The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Piero kept his scope to his eye as he closed the distance to the grate. He held his breath in an attempt to keep out the wretched smell of the corpse. The stench was almost unbearable, but it served to camouflage his own scent.

  The mouse continued to scratch at his pocket, desperately now, like it knew the monsters were closing in.

  “It’s okay, little buddy. We’re going to be okay.”

  Piero stopped at the grate and lowered his gun. He moved the priest out of the way, grabbed the bars, and pulled them away from the entry to the ancient tomb. With those out of the way, he got on the ground and began scooting through the narrow gap between the brick wall and the floor.

  Sparks suddenly rained from the ceiling of the tunnel to the east. He froze, stuck under the entry. He couldn’t see the beast, but he knew it was coming. The sound of snapping joints, like massive tree limbs cracking, filled the tunnel as the monster darted horizontally across the stone.

  As Piero wiggled through, his vest caught on a chunk of broken brick that had come loose.

  Come on, come on.

  The mouse squirmed in his pocket.

  A second screech sounded from the opposite direction. The other juvenile was moving in. This one was larger; he could tell by the crunch of claws over the bricks. Wind rushed down the tunnel. It whipped up the scent of rot, filling Piero’s nostrils again with the awful smell.

  He sucked in a breath—and his nearly non-existent gut—and continued wiggling. Using his left hand, he felt for the loose brick and pushed up on it so that the mouse would not be crushed. He shoved himself free and shot through the gap, crashing to the floor on his back a few feet below.

  His rifle bit into his shoulder, but he ignored the pain and got up. He moved back to the entrance. The sparks showering from the ceiling provided him a brief glimpse of the monster outside. It was about two hundred pounds, maybe more—small compared to the other beast he had heard.

  He fumbled for the grate and pulled it back into place. Then he reached through the gap in the bars and pulled the dead priest’s body into position.

  “Forgive me, Padre,” he whispered as he dragged the rotting corpse in front of the entrance.

  Just as he finished, the second juvenile raced into the tunnel.

  They stopped to talk to one another, a high-pitched sort of squawking that sounded like hissing vultures, only ten times louder.

  Piero wanted to cup his hands over his ears to block the horrifying sounds, but he grabbed his rifle and brought the scope to his eye to scan the room that had become his home. It was maybe twenty feet by forty. The sarcophagus of some long-dead Italian stood at the back of the tomb. Latin was inscribed on the ceiling, and the remains of stenciled artwork covered the stone walls.

  He ignored the artistic details and searched for the exit. There was a stone staircase that wound up several stories into the basilica. Rising to his feet, he slowly turned to check the passage outside with his scope, making sure the coast was clear to run.

  The piercing shrieks of the talking juveniles faded away, replaced by the sniffing of their wart-covered noses. A paw that looked like it belonged to a bear slapped the ground, and its talons scratched across the flagstones.

  Even the mouse in Piero’s pocket froze at the sound.

  A horned snout dripping saliva moved into view. The beast bent its gargantuan armor-plated head to sniff the dead priest.

  Sprouting from its shoulders was an enormous pair of wings. Not the kind that he had plucked off the pigeon he had caught a month earlier. There were no feathers. These wings were like that of a dragon, covered in skin and reinforced with a layer of armor. The tips were frayed and bony.

  Piero ducked down farther and gently put his back against the wall. The second monster arrived a moment later, sniffing the priest and then squawking angrily.

  Another sneeze plastered the ground above with saliva that smelled like dead fish. Piero did his best not to breathe. The mouse went back to struggling in his pocket, clawing and squeaking.

  Be quiet, he thought. Reaching down, he cupped the small creature in his hand. He didn’t want to squeeze it to death, but…

  The mouse suddenly stopped as the sound of footfalls stomped along the hallway outside the grate. The beasts were prowling now, still sniffing for his scent.

  Piero closed his eyes and pulled his hand away from his vest to grab the stock of his rifle. Ever so slowly, he raised the gun and moved his finger to the trigger. Maybe he could shoot them both in the head before they made it through the narrow space. He would need to be fast, accurate, and smooth—but maybe he had a chance.

  He waited, his finger tight against the trigger. The beasts continued to hunt outside the grate, and one of them brushed against it. Dust rained down on his matted brown hair, but Piero kept his eyes closed.

  Just as he was about to leap up and blast the monster in the eye, a distant shriek sounded. It came from the west. Both juveniles stopped sniffing.

  Silence consumed the tomb and the tunnel above.

  The screech came again. This wasn’t a random cry of a monster. They were calling to each other with a message of some sort. He could only pray the message wasn’t about him.

  Beads of sweat dripped down Piero’s face. He didn’t dare blink, move, or even breathe. The mouse remained still in his pocket.

  A rush of wind whipped through the grate, rustling Piero’s filthy hair, as the beast’s wings began to flap. He remained with his back to the wall, sweat dripping down his head, heartbeat quickening. He risked a shallow breath, inhaling the sickly stench of decay.

  As the beasts retreated, Piero carefully stood and pushed the scope to his eye just in time to watch the larger juvenile flapping down the hall, the tips of its wings barely clearing the walls.

  The sounds of the monsters faded away, leaving him once again in silence, his only company a mouse and the corpse of a priest he had killed.

  He kept his rifle tucked in his armpit and pulled the mouse from his pocket by its tail. The creature squirmed upside down in the darkness. Piero couldn’t see it, but he could feel it wiggling.

  It squeaked at him. Piero could guess what it meant: Put me down, human!

  He crouched and set his rifle against the wall. Instead of skewering the mouse with his knife, he grabbed a small piece of granola out of his side pocket and gave it to the mouse. It ate rapidly, then looked up for more.

  Piero smiled. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had a friend.

  Kate was curled up on the couch in their prefab house, wrapped in Reed’s arms. She didn’t ever want to leave this spot. It was the one place in the world she felt safe—the one place Variants and humans couldn’t hurt her.

  No one had said much since they returned home from the Medical Corps BSL4 facility. The clock was ticking toward nine, and the temperature had plummeted with the rain. Tasha and Jenny sat in front of the crackling fireplace, playing with a puzzle.

  “Don’t get too close,” Horn said. He sat on the edge of a recliner with a shotgun on his lap and his M249 propped up against the wall behind him. Reed’s rifle was next to the couch within easy reach.

  The guns no longer made Kate nervous. She had her own now, a small pistol that Reed insisted she keep on her person at all times. They had talked to the girls many times about never touching the weapons.

  Horn checked the dressing on his left arm. “I think I’m almost out of lives, boss.”

  Reed nodded. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose your arm.”

  “One centimeter to the left and I’d look like you.” Horn cracked a half grin, but Reed didn’t smile back.

  Kate was still in mild shock after the attack on the docks and the nightmare of decon. She kept her head on Reed’s chest, listening to his heart beating, realizing how lucky they all were to still be alive.

  Reed ran his fingers through her hair.

  She thought of their baby boy, wondering whether he’d end up looking more like his daddy or her side of the family,
but her thoughts quickly jumped to the innocent lives lost on the dock.

  “To think I was starting to trust the Medical Corps again,” she said. “Those bastards. How could they just open fire like that?”

  Horn bowed his head, the hint of a grin gone.

  “It’s my fault,” Kate continued. “I was part of the planning committee. We should never have let so many people on the dock.”

  “We were on that committee too,” Reed said quietly. “But we couldn’t have stopped this. Terrorism is something that’s very difficult to plan for.”

  Tasha and Jenny glanced up from their puzzle, eyes roving from face to face. There was still innocence there, despite everything they had seen and lost.

  Reed shook his head and sat up. Kate sat up with him and pulled a blanket over her lap.

  “I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around what happened, but I just don’t get it,” he said. “I want to listen in to see if there’s any chatter about it.”

  He grabbed the radio from the side table and turned it on. For several minutes Kate listened with him, but no one was talking about the attack.

  “Command, this is post 14. Possible bandit spotted along the fence in section four-four.”

  “Roger that, post 14. Sending Alpha 4 to check it out.”

  “Try the Freedom Air Waves,” Horn said.

  Reed turned the channel to the independent radio station run from an SZT in California. The broadcaster was in the middle of a message.

  “If you’re out there listening, remember to make your way to the closest SZT. There are medical supplies, food, and safety for all.”

  “Safety,” Horn said, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

  The broadcaster listed off the locations of the SZTs in California, Oregon, and Washington. Reed turned the channel to a military station and Kate nestled her head back on his shoulder.

  The transmissions continued, but she tuned them out. Tonight was supposed to have been a time of celebration. She had planned on using their rations to make a spaghetti dinner the evening they learned the sex of their child. But instead they were confined to their house listening for news of Operation Beachhead or the attack on Plum Island. President Jan Ringgold had promised she wouldn’t let something like this happen. She had promised Plum Island would be a beacon of hope for future generations.

  Tears welled in Kate’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn’t want Reed to see her crying.

  Not tonight.

  She sat up with Reed at an announcement from the military channel.

  “Operation Beachhead begins in just a few hours. Please pray for your brothers and sisters about to embark on a mission to take back Europe from the Variants.”

  Horn nodded. “We should say a prayer. Come here, girls.” He reached out and gently took their hands in his own. Kate wrapped her fingers around Reed’s left hand and smiled at him sadly. She hadn’t heard him pray often, but she knew his faith was important to him.

  “Dear Lord, tonight we pray to you and ask you in your divine mercy to look after our friends overseas. Please protect Team Ghost and all of the men and women in our armed forces as they embark on a mission to save mankind.”

  “Amen,” Horn said.

  Tasha and Jenny echoed the word, and Kate joined in. It was hard to imagine what Fitz and the others were about to go through, or what they were thinking. Being so far apart made Kate feel helpless. She closed her eyes, trying to fend off painful memories.

  They all sat there quietly for several minutes, even the girls, until the rap of a knock on the front door interrupted the silence.

  Horn stood with his shotgun. “You expecting company, Kate?”

  She shook her head. Reed pulled a gun from the holster on his hip and limped over to the door with Horn.

  The pounding continued, and Kate gestured for Tasha and Jenny to follow her into the kitchen. A tree branch scratched at the window over the sink. She almost flinched at her reflection in the glass. The woman staring back could have been a stranger. Her eyes were swollen from crying, their normally bright blue washed out and dull.

  Another knock snapped her from her trance.

  “Who is it?” Reed asked. He raised the revolver and used the hallway to partially shield his body. Horn took up position behind him.

  “It’s Pat,” came a voice. “I need to talk to Kate.”

  Kate sighed and led the girls out of the kitchen. Reed shot her a glance and lowered his pistol at her nod. He unlocked the bolt and inched the door open.

  Ellis was shivering on the stoop, collar up to his chin. He had a folder tucked under his right arm. Reed looked over Ellis’s shoulder and scanned the dark street. Across the road, the Browns, a family Kate hardly knew, were playing cards in their living room with some of their other neighbors. For a moment things seemed like they could be normal, like this was just another American city in a time before the war, but the searchlights from a Black Hawk passing overhead and the rumble of a Humvee’s diesel engine reminded Kate of the new reality. They were still at war.

  Sometimes she thought they would always be at war.

  Jack Brown glanced up from his hand of cards, walked over to the window to look at the sky, then closed the curtains over the steel-barred windows.

  “It’s freaking cold out here. Can I come in?” Ellis said.

  Reed stepped aside and let Ellis through. He shut the door behind the doctor and latched it, then looked through the peephole.

  “You’re not supposed to be outside,” Reed said with his eye pressed against the door. “That squad could easily pick you up for breaking curfew.”

  “I still have some authority around here,” Ellis replied. “Besides, I need to talk to Kate.”

  “This late?”

  Kate loved that Reed was protective of her, but sometimes it was a bit too much. Whatever Ellis had to say was likely important.

  “Come in, Pat,” Kate said. She gave Horn a meaningful look. He quickly nodded back.

  “Time for bed, girls,” Horn said.

  “But we want to stay up and finish the puzzle,” Jenny whined.

  “You can tomorrow.” Horn gestured down the hallway. “Come on, I’ll read you a story.”

  “Goodnight, girls,” Kate said.

  “Night, Auntie Kate,” they said in unison.

  “Thank you, Horn,” Kate said.

  Horn smiled at her, then held Reed’s gaze for a second before vanishing down the hallway, leaving Ellis, Kate, and Reed to talk. She took a seat at the kitchen table and moved a stack of reports out of the way. Reed holstered his revolver and grabbed a pistol he’d left lying on the table. He pulled the magazine to check it. There were boxes of ammunition stacked next to empty magazines. This was what domestic life had become: she and Reed at the dinner table, each doing their respective homework for the night.

  Ellis took a chair, opened the folder, and slid it across the table to Kate. He looked down the hallway to make sure the girls weren’t listening just as Horn shut the door.

  “This is the report I was telling you about earlier,” Ellis said. “I grabbed the updated version from the lab after the attack.”

  Kate opened the folder and scanned the memo first.

  CLASSIFIED—TOP SECRET—EYES ONLY

  Examination by unauthorized persons is an act of treason punishable by fines and imprisonment up to 15 years and $100,000.

  She had seen the language before, but she wasn’t worried about Reed seeing anything he shouldn’t. They were a team. Everything she knew, she shared with him—and vice versa.

  Reed held the magazine in his prosthetic hand and placed a bullet in the top with a click. Kate had watched him struggle with the same action for weeks now, but he finally had the hang of it. He continued to slowly fill the magazine as Kate read through the document.

  “The attack today wasn’t an isolated incident,” Ellis commented. “According to this report, there have been others.”

  Beckham placed a full m
agazine on the table. “What do you mean?”

  “You heard about someone being stabbed with a needle, right?” Ellis ran a hand nervously through his hair.

  “Yeah, some random psychopath on the dock. But that—”

  “Not random,” Ellis interrupted. “The person responsible knew they were committing suicide by doing this. They waited days for the opportunity and did it to inflict the greatest possible damage.”

  Kate scrutinized her partner. He was talking fast and sweating despite the chill in the air.

  “But where would they even get the virus?” Reed asked. “And why commit suicide?”

  “There are dozens of reports of cases of the Hemorrhage Virus mentioned here. VX9H9 and Kryptonite killed over ninety-nine percent of the infected and Variant populations, but there were some places outside the kill zones. We thought that’s all it was at first, but now we know they are most certainly deliberate attacks.”

  Ellis flipped through the pages and pointed. Kate passed over another confidential warning and read the text below his finger. SZT 15 in Chicago had a solid black line through it, followed by the word COMPROMISED.

  Kate felt a sinking feeling in her gut. She instinctively put a protective hand on her stomach as Ellis kept talking.

  “There have been coordinated attacks on SZTs nationwide. Someone is trying to sabotage the rebuilding efforts.”

  “But why?” Reed asked. “And who?”

  “I’m not sure. That’s why I’m here,” Ellis said. “You got any ideas, Kate?”

  She shook her head. Kate was used to the baby moving, but not like this. He was kicking hard. The sudden motion scared her more than the news. She was under way too much stress. Reed and her doctors had warned her about this.

  “Kate?” Reed asked, putting his hand on hers.

  She kept rubbing her stomach with her other hand. She could think of several men who might try to sabotage the rebuilding efforts for their own twisted agendas. Colonel Gibson and Colonel Wood were the first to come to mind, but the evil bastards who had started this nightmare were dead now.

  “I’m not sure,” she finally said. “But if I had to guess…what about surviving Alpha Variants or even juveniles that are still out there? Could they be capable of this level of coordination and sophistication? I mean, what type of human would kill innocents like they did today and then take their own life unless something was being held over their head? Like the safety of their family, for example.”