Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  They lunged for cover as the growl of diesel engines grew louder.

  The vehicles ground to a halt and a spotlight clicked on, sweeping over the ditch until it hit the two men.

  “Fuck,” Horn muttered, holding up his hand to keep the light out of his eyes.

  “Get up!” someone yelled. “We know you’re out there.”

  Beckham squinted into the beam.

  A familiar voice called out. “Captain Beckham, Master Sergeant Horn!”

  Beckham started up the side of the ditch with Horn. At the top, Ruckley stood looking down with a scowl.

  “You two got more lives than a pack of feral cats,” she said.

  Horn laughed and helped Beckham up the ditch. Something shot high above them like missiles. They both spun to look as a rumbling sounded.

  “What the…” Beckham began to say.

  The scream of fighter jets roared through the night. A second later, explosions boomed in the woods miles away, lighting up the sky in an apocalyptic glow.

  They dropped payloads on more targets beyond that, the ground trembling with each impact. The jets came back for a second run, raining more bombs in brilliant explosions.

  As the vibrations and noise of the aircraft faded away Ruckley clapped Beckham and then Horn.

  “Thanks to you two, we were able to go on the offensive tonight,” she said. “The explosion on the road helped us ID exactly where those Variants were with a drone.”

  Horn grinned proudly.

  “Thermal vision identified the location of several other hordes, and we called in those F-35s from an aircraft carrier off the coast. If you hadn’t set off those explosives, that drone would still be going around in circles searching all the wrong areas for those things.”

  “Glad our crazy plan paid off,” Horn said.

  Beckham stared at the flames raging in the distance. He didn’t hear any cries or wails from the beasts. Not even the Alpha had survived.

  He wanted to feel the same joy as the others celebrating the victory, but he couldn’t help thinking that, if he was still alive, Timothy might have been in the path of these bombs.

  — 9 —

  The abandoned cup rolled back and forth on the mess hall deck of the USS George Johnson. White light flooded the space, belying the black night that had settled outside the stealth warship. Kate marched through the mess and scooped up the cup while Carr kept walking.

  They had been working in the laboratory almost nonstop. Now that they had an idea of what the webbing in the Variant tunnels was used for, they had changed gears to focus on experiments to uncover the molecular mechanisms by which the webbing worked.

  So far, none of it had been helpful in translating the signals passing through the webbing into information that they could interpret and understand.

  They had reached an impasse and needed a new revelation. A breakthrough to push them beyond what they already knew. Being confined to that claustrophobic laboratory with a half-dozen technicians working shoulder-to-shoulder had been suffocating Kate’s mind.

  Sometimes a brief break from her routine allowed her to think outside of the box. Coffee didn’t hurt, either.

  “Back in my MIT lab, I told my graduate students that if they left their lab benches a mess, I would expel them from the program,” Carr said.

  Kate deposited the cup in a sink filled with other dirty dishes soaking in soapy water.

  “Did you ever have to follow through?” she asked.

  Carr let out a chuckle. “No, thankfully they always kept everything clean. I’m pretty sure they assumed I was serious.”

  “Were you?” Kate asked.

  “Of course not,” Carr said. “But I didn’t mind that they thought I was.”

  He reached up to a cabinet and pulled out a tin of coffee. From another drawer, he took out a spoon and scooped a pile of the grounds from the tin into the coffee maker.

  “I’m surprised they bought that,” Kate said. “It would’ve been an extreme response.”

  “Very true. Not to mention replacing a graduate student isn’t easy or cheap when you’re trying to secure new grant funding.”

  Kate chuckled at Carr’s dry humor. The man was finally beginning to seem a bit more human around her despite his rough edges. She still didn’t envy any of the former students that had studied under him.

  The gurgle of the coffee maker filled the silence between them, along with the aroma of the fresh brew. Once the pot was full, Carr removed it and poured a mug for each of them.

  Kate took a cup, closing her eyes and breathing in the aroma.

  “Pulling all these long shifts is getting to me,” Kate said. “Pretty soon all the coffee in the world isn’t going to keep me awake.”

  “Me, too.” Carr took a sip. “It doesn’t help that we’ve only got access to subpar beans. I miss good coffee. Colombian used to be my favorite.”

  “Ethiopian for me.”

  “The things we’ve lost…”

  “I wish coffee was the least of our worries.”

  Kate motioned for him to follow her back to the tables in the mess. They slumped into seats across from each other in the otherwise empty room. A sudden smack of an opening hatch caught their attention.

  The lanky form of technician Sean McMaster came through the opening.

  “Hey, Sean,” Kate said. “We just brewed some coffee. Would you like some?”

  He nodded almost sheepishly, shuffling off to the mess, then joined them at the table with a mug.

  “We’ve got caffeine now, and a new location,” she said. “Is it enough yet to inspire any new ideas on how we can tap into the Variant webbing network?”

  Sean took a sip, watching them both, but he didn’t reply.

  Carr furrowed his brow in concentration, the steam from his coffee swirling up toward his face.

  “It might take all day running chromatography and fluorescence spectroscopy tests,” Carr said. “But we’ll identify every single molecule that passes through the webbing.”

  “That’ll take a lot of time,” Sean said. “I’m not sure how helpful it’ll be. What do you think, Dr. Lovato?”

  “I agree. None of that will help us understand what those masterminds are telling the Alphas and other Variants. It’s like having a whole pyramid of hieroglyphics in front of us with no Rosetta Stone.” Kate traced a finger around the lip of her coffee mug. “Might as well be a bunch of gibberish.”

  “Gibberish,” Sean repeated. “Maybe it’s just not something we’re supposed to figure out. Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree?”

  Carr shot him a bemused look. “What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know,” Sean said.

  Kate’s thoughts drifted again, and she looked through one of the portholes. A river of white stars studded the night sky, unobstructed by light pollution or clouds out here.

  Beckham was still at Outpost Portland, with Donna and Bo waiting at the University of Southern Maine campus. She hadn’t heard anything from him since he left this morning, and she was starting to worry.

  If there was another wave of attacks, Outpost Portland would likely be one of the targets, putting her husband and her friends in danger.

  “I guess we’re truly stuck,” Carr said, snapping Kate out of her thoughts.

  “There must be a way…” she said.

  “If only I was back in Cambridge, I could just send an email off to my students and”—Carr snapped his fingers—“by the end of the day, I would have a new report in my hands just in time to cross the Charles River and go into Boston for happy hour.”

  “We’ve got plenty of help here,” Sean said.

  “Yes, you’re certainly talented, and so are the others, but the students and post-docs in my MIT lab were top-notch.”

  “Oh, did you say you used to work at MIT?” Kate asked, getting slightly annoyed by his repeated mention of the institute.

  “Did I not say that before?”

  “I heard you say it several
times,” Sean said.

  Kate let out a laugh.

  Carr shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I missed the joke.” He sighed, staring at his coffee. “Used to be that academic pedigree was as important in science as was having a good microscope. But now, none of that really matters, does it?”

  “No, not as much as it used to,” Kate said. She studied Carr. He really was a tough son of a gun when it came to the techs, but…

  Then it hit her.

  Kate leaned forward in her seat. “That thing you said earlier… the emails…”

  “What about it?” Carr asked.

  Kate stood suddenly, her coffee splashing onto the table.

  “The computers from Virginia,” she said. “The ones Beckham and Horn recovered. From what I heard, Ringgold has intel experts poring over them. Computer scientists. But they’re not the ones that should be doing it.”

  “They seem to me to be the most qualified,” Sean said.

  A puzzled looked crossed Carr’s face. “Hold on a second. I want to hear what she has in mind. Who should be looking at them?”

  “We should.”

  “I have a PhD in Bioengineering,” Carr said. “Not in Computer Engineering.”

  “I know, but hear me out. We can solve all of this much faster.” She took her coffee mug to the galley and left it there without refilling the mug. She didn’t need more caffeine to help her focus.

  Work. She needed to work.

  Carr and Sean followed.

  “What are you thinking?” Sean asked.

  “The Variants were communicating with human collaborators. And we’re presuming those computers have all the information the collaborators sent. If we can hook those computers up to the webbing we have in the lab, we might be able to simulate those signals and decode how the webbing-computer interfaces work.”

  “That sounds like it might be out of our wheelhouse,” Sean said. “Maybe we should just let the computer people do their thing.”

  But Carr’s eyes lit up as they left the mess and marched through the passages. “You’re right, Dr. Lovato. The computer scientists might miss something that we could see, especially if there’s a strong biological connection between the nerve cells in the webbing and the computers.”

  “Exactly, and this neural-computer interface technology is nothing new,” she replied. “Not by a longshot.”

  She took a turn in the corridors than started up a set of ladders.

  “Not new?” Sean asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I think it was 2004 or 2005 when researchers connected rat brain cells in a plastic culture dish to a flight simulator. The cells were actually trained to carry out basic maneuvers.” She stopped to look at him on the landing. “And think of all the more recent advancements in computer-nerve interfaces for advanced prosthetics.”

  Sean simply nodded.

  “Good Lord,” Carr said. “This could all be explained away by existing technology.” An incredulous expression crossed his features. He took off his glasses.

  “That’s even more disturbing if you consider the implications,” Sean said.

  “Computer-brain or computer-nerve interfaces make sense,” Kate said. “It’s technologically possible. But just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s easy. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Carr rubbed his eyes before putting his glasses back on. “These interfaces take a lot of scientific know-how. In other words, there are some very smart collaborators out there.”

  “So the Variants don’t just have mindless collaborators working for them as grunts,” Sean said.

  “It might be the opposite,” Kate replied after a swallow. “What if the monsters are working for the collaborators and scientists, and what if these collaborators are every bit as intelligent as the people on this ship?”

  Sean shrugged but Carr shook his head.

  “You really think that could be true, do you?” he said.

  Kate hadn’t even considered the notion earlier, but the thought chilled her to the core.

  “If it is true, then we’ve got to hurry and connect those computers to the webbing samples in our lab,” Carr said. “If we can decode the messages they’re sending, we can unravel everything.”

  ***

  Night dragged on over Scott AFB. Team Ghost waited on the tarmac as the cold fingers of the late autumn breeze brushed over them. Stacks of ammo cans formed a fort around Dohi and the others waiting for a V-22 Osprey.

  A pair of loadmasters waited beside them, ready to prepare the bird for Team Ghost’s departure as soon as it landed.

  So far, all Team Ghost knew was that the aircraft would take them to New Orleans where they were tasked with destroying a mastermind suspected of organizing some of the Variant and collaborator activities. Beyond that, they didn’t know much about this new mission.

  A distant pop like the sound of gunfire rattled somewhere far from the command building. Dohi tensed, waiting for the chorus of gunfire and Variant shrieks to erupt in response. Beside him, Mendez and Rico both readied their suppressed M4A1s.

  “Maybe just another straggler,” Fitz said.

  Ace lowered his shotgun and tightened the strap on the M4A1 slung over his back. “All this waiting has me on edge, man. And I need to take a damn shit.”

  “Makes two of us,” Mendez said. He smirked. “I mean, on edge. Took care of my business earlier, old man.”

  The team turned as soldiers rushed out of command between the razor wire and fences surrounding the building. Some lugged heavy machine guns into new positions; others carried ammo cans and crates of supplies to defensive positions. The patter of boots against pavement drilled the ground around them like a rainstorm.

  “Better clench your cheeks,” Mendez told Ace. “Shit’s about to go down.”

  “Ghost!” a voice called over the tarmac.

  Lieutenant Mark Forster jogged toward them, a glowing tablet cradled in one arm. Two men flanked the officer.

  “The Osprey is en route, ETA ten minutes,” Forster said.

  He was out of breath, and Dohi didn’t think it was because of the run.

  “The Variants are beginning their assault, mostly concentrated around the target cities,” Forster added. “Most aircraft were diverted to evac missions.”

  Dohi thought of all the innocents in harm’s way, and the man he had put out of his misery. The image wouldn’t leave his mind.

  “Three additional teams are already on their way to other mastermind locations,” the lieutenant continued. “With any luck, their success and yours will disrupt the Variants’ communication networks enough to hold back the hordes so more people can reach safety.”

  The staccato burst of automatic weapons filled the night. Forster turned toward the direction of the gunfire. Once again, it settled without resulting in wailing alarms announcing a true attack.

  Forster held out his tablet. “Gather around. We’ve got a lot to cover and not a lot of time to do it.”

  The screen showed an aerial view of New Orleans. Most of the city looked flooded, each block and building its own island in a sea of muck-strewn water. At the center of the image was a large white dome, its roof fractured and missing in places.

  “Earlier today, one of our drones captured an image of the mastermind in the French Quarter of the city.”

  He showed the screen to the members of Team Ghost in turn. They all knew what they were looking at from their experience in Minneapolis.

  Huge folds of tissue hung from a monstrosity with a face that looked like it had been melted in a nuclear explosion. Long tendrils of red webbing stretched from its flesh as it navigated between ruined hotels and restaurants.

  “Why the hell didn’t you destroy it already?” Dohi asked.

  “We tried, but the damn things are faster than they look,” Forster replied. “Still, we have reason to believe it isn’t far from the French Quarter. That’s why we’re sending you.”

  “We’ll burn this bastard to a c
risp, sir,” Mendez said.

  Rico nodded while chewing her gum.

  Forster’s radio buzzed and a voice came in clear after a burst of static. He pressed it to his ear to hear above the din of soldiers preparing the base for attack.

  “Osprey’s on its descent,” he reported.

  Dohi scanned the night, looking for a glimpse of the aircraft in the moon-soaked sky. He heard the roar of the craft’s engines before he saw it.

  As soon as he began to point the Osprey out to the rest of the team, another chorus of gunfire blazed from a pair of machine gun nests and a guard tower not more than a mile north of their position.

  This time the gunfire settled into a constant flurry.

  Spotlights lanced through the darkness, illuminating wide swathes of the base outside the defensive barriers.

  Forster stared for a beat, and in that moment Dohi almost felt bad for the man. In a few minutes, the terror from the night before would commence again.

  The two soldiers accompanying Forster aimed their rifles toward the sounds of war, and the lieutenant drew his Sig Sauer M17.

  “Form a defensive perimeter around the LZ!” he ordered. “Keep this area clear until Team Ghost is away.”

  One of the two loadmasters trembled near the stack of ammo cans. He looked over at the Delta Force Operators, his lip quivering at the sound of the advancing monsters.

  Dohi shared that fear though he worked to repress it. He couldn’t help but think of a quote that his father had told him.

  A brave man dies but once, a coward many times.

  “Look out!” a voice cried from one of the barricades.

  A rocket streamed from somewhere beyond the fence. It slammed into one of the guard towers. A soldier flew backward from the tower, his limbs separating from his torso. Another fell out, fire coursing over his body.

  “Collaborators!” Ace yelled.

  More howls and screams erupted between the waves of gunfire.

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet. One of the ammo cans fell from the stack, clinking to the tarmac with a metallic ring. A loadmaster bent to recover it.

  Behind him, a hole appeared in the ground, asphalt and dirt giving away. An Alpha clawed itself up, its bat-like ears twitching, nostrils flaring, body covered in soil. The monster let out a roar followed by rapid clicking.