Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “What’s that mean?” Hopkins asked. “They have to know something.”

  Rico plucked a piece of chewed gum from her helmet.

  “There could be collaborators. Could be Variants. Could even be some invaders from another country looking to take some land when we’re not looking,” Fitz said. “We’re prepared to face any threat. Anything with a weapon should be considered hostile, but you do not engage unless fired upon. Stealth is our primary weapon here.”

  “I heard all the collaborators moved east,” Martin said. “Same with the Variants. After all, that’s where all the food is.”

  “Martin, shut your trap and listen,” Singh said.

  “For all we know, Variants have been camping out here underground for the past eight years just like they were back east,” Fitz said. “Maybe breeding too.”

  Dohi was prepared mentally for anything. After all, the one thing he had learned in the apocalypse was that unpreparedness was the worst enemy.

  “Once we reach the freeway outside the National Accelerator Campus, we split up to cover more ground,” Fitz said. “Lieutenant, you and ten men are with me, Rico and Ace. Dohi and Mendez, you take the other ten.”

  Fitz finished his orders as the plane dipped. There were no other questions, just solemn looks, and whispered prayers.

  One of the Wolfhounds leaned down, and Dohi thought he was going to puke, but he managed to keep all of the food in his gut.

  “Get ready!” Fitz yelled.

  The big airplane touched down, the troop hold rattling. When it eased to a stop, the crew chief lowered the rear ramp.

  “Go, go, go!” Fitz yelled.

  Dohi immediately took point at Fitz’s signal, spearheading the group as they charged out into the sand, rifles at the ready to set up a perimeter.

  As soon as the last soldier was out, Dohi took point. He found the remnants of a trail that had once been a hiking path marked with rusted signs. It was now overgrown with weeds and brambles, but it would be no problem for him to find his way through, even with the fog.

  It took an hour of hiking in silence through the muck and tall grass shadowed by trees before Dohi paused at the crest of a wooded hill. The higher ground, too, was suffocated by the ominous fog.

  He was unable to see more than the trees clawing through the gray a few dozen yards in front of him. The other members of Team Ghost gathered beside him to figure out their next move. Several of the Wolfhounds trailed behind them, all organized into combat intervals.

  The chirp of birds was reassuring. It meant there probably weren’t Variants in the area. For now, Dohi would take this as a good omen. But he didn’t like the fog.

  Fitz didn’t either. “We’re only a few miles out from our target, but we could be walking into an ambush set by anything or anyone that saw the plane,” he said.

  “You want to hold here a bit and see if the fog clears?” Singh asked.

  Fitz thought on it, shooting Dohi a glance first.

  “We need to keep moving,” Fitz said. “Dohi will make sure we don’t wander into a trap. Tell your men to keep frosty and report anything suspicious.”

  “You got it,” Singh said, before turning back to his platoon.

  Fitz signaled to move out.

  A cold wind blowing in from the west sent chills up Dohi’s flesh. He kept his ears perked for the singing birds, letting them know that they were safe.

  But he knew they weren’t safe by any means—they were in Variant country now. The deepest anyone had been in years, and the question wasn’t if they would encounter the beasts. It was when.

  Coyote is always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry.

  More words from his grandfather haunted his thoughts.

  The soldiers speared through the fog behind Dohi, and he guided them deeper into a field blackened by fire. Skeletal trees twisted out of the ash covered dirt.

  The birds had stopped chirping, but he saw no tracks from animals, Variants, or humans. Nothing living at all.

  Fitz gestured for Dohi to keep pushing forward, and Dohi brought his rifle back up to his shoulder, scanning the haze for hostiles. His boots crunched over branches that fell away into dust.

  Somewhere a crow cawed.

  A breeze rustled over the crisped plants. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight.

  From the tendrils of gray fog emerged a cluster of living trees. Not much grass grew along the ground, but leaves covered it as densely as the fog choked the landscape.

  Something about those leaves looked wrong to Dohi. Kind of like he was looking at a forged one-hundred-dollar bill.

  He stopped and thrust his fist in the air, trusting his gut.

  “What’s up?” Fitz whispered.

  Dohi jerked his chin toward the leaves.

  Fitz gave him a cockeyed gaze at first, seeming to be confused. Then realization dawned over him, too.

  The leaves only rustled a little when the wind blew over them, but never flew away. They were too perfectly dispersed along the ground. Dohi knelt and peeled back some that were stuck to the ground.

  Instead of coming up separately, they came up in one big carpet, exposing a pit nearly six-feet deep. Punji spikes jutted up from the dark soil at the bottom. The chamber spread along to the north and south, bordering the burned down woods, nearly twenty feet in length.

  A rotten odor drifted up from the freshly revealed booby trap; they hadn’t been the first to discover it. But those that came before had seen it when it was too late.

  Dohi crouched for a better look at the bodies impaled by the spikes. Two of them had grown leathery and dry. A fresher corpse was covered in white maggots crawling out of a misshapen skull.

  It took him a moment to realize they weren’t humans.

  The corpses were Variants.

  Someone had set a trap for the monsters.

  Dohi rose to his feet.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend, he thought. Maybe the adage would prove true. But something told him these people, whoever they were, could be just as big of a threat as the monsters.

  ***

  Two guards wearing black fatigues with the Raven logo stood outside another entrance to the laboratory. A line of armored vehicles and Humvees were parked in a semi-circle in the parking lot, providing a second line of defense around the building housing the mastermind.

  Fischer and his guards had waited outside with Beckham for over an hour, trying to figure out what was going on. But even after telling them who they were, the heavily armed guards would not grant them access to the lab.

  Every minute that passed, Beckham grew angrier. Fischer had a feeling things were about to get heated.

  “This is such fucking bullshit,” Beckham said.

  Tran and Chase looked at Fischer, but he shook his head to keep them from getting involved.

  “Screw this,” Beckham said. He set off for the vehicles.

  The soldier in the closest turret shouted, “This is authorized access only!”

  “My wife is inside!” Beckham yelled. He marched toward the line of armored vehicles; gun barrels rotated toward him.

  “Stop, sir!” yelled the same soldier in the turret.

  “Ah, horse shit,” Fischer said. He walked after Beckham despite protests from Tran and Chase.

  “I said halt!” the soldier yelled.

  “You’re going to have to shoot me!” Beckham shouted back.

  Fischer twisted toward the sound of squealing tires. A Humvee came to an abrupt stop in front of the parked M-ATVs and other armored vehicles forming a barrier in front of the lab facility.

  The soldiers in turrets pushed their barrels up as the passenger side door opened. Colonel Presley got out and hurried over to the entrance.

  “What the hell is going on?” Beckham asked. “If my wife is in danger, I…”

  “She’s not,” Presley said. “My men are just following strict orders to keep this place secure. Your wife is safer in there than out here, Captain.
I need you to come with me.”

  Fischer wasn’t sure what in the Sam Hill was happening now.

  The sun was already going down on the horizon. Soon darkness would swallow them, bringing with it the evil monstrosities it concealed. His fingers caressed the handle of his holstered pistol.

  Tran and Chase picked up on his worry, shifting their rifles up out of relaxed mode.

  “Captain, let’s go with the colonel,” Fischer suggested. “Assuming, that is, my men and I may also join. I have enough manners to bow out of a dinner party I’m not invited to.”

  “Of course.” Presley nodded. “You’re free to come with us, Mr. Fischer, as are your men.”

  Beckham looked back at the lab entrance and then reluctantly walked over to the Humvee with Fischer and his guards.

  “You need to promise me the lab is safe,” Beckham said.

  “Safest place here with all this security,” Presley said gesturing. “Now, you coming with me or not?” He hopped into the front passenger seat, not waiting for an answer.

  Fischer got in the back with Beckham and his men.

  “Our scouts spotted packs of juveniles on the outskirts of the outpost,” Presley said as the truck pulled away. “About two clicks out from the main wall. They’re small packs, the equivalent of a recon unit.”

  “How many of these packs have you spotted in the past?” Beckham asked.

  “None. This is the first time we’ve seen Variants so close.”

  “They know the mastermind is here, don’t they?” Fischer asked, cold realization hitting him like an unexpected blizzard in Texas.

  Beckham cursed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “I’m hoping that’s not the case, but either way I’m not taking any chances and don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do,” Presley said. “I’ve got all hands on deck, and we’re moving civilians into the shelters for the night.”

  “My family,” Beckham said. “That apartment had glass windows, if we’re hit with bats—”

  “The building has a shelter in the basement,” Presley reassured him. “There are guards on the roof; the street is completely blocked off; and our aerial defenses are locked, cocked, and ready for any threat.”

  Fischer could tell Beckham wasn’t convinced.

  “Sir, all due respect, but are you sure you don’t have any collaborators in your midst?” Beckham asked. “How else could the Variants know about the mastermind?”

  Presley didn’t hesitate even a second in his answer. “Captain, I told you that we do not have a collaborator problem here.”

  “That’s what we thought in Portland.” Beckham ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back. “We underestimated them… I underestimated them, and I’ve lost a lot of friends and my home because of it.”

  “I’m sorry for your losses, but this isn’t Outpost Portland,” Presley said.

  Fischer turned to look out the windows on the drive. They sped through empty streets in silence, the fiery glow of a sunset retreating on the horizon. He re-positioned his holstered .357 Magnum, fearing that the silence was about to be shattered by the screech of monsters.

  He had listened quietly back at the command building while Presley explained how safe this place was to Beckham, and all of the things they had done to ensure it never fell.

  And while Fischer wanted to believe the defenses were as good as Presley kept saying, he remembered Cornelius’s ominous warning about not trusting anyone.

  The driver steered the Humvee toward a cluster of tents at the far reaches of the walls. Soldiers hurried back and forth, carrying equipment from a stack of crates being unloaded from the back of a flatbed.

  Others worked at tables under a camouflage tent that shielded computers and electronic equipment from view and rain. Swollen clouds rolled in from the west across the purple skyline, threatening storms.

  “This is it,” Presley said. “Won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

  Fischer put on his hat and stepped out of the vehicle. He followed Beckham and Presley into a tent furnished with metal tables with computer monitors. A young female officer with short hair and blue eyes stood to attention, then backed away to give them all room.

  “Colonel, this is live footage from our scouts,” she said.

  Fischer leaned down to look with Beckham and Presley.

  At first glance, Fischer didn’t see anything. That wasn’t entirely surprising. The beasts were probably camouflaged.

  The officer that had brought up the live feed used a finger to point at the hilltop. There the weeds moved back and forth, and Fischer glimpsed a flash of gray armored flesh.

  “They’ve just been sitting there for the past hour,” she said. “And we’ve picked up more units like this at two other locations.”

  She went to a mobile board with a map of the outpost. Using a pen, she noted spots on all sides of the perimeter.

  “We’re being surrounded,” Presley said.

  Beckham stiffened and wiped sweat from his brow. “They’re definitely scoping out the defenses.”

  Fischer had personal experience with the depths of their organized intellect but this was on an entirely new level.

  “Colonel, we have more movement,” said another officer. The man walked over with a handset. “Just got word some of the juvies are taking off.”

  “Follow them with a drone or a recon team… your best team,” Beckham said. “We need to know where they’re going. If we can, then we locate the horde or hive, or whatever is out there.”

  Presley acted slightly annoyed by what sounded like orders, but he agreed and nodded at the officer with the handset.

  “Anything else I should know?” Beckham asked. “I’d like to personally make sure my family is safe before shit hits the fan.”

  “No, Captain, thank you,” Presley said.

  “Keep me updated on things, please.”

  “Of course, I’ll get you a radio before we have someone drive you back to the building so you don’t find yourself waiting again.” Presley looked Beckham in the eye. “Sorry about what happened outside the lab; it was a misunderstanding.”

  Beckham nodded and left the tent.

  “Thanks for the updates,” Fischer said. He followed Beckham and joined his men outside, feeling completely useless. Waiting on Team Ghost and the SDS equipment was really starting to make his visit here a drag. He hoped whatever was taking Ghost so long would be resolved soon.

  “Mr. Fischer, I’d suggest going to one of those shelters, if you want a ride,” Beckham said. He walked toward a pickup truck where a soldier waited.

  “I have a feeling tonight is going to be a long one,” Beckham added.

  Fischer tipped his leather hat. “I appreciate the advice, Captain. But I’m not the kind of buck that goes scampering at the first sign of danger.”

  “Suit yourself,” Beckham said. He got inside the truck and the driver pulled away.

  Fischer watched him go, hoping the Captain was wrong. One thing was certain, Fischer wasn’t going to cower in some shelter.

  He was done hiding a long time ago.

  — 18 —

  Timothy sat quietly in an exam room that looked like it had been pulled straight from the doctor’s office he used to visit as a kid. It was even furnished with a table that had bedding on it.

  But there weren’t serene pictures of mountains or rivers on the walls. The only decoration was a banner hanging over the closed door with a misshapen skull. The same banner he had seen in the briefing room.

  Alfred had brought him here and told him to get into the green scrubs he wore now. According to the tag, the scrubs were supposed to be size medium. A size that had once fit snugly on Timothy’s frame. Now it hung as loose as a sail.

  His stomach growled. He was hungry again.

  No… he was starving.

  He had hardly eaten in the past few days.

  Food wasn’t the only thing on his mind. He had sat there for hours with nothing to
do but worry and try to figure out why the hell they had brought him down here. Thoughts of his father, of Tasha, and all the people back in Portland haunted his mind. He tried to conjure happy memories, anything to assuage the ball of dread growing in his stomach, but he failed every time.

  All he could do was stare at that strange skull on the banner.

  Now he was more sure than ever that he knew what it was.

  The thing was a damn Variant. It had to be, and it made sense after his conversation with Nick. The man had sold his soul to the monsters. Everyone down here had.

  While he had figured that much out, there was still so much that didn’t make sense.

  Normally, at least from what he had heard, collaborators worked for the monsters. But the ones here controlled them. The shock collar… the concerted attacks…

  Timothy didn’t see how that could be possible. There had to be something he was missing. The collaborators his dad had told him about worked for powerful Alpha Variants. Monsters that were both twisted and intelligent in their own strange ways. Maybe there was an even more intelligent Variant out there working with the collaborators now.

  Some beast that Nick, Alfred, and Pete had sworn loyalty to.

  Timothy grew more anxious as he waited for the men to return. He got off the table and walked over to the door, trying the knob. It twisted, but a click confirmed it was still locked from the outside.

  Was this some kind of test? Were they watching him through a hidden camera, seeing if he was smart enough to escape—or loyal enough to listen?

  He glanced at the banner again as he stood in front of the door. These men must have some awfully good reasons to swear fealty to monsters that wanted to kill so many people. Or maybe everyone down here was just batshit insane.

  But there was an even bigger question that Timothy couldn’t bury. One that emerged from the emotions roiling in his chest.

  A question he wondered every time he looked at Nick, Alfred, and Pete.

  Had they been there the night his father died on Peaks Island? Had one of them pulled the trigger?

  In time, he would know. That was what mattered most. Once he figured that out, he would happily return the favor and put a bullet in that man’s brain, then everyone else loyal to the monsters.