Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Garcia pushed the questions aside and embraced hope. Despite the fatigue and anger, he was ready to rock n’ roll. This was about more than revenge. Every human life was precious. He would gladly risk his own to save these people.

  A little voice in his head added, That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose….

  Gripping his rifle tighter against his chest, Garcia prepared to jump.

  The Variants continued scaling the building below. They were ten floors from the rooftop now. It would only be a matter of seconds before they were on the fences, and the barbwire wouldn’t do much to hold them back. It took everything in him to refrain from firing on the beasts.

  “Horn, get on the big gun and light those fuckers up,” Beckham said. “Be careful you don’t hit any civilians.”

  Harms protested, but Horn grabbed the Marine and yanked him out of the way. The bark of the gun filled the troop hold. Kate took Horn’s place at Tasha and Jenny’s side. She helped them cup their hands over their ears.

  Garcia worked his way to the edge of the open door next to Tank. They exchanged a nod as the bird lowered over the rooftop. Fitz continued picking the beasts off the exterior, but Garcia guessed there were dozens more inside the building. The blurred flesh raced up the stairwells. There was no way of telling just how many were working their way through the guts of the tower.

  The civilians backed away as the Blackhawk lowered over the rooftop, and Garcia lost sight of the monsters. He flipped the selector on his M4 to automatic, knowing goddamn well he would need to fire as fast as possible.

  “Closer!” Garcia shouted.

  “Nowhere to land! We have to hover,” Lewis yelled back. “I’ll get you as low as possible.”

  Garcia kept his eyes on the kids as the bird swayed back and forth six feet over the roof. The civilians had backed up to the fence on the south side of the building. They reached out to the chopper, their faces ripe with terror and anxiety, eyes pleading for rescue.

  Behind them, a skeletal figure leapt onto the fence, the first of the Variants. The civilians turned just as the monsters reached the rooftop.

  All it takes is all you got, Marine.

  The words fueled Garcia’s next move. He jumped out of the bird and hit the ground running. Shouldering his rifle, he fired on the fence, already leaning from the weight of the monsters.

  President Ringgold knew she was getting ahead of herself. That was part of her nature; she didn’t know how to take things slow. When she thought something was right, she put every resource into making it happen. It made her a good leader, and if she survived long enough, she hoped it would make her a good President of what was left of the United States of America.

  There was a war to continue planning, and she wasn’t going to let something like a bullet slow her down. A day after being shot, she’d been more than ready to get out of the infirmary and back to the action.

  It had taken some convincing—and a few threats—but Ringgold was now on her way to the CIC in a wheelchair and her arm in a sling. She was aching for news about Kate and the other civilians kidnapped from Plum Island. After pressing Doctor Klinger several times, she finally accepted he didn’t know anything about Kate.

  “This is a bad idea, Madame President. I really think you should rest,” he said.

  “I’m not lying in that bed another minute.”

  Klinger sighed and continued pushing her through the GW’s narrow passages. Ringgold imagined the doctor didn’t much like being a chauffeur, even if it was for the President of the United States.

  As they approached the hatch to the CIC, Ringgold repositioned her sling. The sudden movement earned her a jolt of pain. The painkillers were wearing off, but she had refused another dose. She needed her wits before returning to work.

  Ahead, Johnson waited outside the CIC surrounded by several Marine bodyguards. Lieutenant Davis stepped through the open hatch.

  “Welcome back, Madame President. You’re already looking much better,” Davis said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got shot.”

  Johnson grinned. “I’m impressed. Most people would be down for days. But we both know you’re not—”

  “She should be resting, sir,” Klinger said, frustration in his voice.

  Ringgold raised her good hand. “I’ll be just fine.”

  “Just try and take it easy,” Klinger said.

  “I will. Thank you again.”

  Lieutenant Davis took over for Klinger and pushed Ringgold into the CIC. Inside, officers had continued their routines into the early morning hours. It certainly didn’t feel like three a.m., but Ringgold had slept most of the day.

  Davis maneuvered her toward a cluster of monitors at the front of the room. Captain Humphrey and his staff crowded around as Davis locked the wheels on Ringgold’s chair.

  “Good to see you, Madame President,” Humphrey said.

  Anxious for a report, Ringgold glanced up at him. “Have we heard anything about Dr. Lovato or the other civilians?”

  “Yes, we have good news. Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters rescued the doctor and several civilians,” Johnson said. “There were only a few casualties during the operation. They’re on their way back right now.”

  “Actually, sir,” Davis interrupted. She stood behind two radio operators listening to chatter over the comm channels.

  Ringgold’s heart thumped.

  Johnson crossed his arms. “What the hell now?”

  Davis grabbed the headset from the closest comms officer and slipped it over her ears. A few seconds later she looked up. “Raven 1 took a detour, sir.”

  “What kind of detour?” Humphrey asked. “I specifically ordered them back to the GW.”

  “Apparently they found a stronghold of survivors, sir,” Davis replied. “Raven 1 is currently attempting an extraction.”

  “Goddammit,” Humphrey said. “Tell them to get their asses back here now. And recall the rest of the air support too. We need to save our ammunition, especially now that we know Kryptonite will work on the juveniles.”

  Ringgold couldn’t believe it. First news of Kate’s rescue, now the bioweapon was working? What the hell had she missed while she was sleeping?

  “We’re just going to abandon those people, sir?” Davis asked.

  Humphrey regarded Davis with a meaningful look. “You already disobeyed orders by sending Team Ghost and VH into New York. Now you want to risk their lives again? And on a dubious rescue? What if they've got people infected with the original strain, like the sailors on the Truxtun? Or did you conveniently forget everything Beckham's team told us when we arrived? I'm waiting, Lieutenant.”

  Standing firm and looking the man in the eye, Davis said, “With all due respect, sir, you could send another chopper to rescue those people.”

  “That would put even more lives in jeopardy,” Humphrey replied. “You’ve already risked enough on this mission—that I did not approve.”

  “I approved it,” Johnson added.

  “And what would you have me do, sir?” Humphrey said. His voice sounded a bit strangled.

  Johnson ran a hand over his scalp and looked at Ringgold. She wanted Kate back, but at what expense? Ringgold wasn’t used to making decisions over who lived and who died.

  Better get used to it, she told herself.

  Kate was one of the most important people left in the world. There was no decision; Humphrey was right.

  Ringgold exhaled and said, “Get Raven 1 out of there.”

  Johnson nodded at Davis. “Now, Lieutenant.”

  She hesitated for a second, her eyes flitting to Ringgold. Then she pushed the mini-mike to her lips and said, “Raven 1, you’re to report back to the GW immediately. That’s an order from the President of the United States of America.”

  Beckham pushed the comms link into his ear, unsure exactly of what he’d just heard. It was hard to hear with the wind blowing in his face and the crack of gunfire echoing all around him, but there were no m
istaking Davis’s words, or the squadron of aircraft racing away from New York City.

  The other birds had been recalled as well. Vice President Johnson apparently wasn’t going to waste precious resources. They didn’t see eye to eye about saving civilians. Beckham expected that from the general, but not President Ringgold.

  When would the madness end?

  With billions dead, and after six weeks of intense fighting, it was clear to Beckham the nightmare wasn’t going to be over anytime soon. Once again, he was dealing with leaders who did not share his priorities.

  The pressure must have gotten to Ringgold, either that or she was too worried about losing Kate again to risk a rescue mission. Those were the only explanations.

  While he respected the order from the President, it wasn’t one Beckham could follow. He lifted his M4, picked out a target, and squeezed off a shot. The round nicked the shoulder of a beast on the fence, but it continued to climb. Tank and Garcia worked their way across the roof, shells ejecting from their weapons as they fired on the Variants scaling the fence.

  Lewis suddenly pulled the bird away from the rooftop before Beckham could shout a warning to the Variant Hunters. He grabbed a handhold to steady himself.

  “No!” Meg shouted. She fired the M9 Beckham had handed her back on the street. “I need more ammo,” she said to Beckham. Then she glared at the pilots and screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Ma’am, we have been ordered back to the GW immediately,” Lewis replied.

  “Hold on a goddamn second!” Beckham shouted back. Kate put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned slightly from the cockpit to meet her eyes. Behind her, Fitz continued firing from the open doorway, ignoring the conversation and focusing on holding back the monsters. Horn’s tattooed forearms were trembling as he unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds.

  The exterior of the building was coated with Variants like a layer of white sludge. The creatures in the interior were pulling themselves out of broken windows to join those already mounting the fence.

  “Lewis, give me ten minutes,” Beckham said. “That’s all I need, brother. Just ten minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, but the orders came directly from POTUS.”

  Beckham narrowed his eyes at the pilot. “Ten minutes. No one has to know.”

  The civilians, screaming and terrified, surged toward the chopper. Several of the men had turned to fire semi-automatic rifles and pistols at the fences.

  “We can’t leave these people! There are kids down there!” Kate added.

  Lewis pressed his lips together, then nodded. He twisted the cyclical and lowered the bird back over the roof.

  “Children first!” Beckham yelled at the top of his lungs. He got down on his belly and extended his hands. He did a quick head count of the kids. They had plenty of room for them, but they could take only a fraction of the adults.

  A woman with matted hair struggled to lift her child. Beckham pulled the boy into the bird, his injured shoulder burning like someone had stabbed the wound. Kate grabbed the child, and Beckham leaned down to pluck a girl from the arms of man. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving lines in the grime covering her face.

  Meg dropped to her belly next to him and extended her hands toward the kids. Blood dripped freely from a gash on her palm, but it didn’t stop her. She grabbed a young girl and pulled her toward the troop hold.

  Harms joined them on the floor. One by one, the trio plucked the children from the roof and pulled them into the safety of the craft.

  Screaming commanded Beckham’s attention to the fence. Tank and Garcia were backpedaling, weapons blazing. A single Variant tore over the top of the barbwire and dropped to the ground with a scarf of flayed flesh hanging from its chest. It arched its back to strike as Tank fired a burst that blew off its legs under the knee.

  Panicking, several of the civilians jumped for the troop hold. A man shoved a woman out of the way and then leapt into the air. He grabbed the metal floor and pulled himself upward.

  “I said children first!” Beckham shouted. He launched a punch that hit the man in the nose. The civilian fell backward and landed on his ass. Gripping his bloody nose, he stared up at Beckham, eyes smoldering with rage. The grip of a Glock showed in his waistband.

  Maybe you should use that on the Variants, you asshole.

  Beckham leaned down to grab another child. Over the ear-splitting gunfire, he could hear the cries of the kids behind him. Tasha, Jenny, and Bo were part of the wails. The nightmare would scar the children forever, even if they did survive. All Beckham could do was shield them as best he could from the physical threat of the Variants, but he wondered who would help them heal their mental wounds.

  “Garcia!” Beckham shouted into his comms as he plucked another child from the roof. “Get your ass back here! Command has ordered us back to the GW!”

  The Marine turned slightly to look at the bird. Even from a distance, Beckham could see he wasn’t going anywhere. The sergeant patted Tank on the back and shouted orders Beckham couldn’t hear.

  “Hurry the hell up!” Lewis yelled over the open channel.

  The crowd pushed forward, and a woman was knocked to the ground. Another man pulled a long-barreled revolver from his waistband and fired it into the air, sending several of the panicked people scattering.

  Time dragged to a halt when realization finally set in. Tank and Garcia were separated from the bird by a pack of desperate people—people that would do anything to get off this roof.

  The Variants weren’t the only threat now.

  Beckham grabbed the hands of a five-year-old girl and pulled her up. The chopper swayed slightly, and she slid out of his sweaty grip. He caught her hand just before she fell back to the roof.

  “Gotcha,” Beckham said. He grimaced and pulled her into the troop hold. Reaching down, he wrapped his hands around the wrist of a boy no older than seven. He was holding a shredded stuffed animal missing an eyeball. As he lifted the kid higher, the crowd surged away from the craft. Garcia and Tank were herding the civilians back toward the open rooftop door.

  Beckham lifted the final child into the craft and checked the troop hold. It was almost full, but there was room for a couple more. Tank and Garcia could still make it back.

  “Garcia! Move your ass!” Beckham shouted.

  The Marines had stopped to fire on the Variants as the group ran back toward the open rooftop door. Horn and Fitz laid down suppressing fire. The fence rattled violently as the creatures spun into the darkness and plummeted thirty floors.

  Shouting from below pulled Beckham’s eyes to several men and women who had remained behind. The man with the bloody nose jumped toward the chopper again. He hadn’t learned his lesson.

  Behind them, the Variants were spilling over the barbwire, shredding skin and flesh. The monsters rolled onto the roof, jumped to all fours, and galloped toward the escaping mob of civilians, leaving a trail of blood. The Marines pushed the crowd toward the door, shouting. “Go, go, go! Inside! Now!”

  When Beckham looked back down, the man with the bloody nose was pointing his Glock at the chopper. He centered the gun on Beckham’s face.

  “Help me, or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

  Beckham pushed himself to his knees and glared at the man. “Get that gun out of my face.”

  Blood gushed from his nose as the man centered the shaking gun on Beckham. “I said help me, or I’ll—”

  A piercing crack sounded, and there was an explosion of flesh, bone, and brain that bloomed from the top of the man’s skull. He slumped to his knees, his mouth wide open in shock. The gun fell from his hands and clattered on the rooftop.

  Gore stung Beckham’s eyes. He blinked it away and pivoted to his right. Fitz nodded briefly before roving his MK11 back to the Variants darting across the roof. He was firing again before Beckham could offer his thanks.

  Beckham wiped away the blood from his face, shook off the shock, and grabbed his M4. He joined Horn at the e
dge of the door and opened fire on the Variants tearing across the roof. Dozens more were climbing the fence. It leaned, rattled, and then crashed to the roof, kicking up a curtain of dust.

  With the civilians clear, Horn mowed down the wave coming from the north, but the others broke off, zigzagging around the spray. Another pack raced across the roof from the west. They were darting for the open doorway. Fitz and Harms directed their fire at the abominations.

  “You got two minutes!” Lewis shouted.

  Beckham fired off the rest of his magazine and looked down to the last stragglers on the rooftop.

  “Help us!” shouted a teenage girl. She jumped toward the chopper, her fingers narrowly missing. Two other women reached up for Beckham. He recognized one as the mother of the first child he’d pulled into the craft.

  Kate shouted something from the other end of the troop hold, and Lewis continued to yell. Apollo was howling at the Variants. Beckham was having a hell of a time concentrating with the noise, but he knew there was no time for Garcia and Tank to get back to the chopper. Even if there was, they would never make it.

  The Marines were ten feet from the door, laying down covering fire as the majority of the survivors ran back into the building. Variants from the west were closing in. An Alpha with the biggest head Beckham had ever seen lumbered into view. It led the pack toward the open doorway. The beast was nearly six feet tall, and that was running at a hunch. It extended a long arm bulging with muscle at the rooftop door. The other creatures spread out to flank Garcia’s position.

  “Harms, help the survivors. Fitz, take that Alpha down!” Beckham shouted. When he didn’t hear a response, Beckham looked away from the door to look for Fitz. He whirled to scan the chopper.

  Fitz wasn’t the only one missing. Meg was gone too.

  “Time’s up Beckham! Got to move!” Lewis yelled. “We got hostiles crawling all over this building.”

  Beckham heard the pilot, but it was just noise in his earpiece. He was staring in disbelief at the people limping toward the rooftop door. MK11 shouldered, Fitz fired at the Alpha. One of the rounds hit it directly in the center of its throat, stopping the monster mid-stride. Collapsing to its knees, it reached up at the gaping hole where its throat had been, a look of confusion on its big dumb face.