Blood soiled the driver’s seat. The window was broken, pebbles of safety glass spread over the floor. Timothy climbed into the driver’s seat and reached down to start the engine, but the key was missing.
He looked up as two Variants skittered onto the road in front of the truck.
Heart pounding, Timothy ejected the magazine of his pistol and slapped another one home. It was his last. Not nearly enough for the rest of the Variants that would be on him shortly.
Without the keys, he was going to die.
He thought he wasn’t afraid of death, but the icy grip of fear washed over his muscles as the Variants charged.
Timothy raised the gun in a shaky hand and pulled the trigger.
— 5 —
The USS George Johnson sailed farther away from the 1st Fleet, putting distance between President Ringgold and the majority of their remaining Navy. Everything she had worked so hard to achieve had become an inferno back on the mainland, and this time she feared she couldn’t put out the flames.
She sat in her new office that doubled as what would be her quarters for the foreseeable future. The small space had belonged to a dead officer, and the evidence of his life still haunted every corner. An empty picture frame that read, Dad, was adhered to the bulkhead, and a Bible with dog-eared pages rested in one of the drawers.
It hadn’t felt right to remove those little memorials to the man’s life.
The dimly lit, cold room felt more like a prison cell than home, but it still beat being underground.
You’re safe here, she thought.
Repeating those words didn’t relieve her anxiety. In fact, the more she reminded herself of her own safety, the more guilty she felt. Hundreds, if not thousands of people had perished over the past twenty-four hours, and she had fled just like she had done during the first war.
The country—and the world—had already lost so much to the monsters. Almost an entire generation wiped out, and the youngest generation of adults that had survived the first war now faced another.
She dreaded the thought of sending youth out there to fight the monsters or to eradicate American history by destroying what was left of their cities with bombs.
But now she wasn’t sure she had any other options.
One thing was certain…
We have to fight.
She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror before setting off for her next strategy meeting. Her dark skin had more wrinkles than she remembered, and deep bags hung under her eyes. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. She had only slept a few hours.
A splash of water on her face helped snap her alert. She repeated something she had said to Doctor Kate Lovato near the end of the first war.
“There is always hope…”
She drew in a deep breath, straightened her back, and pushed open the hatch. Marines posted outside threw up salutes. She returned the salutes and hurried through the passages to the Combat Information Center (CIC). Most of her staff and the officers were already there. Some looked like they had been there since the night before.
They all rose from their chairs and stations to salute and greet her.
“Good morning, President Ringgold; I hope you got a few hours of sleep,” Vice President Lemke said.
“Madam President,” said General Souza.
Judging by the glassiness in his eyes, he hadn’t slept in days. His LNO, Lieutenant Festa, also looked equally exhausted.
“Lay it on me,” she said.
“The good news is that we haven’t lost any more outposts,” Souza said. “Even the ones around Minneapolis, Chicago, Lincoln, Kansas City, Indianapolis, and Columbus survived last night.”
He passed her a briefing folder.
“Casualties at those outposts, however, are very high. In some cases, over half the defense forces were wiped out,” Festa said.
Cortez crossed her chest in silent prayer, and Soprano looked at the deck.
“We’re in the process of evacuating people by air and pulling them to more protected places, including locations where it will be more difficult for the Variants to tunnel under our defenses,” Souza said. “I have a list of outposts for you to review later.”
Festa handed a second folder across the table. She took it but didn’t want to look right now; she was having a hard enough time keeping it together.
This all felt like a bad dream.
“Do we know enemy numbers yet?” she asked.
“Early estimates project somewhere in the hundreds of thousands with the addition of the juveniles,” Festa said. “We gave them a good pounding last night, but most returned to their hives before we could get accurate estimates.”
“That could make sending in any teams to find the remaining masterminds a suicide mission,” Souza said, clenching his square jaw. “But we did it before, and we can do it again. We have teams on standby, waiting for your orders.”
She glanced at Lemke. “What do you think, Dan?”
“We’re trying to come up with other ways to find the mastermind Variants,” he replied. “I’m hoping Dr. Lovato and Dr. Carr will eventually help us locate them through the webbing in all those tunnels, but so far they haven’t come up with anything we can use.”
Souza cleared his throat. “All due respect to Dr. Lovato and her team, but we’re running out of time for science. And something tells me we haven’t even seen the full power of the Variant army yet. Last night was merely the vanguard to what I expect will be a more powerful assault than we’ve seen before.”
The implications chilled Ringgold to her core. She couldn’t shake the fact they hadn’t seen this coming over the past eight years. While she partially blamed her advisors and generals, she also felt the heavy burden of failure herself.
“How did we miss this?” she said, exasperated. “We monitored all six target cities and sent missions into Variant territory. We didn’t see any evidence of juveniles or the masterminds.”
No one had an answer.
“I’m sorry,” General Souza said. “If you would like my resignation, I have already drafted it.”
She thought on it, but shook her head. “We can’t dwell on failure; we have to focus on saving our people.”
“We’re already fortifying all of our outposts,” Souza said. “We’re withdrawing from those around the target cities to concentrate our forces. That will also give you the option of nuking them if you so choose. And finally, we’re requesting armed support from Europe.”
“They aren’t experiencing attacks like this?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Nelson said. “All our requests for support have been received lukewarm at best. They fear helping us will leave them vulnerable.”
“Has anyone promised anything?”
“The French, Russians, and Brits have sent us a few aircraft,” Nelson said.
“How many?”
The National Security Advisor tightened his red tie.
“How many, Nelson?” Ringgold repeated.
“A total of ten planes, Madam President…” He swallowed. “Not fighter jets, these are jumbo jets to help evacuate people.”
She sighed. “I’ll talk to my counterparts directly today. You keep pressing your contacts.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I will.”
Ringgold didn’t expect much but they needed more than ten extra planes to repel this invasion. She had opened the doors to refugees from other countries, feeling responsible for the virus that the military had unleashed on the world. But she wasn’t exactly surprised the leaders of other countries were reluctant to help the Allied States now.
“What else do you all have for me?” Ringgold asked.
“By sunset, we hope to have most fortifications complete,” Souza said. “We’ve also got a fleet of private planes and helicopters that have been serviced and put back into commission. But even with those, it won’t be enough to complete the evacuations from the worst hit outposts by then, and if the Variants do attack again…”
Anot
her shiver coursed through Ringgold’s body.
“What about evacuations by land?” she asked. “We could try to pull people back in convoys.”
“That’s already happening in some places, but anyone that leaves in a convoy risks being attacked on the road,” Festa said. “People are too afraid of driving in Variant country.”
“We really need more help to win this fight and get everyone to safety,” Lemke said. He raised his chin slightly. “If our international allies can’t offer that support, I suggest turning inward.”
He paused, and then said, “Madam President, I think we should consider reaching out to General Cornelius. He’s got two thousand men and a load of aircraft and vehicles at his disposal. Plus, he’s already arrived at Fischer Fields to secure the petroleum supply.”
Ringgold looked at the man who she had hoped would succeed her as president. He was suggesting she ask his political opponent for help, which wasn’t all that shocking considering their situation, but it still took her slightly off guard.
“The election doesn’t matter now,” Lemke continued. “Saving our country and our people is all that I care about. If Cornelius can help us, I say it’s worth setting aside differences.”
“You’re talking about negotiating with your opponent,” Ringgold reminded her vice president. “If we ask him for help, he will in turn ask for favors, some that we’re not going to like, and some that I can’t accept, like nuking the cities and conscripting our young people.”
Lemke nodded. “I know, but we might have to negotiate if we want to save what’s left of the Allied States.”
She used a moment to think. Lemke was right about needing Cornelius. She just hoped the general was more reasonable than he had been in the past.
“Okay, Dan, talk to General Cornelius and inform him that we’re officially putting the election on hold,” Ringgold said. “It’s time to try and work together.”
***
Fischer would have preferred his private jet and the luxuries that came with it, including a cold brew and fresh steak from his ranch. Rare, of course.
But those days were over.
He sat in the belly of a V-22 Osprey. It was certainly a fine piece of machinery, though “luxurious” was definitely not the word he would use to describe it or the flight from his ranch to Galveston.
The thrum of the engines reverberated straight into his bones. He was strapped into a seat along the bulkhead of the tiltrotor aircraft beside his most loyal men, Tran and Chase. Sergeant Sharp sat close by. He had insisted on coming even though he wasn’t assigned to Cornelius’s private army.
The six soldiers that wore Orca badges didn’t seem to trust Sergeant Sharp or appreciate his presence. But Fisher sure trusted him, especially after Sharp had risked his life to protect Fischer Fields.
Their priority had changed overnight from saving the fields to saving what remained of the Allied States. From the reports still coming in, salvaging what was left of the country was going to take more than oil from his fields.
They needed a bigger army.
Fischer’s stomach twisted as the Osprey began to bank slightly northeast. He tried to focus on the purpose of this meeting, and although he had his suspicions, he wasn’t sure why they needed to meet face-to-face.
Being in the oil business and defending his fields against the Variants, he had come to expect all kinds of nasty surprises in life. He wouldn’t be shocked if this upcoming meeting with the general was one of them.
“Got about twenty minutes before we touch down,” Sharp said.
“Any hostiles we should worry about?” Tran asked.
“Nope, and once you see this place you’ll understand why.”
It didn’t take long before Fischer saw for himself.
Galveston Island stretched below them, basking in sunlight. Murky brown waters lapped against yellow sandy shores on the eastern side and piers to the west. The long land mass trailed south, but most of the activity was contained within the northern city limits of Galveston.
The Osprey curved through the sky, providing a closer view of the outpost. Thick concrete walls traced the perimeter. Guard towers crested multiple positions, giving sweeping views over the water and the rest of the island.
On the eastern shore, walls overlooked beaches of razor wire. Fischer had once heard of Variants that had evolved gills and were capable of amphibious assaults. Cornelius clearly had seen the intel and was not taking any chances with his defenses.
Another group of soldiers piled corpses on a pier at the end of the beach past a ruined Ferris wheel.
The only way to the island by foot was via the heavily garrisoned port or the long bridge connecting Galveston to the mainland. Concrete barriers and mounds of sandbags were set in various locations to slow attackers, providing ample opportunity for the machine gun nests to riddle hostiles with bullets.
Heavily armed patrols and armored vehicles were posted along the docks. Another set of gates there would thwart any waterborne invaders mistakenly looking for an easy entry.
“Impressive,” Fischer said.
“Yeah, but I see a big problem, sir,” Chase said.
“What would you have added?” Fischer asked.
“I would have left a small section of beach for laying out, but with all that razor wire, it doesn’t look like soaking in the sun with any babes is in the cards.”
“Galveston’s fun in the sun days are over for now,” said one of the soldiers across the seats.
The guy sitting next to him joined in and said, “There used to be an Ironman triathlon here. I finished it once, but the only swimming, biking, and running people are doing here now is to get away from the monsters. Not exactly the kind of stuff that makes you want to lounge around.”
“Man, you’re killing me,” Chase said. “Can I at least find a place that serves cerveza?”
The Osprey’s engines roared as the tiltrotors turned vertical. They descended toward a makeshift heliport on a large parking lot abutting the wall overlooking the beach.
A jolt shuddered through the aircraft when the wheels touched asphalt. The crew chief lowered the rear ramp, and Sharp led the group out into the salty breeze that also carried the acrid scent of petroleum. Vacation homes on stilts and restaurants surrounded the parking lot.
Most of the homes had been transformed into barracks or offices now, but the restaurants appeared active—or at least the kitchens were. Lines of soldiers and civilians stretched out the front of a few seafood joints that had busy patios.
Across the parking lot, two Black Hawks had set down. These didn’t look like the military craft Fischer had seen at other outposts. Graffiti covered the hulls with call signs.
The troops milling around the choppers all wore blue armbands with the Orca insignia that Dees had worn. Flapping in the wind high above the parking lot was a flag with the same logo.
“Welcome to Outpost Galveston,” said the triathlete soldier. “We got a limo waiting. Follow me.”
Fischer let out a low chuckle when he saw a Humvee parked nearby.
The ride took them through a residential area with a view of the beach. Most of the people out here were soldiers. He saw very few civilians.
From their hurried actions and constant arrival and departure of aircraft, Fischer got the feeling that this place operated like a well-oiled machine. There was no hemming and hawing, politicking or bickering.
There was a singular mission here, and everyone on Galveston shared in it: defend the outpost from the monsters.
But it hadn’t always been this way. Fischer had heard Outpost Galveston was a slum four years before General Cornelius arrived.
“Cornelius built all this?” Fischer asked the driver.
“Yes, sir. He brought this place back to life and managed the construction of the fortifications himself. If it weren’t for him, no one here would have survived.”
“I see,” Fischer said, fidgeting with his mustache.
He was beg
inning to respect Cornelius more and more.
The streets passed by in a blur of motion. Everyone had a job ranging from putting up fresh razor wire to cleaning weapons.
It struck Fischer then.
This was the future of the Allied States.
The Humvee ground to a halt in front of what once had been a fancy hotel neighboring the port. A pair of guards opened the door to the Humvee and gestured for Fischer and his men to follow. Sharp went with them into the lobby of the hotel.
Desks had been set up around the ornate space. Chandeliers cast white light over men and women carrying on trenchant conversations at scattered tables.
“This way,” said a guard. He led them to the back of the room where two double doors were shut.
Tran and Chase stepped up, but the guard shook his head. “Only Mr. Fischer is allowed inside.”
Fischer exchanged a glance with his men and then nodded.
“I’m with Mr. Fischer,” Sharp said.
Fischer took off his ten-gallon hat.
The guard nodded and let them into the room.
General Cornelius sat behind the table talking with two officers. As soon as the doors opened, he rose from his seat and walked briskly from behind the table.
“Mr. Fischer, so glad to have you join us,” Cornelius said, clasping his hand. “I appreciate you making the journey.”
“And I appreciate you saving my oil fields,” Fischer replied. “You got quite an operation set up here.”
“All the better to prepare for the next stage of war.” Cornelius glanced over to Sharp. “And you are?”
“Sergeant Ken Sharp, United States Army, sir,” Sharp said, snapping to attention.
“He’s with me,” Fischer said. “Sharp gave a lot to protect my fields before your men showed up. Lost all but one of his own, too.”
“Thank you for your service, Sergeant,” Cornelius said. “Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Fischer and Sharp sat down as the general went to the other side of the table.
“I take it you didn’t bring me here just to convince me to support you for the election,” Fischer said.
Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno Page 6