“All units in command vicinity respond,” came the voice. “Variant tunnel identified directly on the west-side of command. Requesting immediate response. Over.”
Fitz waved the rest of the team toward the road crossing and closed gate in front of the command building. The third-floor gunner fired on a stream of Variants coming from a hole in the street just beyond the fencing.
Already there was a pile of corpses—human and Variant—around a hole that had exploded inside the border.
Another hole swallowed the asphalt in the middle of a group of soldiers defending the southern side of the building. An Alpha lunged out right into a stream of gunfire. Rounds punched into its flesh until it collapsed in a heap of bloody limbs.
The ground rumbled again a moment later.
It didn’t take long to see that the fences and thirty some soldiers holding back the hordes would be overrun. Fitz knew they had to do something drastic to keep command from falling, but the only thing he could think of was a long shot.
“Command, Ghost 1,” he said over the public channel. “We need access to an R2TD system now!”
From past experience, they knew the rapid reaction tunnel detection system was perfect for hampering the Alpha’s echolocation abilities and driving them mad. Sowing chaos among the Alphas would put the Variant attack in disarray.
The response was impossible to hear over the gunfire.
Fitz led the team to the gate on the eastern side of the building. Two Marines held sentry behind a secondary fence. They opened both gates to let the team inside the secure area.
“Go, go, go!” one of them yelled.
Fitz grabbed the guy’s arm. “We need an R2TD unit!”
“The hell is that?” the man said.
Letting go of the man, Fitz marched toward the sealed off doors of the command building. Team Ghost followed him through a maze of sandbags. They ran toward the west side of the building where most of the soldiers and Marines were holding back the attacking beasts.
Fitz repeated his request for an R2TD system over the channel, and this time he heard the response.
“Copy that, Ghost 1. What’s your location?”
“We’re outside the west entrance of the command building!” he shouted.
“Copy, Ghost 1. Hold your position!”
Fitz and the rest of the team took up position behind a mound of sandbags. He spent two magazines on the incoming Variants before the sliding metal door opened behind them.
A soldier carrying an R2TD system hurried outside Ace slung his shotgun to take the unit.
“Plant that in one of the tunnels!” Fitz yelled.
“Let me take it,” Rico said. “I’m faster.”
“You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin?” Ace said as he started to turn on the device.
“Yes, you’re too damn slow,” Rico said.
Fitz didn’t intend to see either Rico or Ace play martyr.
“We’re all going out there,” Fitz said.
He brought up his rifle as Ace primed the device. Hundreds of Variants had already reached the fences on the west side, climbing the leaning sides and reaching the top to tear off coils of razor wire.
Sending anyone out there sure looked like a death sentence.
But the beasts had ignored the area that Fitz and his team had entered. Instead of asking for covering fire from other soldiers, Fitz gave the advance signal to Team Ghost, hoping to go unnoticed.
They set off for the gate they had entered through.
One of the two Marines still standing sentry held up a hand.
“Where the hell you think you’re going?” he asked.
“We have to get this device in one of those holes,” Fitz said, pointing.
The Marines both followed his finger.
“You fucking crazy?” the other man said.
“Crazy will keep us alive, so move it,” Ace said.
The Marines opened the gates without more protest, and Ace charged toward one of the holes with Team Ghost covering him along the way.
Variants had already emerged from another hole and rushed toward the gates, scaling the fences. Several made it over the top, dropping into the secure area, only to be cut down by gunfire.
A Black Hawk circled, raining fire from the sky at the devilish army.
Another hole burst open, unleashing more of the monsters and one of the larger blind Alphas. The beast let out its staccato shriek and twisted toward Team Ghost just as Ace lobbed the activated R2TD into a hole.
While the sound waves it emitted were too high for the human ear, they were perfectly suited for hammering the sensitive ears of the Alphas.
The creature let out a shriek, attracting the attention of the hordes attacking the western gate. Many of them turned away from the fences.
“Oh shit,” Mendez stuttered.
An entire group peeled off, falling to all fours, some of them tripping and falling over each other as they changed directions.
At least forty beasts charged Team Ghost.
“RUN!” Fitz yelled.
The team bolted away from the hole back toward the gate where the Marines were shouting and waving. A hail of bullets chewed into the Variants pursuing Team Ghost, cutting some of them down, but the meat of the pack ran faster.
Fitz was the last one in the gate. The Marines sealed it behind them and everyone backed away. The wave of Variants slammed into it seconds after.
“Back!” Ace shouted.
Fitz retreated from the barrier, scanning for the Alphas. He finally spotted one lumbering toward the R2TD system.
Another Alpha climbed out of the newest hole and ran toward the abandoned R2TD equipment. Fitz waved at the soldiers with AT-4s on the rooftop.
“Hit those Alphas!” he shouted.
Fitz brought up his rifle and fired bursts at the Variants still slamming into the fences. A grenade sailed overhead and exploded behind one of the Alphas, smearing the beast across the asphalt. Another explosive round slammed into the parking lot between two vehicles. The fuel tanks ruptured, and the resulting inferno consumed the beasts.
But another Alpha pushed its way through the charred corpses of its brethren, bullet holes weeping blood across its body. It reached the R2TD system, smashing the cylindrical machine with its clawed fists. The equipment broke into pieces, but not more than a second later, a rocket tore the Alpha into just as many chunks of bloody flesh.
“Wooooo!” Mendez wailed. “That’s how we do this shit!”
The remaining Variants flagged in their assault, turning and squawking like disoriented beasts at the death of their monstrous leaders. They scattered as the soldiers and Marines fired into their fleeing ranks.
“Parking lot clear,” came a voice over the public channel. “All units near the parking lot, fall back to command.”
Fitz retreated with Team Ghost, listening to the rattle of gunfire. Some of it came from the airfield where people still rushed through nearby streets, streaming toward the planes waiting to evacuate them.
Two helicopters circled, their door gunners firing bursts to keep back the Variants.
An officer moved onto the landing of the command building.
“Fine work, everyone!” he yelled.
Several grunts and “Oorahs,” roared from the men.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” the officer said. “We have another group pinned down. We need volunteers to extract them. The rest of us will stay here and hold this post.”
“Where are they?” someone asked.
The officer pointed toward a cluster of buildings about a mile away from the command building.
“Damn,” Mendez muttered.
Fitz looked at his team in turn. There was no way they could stand idly by while those families were stuck out there. But at the same time, they were needed here to help defend the command.
“Dohi, Rico…” Fitz said. His words trailed off. Could he really send his girlfriend out there? He hated doing it, but she was the sec
ond in command. When Ghost split into Alpha and Bravo teams, Bravo was always hers.
He had to trust her like she trusted him.
“We got this, Fitzie,” she said, chewing on her gum. She jogged with Dohi toward a group of volunteers gathering in front of the officer, apparently not even thinking twice about heading behind enemy lines.
Fitz swallowed hard and looked out from the base wondering how long they could hold back the beasts. If the previous night’s attack was just the beginning, the next time the Variant hordes returned, they would crash over the Allied States’ defenses.
— 2 —
Marine One and Marine Two flew north to the USS George Johnson. The choppers hugged the eastern shore close enough that Captain Reed Beckham could see the fires on the horizon.
An inferno blazed in Outpost New Boston.
After eight years of peace and reconstruction, everything was falling apart. If they didn’t stop this invasion soon, the Allied States would be nothing but ashes.
“Must be collaborators,” said Master Sergeant Parker Horn.
“Yeah,” Beckham agreed.
Variants didn’t use guns, but the collaborators and their raiding parties were well versed in guerrilla warfare, utilizing everything from C4 to the acid produced by Variants.
Almost every face in Marine One was turned to the windows. Kate had Javier wrapped up in her arms next to Beckham, and Horn watched the fires next to Tasha and Jenny. An unlit cigarette wobbled between his lips as he cursed under his breath.
“We shouldn’t have left Timothy,” Tasha said, wiping her eyes.
“He’s going to be okay,” Horn replied.
Beckham nodded back. He wanted to believe they could stop the invading monsters and collaborators, but with the addition of juveniles in their army, he wasn’t so sure.
Command didn’t even know the Variants’ strength anymore or where the masterminds controlling the hordes were located.
For a split-second back in the Presidential Emergency Operations Center (PEOC), Beckham had given some thought to Brigadier General Lucas Barnes’s suggestion to nuke the cities where they suspected the masterminds might be. But even using low-yield nuclear weapons was no guarantee they would stop the masterminds, and it would guarantee the death of any human prisoners there along with the people in the surrounding outposts.
Evacuating those outposts by land would be nearly impossible now that the Variants were attacking and surrounding them. It would be almost as difficult by air, given the dearth of resources currently available to the Allied States and the sheer number of people who would need to be transported.
The numbers simply didn’t add up, and places like Outpost Boston only had one option right now.
Stand their ground and fight.
“We should have evacuated before,” Beckham said quietly.
“Do you think Portland is going to be okay?” Kate asked.
Javier glanced up to his dad for an answer.
“Portland is a long way from the main target cities and it’s well-defended,” Beckham said. “They should be fine.”
He said it as much to reassure himself as the others.
“I’m worried about Donna, Bo, and Timothy.” Javier’s gaze flitted from Beckham to Kate and then back again. “They’re going to get on another helicopter, right, Dad?”
“If we think they’re in trouble, we’ll get them out of there,” Beckham said.
He exchanged a glance with Kate, seeing the extreme worry in her eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Javier asked.
“To talk with the president.”
Kate pulled Javier closer while Beckham made his way through the technicians, soldiers, and others occupying the troop hold between the leather seats. The helicopter was packed to the limit.
Standing between Beckham and the president was Doctor Jeff Carr and two lab technicians. The group was talking about the mastermind Variants and juveniles.
Beckham squeezed past them, more interested in what the president’s team was talking about. They huddled in seats near the cockpit. Chief of Staff James Soprano and National Security Advisor Ben Nelson shared reports with President Ringgold and Vice President Dan Lemke, while Chief of Staff Elizabeth Cortez spoke on a satellite phone.
Judging by their dour looks, the reports coming in were anything but good.
Once he made it directly behind Nelson, Beckham picked up a few things from the conversation. Cortez said something about the US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis being destroyed and the hordes being pushed back from the walls of Outpost Chicago.
“Our forces have repelled the attack at the White House, too,” said Lemke. “The area is being secured.”
“Thank God,” Ringgold said, breathing an audible sigh of relief.
“We dodged some bullets tonight, especially at Portland,” Cortez said.
Ringgold spotted Beckham and waved him over.
“Captain Beckham, join me,” she said. “How much of our situation did you overhear?”
“I heard the White House has been secured,” Beckham said.
Ringgold nodded. Her expression softened. “Team Ghost made it to Scott AFB, and they’ve helped hold back the Variant hordes, but I’m afraid I have bad news about Outpost Portland.”
Beckham’s stomach curdled.
“An assault started a few minutes ago,” Lemke said.
“Reports indicate the collaborators hit from the inside,” Nelson said.
Beckham’s mind raced with thoughts of Donna, Bo, Timothy, and everyone else.
He should never have left them.
He should have stayed to fight.
But once again, he had fled the fighting to protect his family.
“There must be a collaborator sleeper cell involved,” Nelson said. “These assholes made it into the outpost far too easily.”
“Based on what we’re seeing, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true for many of the outposts,” Lemke said.
“That would explain how the first raiders on Peaks Island knew where the lab was,” Beckham said. No, he knew they weren’t simple raiders.
They were collaborators.
In his mind’s eye he saw the pair of would-be assassins back at the campaign rally. Before one had died, he had said, “Adios, Reed.” He couldn’t help wondering if there was something personal about this. Almost as if the collaborators and Variants held a grudge against him.
Couldn’t be, though. Could it?
He tried to shake the idea, turning his thoughts back to who might be working with the collaborators inside Outpost Portland.
Was someone he called a friend actually a traitor?
Chances were good the culprits hadn’t betrayed their neighbors purely out of evil. It was more likely the collaborators had threatened their family or held some kind of leverage over them. Maybe they had convinced them that a Variants victory was all but assured and the monsters would spare their lives if they cooperated.
Whatever they had done to seduce people within the outposts, Beckham knew one thing: It was all lies.
“How long until we land?” he asked.
Nelson peered at his watch. “About thirty minutes. Maybe a bit less.”
Beckham looked over his shoulder at his family. He saw Big Horn leaning over to talk with Tasha and Jenny, too. Horn had to have identical thoughts as him—that returning to fight risked condemning their kids to the same fate as Timothy Temper.
Fatherless.
Just like Timothy, Tasha and Jenny would become orphans.
Beckham wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of Kate raising all three kids on her own. But they couldn’t just abandon Bo, Donna, and Timothy to the monsters and collaborators. He would never be able to live with himself.
“Madam President, would you consider sending Marine One and Marine Two back to Portland to evacuate more people?” Beckham asked.
“Already planning o
n it,” Ringgold said. She narrowed her eyes, studying Beckham. “I hope you’re not thinking about going back with the helicopters though. We already have plenty of boots on the ground.”
Beckham gathered his thoughts for a second.
“Outpost Portland is my home,” Beckham said. “It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t at least help manage the evacuation.”
“I wish you would reconsider your position,” Ringgold said. “There are others more than capable of helping your friends and neighbors.”
Cortez finished up another call, then turned to the others, interrupting the conversation.
“I just received an update on the outposts around the target cities,” Cortez said. “Our bombers are going back for another run.”
No one said a word as Marine One curved away from the shoreline and headed farther out to sea. The dark gray shapes cutting through the water confirmed the rest of the 1st Fleet had gathered around the USS George Johnson.
Nelson broke the silence. “You sure it’s safe out here?”
“Unless the collaborators have also commandeered a warship,” Lemke said.
“It wouldn’t be the first time one of our enemies have,” Ringgold said.
Beckham guessed she was thinking about Resistance of Tyranny (ROT), and how Lieutenant Andrew Wood had managed to gain control of Navy warships to launch a coup against Ringgold’s administration.
“Even if we think we’ve got control over all our ships,” Beckham began, “what if a collaborator has infiltrated our ranks and made it on one?”
“That is highly unlikely,” Lemke said. “Every sailor on the 1st Fleet has been thoroughly vetted.”
“Highly unlikely is what we would have said two weeks ago about the attacks around our country,” Ringgold said. “But Captain Beckham has a point. We underestimated the monsters and their collaborators. Now we’re paying the price.”
Lemke didn’t look pleased, his lips curving into a frown. Finally he said, “You’re right. I’ll have General Souza dedicate a team to investigating everyone on those ships.”
“I’d advise sending the USS George Johnson to a covert location, isolated from the other ships, until we can confirm there are no collaborators among the rest of the Fleet.” Beckham said.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 33