Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The Marines continued across the airfield and loaded into a chopper that quickly peeled away from the ground. Spartan 2 continued to hover.

  “5, 4, 3, 2…,” Nagle said.

  Ringgold turned at the last second and smiled at Kate.

  A missile suddenly burst above the rocky terrain. Another followed close behind. In seconds a dozen were streaking toward heaven. The room burst into applause as the final missile shot out of the launch tubes and took to the sky. They’d done it. Kryptonite was on its way.

  -23-

  Thirty-six hours had passed since Kryptonite had been deployed. The war had entered its seventh week now. Fitz was back on the GW, testing out his new blades on the flight deck as he waited for the briefing.

  Third time's a charm.

  It was mid-afternoon and the wind was picking up, but it wasn’t anything the aircraft carrier couldn’t handle. From bow to stern she was one thousand ninety-two feet, and she weighed just over one hundred and four thousand tons, depending on how many Marines were on board. Capacity was a little over six thousand, but that was before the apocalypse. Fitz wasn’t even sure there were half that many people on board now, although he would have never known by looking at the deck. It was alive with activity.

  Ordnance men carefully pushed carts of missiles. Aviation fuel handlers juiced up the ninety fixed wing aircraft. Flight deck crew dressed in yellow and blue vests worked together to stretch a rope across the deck. Pilots checked and double-checked their birds.

  Everyone had a job—everyone had a duty.

  Beckham, Horn, Rico, Tank, and Garcia were huddled around a crate next to the control tower. Dozens of Marines, Rangers, and even some SEALs were spread out behind them. The teams were all examining maps of the cities they were being deployed to in the final stage of Operation Extinction.

  Apollo looked up and wagged his tail as Fitz approached.

  “How you feeling, little man?” Tank said.

  Fitz raised a brow. “You’re the one we should be worried about.”

  Tank grumbled something that Fitz couldn’t understand. Garcia chuckled; he was the only one who could seem to understand Tankspeak.

  Beckham gave Fitz and Tank his typical elevator eyes look of scrutiny, then offered a reassuring nod to both men. “You look sharp, Marines.”

  Fitz shrugged. He didn’t feel sharp. The long ride back to the GW had given him too much time to think.

  “Officer on deck!” shouted a voice.

  Davis slammed the hatch to the control tower and limped toward the gathered soldiers. They all looked up as she approached. She had earned everyone’s respect after two successful missions where she'd put her own life on the line. She was the type of leader Fitz would follow into battle without question, just like he’d followed Beckham. She was also a hell of a lot prettier than Beckham.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Davis shouted with her hands cupped over her mouth.

  Pilots rose from their cockpits, and ordnance men stopped pushing their carts. Every man and woman halted their work. The wind whistled over the ocean. It was calming, but not near enough to reduce the tension.

  “I have news that I’m honored to be able to share with you,” Davis said. “We just got word that the Variants are dropping like flies in every major city across the country. The final stage of Operation Extinction has been given the green light. We ship out at 2000 hours.”

  Davis’s voice rose to a crescendo. “Tonight, God willing, we will finally take back some of our cities from the Variants!”

  The response shocked Fitz. Applause, whistling, and shouting erupted over the wind. Even Apollo howled his approval.

  Fitz slowly clapped, hesitant to rejoice this early. The adults were dying. Great. But what about the offspring? What came next would be the most challenging battle yet. The mission wasn’t just to kill them, it was to sneak in with RDDs and destroy them in their lairs before they escaped.

  “It’s almost over,” Horn said. He clapped Fitz on the shoulder a bit too hard. Fitz planted his right blade to brace himself and shot Horn a glare.

  “Sorry, brother. I’m just excited. Seven weeks of this shit. And now it’s almost over.”

  Fitz shook his head and glanced toward Beckham. The master sergeant was the only one not grinning like he’d won the lottery. Like Fitz, he clapped politely, but there was a thoughtful expression on his rugged face.

  “Those deploying, report to your CO for orders,” Davis said.

  She took a moment to scan the soldiers on the deck before returning inside the ship. Fitz watched the hatch close behind her. The click was barely audible over the men and women still celebrating.

  Fitz put his hands in his pockets. “So we’re heading to D.C.?”

  “That’s right,” Beckham said. “I’m lead. I’ve had you, Garcia, Horn, Tank, and Rico assigned to Team Ghost. Our orders are to sneak an RDD into the main lair here.”

  Fitz followed Beckham’s finger across a map of the National Mall. He pushed down on the United States Capitol Building.

  “Horn and I were briefed earlier on a major juvenile hotspot under the Capitol where they’ve taken up residence in an old fallout shelter,” Beckham said. “I’m still working on the best insertion point. Recon missions have shown increased activity over the past forty-eight hours. Juveniles are coming out of the nest more frequently. That’s why we’re parachuting in under the cover of darkness.”

  “How many hostiles do we expect to face?” Rico asked. She was no longer the chipper Marine Fitz had met a day earlier. She chewed furiously on a stick of bubblegum, but there were no bubbles or jokes.

  Horn crossed his tattooed arms. “There’s a shit ton of juveniles down there.”

  “How many, exactly?” Rico asked.

  “Thousands,” Beckham said coldly.

  Tank was the first to speak up. “How the hell do—”

  “With these,” Beckham interrupted. He held up a grenade in one hand and a gas mask in the other. “This is an R49, the most potent sleep gas the military has in its arsenal. As you know, this was Kate’s idea, and I trust her with my life.”

  “She’s sure this gas will put the juveniles out?” Garcia asked.

  Beckham shook his head. “Not one hundred percent.”

  “Has it been field tested?” Rico asked.

  “We’re field testing it,” Beckham replied. He continued talking before anyone else could ask a question. “Everyone’s wearing a gas mask. It goes on as soon as we hit the ground.”

  Rico cracked her gum. Tank rubbed at his eye patch and continued grumbling. The rest of the team was silent.

  Beckham continued. “The RDD blast radius will destroy half a square mile, and the radiation will be lethal up to another two square miles.”

  “That’s a lot of D.C.,” Rico said. “A lot of history we’re going to be blowing up and poisoning.”

  “I know,” Beckham said, his voice tight and flat. Fitz couldn’t get a read on him for the first time since Fort Bragg.

  “Any other questions?” Beckham asked.

  “What about Chow?” Horn asked.

  Beckham shook his head again. “He’s in no shape to fight with us. I’m afraid he has to stay behind.”

  Fitz couldn’t think of anything worse; being left behind would have pushed him over the edge. Riley had always hated sitting on the sidelines. Now Chow was forced to do the same thing.

  “Get a few hours of shuteye, if you can,” Beckham said. “We ship out at 2000.”

  Kate grabbed Beckham the moment they were inside their quarters. Both of them knew these could be the last hours they ever spent together.

  Kate stripped out of her pants and pulled Beckham’s shirt off. She wasn’t going to spend the next few hours crying or moping. She knew exactly how she wanted to spend that time.

  “Kate, we don’t have to,” Beckham began to say.

  “Shush,” Kate said, her lips inches from his. “I want to.”

  Beckham might hav
e smiled, but Kate didn’t wait to find out. She leaned in and pressed her lips against his. He tossed his shirt to the side and unfastened his belt. They fell into bed with their mouths still locked together.

  Kate lost herself in Beckham’s strong arms. If this was it, if she was never going to see him again, she wanted to remember their final moments together just like this.

  She ran her fingers down his muscular back and pulled him into her. Reaching up, she wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him. She filled her lungs with the scent of him. Kate loved his musk, loved everything about him. It was biology, pheromones, but it’s also what love was to her—loving every part of someone. The good and the bad. She tried to memorize the feeling of his hands on her skin, the map of scars and bruises on his muscular body, the balance of strength and vulnerability that she treasured.

  “I love you, Reed,” Kate whispered afterward, her head pillowed against his chest.

  Beckham brushed her hair from her blue eyes. “I love you too.” After a pause, he said, “I’m coming back. I promise. I’m going to see our child born.”

  Kate fought down the tears. She was not going to lose control now. She had to be strong. Not just for herself, but also for him. This time he needed her just as much as she needed him. She could feel it in his hammering heart.

  Even Delta Force Operators felt fear.

  “You’re damn right,” Kate said, sitting up. She put a hand on his naked chest, right over his heart. “I can feel it.”

  Beckham put his hand over hers. They locked eyes, a fleeting moment that felt like it lasted forever.

  “Nothing’s going to stop me from coming back to you, Kate.”

  The confidence in his eyes made her smile. She scooted back to him and rested her head once more on his chest.

  For hours they lay there, talking and kissing. They made love a second time, and when they were finished, Beckham asked, “What should we name our child?”

  She looked over at him, smiling. “I haven’t had much of a chance to think about it. Have any ideas?”

  He hesitated. “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we name him Javier Riley, in memory of your brother and Riley.”

  Kate’s heart kicked harder. “And if it’s a girl?”

  “How about Meghan Joyce, after Meg and my mother?”

  “Reed,” Kate whispered. She kissed him on the forehead and wiped away a tear that she couldn’t hold inside. “I think those are fantastic choices.”

  A rap on the door snapped them both to attention. Her heart rate elevated as she looked at the clock. Their time together was up.

  For once, luck was on their side. A storm front had carried Kryptonite like a wildfire over the states. Beckham had never considered divine intervention before, but it felt like a miracle. The weapon worked better than even the science team had expected, killing over ninety nine percent of the adult Variants. Just shy of two days after the launch, virtually every Variant in the lower forty-eight states was dead or dying.

  Despite the victory, Beckham couldn’t bury his dread. He stood on the flight deck next to some of the toughest sons of bitches left in the world. Horn, Fitz, Garcia, Tank, Rico, Davis, and even Chow had made it topside. Apollo sat at Beckham’s boots. All around them, soldiers stood at attention. It was hard to tell who was who under their plates of black armor and helmets topped with night vision goggles. Webbing packed full of flares and gear crisscrossed their legs and arms. Pouches stuffed with extra magazines covered their extremities. M67 and R49 grenades hung from vests. They were some of the last soldiers in the world, and they were ready to fight against overwhelming odds to save their country.

  Armored plates bulwarked vital parts, but Beckham knew it wasn’t enough. If they were compromised, if the gas didn’t work, the armor would do nothing to stop the juveniles.

  He thought bitterly that all the armor really did was cover the injuries these men and women had sustained. What little skin that was exposed didn’t tell the full picture of what they had been through. But Beckham knew better than anyone.

  He eyed an Army Ranger with lacerations on his wrists. The man next to him had bruises on his face that made Garcia look like a model. There wasn’t a soldier out here who didn’t have an injury of some sort. Beckham’s face had mostly healed from the Variant that had pummeled him at Fort Bragg, but his body was still recovering from the shrapnel wounds. Horn had a bullet hole in his bicep. Chow was covered in deep gashes. Davis had been shot. Fitz was on his third set of blades. Tank was missing an eye. Garcia had a broken nose, and even Apollo had stitches in his back.

  But none of the faces Beckham studied betrayed the physical pain of their injuries. The tears and red eyes were from a different kind of pain.

  Coffins draped with American flags rested on the starboard side of the flight deck. These were the men and women they had lost at Plum Island. With Kryptonite deployed and the final stage of Operation Extinction about to get underway, Command had finally prepared a funeral ceremony.

  A crowd of civilians to the right of the soldiers looked on. Beckham could see Tasha and Jenny with Kate out of the corner of his eye. Bo and Donna were there too, along with hundreds of civilians. NYPD officer Jake and his son Timothy were even in the crowd. Beckham hadn’t seen either of them since he’d rescued them from Manhattan during Operation Liberty. Timothy already looked taller.

  Beckham swallowed hard as he reached into his vest pocket. The tip of his fingers brushed against the picture of his mom and then the dog tags of every man he’d lost since Building 8. He held the metal in his palm. The faces of those who had perished seemed to appear before him.

  Riley was flashing his shit-eating grin as he kicked Team Ghost’s ass on a beach run five years ago. Panda was laughingly berating the kid at a strip club for stealing his stripper. Tenor and Edwards were smoking cigars on a sandy tarmac in Iraq after a successful mission that had killed two major terrorists. Jinx was cracking jokes at Fort Bragg in the mess, while Chow threw a slice of turkey at him. Timbo was flexing his guns as Horn rolled up his sleeves and flexed back.

  Meg was there with her crutches, hopping after Riley in his wheelchair, shouting and laughing as they chased each other like kids on a playground. And finally, Beckham saw Lieutenant Colonel Jensen, one of the bravest and most noble leaders he’d ever had the privilege to follow. Jensen had handed him his .45 on the tarmac at Plum Island as he took his last breaths, and Beckham had carried it proudly ever since. They would bury Major Smith, his loyal second in command, right next to Jensen in a few hours. Riley and Meg would be laid to rest there too.

  But Beckham wouldn’t be there to see it. He would be off doing what he did best.

  Fighting.

  The kind yet commanding voice of President Jan Ringgold pulled him back to reality. She strolled out onto the deck wearing a black suit, a white shawl over her shoulders. It caught in the wind, flapping behind her and exposing the American Flag lapel on her collar. Vice President Johnson hurried to catch up with her. When he did, he carefully grabbed her shawl and wrapped it back around her neck.

  It was a kind gesture that reminded Beckham he didn’t need to be constantly wary of his superiors. Johnson was a good man. Humphrey wasn’t all that bad either. The captain stood to the left of Johnson. Davis joined them, standing to Humphrey’s left. Side by side, Ringgold and Johnson faced the crowd of civilians and soldiers. They were equals. Beckham respected that egalitarian relationship. It was a good sign for the future of American politics.

  “Good evening,” Ringgold said in a voice that carried over the wind. “Tonight we gather for two reasons.”

  She paused to look at the coffins. “The first is to remember those we have lost. These are just a fraction of the men and women who have given their lives so we could be standing right here, right now. They paved the way for the final stage of Operation Extinction, and their sacrifice will never be forgotten. I ask all those that pray, and even those that don’t, to bow your heads and remember eve
ry brave soul.”

  An eerie wind rushed across the deck as Beckham and everyone else lowered their eyes. He saw the same faces as before in his mind, but they were defiant now. They wanted to be avenged.

  The image chilled Beckham to the core.

  He looked at his boots, then locked eyes with Apollo. The dog could sense his handler’s pain. He nudged up against Beckham’s right leg.

  Vice President Johnson’s booming voice reminded everyone of the second reason they’d all gathered.

  “This evening, we begin taking back our cities from an enemy that has taken so much from us. Tonight we will fight and bleed like we have since the day we gained our independence over two centuries ago. With the success of Kryptonite, I believe we have reached a turning point. The fate of America rests in the balance, and in your hands.”

  Johnson pivoted ever so slightly toward the soldiers with a commanding gaze Beckham had never seen from him. It was the type of look that took years to master—the type of look that reassured young men and women that there was hope, that this wasn’t a suicide mission.

  This time Beckham had more than just skin in the game. He had helped plan the other missions with Horn. A lot of lives were on the line, and if their plan failed, that was on them. He also had Kate and their unborn child to think about. Johnson threw up a salute and turned to Ringgold. The shawl flapped behind her shoulders as she focused with narrowed eyes.

  “You are all heroes. Your mission will not be easy, but in the end, you will be victorious. And after we take back our country, I promise you, as your President, I will make it my priority to rebuild our beloved nation.”

  She lowered her gaze for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

  “Three weeks ago, when I was locked away at Raven Rock, I had some thoughts I am very ashamed of,” Ringgold continued. “When I learned that the Hemorrhage Virus was engineered by our own government, I thought maybe we didn’t deserve to survive as a species. But the bravery of people like Master Sergeant Reed Beckham, Dr. Kate Lovato, and so many others, has reminded me this isn’t the case.”