Extinction Age (11 page)

Beckham flinched as the door shook
from another impact. The creatures continued their assault on the steel. Each
strike sent a vibration echoing off the bulkheads and overhead. The cacophony
rattled his senses, and he tightened his grip on his rifle as he prepared for
them to come crashing through. Chow and Fitz fidgeted next to him, sweat
bleeding down their faces.

“Jensen, do you copy? Over,” Beckham said for the tenth time.

Static crackled over the comm channel. The headsets were
either pooched or Alpha team was gone. Beckham had a feeling it was the latter,
but he wasn’t ready to give up hope. What he needed was a plan.

“We need to get to the bridge. If we can make our way to the
bow, then maybe we have a chance to get out of here,” Fitz said.

“What about the guy and his dog back in the freezer?” Chow
said. “We can’t just leave him in there.”

Beckham felt all eyes on him. There were three options:
attempt to rescue the officer and his dog and make their way to the bridge,
abandon them and go straight to the bridge, or save their asses and jump ship.
He threw the third out as soon as it crossed his mind, but he didn’t like the
other two either.

“Bravo, do you copy?” came a voice in Beckham’s earpiece. It
was Jensen, and he sounded shaky. “We made it to the bridge. Rodriguez is gone.
It’s just me and Timbo now. We’re locked in the CIC.”

“Stay put,” Beckham said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jensen said. “Good luck.”

Jensen signed off, the regret in his voice audible over the
comm. Beckham didn’t have time for regrets now. The infected were howling at
the door, slamming into the metal relentlessly.

“We can’t go back out the way we came in,” Beckham said.
“Even if we could fight our way past those things, the risk of infection is too
high.”

The pounding on the door increased as they spoke, the
monsters on the other side growing more desperate.

“We can’t just sit here,” Chow said.

“I know,” Beckham said. “I think we need to try for the
galley. The officer may be our best shot at getting back to the bridge.”

“Was afraid you were going to say that,” Fitz said. “But hey,
we did lock him in a fucking freezer. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if
we just left him there.”

Beckham looked first up and then down the ladder. Perhaps there
was a way to get back to the galley undetected. It was worth a shot, but they
needed to move fast.

“On me,” Beckham said. He aimed his M4 into the green-hued
darkness and continued down to the lower deck. He paused by a closed hatch and
waited for several beats, listening with an ear on the metal. The banging noise
was still only coming from above.

Beckham pointed at Chow and then the door. Chow nodded back,
twisted the handle of the door, and swung it open. Beckham shouldered his rifle
and strode into the empty passageway.

After a quick sweep confirmed it was clear, he waved his men
forward. They worked their way back to the galley quietly. Beckham could hardly
hear the click of Fitz’s blades.

The door to the galley was still open when they arrived. Beckham
flashed a hand signal to Chow and followed him inside. They cleared the room
and hurried to the freezer door. The officer was waiting just inside, his teeth
chattering. The dog let out a soft growl and leaned its head against the man’s
blood soaked shirt.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said.

The man shook, his crossed arms trembling. He managed a nod
and tried to move.

“Did anyone else make it?” Beckham asked. He didn’t have much
time, but needed to know.

The man shook his head, twitching. “I think we’re it. There
were others, but they’re all dead now. I tried to escape with Apollo here. He’s
a bomb-sniffing dog.” He paused, closing his eyes. “We heard the choppers
earlier. Apollo barked up a damn storm. That’s when we hid in here.”

Beckham patted the dog on the head. This time it didn’t make
a sound and accepted the scratch of his fingers greedily.

“Name’s Beckham,” he said.

“Scottie,” the man replied.

Beckham helped him to his feet. “You’re hurt pretty bad,” he
said, eyeing the man’s stomach.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Can you walk?”

Scottie nodded. “I think so.”

“Good,” Beckham said. “Because I need you to take us to the
bridge.”

-11-

“D
r. Lovato, you can’t board the
Truxtun
. You’re
too important,” Major Smith said. “If something happens to you—”

Kate cut him off. “You’re getting me a ride to that ship.”
She glared at the major, her eyes burning. Reed had saved her multiple times,
but now it was her turn to save him. She’d requested a case of CBR suits, a
helicopter, and an armed escort, but Smith was determined not to let her go.

She felt a powerful grip on her shoulder and turned to see
Horn. “Kate, Major Smith’s right. Besides, what the hell are you going to do?”

“Take a fire-team to the ship, fight our way to Beckham and
the others, and give them CBR suits. Then we fight our way out,” Kate said.

Horn loosened his hold on Kate’s shoulder and put Tasha on
the ground.

“Sounds like a good way to get killed,” Ellis said. “I suppose
I’m coming with you, right?”

“No one is going,” Smith said. “Lieutenant Colonel Jensen
wouldn’t want you to risk your lives for him. You are way too important.”

“Is Reed going to be okay?” Tasha asked.

“Yes,” Kate said firmly. “He’s going to be just fine.”

Horn massaged his forehead. “This is messed up, really messed
up. I didn’t think we would have to worry about the infected ever again!”

Jenny whimpered, burying her head in his side. Horn pulled
her close and stroked her hair.

“Jesus Christ,” Smith said, shaking his head. “We’re going to
have to light the beach up with bombs. There’s no salvaging anything now.”

“What did you say?” Kate asked sharply.

Smith looked at her like she was trying to trick him.

“Light the beach up with bombs,” Kate said, more to herself
than anyone. She scratched at her cheek as an idea formed in her head. “Get
General Kennor on the line.”

Smith looked even more confused now. “Doctor, I’m not
following.”

“Listen very carefully,” Kate said. “Give him the coordinates
of the
Truxtun
and ask him to order an airstrike.”

Horn grabbed Kate’s arm as soon as the words left her mouth.
His chest heaved as he waited for an explanation.

“An airstrike of VX9H9,” Kate continued. “We don’t have to
rescue them after all. The bioweapon will do that for us. If they can find a
place to hunker down and give the weapon a chance to work, maybe they can ride
this out.”

A grin broke across Horn’s face. He slowly let go of her
sleeve and faced Smith. “Do it, Major. Do it right now.”

Scottie stumbled beside Beckham as
they moved down the passageway. Wounded and probably half blind by the
darkness, the officer could hardly walk. Beckham kept to his side, one hand on
his rifle and the other to steady Scottie.

“The infected are on the third deck,” Beckham said. “We need
to find a way past them to get to the bridge.”

The dog brushed up against Scottie’s leg. “There’s one way. A
direct route,” Scottie said. “It’s not far.” His teeth had stopped chattering,
but he still trembled from the cold. Beckham wondered how long the man had been
in the freezer. If it weren’t for the warmth of Apollo’s body, he would have
likely frozen to death before the engines had shut off.

“Show me,” Beckham said.

Scottie continued to a hatch they had passed earlier.
“Through here.”

“I’ll lead,” Beckham said. “Fitz, you take rear guard. Chow,
keep close to Scottie.” He placed his ear against the metal and listened. The
distant shriek of an infected reverberated through the ship. Beckham wasn’t
sure if it had come from above, below, or beyond the hatch. The enclosed space
muffled every noise.

He cursed their luck and prepared to unload his magazine into
a horde of monsters. Instead of pale, distorted flesh, he saw only the guts of
another ladder well on the other side. He continued up to the next deck and
swept his rifle over the shadows.

“The bridge is at the end of this passage,” Scottie
whispered.

Beckham nodded and opened the final hatch. He pulled it back
slowly, trying desperately not to make a sound. He cleared the right side first
but froze when a shrill screech caught his ear. The horrifying sound was so
loud there was no question where it had come from. The infected were here.

“MOVE!” he yelled. The bullets left his M4 before Beckham
even had eyes on the targets. He planted his boots and steadied his wild shots.
His heart pulsed with the rhythm of the rounds. The infected raced forward,
springing to the bulkheads and overhead.

The crack of gunfire broke out all around him as all hell
broke loose. His ears rang from the close combat, but he didn’t take his eyes
off the monsters. Tracers lit up the passage, and in the glow he saw the
bloodshot eyes of the contagious Variants. Some of those faces disappeared in
chunks of bone and flesh. Others kept coming, their swollen lips widening as
they charged forward like sharks preparing to swallow him whole.

Apollo barked furiously from the hatchway, jaws snapping.
Beckham could see the dog in his peripheral vision. Scottie stood his ground
and so did Beckham. Surrounded by Fitz and Chow, his senses finally snapped
alert, activated by the will to protect his brothers.

He centered his sights on an infected male that had broken
off from the front of the pack and fired off a three-round burst. The creature
was fast—lightning fast. It darted around the spray, taking only one of the
shots.

Beckham dropped to a knee, ejecting his magazine in the same
motion. The monster charged, its swollen lips aimed at Beckham’s face. He
pulled a magazine from his vest, slammed it inside, and raised his rifle just
as the creature leapt into the air. A millisecond was all that separated him
from the infected jaws.

Before he could pull the trigger, the monster’s head
disintegrated. Beckham felt a tug on the back of his flak jacket and he fell on
his ass, blood splattering the floor where he had knelt a moment before.

He scrambled to his feet and emptied his new magazine into the
pack. Two of them dropped from the bulkhead, clawing at their gaping wounds,
leaving four of the creatures prowling toward Beckham. One of them halted,
confused, like it knew it was suddenly fucked. The other three rushed into the
line of fire. They jerked as the rounds tore into their flesh, plastering the
area with arterial blood.

Injured monsters struggled across the floor toward Beckham,
long and bloodied limbs reaching up. He fired on those that were still strong
enough to crawl but didn’t waste bullets on the ones he knew were taking their
final breaths.

Apollo’s steady growl suddenly broke into a bark. Beckham
glanced back at Scottie just in time to see the man disappear down the ladder
as a creature pulled him into the darkness.

General Kennor paced his office,
impatiently waiting for updated numbers. The numbers were all that mattered
now. They represented bodies. Soldiers. His staff wanted him to believe that
American soldiers could no longer win the war, so he’d agreed to the
unthinkable: a retreat. But now, in the late hours of the evening, he was
regretting his decision. He was a control freak. Always had been. By giving up
control, he felt like he was raising the white flag. His old muscles and bones
longed for the chance to fight again. He was no coward. He’d fought in Vietnam
and Korea, and he wore the scars from both wars proudly. They were as much a
part of him as his uniform.

But the Variants were unlike any enemy he had ever faced.
Colonel Gibson had inadvertently created billions of the ultimate warriors. Now
those super soldiers were bringing the human race to its knees. He needed
someone who knew how to fight them. Someone who understood how the creatures
operated.

A rap on the door pulled Kennor from his thoughts. He turned
anxiously to see Colonel Harris standing in the open doorway to his small
office.

“Talk to me, Harris. How bad is it?”

The colonel kept his face stern, but the twitch of his right
eye said it all. He handed Kennor a piece of paper with a list of military
bases across the country.

 “Things are still chaotic, sir. But here is what we
know,” Harris said.

Kennor carried the paper over to his desk and sat. He slipped
on a pair of glasses and clicked on his lamp. The light spread over a list of
military bases and dozens of red Xs. It wasn’t a formal briefing, but he didn’t
need to ask what the red marks meant.

Edwards Air Force Base, McConnell, Moody, Dover, and
countless other bases were gone. Fort Knox, Ford Hood, and Fort Jackson had
marks next to them. Barstow, the logistical base for the Marine Corps, did too.
The list went on and on.

“How?” Kennor asked, his voice shallow.

“The Variants have penetrated every installation and
overwhelmed the forces inside. At this rate, we’re losing a base almost every
twenty-four hours.”

“Jesus. I… “ Kennor dropped the paper on the table and stood.
“What about civilians? Do we have a current count?”

“Only estimates, sir. The best guess from lead ops is that
there are less than seven million survivors left worldwide, and that number
drops significantly every day. Most of the civilians are on military bases or
in bunkers. There may be some in the cities, but we simply have no way of
knowing how many. Like I said, these are estimates—”

Kennor pounded the table with the fist and watched Harris
flinch. “There’s only
one
percent of the population left world fucking
wide?” he roared. “How is that possible? A week ago there was just one Variant
for every three human survivors.”

“With all due respect, General, there are over five hundred
million Variants. They hunt in packs and swarm like a cross between insects and
predatory animals. They are taking over every inch of the country, one
stronghold at a time. They kill, feed, and bring the rest back to their lairs,”
Harris said.

The radio on Colonel Harris’s belt crackled. He glanced down
at the device and moved to shut it off when a voice said, “Colonel, do you
copy? Over.”

“Sir, I should probably see what this is about,” Harris said.

Kennor nodded and sat back down in his chair, suddenly
lightheaded. He looked at the ceiling and tried to understand the enormity of
the situation. The numbers were all that mattered, but he couldn’t wrap his
brain around the scale of the devastation.
Only seven million people left,
and dropping every day.

“Colonel, we have a request from Plum Island,” said the voice
on the radio. “Major Smith wants an airstrike on the USS
Truxtun
.”

Harris’s face twisted with confusion. “An airstrike?”

“Yes, sir. They are requesting VX9H9. They claim the vessel
has been overrun by Variants infected with the Hemorrhage virus. Lieutenant
Colonel Jensen and two fire-teams are on board.”

Kennor pounded the table a second time when he connected the
dots. “That dumb son of a bitch,” he growled. “Jensen must have ordered a
salvage op after I denied the resupply request.”

Harris nodded. “Probably, sir. I’m told he also went to New
York for Operation Liberty when he was told to stay behind.”

“The man can’t follow goddamn orders,” Kennor said. He shook
his head and stared Harris in the eye. “Approve the request. Have our birds
from Langley make the drop.”

Harris hesitated, holding the radio away from his mouth. “I’m
sorry, sir, but…”

“No,” Kennor said, a cold wave of horror washing over him. He
grabbed the paper off his desk and scanned the names, stopping on a red X next
to Langley.