Horn maneuvered the truck around a forklift and then pulled away. Valentine’s team continued stacking boxes outside the entrance to the cavern. Things were going smoothly.
Too smoothly.
That meant shit was about to happen, Beckham could feel it in his bones. As he turned back to the south and raised his rifle, the pain from the stitches lanced down his arm.
For fifteen minutes, Beckham and Chow waited there in silence. Beckham endured the burn of his injury as he stood with his shoulders squared. By the time Horn returned with a new truck, Beckham’s M4 was trembling in his hands and perspiration was cascading down his forehead.
“Crates are secure,” Valentine said. He set a final box at the entrance to the warehouse as Horn sped down the corridor in an early 90s Dodge Ram coated with rust. The clanking of metal sent Beckham’s heart beating out of control. It was way too fucking loud. He strained to listen over the mechanical chatter and pivoted back to the south. Chow was sweeping his rifle over the shadows, waiting, watching.
Horn parked the Ram outside of the warehouse and shut off the engine. A sharp popping instantly followed. At first, Beckham thought it was the muffler, but the second crack confirmed this wasn’t the mechanical failure of the Ram—it was gunfire. A flurry of the cracks rang out in the distance. Beckham’s heart rate escalated with every shot.
Chow looked around wildly. “Where’s it coming from?”
“Load the truck!” Beckham shouted. “Lombardi, on me. Horn, you too.” They formed a human wall, their weapons angled to the south where the majority of the shots seemed to be reverberating.
He had a decision to make: provide support to Alpha or retreat with the drugs? Without having any way of contacting Mikesell, he couldn’t know how bad things were or if they could even help.
Beckham looked from the southern tunnel to the truck. Once it was loaded, he felt the burn of eyes on him. With a heavy heart, he made his decision. The drugs were the most important part of the mission. Mikesell and Alpha were on their own.
“Move out,” Beckham said.
“Wait!” Chow said. “What’s that?” He trained his weapon on a vehicle zipping down the tunnel to the south. Beams from its headlights caught Beckham in the face. He shielded his eyes as a Humvee came screeching to a stop a few hundred feet away.
Beckham raised his gun and zoomed in on the bloody face of a Medical Corps soldier in black fatigues who stumbled out of the truck. Weaponless, the man waved his arms frantically and screamed for help.
The Dodge Ram crackled to life behind them, and Beckham glanced over his shoulder to see Valentine in the driver’s seat. The rest of his men were piling into the truck.
“Let’s go!” Valentine shouted.
Beckham turned back to the Humvee. The soldier from Mikesell’s team collapsed in front of the truck and then pushed himself to his feet, screaming, “We need help! We found survivors, but the Variants are everywhere!”
Beckham closed his eyes for a brief second, his mind shifting from thoughts of Kate to everyone else on Plum Island. They needed him there, but so did the survivors trapped down here. He wasn’t going to leave soldiers or civilians behind. Not if he could help. He couldn’t abandon anyone.
“I’ll go. You guys get the fuck out of here,” Beckham said.
“Like hell,” Chow said.
“Not leaving you, Boss,” Horn said with a snort.
Lombardi looked at the staggering soldier and then back at Beckham. “I’m with you.”
Beckham turned to the loaded truck. “Valentine, get the drugs to the choppers! Tell Echo 2 and Echo 3 to stand by for our extraction!”
Valentine held his gaze for the briefest of seconds and then nodded. The wheels of the Ram screamed, masking the distant gunfire as Valentine peeled away. By the time Beckham turned back to the tunnel, his team was already running for the Humvee.
Ellis sat on the stoop of Building 1, his head in his hands.
“How are you feeling?” Kate asked, taking a seat next to him.
“Did I ever tell you I’m a hypochondriac?”
Kate smiled. “It’s remarkable you became a doctor in this field, you know that? You’re afraid of needles and diseases.”
Ellis cracked a half grin. “That’s what my mom said!” His smile disappeared when he grabbed his stomach. “Feeling a bit sick, not going to lie.”
Kate checked her watch. It had been a little over an hour since she had injected Ellis with Kryptonite. Nausea was the one side effect she had planned for. She was feeling some of that herself, but mostly because she was worried sick. Beckham and the others would have landed at Raven Rock now. Operation Extinction was well underway.
“Do you feel anything else?” Kate asked.
Ellis shook his head. “Nope, just sick to my stomach.”
“Hey, Doc!” came a voice.
Kate raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Riley and Meg were making their way down the pathway. “Good job, Meg. You’re doing great,” Riley said as she hopped along on her crutches, keeping pace with him. Kate felt a mixture of sadness and happiness at the sight. While she was pleased to see the two together, it made her miss Beckham even more.
Riley stopped and locked his wheels at the bottom of the steps. He twisted in his chair to look in all directions. Then he waved Kate and Ellis down the steps.
“Everything going okay?” Riley asked. “Those Medical Corps soldiers giving you any problems? I’ve had my eye on them.”
Kate flung a quick glance over her shoulder. Cooper and Berg were chatting inside the lobby of Building 1. She could see their smug faces through the windows.
“Everything’s fine for now,” she said.
“You’d let me know if they gave you any trouble right, Kate?” Riley said.
She nodded and changed the subject. “You hear any updates about Operation Extinction yet?”
“You mean about Beckham?” Riley said, grinning. He shook his head. “Nah. Probably won’t hear shit for a while.” He shifted his gaze to Ellis. “What’s wrong with you, Doc?”
“Nothing. I’m fine,” Ellis said. He grimaced as his gut made a complicated sound that Kate could hear from where she stood.
“We better get you some anti-nausea meds,” Kate said. “Come on.”
“Wait,” Meg said. She hopped closer to the stairs and searched Kate’s eyes like she was about to ask the most important question in the world.
“The weapon you made,” Meg said. “Is it really going to work?”
Kate reached down to help Ellis up and said, “We sure hope so.”
“Me too,” Meg said, turning to face in the direction of New York. “I want to believe I can go home someday.”
-23-
The metal doors rattled so hard Kennor almost dropped his .45. He steadied the gun and kept it aimed at the entrance. The Variants pounded on the other side relentlessly. They had murdered and eaten their way through the entire base, and it was only a matter of time before they found a way inside the command center.
Harris stood his ground a few feet away. He cupped his hands over his headset, still listening for intel down to the very last second.
“Sir,” Harris said. “I’ve got Colonel Wood on the line. He wants to talk to you.”
Kennor nodded and reached for Harris’s headset. He used his knife hand to hold his .45 and grabbed the headset with his other.
The emergency alarms screamed from every corner of the room, the electronic whine making it nearly impossible to think. Never in his career had he felt the prickle of fear so deep. He’d given the orders that had sent countless others to their deaths, and before that he’d led men into battle—but even those bullet-riddled memories paled against the prospect of being torn apart by a horde of goddamn monsters.
“Go ahead, Wood,” Kennor said after a deep breath.
“General, why aren’t you on a bird?” Wood asked. His voice sounded distant, but Kennor could still make out his dry tone. It was almost as
obnoxious as the emergency alarms.
“I decided to stay with my staff,” Kennor said.
“Honorable, sir,” Wood said, somehow making the word into an insult.
“Promise me you’ll finish Operation Extinction, Wood.”
“Colonel Gibson and I made a commitment to our nation that we would come up with a weapon to wipe our enemies off the face of the Earth. I’m not going to give up now.”
The door shook violently as a Variant rammed the other side. The thud echoed over the screeching sirens. Kennor gripped his .45 tighter in his hand, his fingers slimy with sweat.
“The Hemorrhage virus wasn’t exactly my idea of destroying our enemies,” Wood said. “But in the end, I think it shall work out rather nicely. I plan on using Earthfall over the US and selected territories. I’ll probably save Puerto Rico. I always did like San Juan. In a few weeks, we’ll take back our country and will never have to worry about enemies overseas…” His voice disappeared in a flurry of white noise.
“Colonel… Colonel!” Kennor shouted, his gut tightening.
“I’m here,” Wood said a moment later.
“What about our allies? What about the British or the French? We can’t abandon them!” Kennor shouted.
Wood sighed, his breath crackling across the line. “You used to remind me a lot of Secretary of Defense McNamara. Remember him? The architect of the Vietnam War? He put our national security first. Took the fight abroad. But you? You’re a disappointment, sir.”
“You son of a bitch, I should have known not to trust you,” Kennor said. “You can’t do this, Wood. You can’t abandon our allies.”
Wood let out a laugh. “We’re on our own now, General.”
The feed cut out. Kennor ripped the headset off and tossed it to Harris. “Get General Johnson and Lieutenant Colonel Kramer on the horn. NOW! Tell them they have—”
The sirens abruptly shut off and darkness washed over the room. Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the command center in a malicious red. The pounding on the door stopped, too, and a rattling broke out overhead.
Kennor spun, his .45 darting across the ceiling from panel to panel. Everyone in the room fell quiet.
“When they come, watch your covering fire,” Kennor said.
Vicious scratching reverberated through the ductwork as the Variants clawed at the metal. Kennor shivered at the sounds, his breathing coming out in gasps. The Marines at the door took up position behind Harris, and Kennor worked his way through the stations to them. The other officers formed a perimeter, holding their sidearms. Corporal Van was the only one still at his desk. He was staring at the tile above his station.
Kennor waved at him, but froze when he saw dust raining from the ceiling. The flakes fluttered through the glow of the red light. Van turned and locked eyes with Kennor just as the panels overhead gave way.
Before Van could move, a Variant was on him. He let out a high-pitched scream as the monster tore him apart. The sound abruptly ended when it slashed his jugular vein and then clamped its bulging lips onto his neck.
Kennor ended Van’s suffering with a shot to his head. He squeezed off two more into the Variant’s back just as all hell broke loose. Ceiling panels in every corner of the command center cracked and plummeted to the ground. Variants poured from above.
The crack of gunfire sounded and muzzle flashes illuminated the pale, naked bodies of a dozen monsters. They darted across the room the moment they hit the ground.
He focused on the creature still perched on Van’s broken body. It pulled its lips away, clawed at its back, and let out a guttural roar of rage. Kennor squeezed off a shot that hit the monster right between its yellow eyes.
Kennor whirled to find another target when something hot stung his back and sent him crashing to the floor. His face smashed onto the ground. He struggled to get up, but everything below his belt felt numb. He watched helplessly as his staff vanished one by one, the Variants pulling them into the darkness.
He heard the popping of joints and screeching of claws before he saw the monster crawling toward him with its back arched in a catlike stance. With no small amount of effort, he rolled his head to the side just as the Variant leapt and sunk its claws into his paralyzed legs.
There was no physical pain, only the mental anguish of his failure. Kennor had failed to save Central Command, failed to save his beloved country. From Reaper to Liberty and now Extinction—he had made all the wrong choices, and now he would pay for it. It was the last thought that crossed his mind as his vision went dark and the Variants dragged him away.
Beckham grabbed the injured soldier under an arm. “Where is Alpha?”
He pointed to the south and said, “Just outside the Industrial Reservoir. We found survivors hunkered down in the Presidential Command Center. We were evacuating them when w-we…”—he stuttered, his long chin wobbling—”we woke the nest.”
Beckham looked over at Chow. He knew what they were heading into. If there was a nest inside, then the chances of any of them making it out alive were slim.
“When we couldn’t raise you on the radio, Sergeant Mikesell ordered me to come find you guys. I picked up the Humvee along the way,” the soldier continued.
“How bad are you hurt?” Chow asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. He grimaced and pulled his hand away from a slash on his chest.
“What’s your name, soldier?” Beckham asked.
“Sawyer,” he said, still looking down at his red-stained hand.
“You did the right thing, Sawyer. Just hang in there.”
The pop of gunfire echoed through the tunnel. It meant there were still soldiers fighting, and it snapped Beckham into motion.
“Horn, help Sawyer. Let’s move,” Beckham said. “I’ll drive.”
He climbed inside the Humvee and waited for the others to pile in. There was a turret with an M260 and a spotlight on top of the truck. It was a good old-fashioned M1 that looked like it had been used for patrols. No bells and whistles, just a diesel engine and a drivetrain that could handle virtually any terrain on the planet.
Beckham put the truck in gear and stomped the pedal. With stealth out the window, he didn’t care who heard them coming. He gripped the wheel tightly and sped down the tunnel, navigating around the crates and boxes that littered the road.
“How many are there?” Beckham asked.
“We found six survivors,” Sawyer replied. “A scientist, a—”
“How many Variants!” Beckham said, his voice raised. He watched Sawyer’s reaction in the rear view mirror.
The soldier shook his head. “I don’t know. A hundred, maybe.”
Beckham caught Horn’s gaze in the mirror as he pulled his skull mask over his face. When it was in position, he hefted his M249 out the open window.
“Mikesell, do you copy?” Beckham said into the comm. “Mikesell, where the fuck are you?”
A few words weakened by static made it through.
“In… West power...”
Beckham didn’t need to look at the map still tucked into his vest to know where he was going. Pushing the pedal harder, he accelerated through an open stretch of tunnel.
“Get ready,” Beckham said. “We’ll pick up the survivors and evacuate through Portal A or B. Whichever is clear.”
“What if neither are clear?” Lombardi asked.
Beckham kept his eyes on the road. “Then we fight our way out.”
They still had some outs, but Beckham didn’t like his poker hand. Five men against an army? It didn’t matter how many bullets they had. The odds of making it out alive were dismal.
At the far end of the tunnel, Beckham saw a flurry of movement. He flicked on the brights that cut through the shadowy passage. In the glow of the beams, a sea of Variants swarmed. They covered every square inch of concrete: the ground, walls, and even the ceiling.
“Holy shit,” Beckham whispered.
“There,” Sawyer yelled. “That’s the plant.”
/> Beckham eased off the gas as they approached. He used the stolen minute to think of a plan. Sawyer had been wrong—there were more than one hundred.
The Variants on the edges of the mass scampered on all fours, some of them stopping to crouch and claw their way through the throng. As the Humvee coasted toward them, the Variants turned and centered their gaze on the truck.
“Boss, you got a plan?” Horn shouted.
“I’m working on one.”
The Variants caught in the rays of the vehicle’s lights broke off from the pack, squawking and leaping out of the way. Beckham had almost forgotten how much they hated light.
“Horn, get on the gun and turn on that spotlight!” Beckham shouted. “Everyone else, train your fire on the mob when I give the order.” He pushed the mini-mike back to his lips and said, “Mikesell, we’re almost there. I’ll get as close to the doors as possible. Be ready to roll.”
“Roger,” Mikesell replied.
Horn pulled himself into the turret, and a beam of light hit the swelling army a moment later as the Humvee rolled to a stop.
“Open fire!” Beckham shouted.
Streaks of red lanced through the tunnel. The rounds tore a hole into the swarm and sent body parts spurting in all directions.
Beckham’s heart climbed into his throat when he saw the entire army shift like it was a single clump of flesh. They certainly had the monsters’ attention now. He leaned out the driver’s side window and fired his M4. The crack of gunfire was deafening. Beckham could hardly hear the primal screeches of the creatures as the rounds cut them down.
The spotlight seemed to deter the Variants even more than the 7.62mm rounds Horn was unloading into the mass. A dozen of the monsters attempted to gallop toward the Humvee, but they only made it fifty feet before they vanished in the spray of gunfire.
Beckham pulled himself back into the truck and waited for an opportunity to break through the army. The mob was dispersing now, retreating from the lights and gunfire. He seized his moment and sped toward the power plant.
Extinction Age Page 24