Extinction Age (10 page)

The left passage led to the galley and mess hall. A sign for
the berthing area hung to the right with an arrow pointing down the passageway.
Beckham turned back to his men, assessing them. Chow was doing okay so far. He
still didn’t trust Peters, though. Not yet. He hated doing it, but he decided
to split the team up.

“Peters, on me. We’ll take the right,” Beckham said. “We’re
Bravo 1 and 2 on the comms. Chow and Fitz are 3 and 4. Clear the galley and
mess hall.”

Chow nodded and patted his helmet in confirmation. Beckham
tightened his grip around the handle of his M4 and slipped into the right
passage with Peters behind him. The doors to the berthing areas were wide open.
The sight made him pause. Each room was a potential hiding place for
hostiles.  They would need to clear each one.

He directed Peters to take the right side with a hand signal.
Beckham took the left. He entered the first room and swept his rifle from bunk
to bunk. One of them was sealed off with a blue drape. He approached it with
his rifle in one hand and pulled back the curtain with the other.

Empty.

Where the fuck was everyone?

He continued into the next room and then the next. Each
revealed the same thing. Empty bunks.

“Bravo 2, you got anything?”

“Negative,” Peters replied.

 “Alpha, you got eyes on?” Beckham asked.

The response was quick. “Bridge is clear. No sign of
struggle.”

“Copy that,” Beckham said. His mind raced as he continued to
the head. Peters was already there, kneeling in the entrance and tracing a
gloved finger over the floor.

 “Blood?” Beckham asked.

“Yup,” Peters replied. “Lots of it. It wraps around the
corner, too.”

Beckham shouldered his rifle and continued to the next
junction. He hugged the bulkhead and peered around the side. The trail of blood
continued down the passage to the left and ended at a hatch that went below
decks.

“Alpha, you copy? Over,” Beckham said into his headset.

“Roger, Bravo. Loud and clear,” Jensen replied.

“I think I found our missing crew.”

“What’s your location?”

“Just outside the berthing area.”

“Alpha on the way.”

“Roger,” Beckham said, moving back to the head. He squeezed
past Peters and checked the room for a second time. Maroon streaks crisscrossed
the ground, pooling in some areas like someone had dumped buckets of blood. The
overhead was splattered with the same dark blots.

Beckham continued inside, planting his boot firmly with every
step, careful not to slip. He checked each stall, but didn’t find a single
body. Whatever had happened had likely started here. His gut dropped as his
mind reverted back to Building 8 where the Hemorrhage virus had started. Ghost
had cleared those first few levels, expecting to find dead scientists. Instead,
they’d found the first infected—and the bodies they’d hoarded for food. The
memory of that first gruesome discovery in the mess hall made his heart pound.

Chow’s voice flickered in his ear. “Bravo 1, Bravo 3. Something
you need to see in the galley.”

Beckham caught the small break in the man’s voice, and he
knew exactly what it meant. Chow was spooked.

“Alpha, meet us in the galley,” Beckham said. He motioned for
Peters to follow. Beckham’s boots squished as he ran into the passageway, the
blood sticking with every stride.

It only took a few seconds to reach the galley. Fitz was
waiting outside the entrance. It was hard to read his features with the NVGs
hanging over his head. Beckham held his questions and entered the room.

Chow was standing next to an oversized food locker that
wasn’t much different than the one Ghost had found the scientists in at
Building 8. The operator pointed down as Beckham approached. He already saw the
dark path leading to the walk-in fridge. He checked the temperature gauge. It
was forty-two degrees inside. With the engines offline, the freezer was
starting to warm.

“I don’t like this, man,” Chow said.

“Fitz, hold security at the door,” Beckham said. “Peters, get
over here.”

Chow grabbed the handle and waited for orders. Raising his
M4, Beckham held a breath inside his chest and nodded.

A cloud of cold air rushed out of the room as soon as Chow
yanked it open. Beckham moved his weapon in an arc, stopping on a hunk of meat
in the center of the room. At first glance it looked like the torso of a cow,
but then Beckham saw the human head attached to it. When he let out his breath
and sucked in another, he caught a whiff of rot.

Chow moved inside and stopped abruptly. He lowered his rifle
but said nothing. Beckham joined him, staring at the corpse. A shredded pair of
trousers covered its crotch and the stubs where its legs had been. Its arms
were gone, torn from their sockets.

“Jesus,” Beckham whispered. He forced himself to walk further
into the room and crouch next to the body. He flipped his night vision up,
using the soft red glow from an emergency light to examine the remains. The
man’s features were warped into a mask of horror. Beckham tried to close the
man’s eyelids, but they were frozen open.

A low growl came from behind one of the shelves in the right
corner of the room. Beckham swept his gun toward the noise. Chow heard it too,
and raised his rifle. They exchanged a critical look and walked toward the
metal rack stacked with food. He couldn’t see anything on the other side. A
weaker growl responded to their footsteps.

Beckham’s breath came out in icy puffs as he walked. When he
got to the final shelf, he pointed to his eyes, then to Chow, and then to the
right side of the shelf. The operator moved into position. They burst around
the corners simultaneously, Beckham anxious to put a bullet in whatever was
making the sound. He almost pulled the trigger before he saw the German
Shepherd. It was curled up on the lap of a navy officer’s corpse. The man’s
chin rested limply against his chest. Everything below his waist was covered in
blood.

The dog snarled as Beckham approached. He waved Chow off with
his other hand and took a knee.

“It’s okay, boy,” Beckham said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog cowered, trying to back away. Beckham reached out to
let the animal sniff his hand when the man’s head shot up and his eyes snapped
open. The officer gasped for air and batted icy eyelids. The red glow
illuminated his wide, frightened eyes.

“Help me,” he said. “Please, help me.”

Beckham didn’t have time to reply. Gunfire rang out in the
distance, and a voice crackled over his headset.

It was Jensen, and he was screaming. “Contacts! We got
multiple contacts!”

-10-

R
iley was furious. The state-of-the-art post had
been built without ADA access. Everywhere he went, he needed help. He wheeled
down the hallway of Building 1, where Kate and the other scientists lived.
Smith had redistributed the rooms after the attack had killed most of the
former residents. Horn and his girls got one, and so did Riley. He was glad to
be out of the medical ward, but he would have rather been assigned a bunk in
the barracks. Now everything was a challenge. Especially taking a shit, which he’d
been holding off on doing for hours.

Horn nursed a bottle of Jameson they’d manage to barter off
one of the newer Medical Corps guards. He sat on the small couch in Riley’s
room, his gaze locked on the window.

“I hate waiting like this,” Horn said. He wiped his mouth
with a tattooed arm.

“Beckham can take care of himself. He’ll be fine,” Riley
said, in a less than convincing tone.

“He’s been lucky, kid. You know that, and I know that,” Horn
said. “Doesn’t matter how good he is. Eventually that luck will catch up to
him.”

A moment of silence passed over them. He wanted to reassure
Horn everything would be fine, that Beckham and the others would find nothing
but food and ammunition, but he had the sinking suspicion they were probably
walking into a boat full of bodies or worse.

“I don’t like sitting on the sidelines either,” Horn said.

Riley looked down at his casts and let out a sad chuckle.
“Man, I’ve been the fucking water boy for weeks now. I want back in the game.”

“Fuck it, I should have gone,” Horn grumbled. He took a long
gulp and then punched the cushion next to him. “Beckham needs me out there.”

“Your girls need you here.”

Horn bowed his head and ran a hand through his thin,
strawberry hair. “I still can’t believe Sheila’s gone. It’s finally starting to
sink in. The girls are going to grow up without their mother.”

“I’m sorry,” Riley said. “But that’s another reason you need
to be here for them. And I’m pretty sure that’s why Beckham wanted you to sit
this out. They need their father.”

Horn wiped his eyes and sat up straight. “Yeah,” was all he
managed to say.

Goosebumps rose on Riley’s arms. “I gotta go to the can. You
mind getting the door for me, Big Horn?”

“Sure, I need to check on the girls anyway. Make sure they’re
sleeping.”

As they made their way to the door, Riley said in what he
hoped was a casual voice, “So, what do you think of that Meg chick? A real
firecracker, huh?”

Horn held the door open and glanced down at him, his freckled
forehead lined. “You serious, man? You’re really thinking about a woman right
now?”

“Bro, I’m always thinking about women.”

Horn jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Go take your dump.”

Riley wheeled into the hall. Before he could get out of the
way, Major Smith came bolting out of nowhere.

“Riley, Horn! We’ve got a problem. It’s the
Truxtun
.”

“We got multiple contacts!
Something’s wrong with them. They’re bleeding from their eyes and ears,” Jensen
said. His panicked voice vanished under the crack of gunfire.

Beckham couldn’t believe what he was hearing over his
headset. “Where are you?” he shouted back.

 A flurry of static was the only reply.

“What do we do?” Fitz asked. “Go to them or wait?”

Beckham glanced back at the freezer where Chow stood waiting
for orders.  “Seal that guy inside with the dog. We can’t bring them with
us right now,” Beckham said. “We’ll come back for him.”

Chow slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside. If
something happened to Beckham and his men, the officer wouldn’t have any way to
get out. Then again, if something happened to them, the Variants would kill the
officer anyway. His fate was tied to Bravo team now.

“Let’s go,” Beckham said. He ran toward the sound of gunfire,
but the close quarters made it hard to locate the source.

“Jensen, where are you?” Beckham shouted.

“Upper deck, just outside the CIC!”

Beckham opened the hatch to the amplified sound of gunfire
echoing through the bowels of the ship. He looked up the dark ladder that led
to the next deck and said, “Eyes up, on me.”

 The hatch at the top was already open. As soon as he
approached, a volley of gunshots tore through the passage. An angry shriek
followed…someone had found a target.

Beckham stumbled away from the hatch and slammed his back
against the bulkhead. “Hold your fucking fire!”

Whoever was shooting didn’t let up. Another torrent of rounds
hit the bulkhead. One of the bullets ricocheted, pinging through the hatch and
whistling past Beckham’s leg.

“Jensen, hold your fucking fire!” Beckham shouted, his voice
raw with anger.

“Fall back!” came a reply.

The gunshots moved into the next passageway. Beckham counted
the seconds, listening to the impacts. When he was sure they were clear, he
poked his head into the passage.

A pile of bodies lay at the opposite end. There was movement
behind them. It was a Variant, hunched, coiled, and gripping a gushing wound.
More of the creatures skidded into the passage across the bulkhead and
overhead.

Beckham glanced to the right, where the gunshots had come from.
Jensen, or whoever had fired, was gone. He slipped back through the hatch
before the creatures could see him and used his fingers to tell the story,
holding up four of them and then pointing.

His team nodded in unison. Beckham raised his M4 and jumped into
the passageway, firing as soon as he found a target. A head mushroomed in an
explosion of bone fragments and brain. The other Variants dodged around the
fallen body, each of them roaring with anger.

Beckham heard the click of Fitz’s blades to the right. The
crack of his rifle sounded a second later. Peters and Chow fell into line
behind them to guard the rear.

The dim passage lit up with the flashes from their rifles as
Variants charged for their position. Beckham centered his rifle on the closest
creature’s head and squeezed the trigger. The bullets pinged off the overhead
where the monster had been only a second before. It dropped to the floor and
galloped forward, using its back legs to spring into the air.

This time his shots found a home in the Variant’s chin,
blowing open its skull in a spray of gore. Another creature took its place, but
Fitz nailed it with a headshot before it got close to them.

A second wave pumped into the passageway like blood through a
vein. Beckham’s senses were on full alert, his brain and body in sync. He fired
efficiently, conscious of his ammo at first but quickly giving up on firing
discipline. The creatures were fast, even in the narrow space. Their motions
were blurred by their speed, making it difficult to find vital targets.
Anything that wasn’t a headshot only slowed them down.

“Fall back!” Beckham shouted.

“Changing!” Fitz said. He moved out of the way and Chow took
his place.

The pile of dead grew with every shot. Bullet casings clanked
off the deck as the team emptied magazines into the mass of veiny flesh.
Beckham backpedaled, his boots crunching over the casings.

He almost stumbled when he saw the face of the nearest
Variant. Blood trickled from its eyes and nose. At first he thought it was from
a flesh wound, but then he remembered Jensen’s panicked words. A chill spiked
up his back when he realized what was happening. These bastards were infected
with the Hemorrhage Virus. That meant they would have all the abilities of a
Variant but also the symptoms of the Ebola virus.

“Run!” Beckham screamed. “Don’t get any blood on you!”

Beckham grabbed a protesting Chow by his flak jacket and
pulled him down the passageway. Fitz and Peters were already moving, their
weapons probing the darkness for more contacts.

“They’re contagious!” Beckham yelled.

Chow risked a glance over his shoulder and then ran faster.
“How is that possible?”

Beckham didn’t have an exact answer, but knew it wouldn’t
take much for the virus to have worked through the
Truxtun
. If a single
person had been infected, it would have spread throughout the ship with
lightning speed.

Peters ran into the next passage. “Fuck this,” he shouted,
putting on more speed. Beckham watched helplessly as the Marine ran full-tilt
into an ambush.

“Watch out!” Beckham shouted. Peters was gone in an instant,
a trio of infected dragging him away screaming. Beckham grabbed the back of
Fitz’s armor and yanked him away from the junction just as a group of the
creatures came clambering over the bulkheads.

Bravo was cornered.

Without thinking, Beckham pulled Fitz through an open hatch.
Chow followed, and Beckham slammed it shut behind them. He shouldered the metal
with his uninjured arm.

“Check the ladders, above and below,” Beckham shouted without
turning. The door vibrated as one of the monsters rammed it.
The pounding that followed made
Beckham think the monsters were using a battering ram.
.

He stepped backward and aimed his rifle, his hand trembling.
Peters was gone—dead in the blink of an eye. Alpha was on the run, and now
Bravo was trapped.

Fitz and Chow joined Beckham at the door after they had
cleared the ladders. They centered the rifles at the hatch and planted their
boots.

“What do we do?” Fitz asked.

Beckham pulled the magazine from his gun to check his ammo.
“What we have to,” he said as he slammed the mag home. “We fight.”

“Infected? What do you mean
infected
?”
Kate shouted.

Major Smith twisted the wedding ring on his finger. “Jensen
reported that the crew is displaying symptoms of the Hemorrhage virus.”

Kate suddenly felt lightheaded. A wave of nausea hit her, and
she sucked in a breath to calm her nerves.

“It’s possible they had a sample of the virus in a lab on
board. Maybe someone was accidentally infected. The military was working on a
cure in multiple undisclosed locations,” Ellis said.

 “Someone must have been infected after VX9H9 was
deployed,” Kate said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Smith grunted. “What the hell does this all mean?”

“It means the crew will experience all of the epigenetic
changes from the VX-99 chemicals, but they’re also infected with Ebola. Think
back to the first days of the outbreak, before VX9H9 was dropped.”

“The crewmen on the
Truxtun
are essentially Variants
with Ebola,” Ellis added.  

“Great. That’s just fucking great,” Smith said. He shook his
head and looked at Kate. “So what do we do, Doctor?”

She glanced over at Riley and then at Horn, who held Jenny in
his arms with Tasha by his side. Both operators wore the same helpless looks.
They’d fought the creatures since day one, and they knew that with the
Hemorrhage virus present the stakes had been raised ten-fold. Even if Beckham
and his men could fight their way through the ship, the risk of infection made
the odds of escape even worse. She wanted to cry. Instead, she clenched her jaw
and looked Smith square in the eye.

“Get the extra CBR suits and prep a chopper,” she said.

Smith took a step back, hesitating.

“If you want to save your men, Major, you’ll do exactly what
I say.”