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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Fitz, Rico, and Dohi joined up with Beckham, Horn, and Timothy, all of whom were moving back to downtown Galveston, following the rest of the mourners.

  They walked in silence. Fitz found Rico’s hand as they walked, squeezing it gently. Her touch brought him a swell of reassurance, even at this dark hour.

  “We’ve lost so many,” she said. “Mendez, Lincoln, and now Ace. It’s never going to be the same, no matter what happens next.”

  Of course there were also all of their comrades who had died in the first war, people like Tanaka, Jensen, Riley, Meg, Garcia… Fitz used to find strength in remembering them, but now it just made his heart ache.

  Beckham looked out at the Gulf of Mexico. “I’ve watched too many brothers and sisters give their lives for this country. Every time, it hurt worse than the Variant acid that took my leg and arm.”

  “That’s why we must win,” Dohi said. “So their sacrifices weren’t for nothing.”

  “You bet your sweet ass we’ll win,” Horn said, clapping the tracker’s shoulder with a big hand.

  “We better hurry then,” Fitz said. “We’re running out of time and ammunition.”

  “I don’t need bullets,” Dohi said. “My hatchet and knife are sharp enough.”

  “Guess we’ll be making some homemade bombs and sharpening some swords,” Horn said. “Just like when I was a teenager, except I can’t get arrested for it.”

  They all laughed for a moment.

  “Better than bullets and bombs, we have each other,” Beckham said. “We’re back together again. And we’re still breathing, which means we still have a shot.”

  Beckham put an arm around Timothy.

  “So what’s the plan?” Rico asked. “I mean, the brass has to be planning something together better than pipe bombs made by Horn.”

  She gave Horn a side glance like he was nuts.

  “Even if the science team is right, that the Prophet is actually in Los Alamos, we don’t have the manpower right now to launch another major offensive,” Beckham said. “Truth is, we’re better off defending this place, where we already have our heels firmly planted.”

  “But you know how the old saying goes,” Fitz said. “The best defense…”

  “Another mission like Vegas will mean there isn’t anything left for our defense. I’m working with Commander Jacobs to coordinate a strong defense strategy, though.”

  “Have you consulted with Corrin?” Dohi said.

  “The Chimera?” Horn asked.

  “Yeah,” Dohi said. “He might be one of our best advantages. He knows the New Gods intimately, and has the predatory senses of the enemy. He can tell you how to conceal our men or find blind spots in our defenses we might not have realized.”

  “Corrin has proven to be extremely reliable, and he really does want to do whatever he can to help,” Fitz said.

  “So you really trust him?” Horn said.

  “Yes,” Fitz and Dohi said simultaneously.

  “He didn’t screw us in Vegas,” Rico said.

  “Yeah, but morale matters,” Beckham said. “What will people think if we drag out a Chimera to consult on our defenses?”

  “It doesn’t matter what they think,” Fitz said. “Corrin could be a godsend. Take advantage of him while we’ve got time.”

  “Fitzie’s right,” Rico said. “The guy helped save my life, and I think he had a soft spot for Ace. He’s just as pissed as we are. Give him a chance to help. You won’t regret it.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Beckham said.

  “When people see Corrin walking around with a hero like you, they’ll have to trust him,” Fitz said. He knew Beckham didn’t like being called a hero, but that was the truth. His name had spread quickly through the country after the Great War, and he had become somewhat of a living legend.

  Now that they were in the face of imminent destruction, Fitz wanted Beckham to know it was no time to be humble.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Beckham said. “I don’t want people any more scared than they already are. We can’t look desperate by bringing Corrin out to help us.”

  Rico let out a sad laugh. “Truth is, we are desperate.”

  “Amen, sister,” Horn said. “For now, I’m going to check on my girls, then to the hospital to see Ruckley. Want to make sure the docs are treating her right.”

  “I’m supposed to grab some food with Tasha,” Timothy said. Then he looked up at Horn sheepishly. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Long as you keep your paws to yourself,” Horn said with a raised red eyebrow.

  “Big Horn, I’ve got a meeting with Jacobs in the afternoon,” Beckham said. “He’s organizing all the new defenses and troops that we recalled from Houston. But I’ll meet you in the hospital after I check in on Javier.”

  The group split up, with Dohi heading to check on Corrin who they had left under guard. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Rico and Fitz were alone.

  It felt strange, but good at the same time.

  They continued walking along a sidewalk neighboring the port. Men and women were moving precious crates of ammunition to resupply points along the walls. Watchtowers and machine gun nests were bolstered with camouflaged netting that not only concealed their positions but helped protect somewhat against any possible bat attacks.

  In only a few hours, Fitz and Rico would be back in meetings, trying to come up with a game plan on how Team Ghost could best help defend the last true strongholds of the Allied States.

  Unlike Beckham and Horn, they didn’t have any family to see in the meantime.

  All they had were each other.

  “I missed you, Jeni,” Fitz said. “I was worried sick about you when I was stuck in Canada.”

  “Me too, but we’re together now.”

  “And it’s going to stay that way.” Fitz stopped, took her hands in his own, and faced her. “No matter what happens, I’m never leaving your side again. We’re in this thing until the end.”

  “Until the end,” Rico agreed.

  Fitz pulled her into an embrace, kissing her in the middle of the street. He relished the warm touch of her lips on his, memorizing every feeling, every sensation flooding him. He did not know how many more opportunities like this they might have left.

  All he knew was he had to enjoy what they did have. Just the two of them, strolling together accompanied by a salty breeze and a promise that maybe, just maybe, if they survived this, there would be more of these moments.

  Fitz held her close, her head pressed against his chest. “We’re going to make it through all of this together. I promise.”

  — 19 —

  Azrael entered what was once the world’s most advanced and powerful linear accelerator, a monumental achievement in the field of particle physics. It was now the world’s largest collection of heretics and traitors.

  Elijah walked beside him, fresh scars and wounds healing nicely. Puckered flesh from bullet holes were covered in reddened scabs and black stitches. Despite injuries that would debilitate, if not kill, a normal human, Elijah walked with a powerful gait.

  “You appear strong, but how do you feel?” Azrael asked.

  “Ready to fight again,” Elijah said, head bowed. “I hold the faith. Pain does not matter.”

  They paused just inside the linear accelerator where the loyal old doctor, Murphy, waited for them. He bowed, his hunched back making it seem almost painful. “Prophet, I am ready to show you our newest creation.”

  “Good, take us.”

  Murphy turned, talking as they walked. “I would like to show you his strength in comparison to some of the Scions we’ve made previously. I hope you will be pleased.”

  Murphy took them past a bevy of long metal tubes and wires, all covered in snaking red vines. Moans and anguished cries filled the concrete passage. A pungent mix of body odor, blood, and human waste hung on the humid air.

  He ignored the hands grasping at him for help. Cocooned human slaves hung along the
walls and ceilings. With their success in Las Vegas, the New Gods had nearly doubled the number of heretics serving their purgatory here.

  “How many of these will join the chosen?” Azrael asked.

  “We have enough VX-102 to administer to approximately three hundred immediately,” the old doctor said. “Many of them would be physically ready by the time we invade Galveston.”

  “Physically, but not mentally,” Azrael clarified, stabbing a claw toward the fierce soldier.

  He paused by a man with veins bulging over his naked muscles. A crew cut crested his bloodied head. He directed hard eyes full of rage at Azrael. He was one of the recent arrivals. No doubt an experienced and well-trained soldier.

  The man screamed against the glue covering his mouth, his muscles straining and eyes bulging. The webbing snaking from his nostrils and mouth prevented him from uttering anything more than a guttural cough.

  Elijah bared his teeth, snarling at the man, who glared back as if he wanted to fight.

  “I like this one,” Azrael said. “He will serve me well. Start with him.”

  “Yes, Prophet,” Murphy said. “It takes longer to break down the mind than the body, and this one will be a good test.”

  “You have continued to exceed my expectations, even in your frail body.”

  “I have worked with our Scions and masterminds to ensure the proper amount of physical duress is applied, along with the constant deluge of promises of a better future for themselves and humanity if they choose to hold the faith,” the doctor said. “I find this combination of physical discomfort and psychological assurances alters their mindset quickest.”

  “Excellent.”

  He strode past more new prisoners, clawed hands laced together behind his cape. These soldiers were all wonderful specimens to carry out the physical labor required to expand the New Gods’ empire.

  Normal humans were not the only creatures imprisoned here.

  “The sight of these animals makes me sick,” Elijah said, spitting on the floor.

  All along these walls were the mutated bodies of Fallen Scions. These were the rebellious ones, the ones that the mental reprogramming regimen hadn’t quite worked on.

  “None of these beasts have complied with even intense levels of reprogramming,” Murphy said. “They retain a defiant nature that I have not been able to break.”

  “A shame,” Azrael said. “We wasted precious VX-102 on their pathetic bodies.”

  “Still they may serve some good, Prophet,” Elijah said.

  “Certainly,” Azrael said. “They make for even better physical laborers than the humans. They’re stronger, faster. We have ways of controlling them, even if they shirk the mental leashes we try to fasten around their minds.”

  “Yes, of course, Prophet,” Elijah said. “I merely suggest that they may also make good practice prey for our elite Scions. Human prisoners are too easy for us to hunt and dispatch. These ones may help us to better train our Scion forces in the days ahead.”

  Azrael raised a clawed hand, and Elijah flinched. Instead of delivering a punishing blow, Azrael merely clapped the Scion’s shoulder. “That’s an excellent idea. This is one of the many reasons I gave you the general’s position. A beast like the general or any other Alpha Variant can only really think about their primal needs, killing and eating. But you, my blessed creation, are so much more than that.”

  “Thank you, Prophet. I live to serve.”

  The sudden sounds of screams and tearing flesh rose over the chorus of pained groans.

  “What’s going on?” Azrael asked. “Have you lost control of these beasts?”

  Murphy wringed his knobby hands together. “No, no, Prophet. I swear it.”

  Azrael picked up his pace past the rows of the Fallen Scions and human heretics. His eyes locked onto a single Scion standing in the middle of the pathway. Blood dripped down his flesh. Around his feet were the disemboweled corpses of three other Scions.

  Elijah stepped defensively in front of Azrael. To Azrael’s surprise, Murphy hurried ahead, reaching the Scion whose back was turned to them.

  “Stop!” Murphy said.

  The Scion slapped the doctor to the side.

  Azrael growled and pushed Elijah out of the way. He strode out to meet this Scion. The beast stood almost a foot taller than him, and thick muscles swelled under blood-soaked flesh. Healing surgical scars traced up and down naked flesh. Fangs protruded from his wormy lips.

  “Do you know who I am?” Azrael shouted in a crackling voice.

  Elijah hurried over to stand next to him.

  “Recognize your master!” Azrael screamed.

  He grabbed the Scion around his meaty throat. The Scion resisted at first, but as soon as he locked eyes, the warrior stopped struggling.

  All aggression immediately evaporated, and Azrael loosened his grip.

  The Scion dropped to one knee. “Prophet, I am sorry.”

  Murphy stood and plucked sticky red vines off his white coat.

  “Who is this?” Azrael asked.

  “My latest creation,” Murphy replied. “The one we recovered from Mount Katahdin.”

  “What is your name?” Azrael asked.

  Elijah snarled again at the other Scion, still ready to strike.

  “I have no name yet, Prophet,” said the Scion.

  “What was your name?” Azrael asked.

  “Nick,” the Scion said. “But that was another lifetime, before I was chosen.”

  “Nick,” Azrael said. He disliked the plebian way it clicked off his tongue. Such an uninspired name for a chosen Scion with this power. “Why have you killed these Fallen?”

  “Prophet, I told him to wait for us,” Murphy said. “I told him—”

  “Silence. I did not ask you.”

  The Scion gestured toward empty spaces along the wall where the Fallen Scions had been cocooned. “They were speaking blasphemy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was watching the prisoners as Murphy asked, but they spoke ill of your name.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I cannot repeat such heretical sayings.”

  “You will, and you will do it now,” Azrael said. “Unless you are one of the Fallen.”

  The Scion from Katahdin shook. Not from fright, as far as Azrael could tell, but rage.

  “They said that you would lead us all right to our deaths,” the Scion once called Nick said. “That the bitch Ringgold would have us all killed, and you were an idiot to believe you could defeat them.”

  Azrael laughed. “That’s what they believed?”

  The Scion nodded.

  “You heard nothing but the blathering of mindless idiots,” Azrael said. He turned to the doctor. “Who were they?”

  “These prisoners were former soldiers, guards from outposts in Florida.”

  “They watched the fall of their outpost, they were chosen, given this treatment, and they still had hope of victory?” Azrael asked. “These heathens are better off dead.”

  He walked down the passage, eyeing the shredded flesh of the Fallen Scions, their white bone protruding from red muscle and congealed blood.

  “You did all this by yourself?” Azrael asked.

  “I did.”

  “He’s one of my best creations,” Murphy said. “I had hoped he would restrain himself enough that you could see this display of power in person. We can prepare another batch of prisoners, if you’d like.”

  Azrael looked at the remains of the Fallen Scions this beast had destroyed. “That won’t be necessary. I’m assigning him to my personal team.”

  Elijah seemed to rear back slightly. Perhaps he was jealous or worried this new warrior would steal honor from him.

  That was good. Healthy competition among his ranks drove their strength and power.

  Azrael looked back to the new Scion. “Tell me who you were when you were a human.”

  “I was a father, a protector. A husband until…”

 
“This family? Where are they?”

  The Scion shook again, golden eyes bulging from his head. His nostrils flared. “The man known as Beckham took them from me. He and a human traitor, a boy named Timothy, attacked my home. They called in an air strike that slaughtered all the innocent men, women, and children the New Gods so graciously sheltered in Mount Katahdin.”

  “Ah, Beckham. I know him well, but this Timothy, he’s new to me.” Azrael stepped closer. “You want vengeance. You want retribution for what they did to you.”

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  “I understand. Look at me, Scion.”

  Their golden eyes met.

  “Forget your name. Remember your thirst for revenge. You are Abaddon, the destroyer of heretics.”

  “Thank you, Prophet.”

  “Now let us find some prisoners to feast on,” Azrael said.

  Elijah and Abaddon marched with him back toward the human prisoners. Their eyes hungrily examined each writhing heretic.

  “Soon you will be feasting on the flesh of your enemies, and tasting the sweet blood pumping through their veins,” Azrael said. “Team Ghost, Kate Lovato, Jan Ringgold, and the most infamous heretic, Reed Beckham, will be our final victory.”

  ***

  Kate wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She had just finished unloading the last box of laboratory supplies from the transport truck into their new lab in the Galveston hospital.

  Moving the laboratory from Houston to Galveston had taken her, Sammy, Leslie, and Ron the better part of the morning, but she knew it was necessary. The Allied States simply couldn’t afford to keep defending Houston and Galveston. They had to consolidate their forces, and that included the science team.

  Leslie motioned to the boxes in the laboratory. “Kate, why don’t you go see your family for lunch. We can take care of unloading everything and finishing the anthrax bacteria cultures.”

  “I can help,” Kate said.

  “I remember the last time I saw my daughter,” Ron said, voice choking up. “And my God, it wasn’t enough. That was eight years ago, and if I could go back, I would give anything to spend one extra day with her instead of spending so much time in the lab.”