“We’ll know if someone’s coming,” Rico said, joining them.
“Your man basically walked into a trap before, what makes you think he will…” Singh let his words trail.
But he was right. Dohi had seen this coming too late. If he had failed, that meant these men were damn good.
“We stay here, and stay frosty,” Fitz said. “We won’t make the same mistake again.”
“What about calling in reinforcements?” Singh asked.
Rico let out a wry chuckle. “Reinforcements? What reinforcements? Hate to break it to you, LT, but we’re on the other side of the country. We’re it. This is on us now.”
“Afraid that’s true,” Fitz said. “When we left for this mission, our defenses around the outposts were already stretched thin. We were the only teams that Cornelius and Ringgold could spare. Even if they changed their mind and granted us reinforcements, it’s not going to happen soon enough for Hopkins or the others, especially with all the attacks happening around the outposts.”
Rico spat on the ground. “And frankly, I don’t want to be responsible for sapping vital defensive forces away from those outposts. They need to be defending the families and strongholds we’ve got left in the Allied States.”
“I agree,” Singh said.
Fitz shifted on his blades, happy to hear the Lieutenant was on the same page about that. “We’ll get your men back, and in the process, we’ll secure the Rolling Stone technology. I’m not leaving California until that happens.”
“Future of the Allied States is relying on us,” Rico said. Then she leaned forward a bit, a shock of pink hair coming loose. She brushed it back. “You ever seen the tunnels those Variants and Alphas create?”
That caught Singh off-guard. His brow scrunched, and he shook his head.
“You ever see what they do to people in those tunnels? How the beasts string them up to die?” she asked.
Again, Singh shook his head.
“Then count yourself lucky,” she continued. “It’s a sight that’ll haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. But if we retrieve the SDS equipment, we can make sure those tunnels are a thing of the past.”
“Once Dohi returns we’ll come up with a game plan to get your men back and get inside this AO,” Fitz said.
Singh nodded. If he hadn’t been convinced earlier, he was now.
Fitz motioned to Rico, and they joined Ace back under the wide branches of a pine swaying in the wind, isolated from the Wolfhounds.
For a few long moments, the camp was quiet except for the groans of the wounded.
Ace went to get up when Fitz and Rico walked over.
“Sit and rest,” Fitz said.
Ace used his finger to comb some of the dirt from his white beard that was also stained from a bloody nose.
“How you doing, brother?” Fitz asked.
“Like I just woke up after drinking the rest of the beer in the Allied States,” he grumbled. “And then got hit by a Humvee.”
Rico let out a low chuckle, and Fitz grinned.
He sighted movement through the tree line and pointed.
“Dohi’s back,” Fitz said.
Mendez accompanied the tracker.
“Well?” Fitz asked.
Dohi wiped sweat from his face. “I didn’t find any of the missing men, but I did spot some scouts,” he said. “They’re on the other side of the freeway for now, but come night, I bet they head our way.”
“Then we just need to wait and mow those fuckers down,” Mendez said. “They caught us with our pants down, and now it’s their turn to get ambushed.”
Dohi’s face appeared mostly expressionless when he replied. “That won’t work.”
“I agree,” Fitz said. “They know we’re out here. They’ll expect us. We already lost our element of surprise.”
“We lost a hell of a lot more than that,” Rico said.
“These guys aren’t what Cornelius promised,” Mendez said. “We need to roll in by ourselves and give these assholes a good taste of their own medicine as mi madre used to say.”
“Cool it, bro,” Ace said.
Mendez cursed to himself and gestured toward the Wolfhounds.
“Cool it? These guys are like zombies now,” he said. “Useless to us.”
“They lost some of their brothers today and they trusted us to keep them safe. What do you expect?” Fitz said.
Lincoln, Tanaka, Stevenson, and so many other fallen soldiers flashed through his mind. For a fleeting moment, Fitz felt a white-hot ball of rage.
“So what do you want to do?” Mendez asked. “You trying to say we call this off? That we abandon the mission because they can’t handle it?”
Rico kicked at some of the leaves on the ground, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what he’s saying, Mendez. We’re saying to chill out.”
“Impossible for me to chill when we’re chained to these guys,” Mendez replied. “They’re a mission hazard. Might as well tie an anchor around our feet and throw us in the damn Pacific.”
“What about the men we got back at the plane?” Ace asked. “That might be the next best thing to reinforcements we can get.”
“No can do,” Rico said, apparently thinking along the same lines. “Imagine that those cannibals find the C-130 without enough of Cornelius’ men to defend it.”
“They’re cannibals?” Dohi asked. “Thought you said they were eating Variants.”
“Variants are just very sick, mutated humans,” Ace said. “Until ya’ll come up with a better word for people that eat Variants, Rico’s right on the money. Those people are cannibals with a twisted palate.”
“Cannibals or not, we’re royally screwed if they take the C-130 or destroy it,” Rico added.
“Agreed,” Fitz said.
“So what’s the plan, boss?” Ace asked.
Fitz looked between the team. “Mendez isn’t totally wrong.”
“Seriously?” Rico asked.
Mendez patted his rifle. “Hell yes, I’m right.”
Fitz looked to Dohi.
“You’re going to find us a way into that base and into those warehouses without the cannibals following us,” Fitz said. “The Wolfhounds will hold security near the freeway and cover our escape.”
“They’ll be waiting for us,” Dohi said. “It won’t be easy.”
“No, it won’t be easy, but I think we’ve got a way we can get it done without losing more lives.”
Fitz hashed out the details with Team Ghost before he would bring the idea to Singh. As they planned, a piercing cry erupted over the woods.
“What the hell was that?” Ace asked.
“Sounded like a Variant,” Mendez said.
Dohi shook his head. “No, that was human.”
The voice blasted over the trees once more, a strangulated yell of tortured agony. All around the camp the Wolfhounds got to their feet and readied their weapons.
The screech sounded closer the next time it rang out.
Fitz steeled himself, imagining what terrible things the cannibals were doing to the missing men.
The Wolfhounds all froze in place, as more pained screams traveled through the woods like spirits haunting the forest.
Fitz had promised Singh he would help find his men, but he feared now it was going to be too late. If they were to escape with the SDS equipment from Project Rolling Stone, they couldn’t delay much longer.
He left his team and returned to the lieutenant.
Singh stood stiffly in front of Fitz. The man was different now, his jaw clenched tightly and his face a mask of determination as a result of those screams.
“Those are my men, aren’t they?” he asked.
Fitz nodded. “They’re trying to frighten us.”
“It’s working,” Singh replied, glancing at his surviving soldiers. “But we didn’t come out here to turn tail and run.”
The agonized wails echoed once again.
“Good, because tonight my team is going back in,
and I need your boys to watch our back,” Fitz said.
“Oh, we can do that, brother, and more,” Singh said. “I’ve got an idea on how to keep those cannibals occupied for a while.”
***
A cool wind cut through Outpost Manchester’s town square. The fiery leaves littering the ground rustled, and the breeze plucked other dead leaves off spindly tree branches.
“Watch this,” Horn said to Javier and his daughters. He tossed a stick like a boomerang. It sliced through the air. Ginger and Spark exploded toward it, racing to find it in a pile of leaves.
Beckham and Kate hung out behind a park bench, watching Horn and the kids play with the dogs. Beckham was feeling a bit better after an uneventful night and a quiet morning. A brief phone conversation earlier with President Ringgold had confirmed no other major attacks had occurred elsewhere.
But he wasn’t fooled by one peaceful night. He knew the enemy was out there, scheming and waiting to strike like they had for eight years.
The citizens of Outpost Manchester were out this afternoon and didn’t seem to be concerned. A glance around the town square and surrounding streets might have looked almost normal to an unwary onlooker.
A long line of people waited patiently for food outside townhall. The sporadic laughter of children and even some adults filled the afternoon with rare sounds of joy.
Kate drank from a mug of steaming coffee, enjoying a brief respite from lab work.
“How’s your head feeling?” she asked.
Beckham shrugged. “Just a bump, could have been a lot worse… How are things going in the lab?”
Kate took another sip. “I think we’re going to crack the code by tonight.”
“That’s great. President Ringgold said she’ll have a bird ready to evacuate us as soon as you’re done.”
“And go where?”
Javier tossed a stick, and Ginger leapt into the air, catching it in her teeth.
“Good catch, girl!” Jenny cried out.
Javier smiled proudly and looked to his dad who smiled back.
“I don’t know,” Beckham said to Kate. “Maybe back to the Johnson.”
“We have to tell the kids about Timothy, Bo, and Donna soon… But I’d rather wait until we leave this place.”
“Agreed.” Beckham hated the idea of going back to the warship. And he hated having to tell the kids their friends were dead and their home destroyed.
“Any updates on Fitz and the others?” she asked.
“Nothing new, and the longer we don’t…” He let his words trail off. They both knew the more time Ghost spent on the frontier, the less likely they would come home.
Jenny laughed, then threw another stick. “Go get it!”
Both dogs bolted after it, exploding through the piles of leaves while the kids laughed.
“What about the juveniles?” Kate asked quietly, her eyes pinned on the kids.
Beckham kept his voice even lower.
“They took out two Raven scouts. The team that went to locate the Variants didn’t find any tracks. It was like they’d vanished into thin air.”
Kate kept staring at the kids.
He said what they were both probably thinking.
“This place is a ticking time bomb, Kate. I want to get out of here as soon as you finish your work.”
“Me too, and that’s a good reminder that break time is over.”
“I didn’t mean this second…”
“It’s okay, Reed.” She planted a kiss on his lips and walked over to the kids. “I’ve got to go, guys, give me a hug.”
Javier came running, along with the dogs wagging their tails.
“Good luck,” Horn said. He offered a brisk salute.
“Take care of my family,” she said to him.
“Always, Kate.”
She smiled at Beckham and then returned to the sidewalk where two soldiers were already waiting to escort her. Beckham watched her go before joining the kids.
“Mom sure works a lot now,” Javier said.
“I know, buddy, but she’s almost done,” Beckham replied.
“Awesome. Then do we get to go home?”
“I miss Timothy,” Tasha said. “Wish I could at least give him a call.”
“And I miss my bed,” Jenny said.
Horn raised an eyebrow. “How old are you again?”
Jenny laughed. “Not an old fart like you.”
A pair of black Humvees with the Raven logo pulled up outside of the park, a welcome distraction from the questions.
Two men wearing black fatigues got out of the lead Humvee. Several people in the food line watched, others put their heads down, clearly afraid. Not that Beckham blamed them, after last night’s raids.
But instead of going toward the line, the soldiers aimed their path at the park.
“Captain Beckham,” one called out.
“Yeah…”
“Who’s asking?” Horn said.
The men jogged toward him as Horn led the kids over with the dogs.
“Colonel Presley,” a soldier said. “He wants to see you.”
“About what?” Beckham asked.
“Please, come with us,” the other said. “We’ll have you back to your family shortly.”
“Dad, why do they want you to go again?” Javier asked. He eyed the soldiers suspiciously.
Beckham crouched down on his prosthetic in front of Javier. “I’ll be right back.”
“I want to come,” Javier said.
“Sorry, bud, but this is official business.”
Javier frowned and Beckham gave the boy a playful tap on the shoulder. “You stand guard with Big Horn, okay?”
The boy lit up at that. “You got it, Dad.”
Beckham nodded at Horn and then went with the Raven soldiers. They drove to a brick complex surrounded by twenty-foot tall metal fences topped with razor wire. Two armored vehicles were parked outside a gate, machine gun turrets occupied by men wearing black face masks.
The gate rolled back, and they drove inside to a parking lot with squad cars sitting in a neat row. Beckham spotted a Raven sign hanging over the main entrance where a police station sign had once been.
“Let’s go,” said one of the escorts.
Beckham got out of the vehicle.
“Rifle, please,” said the other soldier.
Beckham unslung his M4A1 and handed it over. Then he followed them into the building. He was led down a flight of stairs into a basement. From there, they took him to a jail with two dozen cells. Each had only a small window to see through the heavy metal doors. As they walked past, Beckham stole glances into those small windows, surveying the cells’ inhabitants.
Realization set in.
Presley wanted to show him the men and women they had taken into custody. People who had probably lost loved ones over the past few months or years that Beckham suggested they investigate.
The two soldiers turned down another wing and stopped to throw up salutes. Colonel Presley stood reading a document with a female staff member in uniform. A second soldier, about a foot taller than Beckham with muscles like Horn’s was looking into one of the cells. A black t-shirt clung to his bulging frame and a face mask covered his features. His knuckles were cracked and bloodied, as if he’d just been in a fight.
Presley acknowledged Beckham’s escorts with a nod and then handed the document to the woman.
“Captain Beckham, thank you for coming,” Presley said. “I need your help. We have someone in custody who we found with this.”
Presley held out a small vial.
Beckham leaned closer to look at what appeared to be juvenile acid. The sight of a substance that had all but destroyed his body, leaving him with a prosthetic hand and leg during the great war, made his blood boil.
“I thought you didn’t have a collaborator problem,” he said, angrily.
“I may have been a little too confident, Captain.” He gestured toward a cell door. “We found this on a young man last
night.”
The guard with the face mask stepped aside so Beckham could look. Inside, a man knelt on the floor, his head hung low. The prisoner must have sensed him and glanced up with a bruised and bloody face.
Beckham turned away from the view. “He’s just a kid.”
“And he’s a stubborn one at that,” Presley said. “We can’t get him to talk. I thought someone with your experience might have better luck.”
“My experience?”
“Before the war, Team Ghost spent time in hot spots around the world. Don’t tell me enhanced interrogation techniques were off the table.”
“Like I said, that’s just a kid,” Beckham said. “We never tortured kids. Even in war.”
Presley frowned and handed the vial to a guard. “This isn’t the same type of war. Our enemies are monsters.”
“You don’t fight monsters by becoming one.”
“Maybe not. But if we don’t try, we might not win this war.”
Presley motioned for the man in the t-shirt to open the door. He went inside with the colonel. Beckham followed, instantly smelling urine and body odor.
The kid was maybe twelve. Not that much older than Javier, and much younger than Timothy and Bo. He was kneeling, his hands cuffed behind his back and his feet held to a chain connected to the wall.
“This is Captain Reed Beckham,” Presley said. “Sounds like he doesn’t want us to hurt you. Unfortunately for you, he’s not in charge.”
The boy looked up with one eye swollen shut, glaring at Presley.
“Tell us where you got the juvenile acid or things are going to get a lot worse,” Presley said.
The boy, quivered, his cracked lips trembling. His brown eyes flitted from Beckham to Presley, and then to the guard with bloody knuckles.
“You know what we did to the last collaborators, right?” Presley asked.
The kid managed a slow nod. “You burned them.”
So much for that working, Beckham thought.
“Tell us where you got the acid, or we’re going to put you in a barrel of it,” Presley said.
The boy glanced down.
Presley sighed, then nodded at the big guy.
“Wait…” Beckham said.
It was too late. The man kicked the kid in the face with a sickening thud that echoed in the small cell. His head jerked back, nearly snapping his neck.
Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno Page 28