The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Black, you’re on rear guard.” She didn’t need to tell him to keep an eye on the two new unofficial members of Team Scorpion. “Everyone else, on me.”

  The team followed her into the woods. The canopy of tropical trees swayed in the wind. Davis had to dodge branches as she worked her way through the jungle. She used the muzzle of her M4 to knock some out of the way while Diaz held others up so they could both pass.

  The lance corporal raised her M4 and swept it over the foliage from nine o’clock to twelve o’clock, while Davis covered twelve to three o’clock. There were several blind spots, and it was difficult to hear over the buzzing chorus of insects.

  The rally point she had given Marks was a quarter-mile away. She pushed on, moving faster despite the ache of her injuries and the ever-present fear that a juvenile would leap on her at any second.

  Fort Pickens loomed like a shadow beyond the trees up ahead. She was working her way around a tree choked vines when the all-too-familiar scent of rotting fruit made her freeze. She balled her right hand into a fist, her feet sinking in the mud with a gurgle when she stopped moving. A nickel-sized spider crawled up her arm. Davis fucking hated spiders, but she didn’t dare move.

  Once you had smelled a Variant, you never forgot that stench.

  Sweat dripped down her forehead as she listened for the monsters. The stink of moldy lemons faded away, and she shook the spider off. Another sweep for contacts revealed nothing but more bushes and tropical plants.

  Davis flashed an advance signal and continued on. Sanders and Robbie moved quietly in the middle of their group, and Black kept a few paces behind them as they moved through the woods.

  The slap of waves grew louder as they approached the rally point. Davis scoped a clearing ahead, cautiously moved into the center of the small break in the trees, and centered her crosshairs on the walls of Fort Pickens.

  Nothing moved.

  No one was here.

  Davis searched the trees for any sign of Marks and his men. But she already knew, deep down, that they wouldn’t be making the rendezvous.

  “Isn’t this the rally point?” Davis whispered, just to be sure.

  Diaz nodded grimly.

  Davis pointed at Sanders and Robbie. “Stay out of sight for now. Diaz, you stay here with them. Black, leave the C4 here and follow me.”

  Diaz opened her mouth to protest, but Davis shook her head. She trusted her bodyguard to keep an eye on the men from the outpost—and frankly she wasn’t sure Black could resist throwing a punch if she left him alone with them.

  “Let’s go.” Davis jogged toward the clearing. Black gave Diaz the C4 and then ran to catch up. He kept his SAW at eye level with the muzzle sweeping back and forth.

  They stopped at the edge of the foliage to push their gas masks into position before exchanging a nod. Beyond the trees rose a grassy embankment. On the other side stood the brick walls of Fort Pickens. Her heartbeat climbed up toward her throat when she saw the GW was still in the harbor.

  Ringgold hadn’t sunk the ship, which meant Davis still had a chance to make things right. She flattened her body against the dirt and zoomed in on a ROT soldier moving on top of one of the fort walls. The crosshairs covered his torso. She moved them to his head as her finger tightened on the trigger.

  Almost, Rachel. You’ll get your chance.

  She lowered her rifle and moved in a stealth crouch up the embankment. Every muscle in her body screamed at her. Black followed, and they hit the ground on the other side of the embankment together just as beams from a flashlight shot overhead. She heard footsteps in the dirt and the rustling of the tall grass on the hill as someone walked past.

  Davis rolled to her back and angled her rifle up. Black held up two fingers toward her to signal two ROT soldiers. Taking them down would be easy, but she didn’t want to draw attention to their position if they could avoid it.

  The crunch of boots drew closer.

  Shit…

  She had to act.

  Davis made sure her mask covered her face. Then she turned to Black and held her finger up to her lips. He shook his head in protest when she reached for her knife.

  “Watch my six,” Davis whispered.

  She sprang up from the knee-high grass like a jack-in-the-box. The ROT men reared back in shock, then centered their SCARs on her.

  “Woah, woah, friendly,” Davis said. She scrutinized the men she was about to kill. The one on the right was middle-aged without any remarkable features. His partner, however, reminded her of Big Horn. He had the build of an athlete and the cauliflower ears of a wrestler.

  “Hey man, what you doin’ out here?” said the larger of the two men.

  “Taking a shit…” Davis said, trailing off as something caught her eye farther along the beach. Three posts had been driven into the ground, and hanging from them was a trio of corpses. Their skin had been ripped away, leaving nothing but muscles and tendons.

  The big man followed her gaze. “Those assholes thought they could take us with just three guys. I mean, what’s the point? We already killed that black bitch who claimed she was the president. The fight’s already over, man.” He shook his head. “Idiots.”

  Davis let out a weak laugh, but her heart rate was racing as anger-fueled adrenaline dumped into her veins. “Yeah, idiots.”

  The smaller man was looking at her now—no, he was looking at her M4.

  Shit. She had forgotten the ROT soldiers all carried SCARS.

  Davis took a step toward the smaller man, keeping her center of gravity low, the blade of her knife reversed along her arm.

  “Hey man,” the other one said again.

  She reached up and pulled off her helmet and gas mask, then shook her hair so it fell to her shoulders.

  “I’m not a man,” Davis said.

  Both of the soldiers exchanged a laugh and the wrestler licked his lips.

  “We’re going to have some fun,” the other man said.

  She thrust the hidden knife into the soft spot under the smaller soldier’s chin with a crunch as he reached out for her. A flash of motion came in her peripheral as Black tackled the larger ROT soldier into the dirt.

  Davis yanked on her blade. It caught on his jawbone, and he stumbled forward, his mouth opening and closing. She lost her footing and fell on her back. The soldier crashed on top of her, but he was light and she easily rolled him off.

  He lay there choking, his fingers grasping at the blade lodged into the bottom of his skull. Davis kicked him in the side of the head, then hurried over to Black. He was rolling in the grass with the other soldier, both of them grunting like wild animals.

  The big guy had twenty or thirty pounds of muscle on Black. This ROT soldier wasn’t going to be easy to kill. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. She went back to the other one, who had finally fallen still, to retrieve her knife. She put her left boot on his shoulder and her right on his face, then plucked the blade free, stumbling backward in the process.

  She walked back over to Black, who was kneeling on top of the ROT soldier. He had his hands around the bigger man’s thick neck. Davis crouched down beside them. The solder’s eyes flitted from Black to Davis.

  “Please,” he choked. “Please.”

  Davis looked at the bodies on the beach, then back down at the ROT soldier.

  “You stole my ship, executed my men, and launched a terrorist attack on the United States of America,” she said. “Black, take your hands off him.”

  “Commander, what…?”

  “That’s an order, Black.”

  He let go and backed off, staring at Davis like she’d gone crazy.

  “Thank you,” the soldier wheezed. He started to sit up, but Davis pushed him back down and planted a knee in his groin. She pressed with her entire bodyweight, and the man cried out in pain.

  She leaned down over the soldier and said softly, “I’m in a hurry, so I’ll have to make this quick.”

  Clamping one hand over the man’s
mouth, she used the other to plunge the knife into his right eye. She felt a slight resistance and then a pop as the blade went in. He bucked and screamed, but the noise was muffled by her gloved palm.

  “That’s for Humphrey,” she said. Davis didn’t recognize her own voice. It was low and cold, completely devoid of mercy.

  She yanked the knife free, then blinded his other eye.

  “And that’s for Marks and his men.”

  Waves of blood-red anger rolled across her vision. She had never felt like this before, not when she’d taken the bullet for President Ringgold during Kramer’s mutiny. Not even when she’d found out that her husband and nephew had died during the outbreak. She’d kept the pain and fear bottled up inside for so long.

  Commander Rachel Davis had reached her breaking point. She was sick of living in a world where the evil just kept coming no matter how many times you beat it down. She was done playing by the rules. If she had to destroy her own goddamn ship to stop Wood from dropping the Hemorrhage Virus on more innocents, then that’s what she’d do.

  And if she had to become a monster to save the world, then that was okay too.

  The ROT soldier was still trying to scream as she slit his throat.

  She looked down at her handiwork and felt…nothing. It was an easier death than he’d deserved.

  When Davis looked up, Team Scorpion was gathered around, staring at her. Diaz looked like she might throw up, but Black wore an expression of grim satisfaction. Sanders and Robbie just looked terrified.

  “Got you some uniforms, boys,” she said to the newcomers. “Put them on. We’re moving out.”

  Three candles burned on the altar in the crypt under the Basilica of St. Thérèse. The putrid scent of body odor hung in the stagnant air. Team Ghost waited by the barricaded door with Michel. The other children huddled around Mira in the center of the room. The weak glow of the candlelight illuminated their frightened gazes.

  “Don’t worry,” Michel whispered to Fitz. “They don’t look so tough now, but the Ombres will fight when the time comes. How do you think we survived so long against the monsters?”

  Fitz looked back at the Ombres. He no longer saw children carrying weapons too big for them or kids in filthy clothing. He saw survivors who had been forced to grow up too early. Their parents had probably told them the same thing Fitz’s parents had told him when he was young: monsters weren’t real. But these kids knew the truth.

  Whatever doubts he’d had before, Fitz knew that when the time came, Michel would be right.

  The Ombres would fight.

  “All of the barricades are secured, and the escape route outside to the MATV is ready if we need it,” Dohi whispered.

  Fitz nodded. They were all set, but he wasn’t exactly confident in his plan. He wasn’t even sure he was doing the right thing.

  What would Beckham do?

  It was the third time Fitz had asked himself that question today. But Beckham wasn’t here. All the choices were up to Fitz, and there weren’t any good ones. If Fitz made a run for the MATV now, he risked losing everything. Then again, if the Variants found them down here, they wouldn’t stand a chance. In the end, Fitz had decided to hunker down and wait, like Bradley had ordered, hoping the monsters passed over the basilica and that Command would send evac before Operation Reach started.

  All around them, the walls groaned like a hungry stomach. Now he knew what Jonah felt like when the whale swallowed him.

  Some of the children whimpered as dust fell from the ceiling. Mira shushed them with a finger to her mouth.

  “Can those things get through stone?” Rico asked.

  Michel nodded. “Mira said that’s how they got my dad and his men. He was at Versailles. They broke right through the walls.”

  “They might pass us by,” she whispered. “We need to keep quiet.”

  Tanaka didn’t look convinced. He shouldered his rifle and pointed the muzzle at the barricade. It was pretty impressive for such a makeshift structure, built with pews, bookshelves, and tables made of heavy wood. But it wouldn’t hold the monsters for long.

  Stevenson and Dohi flanked the barricade, weapons raised. Rico lifted her shotgun with deliberate care, but the stock banged against her ammo pouch. The sudden breach of silence made Fitz cringe.

  Creaking rafters overhead seemed to answer the sound. More dust rained down. Apollo stood, hackles raised and a low growl rumbling in his throat. Fitz put a hand on the dog’s flank, and Apollo settled back onto his haunches.

  Silence reigned again. Fitz’s mind drifted to Plum Island. He had promised he would be back in time to see Kate and Beckham’s child born, but now it looked like it would be a miracle if he made it home at all.

  Don’t think like that, Marine.

  Fitz had survived worse odds back in New York when it was just him and Apollo. He had Team Ghost and the Ombres with him this time.

  Dohi shifted his rifle toward the ceiling as yet more dust rained down. The barricade creaked behind them, and he whipped his gun toward the sound.

  Silence filled the space again.

  Fitz moved a sweaty finger to the trigger of his rifle and balled his other hand into a fist. His eyes flitted from face to face. The candle flames were the only motion in the entire room, swaying back and forth in an unseen breeze.

  Apollo stood abruptly, and his tail dropped between his legs. That was his tell, a warning of what was about to happen.

  The Variants were coming.

  Cracks webbed across the center of the ceiling. A crunching came from the opposite side of the room near the altar. The ground broke open, chunks of ancient stone pushing up. One of the flames went out, and darkness shifted across the room.

  A guttural thud echoed through the basilica above. Something massive was at the main entrance. The sounds of splintering and snapping wood followed as the monster broke through.

  A sound like a cross between a snake and an insect rose into a piercing wail. Several of the kids dropped their weapons and cupped their hands over their ears. The blonde girl from the tower took off running for the corner, only to trip over a crack in the ground. She fell to her knees, but Michel ran to pick her up. He moved quickly like a football player weaving between obstacles to get to her. Her knee was bleeding, and tears traced tracks down her dirty cheeks.

  Something inside Fitz snapped at the sight. He took in everything like a machine, processing it quickly and efficiently. The fear of failure vanished, replaced by the confidence Beckham had worked to instill in him as they trained and fought together.

  “Ghost, watch your zones of fire!” Fitz roared. “Mira, get the kids out of here!” He flashed signals to his team. Stevenson, Tanaka, and Dohi remained at the barricade while Fitz, Apollo, and Rico ran toward the altar.

  A three-foot-wide section of stone floor broke apart. Dirt exploded out of the opening, and with it came something that made Fitz slow his pace. Tentacles wormed their way up through the earth, reaching blindly for their prey.

  Rico shouted at the kids who had run in that direction to get back.

  Fitz grabbed a boy wearing a scarf around his face and pointed at the staircase across the room. “Follow Mira!”

  The kid might not have understood the English command, but he got the gist of it. He took off running, guided only by the light of the two remaining candles. By the time Fitz had turned back to the altar, the monster squirming in the dirt was almost free.

  The tentacles worked to heave the creature free of the earth. Its arms and legs were shriveled, almost vestigial, and hung limp from its soft, pale underbelly. Armored fins lined its back, and two horns protruded from the beast’s forehead. A pair of sunken, ghostly white eyes gazed around the room, blinking rapidly as if even the dim candlelight hurt them.

  It was difficult to imagine that this creature had once been a man, but a glance between its legs showed that the thing was male.

  One of the tentacles attached to the torso reached out for Fitz, and he finally shook o
ff his shock and opened fire. Gunshots broke out all around him, joining the fray. Stone cracked, and whole blocks fell from the ceiling. The chorus of destruction was joined by the frightened screams of the children and Apollo’s frantic barking.

  In the sacred crypts beneath the Basilica of St. Thérèse, all hell was breaking loose.

  The final candles went out, plunging them in darkness.

  Fitz flipped his NVGs into position, then shot the Wormer with a three-round burst. Blood poured from the wounds, but it didn’t die. It moved toward them like an octopus, pulling itself along with its tentacles.

  Rico fired into its open mouth, blowing away spiky teeth and sending the thing flipping from side to side on the ground, screeching in agony.

  Apollo snapped at one of the tentacles as the dying monster flailed in his direction. Fitz whirled to fire on a second Wormer that had punched through the floor behind him. Tanaka sliced through the whipping tentacles with his long sword. One of them wrapped around his blade and pulled it out of Tanaka’s grip, but he stabbed at the tentacle repeatedly with his shorter blade until it let go.

  Across the room, Mira and the kids had stopped. She had herded them toward the staircase, but a Wormer had broken through the ground in front of their exit, cutting them off. She fired her AK-47 at it, shouting French words that Fitz only half understood.

  Michel and two of the other kids fired their rifles, and dozens of rounds punched through the monster’s flesh. It slumped to the ground, half its body still inside its tunnel.

  The Wormers were surprisingly easy to kill compared to other Variants, but if they’d compromised the foundation of the basilica, they could bring the entire building down. Especially with the weight of the beast thundering about in the main worship area above them. Fitz could hear the thing’s feet hitting the tiles, the thud-thud even louder than the gunfire.

  Muzzle bursts lit the room with their brilliant flashes, giving Fitz a glimpse of the battle. Six Wormers had broken through the floor, and another was working its way through the wall above the altar. A kid in his teens had crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around him from multiple gunshot wounds.