Like Roux had said during the meeting with Brogan, the island had been completely cut off by protective measures and appeared safe.
But for how long? Creatures had no problem tunneling underneath the Hudson River. It’ll only be a matter of time before they take the island too.
Cafferty looked across the bay to smoldering San Diego. The city was one of the last big American cities attacked, hours after the others had already fallen. This gave the U.S. military the critical time it needed to move as many soldiers and as much equipment as possible to the naval air station before severing it from the mainland.
Flames ripped through the city in the distance. There was no telling how many people were dead or dying in the city. What’s worse was not knowing how many people might still be alive, in hiding, praying for help that may never reach them in time. Boats still packed the marina between the island and the city, but all remained motionless in the bay. If anyone had tried to escape by boat, they clearly never made it to the marina.
Rows of helicopters, fighter jets, armored vehicles, and soldiers lined the runways at the air station, armed and ready for Van Ness’ planes to land.
“Looks like the navy is ready to give you a warm American welcome, Van Ness,” Cafferty quipped, staring down at the scene below.
“Yeah, I think if you fart the wrong way, they’ll shoot you on the spot,” Diego added.
“Quite eloquent, Mr. Munoz,” Van Ness replied, bristling at the crudeness of the man. “Their welcome is irrelevant. My mission is all that matters. Besides, actions speak louder than words. Your armed forces will soon witness what you’ve learned in Lima. My supersoldiers will not rest until these creatures are destroyed. Roux and I will make sure of it.”
The pilots gained final clearance to land and approached the runway.
Cafferty glanced at his wife, who was still sound asleep, resting on his shoulder. His entire team looked physically and emotionally drained. The next twenty-four hours would decide humanity’s fate. And his. This thought had kept Cafferty firmly awake.
Cafferty turned to Bowcut and whispered to her out of range of Van Ness. “This Franco Roux . . .” he said.
Bowcut looked at him. “Yes?”
“Do you trust him?”
Bowcut thought before she answered. “You know . . . for some reason I do. You know I trust my gut, Tom. And it says he wants what we want. Give him a chance.”
Cafferty, too, had learned to trust Bowcut’s gut. It never steered the team wrong. That was her years on the job as an NYPD cop. She had the best read of character he’d ever met.
The C-130’s wheels screeched against the runway. The bump jolted Ellen awake, and she looked directly at Tom, expressionless. He guessed she was still thinking of his deal with Van Ness and the potential consequences. Regardless, he wasn’t going to change his mind now that the task force was only an aircraft carrier ride away from launching its counterattack. The supersoldiers were needed, and he was the grease that was keeping that particular wheel turning.
Cafferty gave her a resigned nod.
The pilots gradually slowed the plane and turned from the runway. As they moved between the stagger of armored vehicles, the next C-130 landed. The other eight approached in a direct line, perfectly coordinated, just like the loading process in Antarctica, the robust defensive ring in Lima, and seemingly everything else Van Ness did.
On top of the smaller armed vehicles, soldiers peered through the sights of heavy machine guns. Cafferty wondered what was going through their minds. He, at least, had fought the creatures up close before. He had also witnessed the Foundation’s genetic experiments in Van Ness’ underground lair in Paris. Even armed with that knowledge, he’d still found the existence of supersoldiers a stunning revelation. The U.S. military was coming into this with briefings instead of experience.
The plane juddered to an abrupt halt in front of a large open hangar. Two officers in sand-colored uniforms stood at the entrance. Twenty marines surrounded them in a semicircle with their M27s shouldered, aimed at the aircraft.
“Will the supersoldiers perceive this as a threat?” Bowcut asked, concerned.
“I perceive this as a threat,” Munoz muttered.
“They cannot harm another human being,” Roux answered.
Cafferty spun to face Van Ness. “What happens if one of your supersoldiers forgets that?”
“My supersoldiers follow every order,” Van Ness replied.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Cafferty said.
“It’s an irrelevant query. There have been no lapses in this version.”
“Were there before?”
The tailgate of the C-130 lowered and light poured into the plane.
“We don’t want to keep your officers waiting,” Van Ness said. He unclipped his chair from the cockpit wall and rotated it toward the rear of the plane. “If you and your team would like to follow me, Thomas.”
If I were being honest, I’d prefer to throw you into the bay and see how you fare.
But he said nothing as Van Ness eased the control lever on his chair forward and powered away. Cafferty followed, along with the rest of the team, who groaned from their seats. The group walked down the tailgate into the cool air and headed for the hangar.
Both navy officers had neutral expressions, cool and collected. One older, who had graying hair beneath his cap; the other around forty years old, stocky, clean-shaven, and square jawed. The type of person who wouldn’t appear out of place in a UFC octagon.
Van Ness stopped a few yards short of the men. Cafferty did likewise. The marines’ rifles, aimed in their direction, made Cafferty’s heart hammer a little faster, even though he realized they wouldn’t shoot unless Van Ness or his army did something to provoke them.
“Thomas Cafferty and Albert Van Ness?” the older man asked.
Cafferty nodded. “That’s us.”
“I’m Captain Paul Collingwood, commander of the USS Nimitz. This is my XO, Captain Nick Vasquez.”
“A pleasure, gentlemen,” Van Ness said. “This is my head of combat strategy, Franco Roux.”
Roux nodded at the officers.
“Has President Brogan relayed our success in Lima?” Van Ness asked.
“She has,” Collingwood replied.
“And has she conveyed your orders, Captain?”
“We’re transporting five thousand of your soldiers to San Francisco on the Nimitz and launching a counterattack from there,” Captain Collingwood replied.
“Four thousand five hundred, to be exact. And how many U.S. carrier strike groups will be joining us?” Van Ness asked.
“By the time we reach San Francisco, we will have seven carrier strike groups at our disposal, with a total of seven aircraft carriers, seven cruisers, fourteen destroyers, five hundred and twenty-five aircraft, thirty-seven submarines, and nearly a hundred amphibious assault boats.”
Van Ness glanced away, lost in thought for a moment.
“Hmm. That should be enough for my plans,” he finally replied.
“Enough?” Captain Collingwood asked. “That’ll be the most powerful armada ever assembled in history.”
“Precisely what we need to win the greatest battle of all time, Captain,” Van Ness said.
The XO studied the planes’ fleet as the next C-130 landed. “How much of a danger are these ‘supersoldiers’ to our crew?”
“None whatsoever,” Roux interjected. “The soldiers are simply not capable of harming a human being. It’s literally hardwired into their DNA.”
“Uh-huh,” the XO replied, unconvinced. “And what are their capabilities?”
“They are a tool at your disposal, Captain, and will listen to your every command,” Van Ness added. “They are no different from a machine gun in the hands of your crew, except far, far more effective. Use them as you wish to protect your fleet from these creatures. But I might suggest you discuss tactics with Roux, as he knows their capabilities better than anyone.”
&
nbsp; The captain nodded. “We’ll lower them on the aircraft elevators to the main deck. There’s enough room for our marines to guard them. I must warn you: my orders are shoot to kill at the first signs of danger that these supersoldiers present.”
Shoot to kill?
The U.S. military doesn’t stand a chance against these supersoldiers anyway, Cafferty thought. I wonder if bullets would even hurt them.
“Understood,” Van Ness said, checking his watch. “We should set sail quickly, Captain.”
“Let me be very clear, Mr. Van Ness,” Collingwood said sternly. “I don’t trust you. You are a terrorist and a convicted murderer, and it is only out of presidential order and necessity that you are on my ship right now and not rotting in your cell for the rest of your life.”
“What is your point, Captain?” Van Ness asked.
“My point is this: if you so much as blink the wrong way, I will personally put a bullet through your head. Clear?”
“Quite,” Van Ness replied, smirking at the man.
“Now, board your soldiers onto the Nimitz,” the captain replied. “Cafferty, you’ve seen these things in action. Do we have a chance?”
“We do,” Cafferty admitted. “And the faster we move the better.”
The group turned and watched the rest of the C-130s land, one after another. On command, the planes’ tailgates lowered simultaneously, revealing the thousands of supersoldiers inside.
Led by Foundation members, each of the squads emerged from the planes in perfect unison. Boots thumped the runway until all the supersoldiers lined up together in four perfectly straight ranks. They stopped in sync and stared straight ahead at the aircraft carrier. None moved. None blinked. None flinched at the sight of the U.S. military’s weapons aiming down on them. The supersoldiers were focused, expressionless.
Soulless, Cafferty thought.
It was as if the thousands of soldiers moved and acted as one, perfectly choreographed, perfectly disciplined. No individuality whatsoever. They looked human, but not quite. Because that was true—there was part of them that was creature.
And that’s what made them so goddamn scary.
As he got a closer look at the spectacle unfolding in front of them, the XO’s mouth dropped open. “Wh-what the hell?” he stammered. “They all look . . . the same.”
The captain shook his head in disbelief at what he was witnessing. He turned to Roux. “They all look like you.”
“They are clones,” Roux replied.
“I gotta say, I’ve seen some crazy shit in my time, but this one takes the goddamn cake.”
But the XO had his orders and nodded toward one of the marines, who in turn raised his handheld radio.
Moments later, two light tactical vehicles at the front of the supersoldier ranks powered forward at a slow pace, leading the army toward the Nimitz. People peered through the windows of the administration buildings, in shock at the sight of the supersoldiers marching by.
As they approached the aircraft carrier, Cafferty was taken aback by its sheer size. A huge gray hulk, bristling with weapons and packed with fighter jets. He guessed it was also armed to the teeth, with enough missiles to surgically clear any area for an amphibious landing.
Just as the supersoldiers began marching onto the Nimitz gangway, a siren split the air, piercing, long, and loud.
The captain stopped, rigid. His head snapped toward the distant city. A marine quickly approached, fear in his eyes.
“Sir, the creatures are moving en masse toward the marina, directly across the bay from us.”
“As expected,” Van Ness interjected. “They know my supersoldiers are here.”
“What do you mean?” Captain Collingwood asked, surprised. “How the hell do they know you’re here?”
“You are not fighting mindless creatures,” Van Ness said. “Rest assured, they are smarter than you, Captain.”
Collingwood looked irate at the dig.
“They will do everything in their power to stop us from reaching our target,” Van Ness continued.
“But we’re cut off from the mainland,” Collingwood replied. “Surely this base is safe.”
“For now. But rest assured, Captain—they will find a way to cross that bay. And they will find a way to slaughter all your men. So . . . may I suggest you follow your orders and we leave?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Justin Knapp leaned against the heavily barricaded door of the Sheraton San Diego Hotel’s subbasement, along with a few dozen other hotel guests. Time seemed to be standing still down here, but they hadn’t dared leave this relative safety after what they had witnessed. That would have to change because of their diminished supplies. And now a distant siren was blaring.
It spooked everyone into action.
He thought back to a few days earlier, when the world had been so very different. He had been working on his boat in the marina only a few hundred yards away from the Sheraton. He’d saved for three years for the boat, a Yamaha SX195. Compared with the mega-yachts in San Diego harbor, his humble, previously owned nineteen-footer wasn’t much, but it sure wasn’t bad on a mechanic’s salary.
Hands full of grease and headfirst in the engine, he’d heard a few people shouting on the dock. He’d lifted his head to see what the fuss was all about. A few fellow boat owners went running toward the hotel. He scanned the rest of the marina and saw more commotion. Some people ran back toward their cars, some onto their boats and sped off quickly.
What the hell is going on?
He shouted to a nearby mariner, and the only reply he got was “You gotta see this!”
Curiosity got the better of him. And since he had just put the finishing touches on the engine anyway, Justin sealed the panels back up, wiped the grease off his hands, and followed other boaters toward the hotel.
When he entered the lobby, there were hundreds of people—hotel guests, employees, and fellow boaters—crowded around, watching the massive projection screen on the wall. His mouth dropped open at the sight on the local news. All he could mutter to the guy next to him was “Is this for real?”
Terrifying creatures stormed the streets of Chicago, Atlanta, San Francisco, and more. He could not believe what the news was reporting. Then the blast of an air-raid siren outside filled the air. Simultaneously, the TV network went dead, as did all the power in the Sheraton.
Within minutes, the creatures had reached the hotel and marina. He would never forget the sounds of their deafening screeches and of hundreds of people dying. Anyone outside the hotel got slaughtered. Most inside as well. In the panic, he followed a frantic hotel employee down the stairwell into a mechanical room subbasement and barricaded himself inside, along with thirty or so other strangers. They stayed there in complete darkness and absolute silence for hours as the monstrosities tore apart the hotel above their heads floor by floor. By sheer luck, the creatures never discovered their hiding spot. Eventually, the horrifying combined sounds of screaming and screeching faded and hours passed by in silence.
That was two days ago.
The group had agreed on a plan. Since a dozen of them owned boats in the harbor, along with Justin, everyone would make a break for the dock and take off as fast as possible. They divided up who would go on what boats. Justin would take two hotel guests with him, Tim and Patricia, a young husband and wife on their honeymoon, both tanned with blond hair. Appearances made no difference right now. The rest of the hotel guests were partnered up with the other boat owners.
Once out to sea, they would head toward the two aircraft carriers in San Diego Bay—if anyone could help them, it would be the U.S. military.
Get to the boats, get to the help.
And pray to God those creatures can’t swim . . .
As silently as possible, they removed the assortment of junk they had piled against the subbasement door and crept up the stairwell.
Justin nearly gagged when he entered the lobby of the hotel. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Mangled a
nd twisted bodies littered the floor, pools of blood so thick the liquid had not yet dried, even after two days. It was a slaughterhouse, and the stench of decay overwhelmed his senses.
But no creatures in sight.
Justin stepped over dozens of severed limbs, cutting a path to the shattered glass entrance. The group followed and exited the hotel.
Outside, the scene was as gruesome. There appeared no escape from the carnage.
Stay focused.
Get to the boats, get somewhere—anywhere—else.
The marina was only a few hundred yards ahead. If they moved quickly, they’d be out to sea in under ten minutes.
Justin looked ahead at the docks. Thousands of boats still packed the west and east marinas. Many of them were sprayed with the blood of whatever occupants were on board when the creatures struck. He looked farther across the bay, and a wave of relief overwhelmed him.
At the North Island military base, the two aircraft carriers were still docked. And the Nimitz had thousands of people on the top deck, like they were preparing to mount an attack.
Thank God . . .
The wail of the siren was a lot louder once outside. The same one that had gone off two days earlier, moments before the creatures attacked.
Justin peered back toward the mainland of San Diego. In the distance, hundreds, no thousands of creatures sped toward the marina at incredible speed.
“Get to the boats!” he screamed.
The group sprinted toward the dock. His heart pounded in his chest as the horrifying screeches grew closer and closer by the second.
He estimated he’d have two minutes at best to free his boat and start the engine. He went through a mental checklist of what to do, what buttons to press.
Justin leaped on board. Tim and Patricia followed. He untied the ropes from the dock as fast as his hands would move and screamed at them to push the boat away from shore.
He slammed down on the button to lower the engine into the water. It descended, but not fast enough.
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