One of the pilots spoke over the channel. “Stingers just reported seeing a group of Variants and possible civilians on 44th Street.”
“That’s two blocks from the main library,” Fitz said.
Beckham looked at him with eyes that suddenly brightened. “Fuck, that’s close to the Bryant Metro Station.”
Fitz nodded. “The home of the Bone Collector.”
This time Beckham raised a brow, not understanding at first.
“The Alpha that took Kate and killed Riley,” Fitz said. “Red blew off the fucker's arm, but apparently it’s still alive.”
Garcia rose from his seat. “That’s the Alpha that led the attack on Plum Island?”
“Are you sure, Fitz?” Beckham asked.
Horn turned away from the gun to glance over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Fitz said. “When we find that bastard, it’s mine.”
The soldiers all fell into silence. Fitz knew what they were all thinking. Same thing he was. They wanted a crack at the beast.
But this kill was his.
It wasn’t the only thing they were thinking. Each man knew how insane the mission was. Insane to think they could get Kate and the others back—insane to think they could win this fucking war.
“All it takes is all you got, Marines,” Garcia said, his voice deep and confident.
“Oorah,” Thomas said.
Tank nodded. “Damn straight, brother!”
Fitz almost smiled. He hadn’t heard that motto for a while. Goose bumps prickled across his skin, and suddenly he felt ashamed for letting pessimistic thoughts put him off his game. He had survived hell, and he would survive it again. The lingering numbness Fitz had felt since the attack vanished, replaced by his pounding heart.
He would save them.
Static fired in Fitz’s earpiece from the pilots. “Ghost, VH, we got eyes on something below. Corner of 43rd and 44th.”
Fitz joined Beckham at the open door and lifted his MK11. Sheets of rain hit the inside of the chopper as it circled for a better view. Blood cascaded over the metal edge of the troop hold.
“Holy fuck,” one of the pilots said. “You guys seeing this?”
Raising his rifle, Fitz brought the scope to his eye and focused on a mob of wet flesh in the street below. Then he heard the distant crack of gunfire.
“What the hell?” Fitz whispered.
He zoomed in on a small army of Variants tearing each other apart, just like they had in the Bryant Metro Station. He tried to count them, but the creatures seemed to blend together. There had to be at least fifty, and more were joining the battle. A human collaborator ran away from the fight, twisting to fire at creatures trailing him. In the heart of the cluster, Fitz sighted the armor of the Bone Collector. He centered his crosshairs on the monster, but couldn’t get a clear shot. The Alpha plowed through the rival group, tearing limbs away and snapping necks with its good hand.
“Do you see my girls?” Horn shouted, hysteria rising in his voice.
“Does anyone have eyes?” Beckham said with deliberate restraint. Fitz could sense he was trying to remain calm, but there was no hiding the fear in his voice.
Fitz roved his rifle to the right. He squeezed closer to Beckham, heart racing, frantic to find the civilians. If the Bone Collector was down there, they had to be close.
Horn was screaming now. “Where are my girls?”
“Now’s our chance, kill those motherfuckers!” Garcia ordered. He raised his M4, but Horn turned and swatted his muzzle away.
“NO!” he shouted. “Tasha and Jenny could be down there!”
Garcia crouch-walked away from the door, his gaze rueful.
There was a crackle of static, then one of the pilots said, “No sign of the survivors, Ghost and VH. I only see Variants.”
“Take us closer,” Beckham said. He directed his gaze toward Garcia. “And hold your goddamn fire.”
Fitz’s heart skipped, lodging in his throat as rain pelted his forehead. He wiped his face clean and pressed his eye against the scope.
The bird banked hard to the right and circled for another pass. Horn was practically hanging out the door to search the streets. His eyes were swollen red; the water rushing down his face wasn’t just rain.
On the second pass, Fitz centered his MK11 on the buildings behind the Variants. He held in a breath, sweeping the muzzle quickly over the terrain. He spotted no evidence of Kate, Meg, or Horn’s daughters. No bodies. No screams.
Nothing.
“Come on,” Fitz whispered. “Give us a sign. Just one.”
White noise broke over the channel. “Eyes on possible target on South 5th and East 43rd Street.”
Fitz roved his gun in that direction. There, on the east sidewalk, was a small group of civilians running away from the battle. Zooming in, Fitz centered his crosshairs on several small shapes that could have been Tasha, Jenny, and Bo.
He exhaled and felt the tingle of relief…only to have it suddenly ripped away like a scab being torn off. The civilians took a left on East 42nd toward the library.
“Fuck! They’re still heading toward the lair!” Fitz shouted.
“Get us down there!” Beckham yelled.
The chopper rolled to the left, sending Apollo sliding across the floor. Fitz grabbed the dog’s collar before he tumbled out the open door. The pilots evened out the Blackhawk, and one of them shouted, “Contacts on 42nd!”
Blood rushing in his ears, Fitz focused his gun past the library. A herd of Variants were charging straight for the civilians. Oblivious to the new threat, Kate and the others had stopped to wave at the chopper.
Fitz alternated his gun between the Variants and the group of civilians.
“My God,” he mumbled. They didn’t have much time.
Beckham shouted, “Get us as close as you can!”
The pilots descended toward the street, kicking up a cloud of ash and dust. As they lowered, a crack rang out in the distance and something suddenly pelted the side of the Blackhawk.
A flurry of gunshots followed. But not from the helicopter. It was then Fitz realized someone was shooting at them. He ducked down as the bird jerked to the left. The rotors whined in response.
“What the fuck was that?” Beckham demanded.
The pilots were yelling now too, but Fitz was too busy looking for a target to listen. They were in trouble, and they were going to be in worse shape if he didn’t find whoever was firing on them.
Fitz didn’t have to look far. A filthy face of a human collaborator emerged in his gun sights. The man angled an AR-15 at the bird before Fitz could squeeze off a shot. He flinched as the muzzle flashed.
Several rounds punched through the metal door. A muffled cry followed. Fitz whirled as Thomas grabbed at his chest. Blood exploded from the sergeant’s mouth.
“Son of a bitch!” Fitz said. He looked back to the target, held in a breath, squeezed the trigger, and watched the collaborator’s head explode. Before he had a chance to lower his rifle, the chopper whirled to the right, then to the left.
The Marines and Delta Operators all reached for something to hold onto as the bird spun out of control. Thomas slid across the floor, groaning, and unable to stop.
“No!” Garcia yelled. He dropped to his stomach and reached for his friend, but narrowly missed the man’s boot. Thomas vanished out the open door, plummeting to the street fifty feet below.
The chopper continued to spin, sending the soldiers sliding and bumping into one another.
“We’re going down!” a pilot shouted.
Apollo howled, and Beckham yelled for everyone to hold onto something.
Fitz was on his back, his blades scraping across the floor. A familiar terror gripped him as the bird whirled in what seemed like slow motion. The fragmented memory of the IED that had taken his legs and the lives of his friends surfaced in his mind again. He could still feel the red-hot pain in his legs, even all these years later.
“We have to bail!” Beckham shout
ed. “Get ready to jump!” He grabbed Fitz by his vest and yanked him to his feet.
The street rushed toward them. Garcia and Tank jumped out of the chopper first, and disappeared from view. Horn went next. Fitz held in a breath and waited for Beckham. The Operator grabbed Apollo and yelled, “Now Fitz!”
-3-
Dr. Pat Ellis followed a group of Marines through a dark passage on the Cowpens. Everything reeked of bleach. His heart still raced with anxiety, but he'd mostly recovered from the shock after the attack on Plum Island. With his mind clear, it had finally sunk in.
Kate was gone.
She had been, in many ways, all he had left. The one person he had been able to count on besides Beckham. If she died, he would have to finish the Plum Island batch of Kryptonite with scientists he didn’t even know. The thought was terrifying—and selfish. But so was the thought of letting millions of human survivors down. There were still people out there fighting for survival. He couldn’t stop working now, no matter how alone he felt.
Every step down the passage was one closer to the juvenile Variant the strike team had brought back from New York City. In his right hand, Ellis carried a small box full of syringes containing Kryptonite. He had extracted some of the finished antibodies, attached them to the chemotherapeutics, and diluted them into a solution. It was the same process they would use before loading the missiles.
In a few minutes he would inject the juvenile with the cocktail, and in a day or less, they would know if the weapon would kill both the adults and their offspring.
Ellis had his doubts.
The Marines marched on, and Ellis hurried after them. At the end of the passage, a woman with piercing green eyes, shoulder length red hair, and a sharp jaw waited to the left side of a doctor with spectacles.
“Doctor Ellis,” the woman said, approaching with an extended hand. “I’m Lieutenant Rachel Davis, and this is Doctor Yokoyama.”
“I’m sorry about your partner. Vice President Johnson is doing everything to get her back,” Yokoyama said.
The comment wasn’t reassuring, and Ellis simply nodded. He wasn’t sure who he could trust here. After hearing about Yokoyama’s inhumane experimentation on Lieutenant Brett, Ellis had built up a defensive wall that he raised whenever the doctor was even mentioned. Meeting the man in person didn't change things, and moving forward, Ellis knew he would tread lightly.
After shaking their hands, Ellis said, “Let’s get this over with. Where’s the juvenile being held?”
Davis jerked her chin down another passage. “This way, doctors.”
Ellis stayed a few steps ahead of Yokoyama, but he was having a hard time keeping up with Davis. She had a long gait and walked quickly. Yokoyama tried to work his way next to him, but Ellis wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions. Pounding boots followed them through the passages, their Marine escort right behind.
A few minutes later, they reached the brig. Four more soldiers were stationed here. The men were decked out in black body armor and carried shotguns with drums of ammo. Each wore a Kevlar helmet with a rectangular mirrored visor and attached breathing apparatus. They reminded him of Stormtroopers. It gave Ellis the chills. He’d always hated those bastards ever since he first saw Star Wars as a kid.
Davis reached for the box of syringes. “After the situation with Lieutenant Brett, we have doubled our security and assigned a special team to administer Kryptonite to the juvenile.”
The soldiers glanced in Ellis’s direction, almost robotically, but said nothing. Lieutenant Davis grabbed the box and strode over to a hatch marked Cell 6. Yokoyama joined her, and pulled back the metal shutter covering the window. A guttural hissing followed as if the doctor had just opened a door to a pit containing an anaconda.
Yokoyama shook his head in awe. “She’s a remarkable creature.” Then he glanced back at Ellis and grinned. “We’re calling her Lucy.”
Ellis almost laughed. Lucy was the name given by anthropologists to the earliest human remains ever found. “Lucy wasn’t a monster.”
Yokyama took off his spectacles and tucked them into his thick hairline, exposing gray roots under the overhead lights. He didn’t reply; instead he leaned closer to the glass.
“How long will this take?” Davis asked.
Ellis shrugged. “It depends. Experiments on adult Variants have ranged from a couple hours to a full day, but there are more moving targets with the juveniles. They’re born with genetic mutations. That means proteins could change slightly from generation to generation. If the Superman protein is one of those that has changed, then the antibodies in Kryptonite won’t bind to it and the drugs won’t be able to get into the cells.”
“Meaning what?” Davis asked.
“Meaning Lucy won’t be affected,” Yokoyama replied grimly. “At this rate, she will be a full grown adult in a few weeks.”
Davis nodded like she understood, but Ellis wasn’t so sure. If the Brass knew what he knew, they would already be working on a backup plan to kill the offspring. Just hours before the attack on Plum Island, Ellis had come across worrying new information. Not only were the beasts growing at astounding rates, but their genetic makeup was evolving rapidly. If they could no longer target the unique Superman protein found in the adult Variants, then Kryptonite would be useless against the offspring.
“Sergeant Russo, are you ready?” Davis asked.
The tallest of the four men dressed in black armor strode over. He slung the strap of his shotgun over his shoulder and tilted his facemask toward Ellis.
Davis handed the small case to the sergeant.
“You’ll need to inject the cocktail into the small patch of flesh between its neck armor and—” Ellis began to say when Yokoyama cut him off.
“Actually, that won’t work. The best place appears to be the soft tissue just below the navel. The armor never grew over that spot.”
Russo regarded the men in turn, his mask shifting slightly. “You’re sure? I’m only going to get one shot at this.”
“Relax, Sergeant, Lucy will be sedated,” Davis said.
Relax? Ellis thought. He wondered if the technicians and guards who’d been murdered by Lieutenant Brett were told the same thing before they entered his cell to euthanize him.
Davis pointed at the other three soldiers in riot gear. “The rest of you will secure the chains just in case Lucy wakes up.” She turned to the Marine escort waiting at the end of the dark passage. “You four, keep sharp.”
The Marines nodded and shouldered their weapons.
Ellis felt his heart jump. There was a lot of firepower present, but the offspring were different than the adults. They were stronger, faster, and more unpredictable.
Russo opened the case and pulled out two syringes before handing it back to Ellis. The soldier tucked both syringes in his left vest pocket, then unslung his shotgun.
Yokoyama backed away from the door, making room for the soldiers. All four lined up in single file to enter the room, hands on the shoulder of the man in front of them.
“Doctors, this way please,” Davis said.
Yokoyama nodded and followed her down the corridor, but Ellis remained at the hatch to Cell 6.
“I haven’t even seen Lucy yet,” he said defiantly. “I’d really like to be present for this.”
Davis hesitated. “Doctor Yokoyama, you go back to the lab. Doctor Ellis, you stay close to me.”
Yokoyama didn’t offer any objection. He quickly walked toward the Marines and vanished around the next bulkhead. So far, Ellis was not impressed with the old doctor. He was certainly no Dr. Kate Lovato.
Davis flicked her mini-mic to her lips and said, “Med 1, this is Lieutenant Davis. You’re authorized to proceed with sedation.”
Ellis nudged in next to Russo at the hatch, and peered through the glass. Lucy was chained to the ceiling with legs and arms stretched into an X. An overhead light illuminated the juvenile's grotesque body. Gray, scaly armor covered its extremities. Her cone-shaped head wa
s angled down, chin against a plated chest where breasts would be on a normal mammal. Pointy ears tipped with fur hung loosely on the sides of her head.
“Is she sleeping?” Ellis asked.
Lucy’s head slowly lifted, wide yellow eyes snapping open and ears perking toward the ceiling. A lizard-like tongue shot out of wormy lips. Hissing, the beast fought against its restraints, pulling them tight with fingers tipped with talons. She was four feet tall, nearly a foot taller than the children he’d seen in the video from Turner Field in Atlanta.
Davis joined him at the window. “Med 1, Lieutenant Davis. Do you copy? Over.”
A second later, the hissing Variant was drowned out by the whisper of gas from an overhead vent. The room quickly filled with a cloud of mist, shrouding the juvenile Variant in gray.
“Get ready,” Davis said, turning slightly to Russo.
She grabbed Ellis by the arm and directed him away from the hatch. The special detail of soldiers formed a perimeter around them, their rifles angled at the window. Russo pulled a key from his pocket and waited.
Beyond the window, the gas was sucked into floor vents, and the clean white walls of the room reappeared. Lucy hung limply from the chains, tongue hanging from her mouth like a wet tail.
“Execute,” Davis said, her voice authoritative and calm.
As the soldiers prepared to enter, Ellis felt the sting of anxiety. He wasn’t sure if his heart was racing because of the monster in front of him or because of the fragmented memories of the attack on the island. In one, he was running past Riley’s limp, twisted body. In another, he shot the Variant that had Fitz pinned on the ground. Ellis could almost feel the hot blood on his face. More memories came rushing over him.
The boats raced away from the island with Kate and the other hostages. A missile streaked towards the vessels still on the shoreline. The final image was the clearest, like he was standing right there. In Ellis’s mind, Fitz was on his knees in the sand, head bowed, covered in blood.
Gritting his teeth, Ellis reached for his remaining strength. Deep down, he held onto some hope that Kryptonite would work on the offspring, and deeper down, he held onto hope that Beckham, Fitz, and Horn could bring Kate and the others back.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 3