A click snapped the thoughts away. Russo unlocked the hatch and slipped the key back in his pocket. Then he grabbed a syringe in one hand and his shotgun in the other.
“Move, move, move!” Russo ordered.
The first man swung the hatch open and burst into the room. One by one the other soldiers disappeared inside. Russo was the last to go. He slammed the metal behind them, his visor centering on Ellis for a single second behind the glass window. There was no hint of fear there, only determination.
Davis walked up to the window to watch. The men worked quickly. As instructed, three of them held the chains while Russo took a knee in front of Lucy and stabbed the syringe in her navel.
Ellis thought he saw her eyelids flicker as if she were struggling to open her eyes. He palmed the bulkhead and leaned closer for a better look. Russo quickly injected the cocktail and then backed away. The other three men retreated with him to the hatch.
“Back up,” Davis said. She grabbed Ellis by the arm again and directed him toward the bulkhead across the passage. They waited there with the Marine escort while Russo and his squad filed into the hall and locked the hatch behind them.
For a moment no one said a word. Mirrored visors stared ahead. Weapons were slowly lowered toward the deck as the soldiers began to relax.
Davis put her hands on her hips and crinkled her nose. “A lot of good men died to bring that freak back here.” She glanced over at Ellis. “It better have been worth it. I hope to God your weapon works.”
“I hope so too,” Ellis replied. He tried to sound confident, but there was no hiding his skepticism, especially when he avoided her gaze to examine Russo’s profile.
Rifles all around Ellis were suddenly raised at the glass window. Ellis turned slowly, expecting to see Lucy spitting out her guts. Instead, through the glass, a pair of reptilian eyes glared at Ellis. Lucy was awake again, her tongue circling her wormy lips, leaving webs of saliva behind.
“What the hell?” Davis muttered. “How is she conscious?”
Ellis shook his head. “I…I don’t know, Lieutenant.”
The soldiers shouldered their rifles, preparing for orders.
“She won’t be conscious for long,” Russo replied. “I injected the whole thing into her gut.” He handed Ellis the extra syringe of Kryptonite to put back in the case.
Ellis grabbed it without taking his eyes of the little monster’s pointed tongue. It shot back into Lucy’s mouth and her lips clamped closed. Davis and Russo backed away from the hatch the second they saw what Ellis did.
No, Ellis thought. It can’t be.
But there was no mistaking it. Lucy’s bulging sucker lips had stretched into an evil grin, touching both sides of her face. A wave of terror prickled through Ellis. The adults were, without a doubt, remarkable predators, but the offspring took it to another level. They weren’t just aware, they were learning.
They had evolved into the perfect predator.
Beckham barely had time to look over his shoulder as the Blackhawk spun toward a four-story building. One of the pilots made a last ditch effort to pull up, but the other opened the door and tried to bail. The nose slammed into the exterior of the brick building with the pilot halfway out the door. Flames instantly engulfed the cockpit as it first crunched together and then blew apart in a massive cloud of crimson and black.
The rotors cracked in half, streaking through the air like oversized spears. A shard whizzed past Beckham’s right arm. He tackled Apollo to the ground behind a car and shielded the dog’s body with his own. Shrapnel sizzled through the air. Pieces punched into the car as the wreckage rained to the sidewalk.
Beckham said a short prayer for the pilots, but there wasn’t a second to waste hiding. As soon as it was safe, he jumped to his feet to get his bearings. Horn and Fitz were tucked behind the safety of a pickup truck about twenty feet behind the twisted mess of the Blackhawk. Garcia and Tank were already firing at the herd of Variants barreling toward the civilians to the west.
“Thomas!” Garcia shouted. He unloaded a barrage of rounds and ran toward Thomas’s mangled body.
Beckham took in the entire view in the amount of time it took to fire off half a magazine—from the skid marks Thomas’s body had left in the ash when he had fallen from the bird to the civilians running from the Variants. In the middle of the group, Beckham glimpsed a woman who could be Kate.
“Big Horn, Fitz, on me!” he shouted. Beckham whistled at Apollo and took off in a sprint. He pulled the strap of his M4 and raised the weapon to scope the street. The crosshairs fell on Garcia. The Marine was on his knees with his head bowed next to Thomas’s body. The sheer amount of blood told Beckham that Thomas was gone. And if Garcia and Tank didn’t get moving, they would be too.
“Move your asses!” Beckham shouted.
Tank threw the strap of his M249 over his back and leaned down to pick Thomas up. Garcia laid down suppressing fire as they ran. They met Beckham, Fitz, and Horn in the middle of the street. An explosion rocked the building behind them. More shards of metal ricocheted off the surrounding vehicles.
“Let’s move!” Beckham yelled.
Beckham strained to see over the cars blocking the road, searching desperately for Kate. The cacophony of shrieking Variants drowned out the desperate screams from the civilians. That made Beckham run faster. His ankles burned from the jump out of the chopper, but not even a sprain or broken bones could stop him now. He would crawl to Kate if he had to.
Bursting around a Humvee, Beckham angled his M4 down the street. He almost stopped mid-stride when he saw Kate’s blue eyes. They saw each other in the same second, the world around them disconnecting for a single moment.
Gunfire, barking, the frightened screams of children, and the screech of monsters returned them both to the nightmare. It was chaos, and Kate was right in the middle of it.
“Reed!” she shouted. Jenny bobbed up and down on her back. The child reached out with a tiny hand when she saw Horn.
“Daddy!”
“Jenny! Tasha!” Horn yelled back.
Beckham scanned the street behind Kate. Meg was carrying Tasha. Donna cradled Bo in her arms. There were two other civilians Beckham didn’t recognize, but that was it.
Where the hell was everyone else?
There wasn’t time for questions. An army of Variants over a hundred strong trailed the survivors. Beckham aimed his M4. Talons scratched at the concrete, ash kicking up in the air. Thousands of joints snapped as the herd charged, but he couldn’t get a clear shot. The civilians were in his line of fire. He couldn’t risk it.
Garcia and Tank climbed to the top of vehicles. Their muzzles barked to life. Beckham ran past their position, Horn and Fitz flanking him on both sides.
“Stay!” Beckham said to Apollo. “Horn, Fitz, take out the climbers!”
The chatter of gunfire broke out to Beckham’s right and left, his friends training their fire on Variants scaling the walls on both sides of the street.
Hold on, Kate. I’m almost there.
He locked onto her face. The small group of civilians was navigating the maze of vehicles. The monsters behind them took to roofs and hoods, leaping from car to car.
Three of the beasts were catching up fast. Beckham shouldered his rifle and fired as he ran. He nailed a Variant in mid-air as it lunged for Meg and Tasha. The three-round burst hit it in the torso, sending it spinning away and crashing into the side of a UPS truck with a thud.
Static crackled in Beckham’s earpiece. Command was trying to get a message through, but he couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire. It was all just white noise and scrambled voices.
Keep moving!
Beckham’s limbs were working independently of his brain. He fired on targets without thinking, transforming into a machine. His lungs burned like he was at the tail end of a marathon, every breath more strenuous than the last. The fall had rattled his senses, but his aim remained true.
Shot after shot took down the beasts; brains and
bits of gore covered the abandoned cars and trucks with flecks of red. The creatures were closing in, but calculated shots from Ghost and the Variant Hunters were keeping them away from the civilians.
“Kate!” Beckham yelled a second time. She ran onto the sidewalk directly underneath a mezzanine and scaffold. Two Variants jumped onto the metal platform. He mowed them down with a line of fire that splattered them against the wall. His magazine clicked dry as he spun to fire on another group of three beasts that had emerged from the open door of a pizza joint in front of Kate.
She froze, Jenny nearly toppling over her shoulders.
Beckham slung the M4 over his shoulder, dropped to one knee, and pulled his M9 in the same motion. He squeezed off three shots that hit each of the Variants in the chest. All but one collapsed to the ground. The survivor dropped to all fours and galloped toward Kate.
“Run, Kate!” Beckham shouted. He followed the monster in the gun sights, held in a breath, and fired at the last possible second. The rounds weren’t high caliber, but they did the trick when they slammed into the beast’s skull. It dropped to the ground, skidding to a stop a few feet away from Kate, who was staring in shock.
“Run!” Beckham yelled again.
The crack of Fitz’s MK11 sounded, and in his peripheral, Beckham saw Fitz setting up shop against the hood of a car.
Beckham chased after Horn. He caught up a few seconds later, and they ran together, side by side.
“Tasha! Jenny!” Horn shouted. “I’m coming!” He fired his M249 in arcs at the walls of the buildings on both sides of the road. Variants lost their footing and crashed to the pavement. Tank and Garcia picked off the stragglers, but still the heart of the beasts barreled down the center of the street, their numbers growing as more Variants squeezed out of sewer openings and came crashing out of storefronts.
“Garcia, Tank! Watch our flanks!” Beckham shouted into his headset. It only took a quick turn to see there was nowhere to escape. Even if they tried, they couldn’t outrun the beasts with children in tow. He eyed a fort of wrecked cars that could offer some protection if they could set up a perimeter there.
He didn’t like it, but that was their only option.
“Boss, we have to get out of here,” Horn said, his chest heaving. He jammed the butt of his M249 into its nook and fired off another volley. Then he continued running.
“Garcia, set me up a perimeter at those cars!” Beckham shouted. “We’ll be right there.”
Horn glared at him between shots, his disapproval clear on his face.
“There’s nowhere to run, Big Horn. We have to stand our ground. No telling what’s in those buildings,” Beckham yelled as he bolted toward Kate.
She emerged around the burned out hull of a car, Jenny jerking up and down on her shoulders. He kept his eye on them as he changed the magazine of his M4. She was ahead of the beasts now, but not by far.
Beckham brought the rifle back up to fire on a pair of Variants skittering through the ash a few cars behind her. He slipped as he squeezed off a shot, regained his balance, and then jumped onto the hood of a police cruiser. Kate and the civilians were only twenty feet away now. So close it seemed he could reach out and touch her.
Almost there, baby. Almost….
She looked up and halted when she saw him standing on the car.
“Keep running!” he shouted.
Another transmission surged in his ear. “Ghost, this is Wolf 4. Do you copy? Over.”
Beckham didn’t have time to answer. He fired over the heads of the civilians, taking out a group of beasts that had broken away from the main mass. Then he jumped onto the concrete and continued running. He’d bought them a minute at best.
“Reed!” Kate yelled.
They locked eyes again as Beckham closed the final distance. Horn passed him on the way, running faster than Beckham had ever seen him run. He reached Kate first, taking Jenny in one arm and then lurching over to Meg to grab Tasha. Donna carried Bo with the aid of two other civilians.
“Come on!” Beckham said. He lowered his rifle and grabbed Kate’s hand—something he had thought he would never do again. A flood of emotions rushed through him, but there was no time to embrace her, no matter how much he wanted to simply gather her into his arms.
“Horn, watch out!” Beckham shouted as a Variant squeezed out of the sewer opening a few feet away from Jenny.
Beckham dropped to a knee and shot the creature between the eyes. Horn slung his rifle over his back and scooped up both girls in his massive arms.
“Behind me!” Beckham yelled. Kate hugged him from behind as he continued firing. She pressed her head against the back of his neck, her warm breath sending chills through him.
“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me out here.”
“Go, Kate! Go with the others!”
She wrapped her arms tighter around him, apparently determined not to let him go.
“Now! I’ll be right behind you!” Beckham squeezed Kate’s hand again. He hated to push her away, but he couldn’t cover their retreat and shield her at the same time. Kate was just as stubborn as he was, and he could tell she wasn’t leaving.
He squeezed off two more shots at a tiny Variant that had probably been ten or eleven years old before it had transformed into a monster. It was moving faster than the others, leaping onto the backs of older creatures and clawing its way to the front of the herd. Beckham shot it in the spine and watched it somersault into the mass. The crunch of bone rang out as the larger Variants trampled the little creature.
By the time Beckham and Kate turned around, the civilians, Ghost, and the Variant Hunters were already inside the fort of cars Tank and Garcia were defending. Meg and Horn helped Tasha, Jenny, and the others inside a sedan.
A round suddenly whizzed past Beckham’s left side. It made a piercing crunch when it hit its target. The thud of a body crashing into a car followed. The proximity told Beckham Fitz had nailed a headshot on a monster that had snuck up on Beckham and Kate. He would thank the Marine later.
If we survive.
Beckham scanned the buildings beyond, hope bleeding out of him. The dark structures held no refuge, only abominations. There was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. They had to stand their ground here.
“Fitz, I want you in the bed of that pickup. Big Horn, you and Tank set up your SAWs. Garcia, you’re on me. Use your grenades,” Beckham ordered. He twisted to fire off a shot at the wall of Variants. Every maw seemed to open at once, a massive black oblivion releasing a discordant sound that made Kate cling harder to Beckham’s arm. She halted as they came upon a barrier of cars.
“Go through the middle!” Beckham said. He turned to fire as she squeezed between two bumpers. Pulling his magazine, he reached for another, jammed it home, and then hurried after her toward the vehicles. Jenny and Tasha were already safely inside a car, their faces pressed up against the filthy back window to watch.
Garcia and Tank spread their weapons over the hood of a police cruiser. Fitz jumped into the bed of the pickup, and in seconds all three Marines opened fire. The rounds slammed into the wave of monsters trailing Beckham. He jumped and slid over the hood of the pickup truck, then bolted toward Horn.
Meg helped Kate into the car. Beckham couldn’t wait to watch her get safely inside. He laid his M9 on the hood of the pickup and joined his brothers as they fired into the horde.
“Give me a gun!” someone shouted.
Beckham didn’t need to turn to see it was Meg, nor did he hesitate to hand her his M9. A second later she was squeezing off shots at the horde less than two hundred feet away. The creatures seemed desperate, crashing into one another as they piled over charcoaled metal. He’d seen this many times before. They were starving.
“Short bursts, head shots. Stay focused!” Beckham ordered.
He centered his M4 at a Variant perched on the roof of a minivan and squeezed the trigger. It skidded down the hood leaving a wake of gore. Two others to
ok its place. They were quickly cut to shreds with shots to their emaciated ribs, bones shattering and exploding away from their withered bodies.
A transmission cracked in Beckham’s earpiece.
“Ghost, this is Wolf 4! Do you copy? Over!” There was urgency to the message.
Beckham flicked his headset to his lips and yelled over the gunshots, “Copy that, Wolf 4. Ghost 1. We’re in the middle of a goddamn firefight!”
The wall of diseased flesh surged forward, spilling over cars, taking up every inch of the street. Starving mouths opened, jagged teeth anxious to bite. There were too many of the monsters. There was no way five soldiers and Meg could hold them off.
The firefighter screamed as she pulled the trigger, “That’s for Riley!”
Beckham scanned his team as he changed a mag. Fitz was focused, his features calm. He fired relentlessly. Garcia and Tank showed the same control. But Horn fired like a madman, a stream of lead flying from his M249.
“Grenades!” Beckham shouted. He grabbed one from his vest, plucked out the pin, and tossed it into the tidal wave of monsters. Four others sailed through the air simultaneously.
“Get down!” Beckham yelled at the civilians in the car. Every head vanished from the windows. The soldiers all crouched behind the vehicles as the deafening blasts tore through the night. The street rumbled and shook. The blast slammed into the vehicles, jerking the cars up and down.
Ears ringing and equilibrium off, Beckham stumbled to his feet and continued firing into the drifting smoke. The middle of the street was filled with chunky debris. Variants missing limbs screeched in agony and dragged their ruined bodies across the concrete. The grenades had killed over half of the monsters.
Maybe Ghost had a chance after all.
“Don’t let up!” Beckham shouted. “Keep firing!” He assassinated the remaining beasts as they scattered in all directions, shooting them in the backs with no trace of emotion.
Another message flared in his ear. “Ghost 1, Wolf 4. What’s your location? Over.”
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 4