Beckham snapped into Operator mode in a single heartbeat, instinct taking over.
“Horn, Fitz, take it out and get Rico the hell out of here,” he shouted. “Garcia, on me!”
The creature clamped down on Rico’s chest plate with bulging lips. If it weren’t for the armor Beckham had given her, it would have ripped her heart out. Instead, it just pulled the plate off like it was a Band-Aid. A 7.62 mm round shattered the top of the juvenile’s skull as it tossed the armor away.
The creature reared back and released a roar, allowing Fitz to jam his muzzle in its open mouth and fire off a shot that blew its head clean off.
Garcia turned and ran toward Beckham. Together, they bolted for the final row of crates. Beckham could hear the monsters on the other side. He pulled the pin from an R49 and let it sail long before he saw them. Garcia launched one into the air a moment later, then raised his rifle.
The sight of the monsters around the corner hit him with the weight of a bullet against his flak jacket, bringing him to a skidding halt.
“Holy shit!” Beckham cried.
“My God in heaven,” Garcia added.
The leaders of Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters slid to a stop two hundred feet from the greatest number of juveniles either of them had ever seen. The entire north corridor was crawling with the abominations. Some appeared to be waking from deep slumber. Others were prowling, heads tilting from side to side curiously.
The only thing separating the beasts from Beckham and Garcia was the pool of crimson water. Body parts floated in the filth like buoys in a hellish sea. To the east, the hands of the hundreds of human prisoners attached to a wall seemed to reach down. Their moans merged into an eerie wail that made Beckham shudder.
Beckham wanted to throw up. Instead, he pulled another R49 grenade and tossed it at the army of monsters across the water. He lobbed another toward the wall of prisoners, a merciful act that would put them to sleep long before Garcia set off the bomb. He grabbed a third grenade and was preparing to throw it when something hit him, first in the right wrist and then in the left leg.
Garcia was shouting, but Beckham wasn’t able to register the words. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything besides the most intense burning he’d ever felt in his life. His body was on fire as if the marrow of his bones was melting from the inside. In Delta Force training, he’d read that’s what being hit by lighting felt like. But this was much, much worse.
Beckham watched the third R49 grenade spin across the floor, stopping hundreds of feet from the pool. The first two grenades were already hissing gas. Tendrils of smoke twisted like miniature tornadoes in the meat of the juveniles’ nest and near the wall of prisoners. Some of the monsters dropped where they stood, but others leapt into the water.
Garcia was screaming and firing his M4. Beckham could see the muzzle flash, but he couldn’t hear the words. He looked over at the Marine. They were no longer at eye level.
Looking down, Beckham saw why.
He had dropped to his right knee. At first he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. His left leg looked like a limp snake, and his boot was turned at an impossible angle. Then he understood. His leg hung useless because the venom was dissolving both armor and flesh.
A powerful stench found its way into his mask. He knew the smell of burning flesh, and it wasn’t coming from the outside. It was coming from his own body.
Shit. God. No.
Rounds zipped past his helmet. It took every ounce of concentration to move his head to follow them. His pounding heart seemed to burst when he saw the giant juvenile charging at him from the west. Three others were right behind it. They crashed into shelves, knocking them over and spilling the contents across the floor.
You can survive this. You just need to remove your armor and grab your rifle.
Despite the pain, Beckham knew how delusional the thought sounded. The venom was already burning through his flesh. He would have to cut his entire leg off to stop the toxins from reaching his heart.
His M4 lay several feet in front of him, just out of reach. He had to get to it. If he was going to die, he was at least going to take some of the monsters with him. But his arms and legs wouldn’t respond. He could only feel panic as it rolled over him in numbing waves.
A weak moan escaped his mouth as he tried to scream. He fought to reach down with his left hand to remove the armor on his leg, but he couldn’t feel his limbs anymore. They wouldn’t respond.
Beckham slumped face first to the ground, falling on his side, his eyes locked on the beast that was galloping toward him. He convulsed, helplessly, unable to control the tremors as the toxins ate away his flesh and poisoned his ruined body.
That was when Master Sergeant Reed Beckham realized he was going to die.
The lead juvenile pounded the concrete from the west with its massive horned paws. Beckham was dying, but he would not give up. He tried to reach for his rifle again, managing to move his left arm a little before his muscles contracted, then locked up. The resulting seizure was agonizing. He could feel every muscle fiber trying to extend.
A flash of brown and black fur suddenly bolted in front of him as the monsters galloped closer.
“Apollo,” Beckham groaned. “Get out of here, boy….”
The dog stood its ground, tail raised, teeth bared, back ridged as it faced an enemy twenty times his size.
No. Get out of the way, boy.
Beckham squirmed, unable to speak. His broken body partially responded. He moved like a worm, wiggling closer to Apollo. He could see the Delta Force Team Ghost patch on the dog’s collar now.
Apollo howled at the armored skulls barreling toward him. Horned feet and hands stampeded over the concrete, leaving a trail of cracks. They had already closed the gap in a matter of seconds, and Beckham couldn’t even fire a shot.
Big Horn, Fitz. Where are you guys?
To the north, in front of the pool, Beckham’s last R49 grenade released its load of sleeping gas. What had seemed like a horrible toss had ended up providing a barrier that protected Garcia and Beckham from the army that had made it into the pool. The creatures jumped out of the bloody water right into the cloud of gray mist. As soon as they breathed it in, they crashed to the floor and skidded over the concrete.
Shades of red encroached on the sides of Beckham’s eyes. His entire body was shutting down, but his mind was still aware of what was happening to him. He knew this wasn’t an injury he could come back from. There was nothing anything could do for him now.
He sucked in a gasp of air, his heart working in overdrive. Each breath was harder than the last.
“Apollo, please. Please run. Run!”
The four beasts closed in. Six seconds had passed, maybe more, maybe less. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. He could barely see or breathe.
Beckham blinked away the red, and as his vision cleared momentarily, he saw the monster rushing toward him suddenly take a round in the side of its head. Chips of armor flew into the air, but the creature ignored the first shot. A second slammed into its spine, drawing an angry roar. The creature craned its neck to look at Fitz as the Marine ran out from the safety of the orange barrels. It launched a salvo of venom at Fitz, then continued toward Beckham.
Fitz dropped to the ground and fired from a prone position. Beckham lost sight of him as the invading red flashed across his vision.
Beyond the crimson blur, Beckham watched the juvenile approach. Apollo continued to stand between him and the beast. He couldn’t watch his dog ripped apart right in front of him. He refused to let that be the last image he ever saw.
Get up, Reed. You have to get up!
The creature couldn’t have been more than five feet away when a wall of black armor crashed into the monster’s right side. Horn tackled it to the ground, rolling with it over and over until he came up on top. He wrapped his hands around the beast’s neck, trying to find a grip. It clawed him in the side of the head, denting his helmet and jerking him to the l
eft, but Horn stood right back up.
“Big Horn, catch!” Fitz shouted. He tossed Meg’s axe through the air.
Horn caught it with his left hand and brought it down on the monster's face. He pulled it loose with a crunch, then brought it down again and again until there was no face left at all. Leaving the axe in the skull, he grabbed at the beast’s snapping mandibles.
Beckham could hardly hear the shrieks of the dying monster, but he watched in awe as Horn ripped all four mandibles from its face like they were crab legs. The beast twitched under him a few more times before finally going limp.
“Damn right, motherfucker!” Horn shouted. He ripped the axe from the dead juvenile’s face and rose to his feet, caked in blood and gore.
Beckham felt something then. Not pain. Not fear.
Pride.
He couldn’t believe Horn had killed one of those things with his bare fucking hands. He’d saved Beckham. And now Beckham would save everyone else. He would set off the bomb. He would stay behind to ensure that Kate and his child had a world to grow up in.
Clouds of gray filled his field of vision, but it wasn’t from losing consciousness. The R49 gas swirled throughout the chamber. Thuds echoed as monsters crashed to the ground all around him.
Horn came back into view, Rico slumped over his back. Fitz was right behind them. He had stopped to toss an R49 grenade at the other three beasts that had been charging at Beckham. They were all squirming on the ground, blood gushing from holes in their plated armor.
“Brother!” Horn yelled. He set Meg’s axe down on the ground and crouched at Beckham’s side.
“Help me get this shit off him!” Fitz shouted.
“I’ve already got his leg armor off,” someone yelled back. It was Garcia, but Beckham hadn’t seen or felt him removing the armor.
Apollo whined and licked Beckham’s face. The dog couldn’t do anything to save him, not this time, but he was there to comfort his handler in Beckham’s last moments.
“It’s already eaten his leg!” Horn yelled. There was a panicked note in his shaky voice that Beckham understood. Horn knew Beckham wasn’t coming home with him this time.
Horn grabbed Meg’s axe and bent down to hover in front of Beckham’s helmet. “This is going to hurt, boss.”
Beckham couldn’t even open his mouth to protest. His body had been numb until Horn brought the axe down on his leg. He screeched in a voice he didn’t want to be his own.
Another blade cut at his arm.
“Garcia, take my R49s!” Fitz shouted. “Launch every single one we got.”
Pain tore through Beckham’s body. His heart thumped so hard he thought it was going to explode.
Kate, baby, I’m so sorry I broke my promise.
He shifted in and out of the nightmare as he fought to remain conscious. But he was tired. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. His eyelids were weights, and the red wouldn’t go away.
“Beckham!” someone shouted.
Garcia’s bruised face was looking down at him. The sleeping gas swirled around Team Ghost, a barrier to protect them from the monsters. Horn was bandaging a riven stump.
Beckham almost choked when he saw that stump was his left leg. He twisted in horror to see Fitz doing the same thing to his arm.
“It’s okay,” Garcia said. “Hang in there, brother!”
Beckham couldn’t form words. He slipped out of consciousness and into the most vivid memory from his childhood, the moment that had set him on the course to becoming a Delta Force Operator. He had been ten years old, standing with his mom on the summit of a trail overlooking Rocky Mountain National Park. He hadn’t known it then, but she had already been sick. In another six months, she would barely be able to walk, let alone hike, but that day she had taken him to their favorite place in the world to watch the sun set over the peaks. As the setting sun painted the heavens rose and gold, she said something that would stick with him forever:
Reed, someday people will depend on you, and I know that you will grow up to be a brave and loyal man. Will you promise me that you will always do the right thing, no matter how hard it is?
Beckham hadn’t understood then, but he did now. He’d done everything he could to keep his promise to her, but now his body was failing, just like hers had done so many years ago.
“Get him out of here!” Garcia shouted.
The ground seemed to fall away as Beckham opened his eyes. Horn was scooping him up carefully, but quickly. Fitz was working on picking Rico up a few feet away.
“Good luck, Garcia!” Fitz shouted.
“I got you, boss!” Horn yelled as he draped Beckham over his back. “You’re a good man, Garcia. Give ‘em hell!”
Beckham tried to speak, but his lips felt disconnected from his body. He’d lost a lot of blood. He watched helplessly as Garcia lugged the dirty bomb toward the wall of human prisoners.
Horn was running now, Beckham bobbing up and down. He squinted and watched as Garcia knelt to set up the device. When he was finished, he turned and locked eyes with Beckham.
In a final moment of clarity, Beckham and Garcia shared an understanding. Garcia was doing what Beckham’s mom had taught him on that mountainside—something that Beckham had done so many times before, but that he couldn’t do this time. The last Variant Hunter threw up a salute and Beckham slowly raised his left arm to return the gesture.
-27-
Kate and Ellis were pushed forward with muzzles pointed at their spines.
“Hurry up, Doc,” said a guard in black body armor.
Ellis kept his hands in the air, but turned slightly toward the two soldiers. Kate resisted the urge to do the same thing. If Beckham were here, he would have snapped their damn necks.
But he wasn’t here.
He was out there, fighting, while these cowards herded her and Ellis toward the bridge like sheep. Her stomach churned with disgust and anger.
The squealing of wheels sounded in the next passage as a second pair of guards rolled a gurney around the corner. She clenched her firsts when she saw the bloody sheet draped over the body.
How can this be happening?
The guards escorting Kate and Ellis motioned them to get out of the way. Kate stepped back to watch as the soldiers whisked a fresh corpse away. Blood dripped off a limp arm hanging over the side of the gurney.
“Keep moving,” the guard with the gun on Kate said.
She pushed on, drawing in a breath that smelled like gunpowder. As soon as they approached the CIC, she saw why.
A battle had been fought here.
Empty bullet casings and pools of blood littered the floor. It was quiet inside the room, aside from the beep of computers and monitoring equipment. Lieutenant Colonel Kramer had her arms folded across her chest as she stood in the center of the space. She was surrounded by an entourage of soldiers decked all in black. President Ringgold, Vice President Johnson, and Captain Humphrey were on their knees a few feet away.
“Ah, Doctor Lovato and Doctor Ellis,” Kramer said calmly as she pointed a pistol at Kate’s head.
“Don’t you dare,” Ringgold hissed. She rose to her feet, but one of the guards pushed down by her shoulders. Ringgold winced and favored her good arm as she went back down on her knees.
“President Ringgold apparently needs some motivation to hand over the launch codes,” Kramer said.
Kate’s eyes flitted from Ringgold to Kramer. “What launch codes?”
“Don’t play games. You know better than anyone that the strike teams out there aren’t going to complete their missions. The monsters you created are killing them.” Kramer pointed to a cluster of monitors.
Kramer jerked the gun at the screens. “Go ahead; take a look for yourself.”
Kate unclenched her firsts and slowly walked over to the monitors. The gun pointed at her back wasn't the only thing making her heart kick. She had to force herself to look at the images. She squinted as she got closer like she was about to watch a scary scene in a horror movi
e.
“As you can see, all but one of our teams has gone dark,” Kramer said.
Kate forced herself to look. The lieutenant colonel was right. All but one monitor was offline. A single green-hued feed from Los Angeles rolled across the screen on the far left. A soldier wearing a helmet-mounted camera was scaling a ladder in some sort of tunnel.
“They could still be alive,” Nagle said. The young Petty Officer was tied up with a dozen other staff from Humphrey’s crew. A guard with a machine gun angled his weapon at Nagle.
A few feet away from the prisoners, the floor was covered in blood. Corporal Anderson’s station sat empty. The tears streaking down Nagle’s face made sense then. With his hands bound, they rolled freely down his face to the deck.
Kramer regarded the man by shaking her head. “I highly doubt that. There are thousands of juveniles out there, and a few canisters of sleeping gas aren’t going to hold them back while our teams plant the RDDs.”
“That’s bullshit, Kramer, and you know it. Our men and women are trained for missions just like this,” Johnson shot back. He fought his restraints, looking up with furious eyes.
“They’re already dead. God, you’re just like the others, Johnson. Weak. Colonel Wood was the only man who could have won this war,” Kramer said. She shook her head again and directed her gaze at Kate. “You people simply don’t understand.
“Colonel Wood was a goddamn madman. Now I see he wasn’t the only one,” Johnson said. He bowed his head, and when he looked up the anger was gone. He no longer had the hardened look of a general. His worried eyes reminded Kate of her own father.
“Please, Kramer. Just give our boys a chance,” Johnson pleaded. “How can you nuke the cities while they’re still out there?”
As Kate looked around the room, she saw the same bewildered expressions on Johnson’s staff. They were all shocked—and that’s exactly why Kramer’s plan had worked so flawlessly. She’d waited until the strike group wasn’t guarded, and she’d surprised her superiors.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 35