“There’s something else, too,” Beckham said. “Kryptonite doesn’t work on the offspring. Vice President Johnson is cooking up a plan, but it sounds like whatever soldiers the military has left will be sent back into the meat grinder. We will play a role in the final battle.”
Chow tried to reach up to touch his face, but slowly lowered his arm. He cringed from the pain of the short movement.
“When can I get out of here?” he asked.
“Not for a while,” Beckham said. “You earned yourself a break.” He considered cracking a joke to lighten the mood or reassure Chow, but honesty always seemed to be the best way of dealing with injured brothers.
Horn used a different approach. “You look like a carved up turkey on Thanksgiving, man. Good thing girls like scars,” he said. Reaching up, Horn wiped sweat from his brow, nervously, back and forth.
Chow chuckled, and then coughed again. “I’ll be back in the game in no time.”
Instead of lying, Beckham kept his mouth shut. Chow picked up on his silence.
“These aren’t that bad,” Chow said. He lifted up his arms. “I’ll be back on my feet soon.”
Those were the same words Riley had used. Beckham crouched next to Chow’s bedside and grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, brother. You wouldn’t be lying here if I hadn’t gone AWOL.”
Another chuckle came from Chow’s chapped lips. “You’re right about that, man.”
“I’m so—”
Chow gripped Beckham’s hand back even harder. “Don’t you do that, Beckham. I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you. You made a mistake, but you’ve saved my life countless times. Don’t blame yourself, man. I’m going to have some scars, but I’ll live.”
Chow managed a grin without even grimacing. “I’ll be back out there with Team Ghost for the final battle. You’ll see.”
Beckham nodded. Part of him actually believed Chow. The end was coming, and when it did, what was left of Team Ghost would face it together.
-10-
Garcia didn’t want to go back to the GW. What the fuck was there to go back to? His wife and daughter were dead, and now almost his entire team had been killed. Tank was all he had. A single brother out of a group of six men Garcia had spent the past decade fighting with.
That was a different kind of pain than being shot to pieces.
“Sarge,” Tank grumbled. “You better take a look at this.” He stood next to one of the boarded-up windows on the west side of the apartment. The first rays of sunlight were sneaking in around the boards. But that’s not what Tank was looking at.
A flurry of movement ten stories down commanded Garcia’s attention. Placing his eye against the split between the boards, he watched pallid bodies climbing into a hole and entering the building. The beasts were still scaling the tower.
“How can they not smell us in here?” Garcia asked in a whisper. It made no sense the Variants wouldn’t know exactly where they were.
Huff, and Pedro walked over to the windows.
“I tricked them,” Pedro said. “I dragged some corpses into the ductwork when I started setting traps. The scent of rot confuses the beasts. They like fresh meat. We’re like, protected by a rot shield.”
Lord help this man.
Garcia was seriously impressed, but also a bit disturbed. He didn’t trust the look in Pedro’s eyes. Everyone had screws loose out here; spending six weeks in Hell would do that to the strongest of men. But Pedro was different from the others. The forty-year-old engineer was seriously off. He didn’t seem scared. He seemed excited.
Garcia turned back to the window. From his vantage, the Variants looked like ants as they entered the building. They had to number in the hundreds now.
“So the gas will kill them?” Garcia asked.
“Might take a while, but it should.”
“How do you keep the flow going?” Tank asked. “And how does it not escape?”
Pedro looked at Tank like he was stupid. He shifted his black-rimmed glasses up onto his nose and shrugged. “Some of it does escape, but the natural gas line to this building never shut off when other services did. We have a constant flow.”
“We’re sitting on dynamite with a short fuse,” Meg griped. “It wouldn’t take much at all.”
Pedro shrugged again. “Better than getting discovered and torn apart, right?”
Tank mumbled something that Garcia hoped no one else could interpret. He looked away from the boards and glared at Tank, then jerked his chin back toward their rucksacks. It was time to get packed up. Two hours had passed. The sun would be coming up soon, and the birds from the GW were getting closer. And if Pedro’s estimates were correct, the Variants would be too. It wouldn’t be long before the monsters found their hiding spot.
They were down to the wire.
Garcia grabbed his bag and set it on the table with the maps.
“Fitz, Huff, Tank, gather ‘round,” he said.
Meg grabbed an axe she had commandeered earlier from one of the survivors and lugged it over her right shoulder. She shot him a steely gaze that would have given him the chills in any other situation.
“Fine, you too, Meg,” Garcia said.
She joined the men at the table while Pedro retreated back to the group of civilians. Most were sleeping on the couches, but a few were pacing back and forth nervously. Garcia didn’t like that. Everyone needed to keep as quiet as possible. He pointed at the man carrying a pipe, and then put a finger to his lips as if to say, Keep the fuck quiet.
“You said everyone can fight,” Garcia said, his gaze still on the man.
Huff nodded.
“Has anyone actually had any formal gun training here?”
Hesitating, Huff turned back to the group. “No. Just me.”
“That’s what I figured,” Garcia said. “I’m worried these people pose more of a threat to each other in close quarters.”
Huff tilted his head slightly. “Probably right about that.”
“Then this is the plan,” Garcia said. “When air support arrives, we will wait for them to clear the rooftop. At that point, Fitz, Tank, and I will clear the stairwell and the upper floors—”
“I’m coming too,” Meg said.
“Figured you’d say that.” Garcia didn’t dare look at her. That gaze would break him. “Huff, you lock that door behind us. Once we clear the upper floors, we will link up with the strike team and return for the civilians.”
Tank snorted and cradled his SAW across his chest. “I don’t like it, Sarge. We don’t know how many Variants are out there.”
“You got any other ideas?”
A wild screech somewhere overhead cut Tank off before he could reply. They all glanced up at the ceiling.
“Got another one,” Pedro said from a few feet away. He’d walked over when Garcia wasn’t looking. Shit, he hated it when people snuck up on him.
“One of a hundred,” Tank groused.
Meg pulled the axe from her shoulder and checked the blade. Her M9 was tucked into her pants. If it weren’t for her injured legs, Garcia would have been the one asking for her to join them. She looked like Xena fucking Warrior Princess.
“This shit is crazy,” Tank said. “They’re already above us, and it’s just a matter of time before they break through that roof access door.”
Garcia brought a finger back to his lips and furrowed his eyebrows so hard his eyes bulged. Tank was right. It was remarkable the Variants hadn’t found them yet, even if they were camouflaged by rotting corpses.
Pulling his finger away from his mouth, he pointed to his eyes, then to Tank and Fitz. They all pulled fresh magazines and jammed them into their primary weapons and handguns.
The civilians watched in silence, and Garcia glanced up every few seconds to scan their faces. He could pick out those that weren’t parents. Knowing their kids were safe had relieved some of their anxiety. The guy still wearing slacks and shivering was obviously a bachelor. Only a Wall Street banker would still ha
ve on dress pants six weeks into the apocalypse.
After holstering his M9, Garcia glanced at his wristwatch. Forty-five minutes until extraction.
Another thump and screech sounded above them. Outside the room, in the stairwell, a boom rang out almost simultaneously. Garcia’s eyes darted from the ceiling to the secured door. A crack of metal sounded; the echo bounced off the walls like a gong had been pounded inside the bunker.
The Variants were getting closer.
“Get ready,” Garcia said. “Tank, you got point. Meg, you take rear guard. Stay behind us.”
She raised her M9 in her trigger hand and the axe in her other. With her sleeves rolled up, Garcia could see her biceps flexing. She wasn’t one of his fallen Variant Hunter brothers, but he was glad to have her at his back.
Garcia waited for Fitz and Tank to flank him. Standing side by side, the three Marines walked through the center of the apartment with Meg right behind them. The civilians watched them with frightened, skeptical eyes as they moved.
As soon as they were at the door, Garcia checked Tank and Fitz. Both Marines offered reassuring nods. They were good to go. Meg mimicked their actions, but Garcia saw the pain in her eyes. He remembered that she’d lost someone important to her, too. If they could all channel their pain into anger, then they might just have a chance of making it out of here in one piece after all.
“Meg, you use that axe on anything we fail to kill,” Garcia said.
She twirled the weapon in her left hand. The blade whooshed through the air. “Try to kill most of ‘em,” Meg replied.
Garcia grinned, but Tank shook his head. Fitz didn’t say a word. His face was a mask of calm even as the noises of hunting Variants intensified inside the building.
Garcia checked his watch every few moments.
Thirty minutes to extraction.
It was 0500 hours, and Garcia hadn’t slept for over twenty. Half of those he’d spent fighting or hiding. There were days in Iraq and Afghanistan where he only saw a few minutes of sleep. But killing evil men was easier than killing monsters. Facing a building full of starving beasts in dark passages, especially after losing Thomas, was going to be like fighting while coming off a drug high. He felt weird. Enraged and lethargic.
Over the next fifteen minutes, the building came alive with the noise of prowling Variants. Glass shattered, wood creaked, and the snapping of joints filled the tower. The chorus was getting closer, but Garcia still couldn’t hear anything in the hallway outside.
Earlier, he hadn’t trusted the barricade Huff and the others had used to block the stairwell to the lower levels. Now he was impressed. With the gas, deceiving stench of rot, and the debris pile clogging the stairs, the Variants still hadn’t reached them from below. What surprised him the most, however, was the rooftop access door. It was only four floors above, and he still hadn’t heard it break open.
The Marines and Meg stood in complete silence for another five minutes, stilling their breathing and waiting. Garcia could see Fitz was struggling to keep his balance. His bent blade made standing difficult, and his thighs were trembling. Sweat poured down his face. Tank was putting most of his weight on his left foot. He had hurt his right during the helicopter crash. Looking at it now, Garcia saw it was injured worse than he originally thought.
Garcia closed his eyes and said a prayer for their fallen brother who hadn’t survived, knowing in his heart that Thomas was truly in a better place.
Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.
The distant bark of gunfire forced Garcia’s eyes open. A bang followed and the shriek of metal on metal echoed from the stairwell outside. All at once, the high-pitched whines of Variants flowed into the building as the monsters from the roof finally made their way inside. These were not the cries of monsters charging into battle; they were the agonizing screeches of beasts retreating from it.
The cavalry had arrived.
Garcia flashed a nod at Tank. The Marine lifted the steel bar off the door and handed it to Huff.
“Good luck,” Huff said, his voice shaky. He backed away, standing to the side so he could lock it as soon as the Marines and Meg were clear.
Fitz pulled back the slide on his weapon the same moment Garcia did. The echo of an intense firefight coming from the rooftop filled the stairwell. The sound of war gave Garcia the chills. He grabbed the handle of the door and nodded at Tank, Fitz, and then Meg.
Raising his M4 in one hand, Garcia greedily accepted the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He twisted the door handle and charged into the stairwell.
All it takes is all you got, Marine.
Kate couldn’t remember a time that Ellis hugged her. Not this hard, at least. He had wrapped his arms around her the moment they reached their lab on the Cowpens and still hadn’t let up.
“I thought the worst. I thought you weren’t coming back,” Ellis whimpered.
Kate patted his back softly, like she would Tasha or Jenny. Ellis could be a sensitive man, and she had a lot of respect for him, but they didn’t have time to sit around and cry.
They had a juvenile Variant to dissect.
She didn’t want to sound cold-hearted, but earlier that day she’d faced certain death. She had been given a second chance. A lot of men and women had given their lives to protect Plum Island and the bioreactors, and now it was time to do her job.
“I’m fine, Pat,” Kate finally said.
He pulled away, knowing she only used his first name when she meant business.
“You’ve missed a lot in the past twenty-four hours.” He put his glasses back on. “Where do I even start?”
“The bioreactors. You told me before the briefing that we’re on track with other labs to produce enough Kryptonite in two days.”
“That’s right,” Ellis said.
“What about other countries?”
“Still working on it.”
Kate fought the urge to let out a sigh, cursing instead. “Goddammit, who’s working on it?”
“She was shot,” Ellis replied coldly.
Kate held her breath, remembering the words President Ringgold had whispered to her before the briefing: I told you there’s always hope. Together, we will persevere. The war will be over soon.
Those words had filled Kate with strength—strength she so desperately needed now. Kate had fought to get Kryptonite deployed worldwide, but it wasn’t going to happen simultaneously with the weapons deployment over the United States. VX9H9 had been launched over other countries much later, and the surviving governments and military had fallen like dominoes as a result.
Europe, Asia, South America. They all needed America’s help, but right now the United States had to focus on saving their own citizens before they could lend resources overseas. It was hard to stomach, but it was reality. Politically, things weren’t much different now than when Kate had worked in third world countries—resources would always go wherever the United States felt was a priority.
After letting out the sigh she had been holding in, Kate said, “Bring me up to speed.”
“Dr. Yokoyama and his staff have already started working on Lucy’s body. They just finished using a perfusion pump to shoot contrast into her blood vessels. We also used optical coherence tomography over areas of exposed flesh. That’s where things get interesting.”
Ellis crinkled his nose inside his helmet. “Kate, the juveniles have an extensive network of what look like glands. I haven’t seen anything like it. Not even the adults have so many. Yokoyama’s technicians ran a contrast through those, too. We can look at the results after the autopsy.”
“What’s interesting about that?” Kate asked. “Isn’t it just part of their lymphatic system to help with hormone delivery and the increased immune system activity?”
“You’ll just have to see for yourself.”
Kate nodded. “Okay, what else you got?”
; “That’s about it for now.”
Kate could see the excitement in his eyes. He was ready to see what was under Lucy’s armor, and so was Kate.
She turned toward the observation glass that looked over Lab A. Days before Kate had been in the same spot, next to President Ringgold, watching as Lieutenant Brett brutally murdered Dr. Carmen and attacked Dr. Yokoyama.
The flashback faded, and in its place she focused on a cadaver dissection table in the center of the room. Two technicians were prepping Lucy for an autopsy. They turned the body on its back and tucked the armored arms against its sides.
“Doctors, please get suited up, we’re ready,” came a voice through the wall speaker. Yokoyama entered the far end of the lab through the same doors Brett had used.
Fifteen minutes later, Kate and Ellis joined everyone in Lab A. The technicians prepared tables full of a wide variety of autopsy tools. Some were more advanced, like the Stryker saw that was used to cut through skull in a way that protected soft tissue. Others were traditional: bone saws, rib cutters, skull chisels, toothed forceps, and scissors.
This was no ordinary autopsy. The cadaver on the table wasn’t human. It hardly even looked like a Variant. Kate would need the barbaric-looking tools to cut through the armored plates covering Lucy’s body.
The doctors walked to the table together, Kate’s breathing rapidly increasing as she focused on the four-foot-long beast.
“Remarkable creature,” Ellis said.
A puff of hot air hit Kate’s visor. She held in a breath and waited for it to clear. When the panel was clean, she stepped up to the table. She reached out, but hesitated.
“It’s okay,” Ellis said like he could read her thoughts. “She’s deader than a doornail.”
There was no doubt about that. The creature’s armor was riddled with cracks and holes where the Marines had emptied their magazines. But what scared Kate even more was what they would discover when they pried off her outer shell.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 13