Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Kramer stared at Ellis with wide eyes. “Kryptonite doesn’t work? I hope to God your team has a plan B to kill five hundred thousand armored Variants, because we don’t.”

  Johnson put an end to the discussion with a fist to the table. The impact resonated through the room. “Give the doctor a chance to speak.”

  Ellis fidgeted nervously and pulled his glasses from his pocket. He put them back on, and continued. “I wish I could tell you that we had another option, but we don’t. We’ve been forced to work with guns to our heads. Now we’re simply out of time.” He paused, fidgeting again with his glasses.

  “There’s more bad news, and everyone in this room needs to hear it. You need to understand what we’re dealing with. The observations Dr. Yokoyama and I made over the past twenty-four hours change everything I thought I knew about these creatures.”

  Davis clasped her hands behind her back. She had never liked science growing up, and now she liked it even less.

  “Previously, my theory was that the Alphas possessed a level of intelligence based on the severity of the Ebola infections before VariantX9H9 was released over the United States. Those that hadn’t suffered brain damage from the virus retained some intelligence after VX9H9 that allowed them to speak and perform basic tasks. The children, on the other hand, were born without any of the health problems their parents suffered from. On top of that, they’ve evolved at remarkable rates. The protein that the drugs in Kryptonite targets is not present in these creatures.”

  Ellis paused to let the information soak in. He glanced over at Kate for a split second. She raised both brows at him. Davis hadn’t been sure if they’d even had a chance to speak yet. That was evident now.

  “Go on, Doctor,” Johnson said.

  Nodding, Ellis continued. “The juveniles aren’t human, but Lucy, the juvenile that was brought back from New York, is…or was…capable of human emotion. Before she was killed, we learned quite a bit about her. First and foremost, she was growing at an astonishing pace. Conception, to birth, to what we would consider an adult, takes approximately two months. Which means most of the juveniles will be full grown by the time we deploy Kryptonite. The adults will die, but the remaining offspring will be much more dangerous than their parents.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Johnson muttered.

  Davis watched Kate’s facial reactions, but it was hard to get a read on her. Head slightly bowed, eyes swollen, and hands on her lap, the doctor looked worse than Davis had ever seen her.

  “That’s not all,” Ellis added. “Lucy was intelligent enough to pick a key off a dead soldier and unlock a hatch. What’s even more frightening is the fact she was able to deceive us into thinking she was sick—that Kryptonite was actually working. These are cunning creatures, far more intelligent than the average human killer. Think of the most deranged sociopaths throughout history. Serial killers like Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, or Richard Speck. Lucy makes these men look like amateurs.”

  “So how do we kill them?” Johnson asked.

  Kate rose from her seat and looked toward Beckham, then to Ringgold. “Dr. Ellis and I haven’t had a chance to discuss the development of another weapon. But frankly, there isn’t time, and I’m not even sure that we could design something even if we had it.”

  “What are you saying, Doctor?” Johnson asked. “That we have no way to fight them?”

  Kate folded her arms across her chest, revealing a long gash on her right arm that was only partially wrapped. “Kryptonite will be ready in two days,” she said. “As Ellis stated, it will kill the majority of the adults, but it will leave behind the offspring. In the past, we have relied on science to win this war. Now, I’m afraid, we must rely on the military.”

  Ellis and Yokoyama both nodded their agreement.

  “I see,” Johnson said. He leaned back slightly, then forward. After a moment of silence, he pivoted in his chair toward his command staff. Between the six uniforms, there were at least fifty medals for victories in foreign lands, wars that had been fought when Davis was still in diapers. Even with all that experience, it was hard to believe they could craft a plan to kill five hundred thousand individual combatants, each with the cruel intelligence of a serial killer.

  “Alright, people. You heard the doctor. I want a plan drafted as soon as possible. In it, I want every available resource we have left,” Johnson ordered. “Secondly, I want to know which cities are salvageable. Some were hit hard during Operation Liberty.”

  “I know this won’t be a popular question, but have you considered nukes, sir?” Kramer asked. “General Kennor was looking into the option. Perhaps we should—”

  “You fail to remember, I am not General Kennor,” Johnson quickly replied. “I’m not going to nuke our own soil unless it’s a last resort.”

  Kramer wasn't satisfied. “What do you consider a last resort, sir? Because according to what I just heard, we’ve already reached that point.”

  Johnson shook his head, apparently ignoring Kramer's insubordinate tone. “Last resort means we have no men or women left to fight.”

  Davis wasn’t used to seeing the Vice President frustrated, but the situation was more fragile than a house of cards in a cornfield with a tornado barreling toward it. Every decision from here on out would determine the fate of humanity.

  A voice from the back of the room broke the brief silence. “With all due respect, we are wasting time. There are still survivors out there.” The voice was low at first, but the next words were powerful. “We have a duty to save everyone we can.”

  Davis nodded at Beckham approvingly, but Kramer and the other officers glared at the Delta Operator liked he didn’t have a right to be here. In Davis’s mind, Beckham had more of a right than anyone else in the room.

  “Go on and speak, Master Sergeant. We're listening,” Johnson said.

  Beckham and Horn stepped closer to the other end of the table to face the President and Vice President.

  “As you know, on our way out of New York we came across a stronghold with over thirty survivors. We rescued a dozen kids, but were forced to leave the adults and four of our own behind. Meg Pratt, Corporal Fitzpatrick, Sergeant Garcia, and Corporal Talon have risked their lives to protect those people.”

  “Master Sergeant, you know I and everyone here appreciate your efforts. And we understand your losses, and sympathize with you. But we have much bigger problems on our hands,” Johnson said, ruefully.

  “Sir, if I—”

  “Look,” Vice President Johnson said. “I’m grateful for the valor you and your men showed out there, and I’m thrilled you were able to bring back Dr. Lovato. But our focus now is on killing the juveniles. We can’t risk resources to save every survivor in the field. Kryptonite did not kill Lucy. We will need every drop of gas, and every round and rocket to defeat the monsters.”

  “That’s what you don’t understand,” Kate interjected. “What matters now is saving lives. Our future depends on it.”

  Before Johnson could reply, Ringgold scooted her wheelchair away from the table. She used her good hand to push herself out of her chair. Johnson stood to help her, whispering, “Madame President, you should stay seated.”

  “No,” she said sternly.

  When she was standing straight, Ringgold looked at Beckham and Kate in turn. What she said next gave Davis the chills.

  “Everyone, I want you to see what I see.” Ringgold paused until all eyes were on the Delta Force Operator and the doctor. “This man and this woman have done everything in their power to save us, since the beginning. Master Sergeant Beckham was there on day one. After rescuing Kate from Atlanta, they have worked through blood, sweat, fatigue, and extreme loss to ensure we still have a future. We’re sitting in this room, ladies and gentleman, because of them.”

  Beckham grabbed Kate’s hand, squeezing it so everyone could see.

  “They have taught me that every life is precious, and I want to take a second to thank them.” Ringgold smacked the palm of her in
jured hand with her good hand, slowly, then faster, until the claps echoed in the room. Everyone else joined in, and one by one, the highest ranking members of the United States military stood and applauded as well.

  With her eyes still on Beckham and Kate, Ringgold said, “In two days, we will deploy Kryptonite in a wide sweep to kill the adults. Vice President Johnson, I want you to work with your team to build a strategy to kill the offspring. In the meantime, we will focus on saving every life that we can—starting with our friends and the survivors stranded in New York City.”

  Beckham picked up his radio the moment he left the conference room and kissed Kate goodbye. She hustled to the Cowpens with the other doctors, parting from Beckham as they both were recalled to their duties.

  Opening a channel to Fitz, Beckham said, “Fitz, you copy, over?”

  “’Sup, boss?” came the reply.

  Beckham almost smiled. Instead, he gritted his teeth, remembering how long Davis said it would take to get a bird and strike team to Manhattan.

  “Good news and bad news, brother. We got a team gearing up to come bring you back. Lieutenant Davis has authorized two birds for extraction. But we won’t be there for another three hours. Think you can hold off the Variants for that long?”

  There was only a short crackle of static. “Not a problem, boss.” The silence that followed told Beckham there was something else on Fitz’s mind.

  “You good, Fitz?”

  “For now.”

  Static. Horn glanced over at Beckham, worry on his freckled face.

  “You said we,” Fitz finally said. There was something odd about his voice, almost like he felt guilty.

  Beckham bit the inside of his lip and checked with Horn. The big man nodded stoically.

  “I’ll be on one of the birds,” Beckham said. “Might have Big Horn with me too.”

  “No,” Fitz said abruptly. “Staying behind was my decision. You have families to protect. Don’t risk that.”

  “Fitz, I’m not leaving—”

  The radio crackled, and Fitz cut him off before he could finish. “No, Beckham. Please. Promise me you’ll stay on the GW. I can’t live with any more guilt, man. If something happens to you, I would never forgive myself.”

  Beckham looked at the floor. Kate had told him it was okay to go. That sparked his own guilt. He had all the faith in Fitz, but he was trapped inside a building crawling with monsters, and Beckham didn’t trust another team to do what Team Ghost did best.

  “Promise me, Beckham,” Fitz said.

  This time Beckham was the one to grumble. “You better fucking come back in one piece man.”

  Fitz chuckled. “I’ll be fine, brother. See you soon.”

  The grip of a strong hand pulled Beckham to the passage. Horn had that uncertain look on his face—the one that told Beckham he had something to say.

  “I just got my girls back, man, and they’re in shock. I felt guilty about leaving them with a babysitter to go to the goddamn briefing. And I know you want to go back out there even though Fitz told you not to go.”

  “Big Horn….”

  “They’re just kids,” Horn growled. “My kids. I can’t let nothin’ happen to them again. I can’t lose them like I lost Sheila.”

  Beckham scratched at the stubble that was dangerously close to becoming a beard. He’d only seen Horn like this a few times, but they were Delta Force Operators. Their job was to save people and fight. The members of Team Ghost who always suffered the most were the ones with families. It had always been that way.

  “We both know we can’t sit on this ship and wait for the war to end,” Beckham finally said. He grabbed the back of Horn’s neck and brought their heads together until their foreheads touched. “Even if we don’t go out there to get Fitz, we will go back into battle soon.”

  Horn pulled away, nodding. There was still fight in his eyes, despite everything he’d lost. They would always have each other’s backs. That’s what friends did. That’s what brothers did. They took care of one another. They were family. Fitz was part of that family, too. Trusting others to bring him back wasn’t going to be easy.

  But Beckham had another family to think about now.

  “Wanna go see Chow?” Horn asked.

  Beckham nodded. He hurried through the passages with Horn. Traffic was dense, and Beckham flattened his body to squeeze past sailors and soldiers working in the narrow, dimly lit space.

  When they got to the makeshift infirmary, it was overflowing. This was not the same place President Ringgold had been taken to when she was shot. The main infirmary was already completely full. Captain Humphrey had ordered a second one set up below decks. The long room had served as an exercise facility before. Weight machines had been replaced with cots and medical supplies.

  Beckham had seen some shitty field hospitals in his day. In Afghanistan, Team Ghost had fought in a joint mission alongside the locals in a battle to take a small but strategically important village. Five Americans had lost their lives in the Taliban ambush there. Twenty Afghanis had been killed. Overall, counting civilians, the death toll had reached almost a hundred. The temporary field hospital Ghost helped establish had looked like something from a Civil War photo. Pans filled to the brim with blood. Buckets overflowing with amputated limbs. And bugs. The flies had been everywhere.

  As soon as Beckham stepped inside the infirmary, he thought he'd gone back to the Korengal Valley. He and Horn passed beds with soldiers missing legs. During Operation Liberty, Beckham had witnessed a Variant rip a Marine’s arm clean out of its socket, but the chaos of battle had kept Beckham moving then. When he had a chance to see the results of war, it was hard to stomach.

  Somewhere above decks, another wounded warrior was recovering. Apollo was receiving his own medical care. It hurt knowing he couldn’t be down here with the others, but at least the dog was safe. Beckham would visit him as soon as he could.

  He stopped at the bed of a sleeping Marine. He was just old enough to be considered a man. His smooth, wrinkle-free face reminded Beckham of what he had looked like as a teenager, back when he would spend his free time in the mountains. Long before the War on Terror or the Variants.

  Shaking his head, Beckham looked down. Beneath the white sheet covering the Marine were two stumps wrapped with blood-stained dressings.

  “Are you looking for someone?” a nurse asked. She stopped behind Horn. The red cross on her shirt was barely visible against the bloodstains.

  “Staff Sergeant Jay Chow,” Horn said.

  “He’s right over there,” the woman said, pointing. Beckham followed her gesture across the room, but centered his focus on a cluster of beds where two of the people he’d saved from New York were recovering.

  Bo was there, sleeping peacefully, his mother by his side. Donna sat in a chair alongside with her hand on his arm. Beckham shook his head. Another child had lost a parent, and before this was all over, there would be more orphans.

  The Marine in the bed in front of Beckham struggled to open his eyes. His face turned red and his eyes brimmed, like he was ashamed to be seen in his injured state.

  A flashback to the tunnels beneath Fort Bragg rose in Beckham’s mind. He saw the red-haired kid with his back to the wall and a blanket covering prosthetic legs. Hours later, Beckham had handed that man a rifle and asked him if he wanted to fight. In the weeks that followed, Fitz had saved countless lives.

  “What’s your name, Marine?” Beckham asked.

  “PFC Tunnis.” His eyes brightened when he saw the Delta Force Team Ghost patch featuring a skull wreathed in smoke on Beckham’s arm. “Holy shit, you’re with Team Ghost?”

  Beckham nodded. “I’m Master Sergeant Beckham.”

  “Why are you here?” The Marine said, his face showing signs of worry. He struggled to sit up, pushing at his bed and grimacing further as he moved what was left of his legs.

  “To say thank you,” Beckham replied. “And to remind you that a Marine can still fight without his legs. One
of my best friends has killed more Variants than I have, and he’s done it with prosthetics.”

  A weak grin touched the sides of Tunnis’s lips. “Thank you. I hope someday I can fight along your side.”

  “Me too, son,” Beckham said. He patted Tunnis on the shoulder and turned to follow Horn and the nurse to Chow’s bed. In a sea of injured soldiers, it wasn’t easy to spot him. Most of the wounded were unrecognizable in the bandages that covered their bodies. Those lucky enough to survive combat with a Variant typically had long, deep gashes to show for it. Talons and needle sharp teeth could do a number on human flesh.

  Many of the soldiers who did survive later died of infection. Those talons weren’t just razor sharp, they were coated with bacteria, and antibiotics were in short supply.

  “Over there,” the nurse said. She pointed at a bed in the northeast corner of the room. “He’s the second one on the right.”

  As Beckham approached, his heart thumped. There was a reason the woman had to point out the bed. Chow looked like a mummy, wrapped in bandages from head to toe.

  “Fuck,” Horn mumbled.

  Chow was sleeping when they arrived. His chest moved up and down, slowly enough to make Beckham’s heart kick even harder. He turned to Horn to exchange a worried look.

  “Did you bring them back?” came a faint voice.

  Beckham looked down to see Chow squinting up at him. A long bandage seeping pus covered Chow’s right cheek. Another stretched across his forehead. His chin hid behind another wrap.

  “Yeah,” Beckham said. “We brought Kate and Horn’s girls back. But Meg, Fitz, Garcia, and Tank are trapped out there. Thomas was killed and we also lost….” The last name was too painful to say.

  “I know,” Chow said, coughing. “The kid's gone.”

  There was a moment of silence that hurt worse than any physical injury a Variant could inflict.

  Why couldn’t I have been there?

  I should have fucking been there!

  “Riley was a good man,” Chow said, shaking his head.

  Horn put a hand on Beckham’s shoulder, and the three shared a moment of silence to remember the kid. At least they had something to bury this time. They would lay Riley to rest as soon as his body was brought back from Plum Island. After a few moments, Chow looked to Horn, and then to Beckham.