“Commander,” he said in a deep voice.
“Sergeant Bonner, I’ll be driving them,” she said, gesturing toward Fischer and his men. “And we’re taking Black Betty.”
“You got it, ma’am,” said Bonner. He tossed her a set of keys. She caught them mid-air and jerked her chin for Fischer and his bodyguards.
They followed her to a black pickup truck on a lift with oversized tires. Bars covered the side windows, and a cow-guard with spikes masked the grill.
“Looks like something from Mad Max,” Tran said quietly.
Fischer grinned but said nothing.
Commander Massey climbed up to the driver’s side. The three men used the footholds to climb up into the dual cab.
Bonner drove the Humvee out first, and the MATVs followed with ‘Black Betty’ going last. The trucks slowly drove away from the building and down a street inside the perimeter of the outpost.
As they drove, Fischer spotted what looked like medical crews carrying stretchers away from the fenced off area around the construction site where Kate and Beckham were working.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Massey sighed. “The science team discovered survivors.”
“Survivors?” Tran asked.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. “If you can call them that.”
Her words were cold but he sensed the sorrow behind them.
“Some of our people have been taken underground over the past few weeks,” she added, her tone gravely serious. “The few people we rescued might be here physically, but their minds sure aren’t.”
Fischer swallowed hard, thinking about the horror these people had experienced. He recalled the tunnels at his fields.
I could have been one of them.
It hadn’t really sunk in until now how lucky he had been.
The clanking of a metal gate sounded over the rumble of engines. He turned to see the first gate in the outpost wall lifting. The convoy rolled forward, prompting the guards to open the second gate.
“You boys ready to see New York City?” Massey asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Fischer said.
Truth was, he had never really liked the city. Too loud, too dirty, and too muggy in the summer. But he would have taken it back then compared to what it looked like now.
Destruction surrounded them in all directions. Above, below, on the ground. And even with the windows up, they couldn’t escape the odor. The city smelled like death.
Mangled vehicles flashed by, blackened and crushed from firebombs.
Massey sped ahead of the convoy, taking the lead.
“All right, you’re the boss,” she said. “Tell me where you think the best place is for your trucks.”
She eased off the gas until they were cruising at about twenty-five miles per hour. The street was mostly cleared of debris and vehicles, probably from the plow he had seen back in the garage.
Plastic and broken glass carpeted the sidewalks outside storefronts where windows had been blown away. Most of the doors to buildings were gone.
Fischer pulled a map he had requested earlier from his vest pocket. On it, Massey’s people had marked areas indicating the sites of previous Variant attacks.
He ignored the subways and tunnels Massey’s people had already plugged and or demolished.
“Let’s start around City Hall Park,” he said.
She took a right and drove to the park. The few trees still alive had lost most of their leaves, giving him a view of City Hall.
The building had collapsed inward from an explosion, and the resulting mountain of debris blocked his view of the other side of the park. Still there was plenty of room for a truck in the closest section of the lawn.
“This spot is worth checking out,” he said.
The convoy stopped, and he opened the door.
“Whoa, I don’t think so, Mr. Fischer,” Massey said, reaching toward him. “Not safe to wander around right now. There could be Variants prowling.”
Fischer hesitated, one leg already out. “Well, how am I supposed to see if these locations are good if I can’t get out and survey them?”
“You can’t tell from the truck?”
“Not really,” he said. “I need to walk the ground a bit.”
She pulled out her radio.
“We’re getting out here,” she said. “Secure the area, then form a perimeter.”
Fischer stepped down to the pavement, his shotgun in hand. The park was bordered by a few major streets. Tunnels from subways, sewers, and waterlines stretched underneath them. This would be a likely route to the outpost. Having a truck positioned here would ensure they knew right away if the creatures were traversing those underground pathways.
First they would have to clear the intersection of Park Row and Broadway.
“Commander Massey, can you get your plow out here to move those?” he asked, pointing to the vehicles clogging the streets.
“Sure, I’ll call it in when we get back.”
“Good,” he said, marking his map. “This location is perfect.”
After scoping out the rest of the park, he went back to the convoy.
“Where to now?” Massey asked.
“Bogardus Garden,” Fischer replied.
They drove to a small park between Hudson and West Broadway. The trees were gone, destroyed during the war, leaving a wide space for another vibroseis truck.
“Looks good.” Fischer marked it. This time, his view was clear enough he didn’t need to get out.
An hour later, his map had been marked with multiple locations surrounding the outpost, forming a rough square. There was one location left to examine, and that was Pumphouse Park near the shoreline of the Hudson River.
They parked in a circle drive at South End Avenue, right next to the park. The trees here were all alive, though their branches were mostly naked from the changing seasons.
Fischer got out of the truck for a better look, and the outpost soldiers followed his lead. Commander Massey and Sergeant Bonner trailed him down a sidewalk.
“You sure this is a good place?” Massey asked. “So close to the shore and all?”
“It’s not ideal, but it’s the last blind spot—”
A scream cut him off, followed by the pop of a gunshot.
The team whirled around with their weapons aimed at the circle drive and their vehicles. Four of the soldiers ran toward Liberty Street where the screaming continued.
“Come on!” Bonner yelled.
Fischer spotted the source of the screams. A man was being dragged by a hulking Variant down the road. Gunshots rang out, and bullets punched into the bulky monster as it pulled him toward an open manhole.
The creature vanished down the manhole with the soldier.
A long scream echoed out of the opening. Two soldiers rushed toward the open hole, rifles shouldered. One flicked on a flashlight and shone the beam in. But instead of going down, the other guy pushed the cover back over the top.
“What are you doing?” Fischer asked.
“He’s gone,” Massey said. “Nothing we can do for him now.”
The rest of the team retreated to the convoy and Bonner waved for Fischer and his men to get back into the trucks. He stood there a moment, just staring, before finally retreating to the truck with Massey.
No one said anything until they were back in the cab. She grabbed the radio off the dashboard and brought it up to give an order. “Get the demo team to collapse that tunnel.”
“But that soldier might still be alive,” Fischer protested.
“We’re doing him a favor.” She put the radio down and placed the vehicle in gear. “When we get back, I’ll show you what’s left of the people we find down there.”
— 6 —
Timothy took a slug of water from a canteen they had scavenged. Every step he took, his body and legs felt weaker and heavier. Soon, he feared he would crash if they didn’t rest.
For the past ten hours he
had followed Sergeant Ruckley and Corporal Neeland away from the Variant infested area around Outpost Portland. They hadn’t found a radio or any help.
The two Army Rangers were the only survivors from their platoon.
A few hours earlier, Ruckley had discovered soldiers that appeared to have survived the initial bombing, but bullet wounds in their temples indicated they had been executed in cold blood.
She was still reeling from the find, and Timothy had seen her shed a few tears.
The soldiers weren’t the only people they had found with bullet holes in their heads. Civilians had been murdered and left as scraps for the scattered Variants.
Evil ran deep through collaborators like Nick and Pete.
Timothy wondered if they were still out there.
A Variant’s long wail snapped him from his thoughts of revenge.
Ruckley waved for them to take cover. They took cover in the shade of a bridge extending over a creek.
Evading the random Variants during their escape wasn’t easy. The beasts were actively hunting for new prey.
“Why don’t we just kill them?” Neeland whispered.
“Because our gunfire will attract more,” Ruckley said.
Shit, even Timothy knew that.
“We’ve got knives,” Neeland said. “It would be quiet.”
Timothy shrugged but Ruckley shook her head.
“We wait them out,” she said. “We’re not going to take more risks than we have to.”
For the next fifteen minutes they remained under the bridge. Two of the creatures clattered over the pavement above. Timothy heard one pause and snort as it sniffed the air for human flesh.
He shouldered the M4 he had pulled off a dead soldier. There was a suppressor on the end, but he wasn’t sure that would matter. The monsters could hear a needle drop.
Timothy tensed at a distant scream. It was faint, almost like a whisper on the wind.
The sound wasn’t from a monster.
Ruckley perked up like she heard it too.
The frightened shriek came again. This time the two beasts on the bridge bounded away, claws scratching on the pavement.
Ruckley signaled for Neeland and Timothy to follow.
They climbed up the muddy bank back to the main road. The beasts, on all fours, took off onto a front lawn and into a backyard of a house along the street.
Ruckley started in the opposite direction.
“Wait, what about helping that person?” Timothy asked.
“We don’t know who they are, and chances are they’re already dead,” she said. “We got bigger problems.”
Timothy didn’t care who they were, friend or collaborator. If they were the latter, all the better.
Fuck it, he thought.
He took off running from Ruckley and Neeland. It took him a moment to realize they weren’t following.
But he kept going.
Another scream exploded from somewhere ahead, and a second voice called out.
This one a male. “Shelly!”
It didn’t sound like these were collaborators, but it could be a trap. If they were collaborators, he would try and take them alive. Maybe they could lead him to Nick and Pete.
He ran hard, his shoes pounding the pavement until he got to the front yard the Variants had cut through. The breeze rustled his sweaty clothing as he sprinted, but he had to slow down. All his muscles were locking up from dehydration.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed the two Army Rangers weren’t following. That surprised him, but they had made their decision, and he wasn’t bound by Ruckley’s orders.
He was driven by only one directive—doing what his father would have.
Shouldering his rifle, he followed the path the beasts had taken through the backyard. Another creek bordered the dying brown grass, separating the yard from two more houses up a hill.
He jumped over the creek and sprinted up the slope.
By the time he reached the front of the first house, the voices had quieted. He dropped low near the driveway to search the street to the left, then the right. Nothing moved except for shreds of torn clothing blowing in the parking lot of a church at the far end of the road.
Timothy remembered this place now.
A small community of people had survived off the grid here. Living off the land and sea.
The windows of the church were boarded up, but the front door was wide open. A sign in the front yard said, Sanctuary for those that trust in Him.
Long red streaks stained the sidewalk leading to the open door.
Timothy was too late.
Halfway there, he paused at the familiar sound of popping joints.
Then he heard the rip and crackle of tearing flesh, followed by the crack of bones.
All the sounds came from inside the church. He searched outside for any beasts that might be watching before advancing toward the building.
As he walked, he aimed his rifle at the open door, then peeked inside. In the shadows of the nave, he spotted a crouched figure, bent over a body.
Timothy moved his finger to his trigger, then squeezed off a burst of rounds into the Variant’s back. The monster let out a gurgling moan and collapsed.
He lowered his rifle and stepped forward. Bodies were scattered inside the church, many already shredded into bloody ribbons.
No matter how much death he witnessed, it would never get easier.
Timothy considered whether he should go inside further to see if anyone was still alive. The chances were slim, but he had to check it out.
There was a sound coming from near the altar…a low rasping, like someone having a hard time breathing. It grew louder as he approached between the pews. He aimed his rifle in the shadows until he saw red eyes glaring at him.
Oh, shit.
The rasping erupted into a vicious growl, then a guttural barking.
Timothy took a step back and tripped as a mutated dog barreled down the central aisle. He went down on his butt and fired a burst that went high, punching into a pew, splinters spraying from the impact.
Pushing himself up with one hand, he fired wildly with the other. Again, he missed the target. The creature followed him as he ran and leapt through the open door.
The beast launched itself into the air. He brought up his rifle to knock it away. It barreled into him, jaws snapping and saliva spraying across his face.
He hit the ground on his side, and the beast rolled onto the lawn. He managed to turn his rifle and fire. This time, the rounds blew off part of the hound’s jaw.
But the creature still came at him, blood whipping from its broken face, until he sent a second burst into its ribs, taking it down.
More barking sounded in the distance.
A second dog charged from the backside of the church. With only a second to spare, Timothy swiveled his rifle and pulled the trigger. His bolt locked back. The magazine was empty.
The creature jumped into the air. He only had a moment to bring up an arm to brace himself for the impact.
A gunshot cracked in the distance.
The monster crashed into Timothy, knocking him to the ground. He rolled away, ready to fight, but the abomination was already limp.
Timothy pushed himself up to see Neeland lowering his rifle. Ruckley ran toward the church. Her face burned red, and her nose twitched. She looked like she was biting back a mouthful of curses.
Neeland kept his rifle trained on the church door while she jabbed Timothy’s chest with a finger.
“You ever do that again, and I’ll leave you behind, you stupid shit,” she said through a clenched jaw. “You got it?”
“I’m sorry, but there were people…”
“They were already dead, and you know it.”
Timothy didn’t exactly agree but nodded anyway.
“I want to hear you say, ‘I will follow your orders, Sergeant,’” Ruckley said.
Timothy thought again about what his dad would have done.
“You liste
ning to me?” Ruckley said.
“Yes.”
“If you’re with me, you follow my orders,” she said. “Those gunshots probably attracted more of the beasts.”
“Okay,” Timothy said.
“Let’s go,” Neeland said.
Ruckley turned and started walking.
“Where are we going?” Timothy asked.
“Outpost Boston, unless we find a radio and or a ride before that,” she said without turning.
Timothy followed her, relieved she hadn’t made him promise to follow her orders. If she turned her back on defenseless people again or didn’t go after the collaborators, then he would again do what he’d just done.
She had a mission and so did he. Hopefully they would both end with the same result—the annihilation of evil men like Nick and Pete.
***
The tunnels sweated with humidity. Water coursed over the webbing and the brick walls like tears. Beckham wished he could wipe the perspiration rolling down his nose under his full-face respirator mask.
It was a good twenty degrees higher than topside, and the mugginess made it almost unbearable. The plastic splash suit he wore was like walking around in a portable sauna. At least the mask protected him from the odor of death, trash, and waste this place must be filled with.
Three outpost soldiers and two soldiers from Command stood guard with him in the tunnel. A heavy-set corporal named Cotter looked like he was about to pass out, his face under the mask blanched.
“I’m sweating like a pig’s nutsack in the summer,” Cotter had protested.
“Suck it up, man,” Beckham had replied. “You’re not the only one hurtin’.”
He couldn’t wait to peel off this mask and suit.
Horn would have hated it down here. The big guy could deal with pretty much anything, but he despised humidity.
Then again, the retired operator probably didn’t like playing babysitter, either. He had been filling that role quite a bit lately. Beckham thought of Javier, Tasha, Jenny, and the dogs back in the command bunker. All cooped up with the president, her staff, military officers, and soldiers.
It beat being down here, but Beckham still worried about them. No place in the Allied States was safe now. At this point, he wasn’t even reassured although Horn, Ringgold, and the kids had a veritable army protecting them.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 71