“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 crisp, 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.
“Open fire!” Fitz yelled.
Rounds lanced into the Alpha’s flesh. It let out a screech as it dragged itself toward the loadmaster, blood spraying out of the bullet holes. Despite the storm of gunfire, it lifted a claw into the air, ready to slash down across the loadmaster’s chest.
Dohi aimed for the creature’s face and fired a burst, shattering bone. Blood gurgled out of the beast’s nostrils and mouth, and it finally collapsed.
“Osprey incoming!” Forster yelled. “Ghost, get ready!”
The aircraft came into view, lights glowing from the fuselage. It made a vertical descent toward them, the rear ramp already opening to allow a quick getaway.
Smaller beasts began climbing from the hole the Alpha had broken through. Their joints clicked, and their teeth gnashed together. Everything blurred around Dohi as Team Ghost sent a fusillade of rounds tearing into their ranks.
This was not the only hole that had opened up behind the defensive lines.
Others appeared across the airfield, swallowing asphalt and even people rushing to new positions. Alphas emerged from the earthen craters, shaking off dirt from the long tendrils snaking over their bodies. Legions of armored juvenile Variants followed behind them.
A loud thump sounded as the Osprey’s wheels touched down.
“Good luck, Ghost! Kill that motherfucker for all of us!” Forster roared.
The loadmasters and Ghost rushed onto the aircraft, carrying their supplies. A pair of crew chiefs helped throw the ammo cans onto the deck. The activity attracted the Variants like bugs to a light.
Even with the gunfire resounding from other units scattered around the airfield, the beasts were almost within striking distance. Forster fired his M17 into two of the monsters that came bounding on all fours. His guards continued to flank him, their rifles blazing to keep the monsters at bay and buy Ghost time.
One of the loadmasters ran back to the stack of supplies for another crate. Before he made it, a lunging Variant tackled him and sunk its claws between his ribs.
Dohi killed the beast, firing from within the Osprey, but the damage was done. The loadmaster took a final breath before going limp.
The other man hefted on a final ammo can. As soon as he did, a Variant wrapped its claws around him, pulling him backward.
“No!” Dohi yelled. He tried to get a shot but it was too late. The beast sunk its teeth into the man’s neck and ripped out a chunk of flesh and artery. Blood sprayed across the interior of the Osprey.
The aircraft lifted off as a swarm of the beasts consumed the dying loadmasters while Forster and his men retreated. Team Ghost continued to fire at the advancing beasts from the troop hold next to a crew chief on a mounted M240.
Creatures threw themselves at the tiltrotor craft, raking their claws along the outside. Dohi trained his fire on the diseased beasts now surrounding the lieutenant and his two soldiers. One of the men went to change his magazine and was shredded by a pair of deadly claws.
Forster and the other two men disappeared under a wave of gray flesh.
Dohi choked out a breath, watching again from the sky while men died below. Once again, there was nothing he could do to save them. He couldn’t even end their misery with a bullet.
Fitz bowed his head, and Rico put a hand on his shoulder as they retreated into the Osprey with Ace. Mendez remained at the rear lift gate with the crew chief, raining fire into the hordes.
Dohi brought his rifle back up with a new magazine and joined them. He fired where he had last seen the three brave soldiers that had given their lives for Team Ghost.
“Incoming!” one of the pilots yelled.
Dohi spotted the cloud of smoke from a launched LAW rocket. With a lurch, the craft suddenly decelerated hard and then descended just enough for the rocket to care
en overhead.
The rear ramp was almost closed as the pilot started to pull them back into the sky. But now they were within an arm’s distance of the monsters again.
A juvenile leapt and thrust itself through the gap between the rear ramp and the fuselage. It bristled with claws and flesh covered in tough armor. Slotted yellow eyes fixed on the crew chief as it let loose a screech and slammed into the man.
Wild gunfire in a space like this was far too risky, but Dohi refused to let another man die for them tonight. He drew his hatchet and slammed it into the armored skull. The monster crashed against the bulkhead.
Dohi ripped the blade out and brought it down again. Bone split, flesh peeled, and blood poured from the gaping skull wounds. It still managed to snap at him, and he brought the hatchet down again, and again, until he had opened up a red canyon in the skull.
Brain matter sloshed out over the deck.
“Ace, Rico, help him,” Fitz said.
The duo began tending to the crew chief’s lacerations. The man writhed on the deck. None of his wounds appeared fatal, but he was definitely hurting.
All things considered, he was lucky to be alive.
Team Ghost was just as lucky.
Dohi stepped back to a window for a view of command. The base had quickly transformed into a war zone, leaving the soldiers in the path of the monsters.
Through a window, Dohi saw the flicker of dozens of rifles around command.
One by one, the glimmer of muzzle flashes disappeared.
A few sparks of gunfire cut out from a final guard tower, but it too vanished in a bright explosion from a LAW rocket. The resulting fireball illuminated a landscape covered in crumpled bodies.
Variants stormed the base, skittering up the main building and consuming the final defenses like an angry colony of ants.
Dohi tried to comfort himself with more words that his grandfather had passed onto him from their tribe.
There is no death, only a change of worlds.
But from what Dohi had seen in the tunnels, from what he had seen down there, he could not find solace in those souls “changing worlds” when the transition looked so terrifyingly horrible.
Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno Page 11