling in his mouth.
“Bad!” Fitz said. “Drop it.”
The dog spat out a live bunny, which darted away the moment its feet hit the ground, vanishing into a bush. Apollo wagged his tail as Fitz pulled a piece of a granola bar from his pocket and tossed it down to him.
Fitz chuckled and maneuvered his rifle back to Building 4. Kate’s group had gone inside, but there were several others on the sidewalk. Riley wheeled his chair down the path with Meg hopping behind him. Fitz couldn’t help but smile. The two made a cute pair. He wished he had someone to share the final days of mankind with, but he was happy Riley and Meg had each other.
Grabbing the bipod of his rifle, Fitz then repositioned the sight and zoomed in on the beach. He didn’t have time for romance anyway—he had a promise to uphold. His job was to protect the island and his friends on it.
-22-
Beckham used the glow from strategically placed ceiling lights as he followed Horn into the complex. A breeze coming from vents on both sides of the tunnel brushed against Charlie team as they moved. The air was cold and stank of mildew, but it meant the ventilation system was still working. Beckham was no longer worried about suffocating or not being able to see—he was worried about what they would find as they got deeper into the complex.
Beckham sidestepped around a puddle and saw a sign that read Ventilation Control Room with an arrow pointing to a tunnel on their left. He could just see the last of Valentine’s men disappear down that passage and hear the distant tromp of their boots on the concrete.
“Which way?” Horn asked.
Beckham flashed a hand signal to the south. They continued past the tunnel Valentine had taken, passing doors on both sides of the narrow corridor. He noted the marks of tire treads and scrapes along the walls, as though vehicles had squeezed through side by side. His heart hammered as they moved deeper into the mountain, part of him expecting to see Variants come clambering across the walls. There was no question they were inside the complex—but where?
“We’re going to carry those drugs all this way?” Horn whispered.
“Was hoping we’d find a vehicle inside after we cleared the complex,” Beckham replied. He hustled to catch up with Horn. Another sign and arrow indicated they were close to the domestic reservoir. The FEMA warehouse wouldn’t be far.
A draft of rotting fruit hit Beckham’s nostrils halfway down the corridor. He halted and balled his hand into a fist. There were two more doors along the wall up ahead, and one of them was open a few inches.
Pointing first at his eyes, Beckham then pointed to Chow and then to the open door. Beckham made his way over to the wall in a half crouch. The stench was coming from inside the room. He waited several seconds, listening for anything moving inside.
“You take high. I’m low,” Beckham said. “Sweep right to left. I’ll go left to right.”
Chow nodded and stepped forward, putting his foot against the rusted bottom of the open door.
“Execute,” Beckham said.
Chow pushed the door open with his left hand and burst inside. Beckham followed close behind, arching his M4 across what looked like a mechanical room. Dozens of boxy machines, each six feet tall, were situated throughout the space, blocking Beckham’s view and dividing the area into a maze.
Beckham gritted his teeth and sidestepped around the nearest machine with his rifle trained down the first aisle. Chow started down the right side and disappeared from Beckham’s peripheral vision.
The left side was clear, but as Beckham continued, the potent smell increased. He halted when he saw four mangled corpses at the end of the room. Bones glistening with blood protruded from the sacks of flesh.
“Found something,” Beckham whispered over the comm. He felt a presence to his right a moment later. Chow stood there with a sleeve over his nose, his gaze locked on the twisted corpses.
“Better check it out,” Beckham said. He pulled his shemagh over his face and then led with his rifle. The bodies were so badly disfigured it took Beckham a moment to realize they weren’t human.
Chow swiped a sweaty strand of black hair from his face, shook his head and whispered, “If the Variants are eating each other…”
“Then they must have already eaten their way through any survivors,” Beckham replied.
Their comms flared as they retreated from the room. Valentine’s voice surged over the channel. “Charlie 1, Bravo 1, eyes on the objective. It’s in a tunnel just to the left of the reservoir. You better get over here. Place is fucking huge.”
Beckham pulled the scarf down and looked away fr
om the gore. “Copy that, Bravo 1,” Beckham said. “We’ll be right there.”
Kennor snatched the picture of his grandkids off his desk and stuffed it into his pack.
“Hurry, sir!” Harris said, his voice just shy of a shout.
Wood was already gone. He had taken off with several of his men a few minutes prior, and they were on their way to the tarmac.
I’m too old for this shit, Kennor thought as he followed Harris into the command center. The room was packed with his staff. Most of them shouted into headsets as they stared at the wall-mounted monitors, where a security feed played in real-time on the screens.
“My God,” Kennor said. He gripped his bag tighter when he saw what they were watching. The display on the left showed a battle inside one of the hallways. A trio of Marines fired at a pack of Variants flooding the tunnel. Fire erupted from their rifles as they emptied their magazines into the mass.
Several of the monsters flopped to the floor, but the meat of the pack surged forward, consuming the Marines. A female Variant with wispy hair dangling over her forehead took to the walls. She dashed over the concrete on all fours. Her naked flesh came into focus as she skittered closer, like a subject under a microscope. The bulging veins crisscrossing her skin seemed to pulsate under the banks of LEDs. She slowed as she approached the camera, tilting her head and narrowing her yellow eyes at the lens. Her lips opened into a black void and she released a roar that only the dying Marines in the tunnel would hear before she trampled the wall-mounted camera. The feed went black, and Kennor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in.
“How the fuck did they get in!” he shouted.
“Through the ventilation tunnels,” Harris said.
“Can we hold them?”
“I don’t know,” Harris said. His voice was shaky. “Sir, we have to go. Now.”
Kennor glared at the colonel. Harris’s features were pinched by fear. After all these years, he had never realized how weak Harris really was. The colonel wanted to run from the Variants, but Kennor had already retreated once. He’d left the cities, but there was no way in hell he would abandon Central Command. He wouldn’t let it fall to the monsters, not without a fight.
“I’m staying,” Kennor said. He dropped his bag on a chair and pulled his M1911 from the holster on his hip. The gun had been in his family since WWII. His father had carried it from France to Germany. It had killed Nazis, and now it was going to kill Variants.
Kennor worked his way through the stations, getting SITREPS from men and woman young enough to be his children. They all reported the same thing: blockade after blockade was falling to the Variants.
Even as the other bases across the country fell, Kennor had still thought they were safe here. He’d been wrong—again.
“Get a message through to Cheyenne Mountain,” Kennor said. “Inform President Mitchell we’re being overrun.” He hadn’t spoken to the President in several days, and he was the last man Kennor wanted to talk to now. He’d spend his final moments with soldiers, not talking to weak politicians.
Harris hesitated and then hurried away. “Right away, sir.”
“Somebody show me a feed of the evacuation,” Kennor shouted.
“Over here, sir,” Corporal Van said. He was the same man who had informed Kennor when Raven Rock had fallen to the Variants. Now he was about to show him the evac of their own bunker.
Kennor hurried over to Van’s station, his eyes roving from monitor to monitor as he crossed the room.
“Who’s made it out so far?”
Van looked up with rueful eyes. “General Johnson and Lieutenant Colonel Kramer are in the air, sir.”
“That’s it?”
“From your executive team, yes, sir,” he replied. “Colonel Wood and his men are on their way through the escape tunnels now.”
“Anyone else?”
“Congressman Hauber, Senator Long, and a few civilians, sir,” Van said. He cupped his hand over his headset and looked away.
Kennor turned back to the last remaining feed at the front of the room. The Variants were heading deeper into the base.
“How the fuck are they getting through the blast doors?” Kennor asked.
“They aren’t,” Harris said. “They’re using the ventilation and sewer systems.”
“Jesus,” Kennor said. He pulled the magazine out of his .45 and checked the bullets. It was an old habit. He already knew the mag was full. He jammed it back into the gun and pulled back the slide to chamber a round.
“Listen up, everyone,” Kennor shouted. “Grab a gun and prepare to fight. If the Variants break through the outer defenses, they will find us—and when they do, we fight to the end. Every last one of us. You got that?”
A flurry of youthful voices rang out from every direction. All of them were yelling the same thing: “Yes, sir!”
Outside the doorway of the FEMA warehouse, Valentine flashed a toothy grin. His team was already loading boxes marked Fragile into the back of a Ford Super Duty truck.
“Looks like Bravo hit the jackpot,” Horn said.
Beckham squeezed past Valentine to stare into a room carved out of rock with a ceiling twenty feet high. The space stretched as far back as he could see. There were thousands and thousands of shelves piled high with boxes that had the FEMA symbol on them. Arrows painted on the floor and signs hanging from the shelves showed an organized and impressive facility.
It was like a grocery store without the employees.
Horn let out a low whistle and strolled into the cavern. His wide eyes had fixated on a sign that read Liquor. Beckham remembered Jensen’s request and tapped Horn on the shoulder. “Only if you find a case of chew for the Lieutenant Colonel, too.”
Horn huffed and let his grin fade. “Now ain’t the time to be thinkin’ about drinkin’, right, Boss?”
“Right. Let’s start loading the truck,” Beckham said. He checked his mission clock. They’d been inside for twenty-two minutes, and he hadn’t heard jack shit from Mikesell.
Beckham flicked his mini-mike to his lips and opened a channel to all three of the strike teams. “Alpha 1, Charlie 1. Do you copy? Over.”
Static crackled in his earpiece. He waited a few seconds and then tried again. “Alpha 1, do you copy? Over.”
“Already tried three times,” Valentine said. “Headsets are useless down here. Too much rock.”
“Shit,” Beckham muttered. He paused to think as the other men loaded the truck. In some ways, fighting wasn’t all that different than a game of high stakes poker. Going into a mission without having a plan for insertion and escape was like playing a bad hand of cards with shit odds of winning. Now Beckham was deep underground, surrounded by rock and dirt, with no way of contacting Alpha team.
Beckham jerked his chin toward the Ford. “Is that the only truck you guys found?”
“The only one we saw,” Valentine replied.
Beckham checked the other end of the tunnel. There had to be other vehicles somewhere inside. He cursed under his breath and smacked the bed of the pickup truck. “Let’s get her loaded up and out of here.”
Chow slid a box into the bed of the truck. “Going to need to make two, maybe three trips. There’s a ton more boxes.”
Beckham looked over his shoulder at the single man Valentine had posted on sentry duty.
“Jesus,” Beckham said, shaking his head. It was a rookie mistake that could cost them their lives and the mission.
“Valentine, hurry this shit up. I’ll hold security with Chow to the south. Get two of your men to set up position to the north where you came in. I want everybody else loading boxes,” Beckham said.
Valentine acknowledged with a grunt.
Beckham whirled away before he gave the junior NCO a dressing down in front of the other men. He scanned the hallway leading toward the middle of the complex for a second time. There wasn’t much cover besides a forklift and a pile of crates. Not the greatest place to make a stand. Then again, Beckham
wouldn’t want to make a stand anywhere in this maze.
He followed Chow to a pile of boxes. Halfway down the corridor, he saw a sign that read Domestic Reservoir. The passage curved to the right where there was a second sign for the East Power Plant.
“Wish Jinx were here to see this place,” Chow said in a low voice. “He always had a hard-on for bunkers. Used to say that when shit hit the fan, he was going back to the one on his parents’ farm. Apparently his dad was a paranoid son of a bitch. He built the bunker thinking the Soviets were going to nuke us.”
Beckham kept his rifle shouldered with an ear in Chow’s direction, listening to his whispers. Something about the old stories helped him relax.
“Remember that time Panda and Riley got into it at the Bing?” Chow said with a half grin. “Riley said Panda was hogging the dancers that night. But it really boiled down to the fact they both wanted the one with the big-ass booty. Do you remember that chick’s name?”
“Tank.”
Chow chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Same night that Riley danced in his underwear on stage.”
It had also been the last night out Team Ghost had ever enjoyed together. Beckham blinked away the memories and scoped the passage.
“Keep sharp,” he said.
“Sorry,” Chow replied. He gently smacked the side of his helmet and centered his gun on the hallway.
Beckham flung a glance over his shoulder. The pickup was almost loaded. He pushed the mini-mike back to his lips to try Horn on the comm. He wasn’t far, but Beckham didn’t want to leave his post.
“Charlie 2, you copy? Over,” Beckham said.
“Roger, Boss.”
“Take Charlie 4 with you on the first load, leave the pickup, and return with another vehicle. There were plenty outside.”
“Copy that,” Horn said. He emerged from the warehouse a moment later, his tattooed arms flexing under the weight of three boxes. After laying them into the bed of the truck, he popped a thumbs up and climbed into the cab. Lombardi jumped in the passenger side.
The diesel engine coughed to life, and the sound of human engineering filled the tunnel for the first time on their mission. Despite the reassuring noise, Beckham felt his gut tighten. The narrow tunnels carried sound like a gong in a temple.
Extinction Age Page 23