“It can’t wait, sir.” The junior officer’s tone sounded urgent.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he hissed. “On my way.”
Scott finished with the injured man and jogged to the office.
Karen placed a blanket over Betty and leaned close. “Let any of the team know if you’re experiencing pain. I’ll be back shortly.”
Whatever was happening with the call, Karen wanted to know. Any news would be helpful to reassure the victims or give an up-to-date assessment of the situation on the ground. She weaved between the beds to the edge of the door to listen.
Kohler had a phone planted to his ear. He nodded several times. As he did, his eyes widened and he slumped onto a swivel chair. Shortly after, he said, “Okay, we’ll be ready, sir. Tell us if there’s anything we need to do.”
Then he spotted Karen outside. He encouraged her inside with a wave of his hand.
“Ready for what?” she asked.
“This information is—” the young officer started to say.
“To hell with that,” Captain Kohler interrupted. “People deserve to know what’s happening.”
Karen moved into the room and closed the door behind her.
“U.S. carrier strike groups are heading en masse to San Francisco,” the captain continued. “They’ll be here by dawn.”
Excitement and relief rose inside of her. This was the first good news she’d heard in days. But if this war was global in scale, it raised a question in her mind.
“Why San Francisco?” she asked.
“Apparently these creatures have a ‘queen,’ and command thinks she might be here in San Francisco. They intend to hunt her down and take her out. We need to prepare to receive wounded soldiers from the battlefield tomorrow.”
Karen cast her mind back to the park on Lombard Street. The chunks of turf hurling into the air before that massively large creature rose from the abyss below.
She’d already guessed the creatures had some kind of rank structure, with the huge monster at the top of the chain. This seemed apparent when she witnessed the thousands of other living horrors protecting the giant creature as it walked through the streets.
“You look lost in thought,” Kohler said. “What’s on your mind?”
“I think I might know where the queen is hiding.”
Kohler and the officer exchanged glances. “Really?”
“Yep, and I saw her with my own eyes while my son and I hid on Lombard Street. Saw how she behaved, how she controlled the other creatures.”
“And you’re sure this was the queen?”
“If that wasn’t the queen, I’ll eat my own shoe.”
Kohler scratched his chin, lost in thought. “I think this is something the carrier group needs to hear firsthand. I’m gonna send you and your son out to the Nimitz when it gets within range. Are you okay with that?”
Karen frowned. “I’m needed here.”
He circled around the desk to her. “This operation could mean the difference to our survival. If your information tips the scales, you’ll have played a bigger part in our victory than any of us could’ve ever imagined.”
“Why can’t I tell them over the radio?”
“Because who knows how long we’ll have a radio. And,” he said somberly, “who knows how long we’ll be safe here. You might be the key, and I’m not going to risk everything because you can’t patch up some injured. It’s not to say that isn’t important,” he said more gently, “but this is much, much more. Get your son and prepare—you’re going.”
She stood there, stunned by the information. Playing a part by treating victims had come naturally to her. This, on the other hand, by accident or design, had propelled her into territory she’d never thought possible.
“Tell them everything you witnessed,” Captain Kohler said, fire in his eyes. “And then . . . help them kill that fucker.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Nimitz plowed northward through the Pacific Ocean at top speed. On the flight deck, bright moonlight glinted off the windows of fighter jets. Bowcut stood alone on the starboard side, viewing the dark American coastline.
The country is dying right in front of my eyes.
Only the distant glow of fires had betrayed the locations of Los Angeles and Santa Barbara along the coastline. Several small towns still had power, though she wondered how many people remained alive in those cities. Even more pertinently, how many would survive once the creature attacks expanded out of the big cities.
The plan has to work before there’s nothing left to save. Otherwise we’re all screwed.
Bowcut zipped up her jacket to protect her from the cool night air before gazing out to sea. A cruiser led the way toward their date with destiny. Two destroyers flanked the Nimitz. In the distance, the dark shapes of more than a hundred vessels ominously plowed their way toward San Francisco. One after another, seven carrier strike groups had joined the procession from different parts of the seven seas. Safe in the water. The mightiest, most powerful armada to have ever been assembled on the face of the earth. But the deadliest weapon at their disposal was right below her very feet. The 4,500 supersoldiers in the hangar, primed for battle upon their arrival.
A shooting star burst across the star-studded sky.
Does the universe even care about our fate?
In a thousand years, would anyone even remember humanity’s brief reign on this planet?
She thought about how everything had led to this point. Three years ago, standing outside the Jersey City subway tunnel with SWAT team captain Larry Dumont, assuming terrorists had attacked the Z Train. Going below the Hudson River and discovering the creatures’ terrifying nest. Her boyfriend, David North, giving his life to aid the escape of the survivors. She pictured him relentlessly firing his laser as a mass of creatures and wall of water engulfed him. When he died, part of her died right there with him.
Then the fallout. Cafferty, Ellen, Diego, and her versus the Foundation.
London. Paris. Antarctica. Lima.
Nobody saw it all coming, apart from Albert Van Ness.
She slipped a tattered Polaroid out of her thigh pocket. Everyone in the photo, other than her, was now deceased. Her brother and father—both police officers who perished during 9/11 when the South Tower collapsed—had their arms wrapped around her smiling mother, who had died shortly thereafter.
Everyone I get close to, everyone I’ve ever cared about, is dead.
First she had fought to honor their memory. Then she had fought to get revenge. Now, she wasn’t sure what was left to fight for.
Footsteps neared, regimented and heavy. She turned to see the imposing figure of Franco Roux, dressed in his black-and-gray uniform. He dropped a cigar and crushed its glowing end under his boot and stood next to her, looking out into the darkness of the sea.
“What’s that?” he asked, noticing the photo in her hand.
“The past,” she replied.
Roux nodded in understanding. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a worn photo of a younger version of himself standing alongside a woman and small child. He rubbed his thumb slowly along the edge.
“What’s that?” Bowcut asked him.
“The past,” he replied, distance in his eyes.
She nodded at the man, and the two stared out to sea in silence for a long minute. “May I ask you a question?” she finally said.
“Of course.”
“Why do you keep fighting?”
Roux locked eyes with her, considering the query. “For the same reason you do,” he replied. “Because it’s the only thing you and I know how to do.”
He’s right.
It’s all I ever knew how to do.
“Anyways,” he continued, “I think your presence is required on the other side of the ship.”
Bowcut raised an eyebrow. “Sounds official. What’s going on?”
“The captain broke out the beer. Your boy Munoz is cranking up the tunes.”
&nb
sp; “The last supper, eh?”
“Let’s hope not.”
In the distance, the sound of “Working My Way Back to You” by the Spinners erupted on the far side of the ship. She smiled. Diego always played that song before their missions, rather than his usual maddeningly repetitive Pitbull selection.
As they headed to the port side of the ship, Bowcut stopped and faced Roux one more time. He stopped as well and turned to face her silently.
She knew what she was about to say was blunt, but at this point, what was there to lose? Besides, she trusted him.
Bowcut finally broke the silence. “You know you’re working for a madman, right?”
“Yes,” Roux agreed, looking away, almost embarrassed by the admission.
“Then why don’t you stop him?”
Roux turned back toward Bowcut. “When the time comes, I will.”
“We both will,” she added resolutely.
“We both will.”
“All right, Mr. Roux, let’s get this party started.” Bowcut smiled, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him toward the fun. “You better know how to dance.”
Roughly two hundred of the crew stood around open cases of beer from R&H, a brewery on Staten Island that had recently been gaining popularity. She had to admit, it was damn good beer.
Music pumped from a Bluetooth speaker at full blast.
Munoz looked over to her and immediately approached with a broad grin, belting the song lyrics aloud.
“I think the creatures sing better than you,” Bowcut said.
The pair laughed. He handed her a can of R&H and she snapped it open.
Bowcut took a couple of mouthfuls of the cool, crisp beer. She scanned the deck at the faces of the crew. Most seemed at ease—or as relaxed as they could be when heading toward a possible extinction. It was probably the reason the captain had let them have a drink.
“You’re in a very good mood,” Bowcut said to Diego.
“You’re damn right,” he replied. “If I discovered what I think I did, you’ll be in a good mood tomorrow, too.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“And because I’m a stickler for making backups, keep this safe for me, will ya?” With that, Diego slipped a flash drive into Sarah’s hand.
“What is it?”
Before she could ask for clarification, he danced away, singing the next line in the song.
Sarah glanced over at the Caffertys, who stood at the edge of the group smiling at the scene. Ellen grabbed Tom’s arm and encouraged him away.
“Hey,” Bowcut shouted. “Where are you two going?”
Neither turned back.
She got that not everyone wanted to party. For her, cutting loose for the first time in months came as a welcome relief. For the crew and the team, this was possibly their last chance.
Ellen pulled Tom away from the party. As much as she liked the music and would’ve loved a beer, those two things were not her priority tonight. If this was her last night with her husband—and his mortality was at greater risk because of his deal with the devil—she wanted them to spend it together. Alone.
She silently led him to the deck below toward their room on the ship. He clasped her hand tightly. Neither spoke. There was nothing really to say. She could see the weight of everything on his shoulders. She felt it, too.
Ellen and Tom walked along a brightly lit corridor and slipped through the open door to their quarters. The room was sparse, just a small bed and even smaller dresser. She sealed the door behind them and pushed her husband up against the wall. She leaned into him and pressed her body to his.
They both closed their eyes, connecting physically for the first time in seemingly forever.
Ellen put both her hands around Tom’s face and locked eyes with her husband. After a long moment, she broke the silence.
“Now you listen here, Mr. Cafferty . . .”
He smiled at her.
“No matter what the day brings, I expect you right back here tomorrow night, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tom replied obediently.
Ellen kissed her husband passionately and unbuttoned his shirt.
Van Ness wheeled along the corridor toward the captain’s quarters. Collingwood had requested he visit, alone. He knew what was coming, and so far, his plan had gone perfectly.
Let them think they’re making the decisions.
The captain kept a tight ship. It impressed Van Ness. It took a high level of skill to run what was effectively a floating city.
He stopped outside the captain’s door, raised his swagger stick, and gave three sharp knocks.
“Come in,” the captain called.
Van Ness navigated his chair inside a surprisingly large office. Uniforms were hung along one wall. The jackets seemed to have too many medals for his liking. A room at the side had a bed and a bathroom next to it, very much like a cheap hotel’s version of a suite.
Captain Collingwood sat behind a solid wood desk. He wearily looked up. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Van Ness.”
“How may I be of assistance, Captain?”
Collingwood sipped from a glass on his desk, full of what Van Ness thought smelled like whiskey. He leaned forward.
“I was impressed by your supersoldiers’ performance on the bridge.”
“They are in fact impressive.”
“You said earlier the creatures would target my fleet.”
“That is correct,” Van Ness replied. “The creatures are clearly aware of our impending counteroffensive. I’m afraid we tipped our hand in Lima.”
“Which brings me to the point of this conversation,” Collingwood said. “It seems as if these supersoldiers are the only effective means we have to combat these monsters.”
“As I mentioned, they are a tool at your disposal, Captain.”
“With that in mind, I’d like to disperse a portion of these soldiers on the various ships in our fleet to protect our mission.”
Van Ness looked away, pondering the request. “Surely my supersoldiers would be better suited on the ground in the invasion of San Francisco, Captain. And a portion left behind on the Nimitz, protecting your ship. Don’t you think that—”
“True,” Collingwood said, cutting him off, “but if just one of those creatures reaches any of my ships, it could kill hundreds of soldiers before being stopped. We could end up losing the entire fleet. That is simply unacceptable to me.”
“I understand,” Van Ness replied. “But still, dispersing my army is . . .”
“Is good strategic decision-making,” Collingwood said. “I still don’t trust you or your men, and frankly, I don’t want more than a handful left on my ship. I’ve instructed my XO to coordinate the dispersal and to order the supersoldiers not involved in the land invasion to protect our ships. Is that clear?”
Van Ness studied the man and sighed. “Very well, Captain. You know the best strategy for war. It is your decision.”
“Then I’ve made it.”
“Is that all?” Van Ness asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Van Ness turned his wheelchair around and headed toward the door. As he exited the room, a thin smile spread across Van Ness’ face.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Joey sprang away from Karen to the chopper’s cabin window. Despite their early departure, he remained bright-eyed and excitedly peered out at dawn breaking on the horizon. Karen was wearing a Coast Guard orange-and-blue coverall—the only clothing the camp had available so she didn’t arrive on the Nimitz stained with the blood of victims.
Their ride from the military base on Treasure Island—a gunmetal-gray Sea Hawk helicopter—smoothly thundered through the sky. Directly ahead, long rows of ships plowed through the water, roughly a mile off the coast.
“Look at all those boats, Mommy,” Joey chirped as he pointed down.
The sight below took her breath away. The largest armada of ships ever seen.
We’ve still got a dog in this hun
t.
She guessed they were only an hour south of San Francisco, judging by the quick flight. The idea of her playing an influential role in the counterattack hadn’t quite sunk in.
“Mom, look at that giant boat!” Joey said.
“That’s where we’re heading, baby.”
A smile spread across her son’s face.
The chopper descended. As it closed in on their destination, the Nimitz grew to an almost unimaginable scale. Sure, she’d seen carriers from a distance and plenty of times on TV. But up close, the dimensions appeared gigantic. Four acres of floating land. Everything a shade of gray. Dozens of planes lined the edges of starboard and stern. It was an incredible feat of engineering.
“Good God,” she murmured.
The Sea Hawk’s wheels bumped against the deck of the mighty ship. One of the ground crew opened the side door.
Karen thanked him, grabbed Joey, and stepped outside onto the mammoth deck. Two people stood waiting for her arrival: a middle-aged woman with steely blue eyes, wearing cargo pants and a baggy olive T-shirt—she looked familiar, though not in an immediately recognizable way—and a younger man in a uniform, who extended his hand. “I’m Petty Officer Dave McMaster. Welcome aboard the USS Nimitz.”
“Hi, I’m Karen Green and this is my son, Joey.”
Her son’s eyes darted in all directions, visibly in awe—as she was—at the sight. All the fighter jets. The dozens of destroyers following nearby. Hundreds of soldiers and crew members working diligently on the deck of the ship. It was all so overwhelming, and encouraging.
For the first time in a long time, Karen felt optimistic again. Like humanity actually had a shot.
“Hi, Karen, I’m Ellen Cafferty,” the woman said, introducing herself.
That’s why she looks familiar . . .
“And hello, Joey,” Ellen said warmly.
“Hi, ma’am,” he replied.
Ever my polite little man.
“Shall we?” Ellen asked. “Everyone is waiting for us in the meeting room.”
“Who am I speaking with?” Karen asked anxiously.
Ellen gave a reassuring smile. “The captain; the commanding officer; my husband; Tom, and Albert Van Ness. Apparently you’ve got some good information to share?”
Obliteration Page 17