Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Thank God,” Rico whispered.

  “How’d they survive?” Dohi asked.

  “The adults must have hidden them,” the soldier said.

  Most of the kids appeared catatonic, but one girl around the age of eight broke into hysteric screams when she saw the blood covering the walls.

  “Where are my parents?” she cried. “I want to see my parents!”

  Rico tried to quiet her, but it was already too late.

  An inhuman shriek sounded outside.

  A soldier pulled back the drapes to look out over the lawn.

  “We got company,” he said.

  Dohi’s heart pounded as he surveyed the kids. There were two that weren’t older than four. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “You all have to be super quiet, okay?” Rico said to the children.

  A couple nodded, eyes wide and faces pale, but most of the kids still seemed completely in shock.

  “Hurry,” Dohi said. He signaled a team of soldiers to guide the children, then led the way out the back door into a yard lined with bushes. Over the spindly branches he saw neighboring backyards.

  The sounds of clicking joints and growls came from the street.

  “Watch our six,” someone called.

  The soldiers holding rearguard aimed at the back door of the house they had just left. The armored flesh of a juvenile exploded out a moment later.

  Gunfire rang out, punching into the armored coat around the Variant. The creature stumbled a few feet before collapsing like a turtle with a broken shell, blood oozing out of its wounds.

  Two more juveniles bolted out, sheering off the frame and barreling into the gunfire from the four soldiers at the rear of the group. Their rounds fractured the monsters’ armor, and both beasts crumpled into a pile of tangled, bleeding limbs before they could reach the children.

  The distant cries of other hunting monsters rang out. Several more shrieks answered their call.

  A soldier with a crooked nose shook his helmet. “We ain’t going to make it back with these kids. Not without a ride.”

  Another soldier slung his rifle over his back and picked up a sobbing young girl. She clung to him with her arms wrapped around his neck.

  “Jim’s right,” the man said. “No way we walk all the way back to command like this.”

  The group hunched down as another Variant cried from the street in front of the houses. The beasts were definitely searching for them.

  “Rico, see if we can get air support,” Dohi whispered.

  A nod, and she bent down.

  “Command, Ghost 2,” she said. “We need exfil, ASAP. We have six kids at the target. Over.”

  “Copy, Ghost 2,” a voice replied over the channel. “Hold tight. I’ll try and get you a Black Hawk.”

  Dohi’s gut twisted while they waited.

  The chorus of Variants swirled around the neighborhood, each voice representing a beast calling its brethren to join the hunt for fresh prey. These were the stragglers, the ones that hadn’t yet retreated into the tunnels and back into the darkness.

  From what Dohi had seen, they were desperate and hungry enough to risk everything in the intense sunlight for a meal.

  The operator came online a few moments later.

  “Got two birds in the air for you, Ghost 2. On their way to your location, over.”

  “Hell yeah, thanks,” Rico said.

  She smirked and nodded at Dohi.

  “We’re in business,” he said. “Everyone, keep the kids quiet and we might just make it back to command in one piece.”

  The beat of chopper blades thrummed somewhere to their east, rising above the din of the monsters. It wouldn’t be long before the Black Hawks arrived. But their loud engines would also alert other Variants to their position.

  “We can’t wait here,” Dohi said.

  “No cover,” another soldier carrying a boy said.

  Dohi was also worried about a tunnel opening up.

  “There,” said the soldier with the crooked nose said. He pointed to another house directly across from them through the backyard. “That deck. It’s not much, but it gives us some shelter and gets us off the ground.”

  Another Variant wail punctured the steady thrum of the choppers.

  Dohi walked at a hunch, scanning their surroundings. Two other soldiers followed him on his flanks. The rest carried or helped the children. The frightened kids weren’t old enough or aware enough to stay in line on their own.

  Past a line of bushes that separated the two backyards, Dohi followed a set of wooden stairs that led to a deck standing almost four feet off the sloping ground of the backyard.

  The team brought up the children and set them down in the middle of the deck. He and two soldiers leading the group carefully moved the metal deck furniture against the wooden slats along the deck’s perimeter.

  The location wasn’t ideal, offering little protection, but the raised position provided firing zones through neighboring backyards and houses—most importantly, a direct line of sight to the house they had come from only fifty yards away.

  “Keep them away from the sides, but be ready to run as soon as the choppers touch down,” Rico said.

  Another howl exploded from the home where they had found the children.

  A juvenile stuck its face out one of the windows, blood dripping from its putrid lips. Brown nostrils flared as it sniffed the stink of its dead brethren lying nearby in the grass.

  Dohi lined up his sights and pulled the trigger. Crimson splashed from a fresh hole in the monster’s forehead, and it slumped out of view.

  For a moment there was complete silence, but Dohi kept his rifle steady, waiting. Something was coming.

  He was right.

  The quiet was shattered all at once with full-grown Variants bursting through the bushes lining the backyard. The sinewy beasts galloped over the grass. Several juveniles joined the mix.

  Armor piercing rounds speared through the plates bulwarking their organs. Monster after monster fell, sliding over the lawn now wet with their own blood.

  The beasts became more incensed, swarming toward the deck. One lunged from a bush and made it through the fire on Dohi’s right. It got all the way to the handrail and slashed at a soldier trying to change his magazine.

  Dohi turned to help, unleashing rounds that chiseled into the monster’s side. It squawked in pain and tumbled backward, but the damage was already done.

  The soldier dropped his rifle and magazine to hold his neck, arterial blood gushing between his fingers. Red bubbles popped out of his mouth as he tried to say something.

  Screaming children snapped Dohi away from the horrific sight. Two of the soldiers had to retreat from their firing positions just to keep the kids from scattering.

  “Son of a bitch,” Dohi said.

  He tried to reassure himself with those words Fitz so often repeated to them.

  All it takes is all you got.

  But this time it wasn’t just his life or Team Ghost’s he was trying to save. They had six children with them.

  Another minute passed with straggling Variants hurtling through the wide-open yards and filtering out of houses. They came in spurts, drawn from every direction. Not like the relentless waves they had fought upon arriving at Scott AFB, but still with a ferocity that chilled Dohi to his core.

  That minute dragged on into a small eternity until one of the soldiers, covered in blood, pointed to the sky. Two black silhouettes contrasted sharply against the sea of blue.

  The thump of helicopter rotors and the bark of M240s rose over the Variants’ cries. Rounds tore up the yards around the deck cutting down stray monsters.

  “Gather up the kids, and get ready to move!” Rico yelled.

  The first of the Black Hawks touched down, and the second circled to provide covering fire.

  “Now!” Rico shouted.

  She and a squad of surviving soldiers scooped up the children and ran for the bird.

  A
few remaining juveniles charged for their position, but a crew chief quickly picked them off with the mounted M240.

  Dohi was the last one inside. As soon as his boots hit the deck, the chopper lifted off.

  The Black Hawks climbed into the air, leaving the carnage-filled neighborhood behind. A handful of Variant latecomers gathered in the grass, staring up for a few seconds. They soon disappeared into the holes that scarred the neighborhood like pustules from hell.

  The ride back to command provided a chilling view.

  Towers of smoke rose across the base. Streaks of red and brown painted the sidewalks and driveways of houses with broken windows and busted-down doors.

  Rico plucked the piece of gum she’d stowed in her helmet and began chewing nervously.

  “Hey, look at that!” the soldier with the crooked nose. “There, on that rooftop!” He pointed at a square office building below. Blocky white letters had been haphazardly painted across its flat roof, reading HELP.

  Dohi considered asking the pilots to set down, but as they flew closer, it was clear that whoever had painted that SOS was long gone. Variants in the street chewed on bodies they had pulled from the buildings. Others dragged corpses into a tunnel.

  “Oh, shit!” yelled another soldier. “That guy’s still alive!”

  Dohi raised his rifle and zoomed in his Elcan SpecterDR optic on a man who was being pulled into one of the tunnels. He gripped his abdomen, but his hand fell away, revealing glistening exposed organs. This man wasn’t long for the world, and he was suffering.

  You can’t save him, but you can end the torture.

  Dohi lined up the sight, thinking back to the tunnel he had been a prisoner in, and what awaited this man.

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  The prisoner went limp in the grips of the Variants. Those monsters glanced up at the bird as it flew over, then went back to feeding. He lowered his rifle and turned away from their feast.

  Several of the soldiers in the troop hold stared at Dohi.

  Rico patted him on the shoulder, and then went back to helping the shell-shocked kids. Dohi was proud they had managed to save these children, but today sure as shit didn’t feel anything close to a victory.

  — 4 —

  “I think we’re getting close,” Beckham said.

  Next to him, Horn twisted to look out the window of the helicopter.

  The bright light of the afternoon sun filled the cabin with a yellow glow as the chopper curved through the air. Marines sleeping in the leather seats stirred awake. Others were already alert, checking their weapons and gear.

  Nearly sixteen hours had passed since the collaborators hit the White House, and in that time over half of the ninety-eight outposts had suffered devastating attacks. Outposts near the target cities were on the brink of falling.

  Beckham had spent most of that time in the air. First traveling from the White House to Outpost Portland, then to the USS George Johnson, and now back to Outpost Portland.

  He was anxious to get on the ground and join the battle, but feared he’d already lost his chance to make a difference.

  The Marines looked ready to jump back into the fray as well. Their leader was an eager sergeant named Buck with big eyes and a thin mustache.

  “What’s the latest, Sergeant?” Beckham asked.

  “There’s still fighting on the ground according to aerial surveillance, sir,” Buck replied. “I haven’t heard from Lieutenant Niven’s team for over an hour, so there’s no telling how bad it really is.”

  Beckham stood and walked to the cockpit.

  “How much longer?” he asked, hoping for more information.

  “About ten minutes,” said a pilot. “We’re working on identifying a secure LZ. Sounds like command wants us to put down at the University of Southern Maine.”

  Beckham brought a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. He leaned forward for a better view as they closed in on the shoreline. Thick columns of black smoke billowed away from the center of the outpost. Most of that smoke rose from two specific locations within the city.

  No flames chewed through Peaks Island, and Beckham didn’t see any charcoaled buildings or pillars of smoke. The island might have been spared from the fires, but Beckham knew he wasn’t returning home there anytime soon.

  Radio chatter crackled from their contacts on the ground.

  One of the pilots replied, “Roger that.”

  “Prepare for landing,” the other pilot said over the internal channel.

  Beckham returned to his seat. The bird lowered over an abandoned part of the city. Then they flew over the first line of defense: blocked off streets and a wall of razor-wire-tipped fences.

  Soldiers manned machine guns in the guard towers. Other groups patrolled the FOB’s perimeter, weapons in hand. One soldier raised a hand into the air as the chopper passed over.

  “Get ready, everyone,” Buck said. “We’re headed straight to the FOB for assignments.”

  The Marines all finished their final preparations as the chopper descended toward the lawn of the university. It touched down with a slight jolt, and the crew chief opened the doors.

  Beckham and Horn followed the Marines out and marched toward a group of soldiers holding a perimeter. Even from a distance Beckham could see the bags under their eyes and the glassy expressions of exhaustion they wore. Splotches of blood covered their fatigues.

  Sergeant Candace Ruckley was one of them. She limped over with a bandage covering her right arm and another wrapped around her thigh.

  “Good to see you, Sergeant,” Beckham said.

  Horn looked her up and down. “Looks like you took a hell of a beating.”

  “Never thought I’d see the sun again,” she said. “Also didn’t think I would see you two back here so fast.”

  “We came to help and get our friends,” Horn grunted.

  “Kind of late for the fighting,” Ruckley said. “A few collaborators are pinned down toward the southeastern edge of the city, but they won’t last another hour.”

  She jerked her helmet, indicating for them to follow her. “I’ll take you to the information tent first. We can check on the location of your friends while our teams mop up the rest of those animals.”

  “What the hell happened last night?” Beckham asked.

  “The collaborators hit us from inside the outpost, sir. Not long after you took off,” Ruckley said.

  She pointed to the plumes of dark smoke.

  “The sons of bitches blew up the water tower, took out the power station, and tore through our checkpoints,” she said. “All right behind our backs. Someone in here was definitely coordinating with them.”

  The guilt of not seeing this coming ate at him. He could stomach their failure to predict the monsters breeding and scheming beneath the cities, but this?

  The collaborators had been under his nose the entire damn time.

  “Do we know who yet?” Horn asked.

  Ruckley shook her head. “Unless we got a good forensic analyst in town we’re not going to.”

  “What do you mean?” Horn asked. “They escaped?”

  “Blew themselves to bits,” Ruckley said sourly.

  Beckham halted. “It was a suicide bomber?”

  “The one in the power station was,” she replied. “That set everything off. The rest of the damage was from LAWs and AT-4s.”

  Horn’s lip curled into a snarl. Beckham felt the same surge of anger.

  “Don’t worry,” Ruckley said. “Most of the people are fine, just a bit frightened.”

  Hearing that helped quell the rage a little, but most didn’t mean all. Beckham wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew that Donna, Bo, and Timothy were among the safe ones.

  “I have a hard time believing someone we know could’ve helped the collaborators last night,” Horn said. “I can’t think of anyone that would do something like this.”

  “What’s hard to believe is how they could have access to such powerful weap
ons,” Ruckley said.

  “Is it though?” Beckham asked. “We thought the Variants were dying off under the cities, and seeing as how they were thriving, it makes sense the collaborators were too.”

  “He’s right, and there could be a lot more of the assholes,” Horn said. “We have to start searching.”

  “Already working on it,” Ruckley said. “We’ve been interviewing witnesses, tracking down anyone who is remotely suspicious, and reinforcing checkpoints to prevent more collaborators from sneaking into our borders.”

  “Good,” Beckham replied. “We’ve got to focus on stomping out any final collaborators and securing the outpost before the next wave.”

  Ruckley stopped in her tracks and winced as she rotated her injured body. “Next wave?”

  “This looks like it’s just the beginning to me,” Horn said. “They’re trying to destroy our resources and infrastructure while they probe our defenses to prepare for the real attack.”

  “Let them come.” Ruckley spat on the ground. “We’ll be ready.”

  Beckham had other thoughts on the matter but kept them private for now. He wanted to evaluate the situation first.

  The trio crossed the dry brown grass between the university buildings to the information tent.

  A young woman with curly hair sat behind a folding table. She looked up from an open ledger.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “We’re looking for Donna and Bo Tufo, and Timothy Temper,” Beckham said.

  “Going to take a bit to locate them,” she replied. “We moved a lot of people around today. Come back in twenty or thirty minutes, and we’ll have better information.”

  “Thanks,” Ruckley said, then turned to Beckham. “I’ll take you to the roof of Corthell Hall. It has the best views of this area. You can see the damage from there.”

  Beckham followed her with Horn through the campus. They entered the hall that was now serving as makeshift barracks for the soldiers deployed to protect the outpost.

  When they made it upstairs, three snipers were camped out on the roof. Sleeping bags, MRE wrappers, and gear littered the space.

  Ruckley pulled out her radio. She called her platoon officer, Lieutenant David Niven, as they walked over to the ledge. “Sir, I have Captain Beckham here if you have updates for him. We’re on top of Corthell.”