Extinction Age (20 page)

“This is the best you can come up with, Doctor?” Kennor
asked. “Are you even sure it will kill all of the Variants? What if this—what
did you call it? Spiderman
protein?—turns out to be a bust?”

“It’s the Superman Protein, Sir, and so far we have only
tested Patient 3. Until we try it on a larger population, I can’t be one
hundred percent sure,” Doctor Lovato replied. “If you had waited until we had
conclusive findings before demanding a report—”

Harris pulled the phone closer to him. “Doctor, this is
Colonel Harris. Your last bioweapon turned approximately ten percent of those
infected with the Hemorrhage virus into something even worse. We can’t afford
to make the same mistake again.”

“I know, Colonel. I’m willing to test this on myself, if I
have to.”

“We’ve run out of time for tests, Doctor,” Kennor said. He
let out a frustrated sigh. “Now is the time for action. We have no other option
at this point than to use what you’ve designed. The other labs have failed to come
up with anything.”

“General, there’s still an issue,” she said. “We have no way
to deploy this weapon on a worldwide scale. Jets won’t do the trick this time.
We need something that covers every inch of soil, every—”

“I know just the thing,” Kennor said. He glanced over at
General Johnson. His old friend nodded as if he could read his mind.

“Doctor, I’m going to have General Johnson read you in on a
project the government has been working on since ‘Nam,” Kennor said.

Johnson pulled the conference phone across the table and
said, “From 1967 through 1972, the US military worked on a project called
Operation Popeye. Essentially, this was a weather warfare operation that was
supposed to extend the monsoon season over enemy territory. By seeding the
clouds with silver and lead iodide, we were able to flood much of the Ho Chi
Minh Trail. It was largely successful, but the project was done in secret
because Secretary of State Henry Kissinger sponsored the program without the
consent of Congress. Since then, the legality of such operations has been hazy
at best. Unfortunately, weather modification for military purposes falls under
the provenance of the Environmental Modification Convention.” Johnson paused
and ran a hand over his shiny skull as he looked at Kennor to take over.

“The US was also running a project called Stormfury at this
time, with the goal of weakening tropical cyclones,” Kennor said. “To make a
long story short, we have been working on cloud seeding projects for the past
fifty years. In 2014, our boys designed a system to distribute payloads into
the atmosphere using long-range missiles. They called it Project Earthfall. The
goal was to manipulate weather over countries like Iran and North Korea. These
facilities are sited at strategic locations scattered across the globe, mostly
military bases in allied territories. We would have used them to distribute
VX9H9 but decided to go with aircraft due to unpredictable weather patterns.
Now Earthfall is our best shot.”

There was a moment of silence before Dr. Lovato cleared her
throat and said, “These drugs are sensitive. If we’re talking missiles, the
intense pressure and heat of a detonation could destroy the capsules.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Kennor said. “The missiles are
designed to deploy without destroying their payloads.”

“Then I suppose it could work,” she said. “Initially, I was
considering something airborne like VX9H9, but the lungs have all sorts of
barriers. In this case, rainwater from the seeding project could reach places
an airborne weapon couldn’t. If we use adjuvants that promote skin absorption,
then it could work very well indeed. The water will find its way into the
sewers and other hard to reach places where the Variants are nesting.”

“Excellent,” Kennor said. “If that’s all—”

“General, before we can even think about using Project
Earthfall, we need to collect as many of the chemotherapeutics as we can get
our hands on,” Dr. Lovato said. “Then we need multiple bioreactors to culture
billions if not trillions of hybridoma cells. That will take time.”

“We are out of time,” Kennor snapped. “Thanks in no small
part to the failure of your first bioweapon.”

He could almost hear the doctor squirming on the other end of
the line. “Sir, I’ll need at least a week to establish the cell line. Then
another week to expand the cell line in order to begin antibody production.”

Wood’s dry voice emerged over the speakers. “I’ve already
begun coordinating the project in our other facilities.”

“I also want you in charge of coordinating the effort to
collect the chemotherapeutics,” Kennor replied. “In the meantime, Dr. Lovato
will continue the drug tests. Make sure your weapon won’t kill humans.”

“Understood,” she replied.

Kennor had one more question, one that he knew President
Mitchell would ask the next time they talked.

“Doctor Lovato,” he said. “Have you named this weapon?”

Two seconds passed before she replied, “Doctor Ellis did the
honors. How does Kryptonite sound?”

“It sounds ridiculous,” Kennor said. “Keep me updated. And
good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. Even over the comm, the sarcastic
tone of her voice was apparent.

Kennor ended the call and stood, looking at his staff in
turn. Harris, Kramer, and Johnson all wore the same unsure looks.

“Give science a second chance, right?” Kennor said on his way
out.

-20-

P
inpricks of starlight decorated the sky over Plum
Island. Beckham watched a single cloud creep across the sky as he walked. He’d
hoped to talk to Kate before the briefing, but hadn’t seen her since she’d left
for the lab earlier that morning. Since the service on the beach, she’d been
good about checking in with him throughout the day. Today was different.
Something was wrong, he could feel it—and his gut told him it had to do with
General Kennor and Colonel Wood.

Beckham ran up the stairs to Building 2’s mess hall, pulled
open the door, and squinted into the bright glow of the LEDs. He worked his way
down aisles of empty metal tables, the scent of stew from supper still fresh in
the air.

Two weeks earlier, the room had been packed with over one
hundred men and women from every branch of the military. Now there were only a
handful of Marines, Rangers, and Medical Corps soldiers sitting at the tables.
Team Ghost was together at one of them, surrounded by Wood’s men. Riley had
positioned his wheelchair at the end of the table. He patted the bench next to
him as Beckham approached.

“Good to see you here, kid,” Beckham said.

“Think there’s a way you guys could bring me with this time?”
Riley asked.

Horn chuckled. “Maybe we could put treads on those wheels and
turn you into a tank.”

“Whatever, man,” Riley said with a scowl.

“No, seriously,” Horn said. “We’ll get you a mounted gun
turret, too.”

“I already got a mounted turret,” Riley said with a grin.
“The ladies love it.”

Their banter drew the stares of the Medical Corps soldiers.
Beckham tensed—now wasn’t the time for jokes. Even Jinx would have known
better, and Horn should have. Beckham nudged the big man in the arm, and Horn
fell silent.

They sat in silence as they waited for the mission briefing.
The other soldiers watched the double doors at the front of the room patiently.
In the past, his men and many of those he’d joined on counter-missions would
have displayed pre-mission jitters. Some, like Beckham, would remain still and
focused. Others would tap a foot anxiously or crack their knuckles.

This time he didn’t see any of that behavior. The men packed
around the tables were exhausted, their gazes those of soldiers fighting a war
that seemed all but hopeless. There was no question that the mission Wood was
about to announce was going to be tough—they all knew that next time they
gathered in this room, there would be even fewer of them.

The large hand on the clock on the wall hit 2200, and the
doors swung open a second later. Wood, Jensen, Smith, and a handful of soldiers
strode into the mess hall. Beckham and everyone else snapped to attention.

“Good evening,” Wood said in his dry tone. “I will make this
briefing as quick as possible, as we are about to embark on what I believe is
one of the most important missions of this war. A mission that could change the
tide.”

Beckham tensed his jaw. The tide was supposed to have changed
with Operation Reaper and then Operation Liberty. In the end, both had just
added to the growing pile of the dead.

“Major Smith, get things set up,” Wood said.

“Yes, sir,” Smith replied. He began spreading maps across a
table. Beckham worked his way to the front of the room and scanned the maps to
see where they were headed.

 “Dr. Lovato and Dr. Ellis have created a new weapon
codenamed Kryptonite. I won’t get into the science, but I’ve seen it in action.
The weapon works, and works fast,” Smith said. “But before we can deploy this
weapon, we need to collect chemotherapeutics.” At several blank looks, he
clarified, “Cancer drugs.”

Hushed voices broke out around Beckham. He trusted Kate, but
cancer drugs? Kryptonite? Beckham shook the questions away. He was a Delta
Force Operator, not a scientist. His job wasn’t to question Kate—his job was to
protect her.

“Yes, I know how it sounds,” Wood said. “But I’m told it’s
our best shot at stopping the Variants. At 0800, we will embark on the first
stage of Operation Extinction. The second stage, deployment of the weapon,
won’t come until much later. For now, the mission is simple: Every available
unit will be sent to medical facilities and other locations to collect as many
chemotherapeutics as we can locate. Teams from Plum Island are being assigned a
special mission. I’ll let Lieutenant Colonel Jensen fill you in on that in a
moment.”

Wood paused and traced a finger over his chin like he was in
deep thought. “I suppose you’re all wondering why this two-part mission is
called Operation Extinction.” Narrowing his cold blue eyes, he said, “I’m going
to share something with you that is not to leave this room. This morning, I
received casualty projections from Command. There are approximately seven
million human beings left worldwide. If the Variants continue killing and
feeding at the rate they are now, then a week from now human survivors will
number just one million. In two weeks they will number in the hundreds of
thousands, and in a month we will be down to tens of thousands or less.”

“No fucking way,” a Latino Marine whispered. “I don’t believe
it.”

Wood looked for the man and then worked his way around the
table. He stopped inches from the man’s face, towering over the shorter
soldier.

“You don’t believe me?” Wood snarled. “What part of
‘extinction’ don’t you understand, son?”

The Marine took a step backward, shaking his head. “Sir, I…”

Wood continued to the next soldier and leaned in until their
eyes were level. “What about you?” he shouted.

“Sir, it’s hard to imagine, sir!” the man yelled back.

Beckham felt his fingers curling into a ball. In his career
he’d seen men and women exert their dominance over other soldiers in a lot of
ways, but one way he’d never understood was intimidation. Beckham always led by
example, not by fear.

Wood sneered. He strolled through the crowd and stopped in
front of Fitz. “How about you, Marine?”

Fitz ran a hand through his strawberry hair and nodded. “Sir,
I absolutely believe it—and that’s why I’d like to volunteer for this mission.”

Wood glanced at Fitz’s blades and shook his head. “Sorry,
son, but we need you here on the towers.”

Fitz’s cheeks flared red and his shoulders seemed to sag as
Wood walked back to the front of the table. Beckham’s fingers curled into a
solid fist. He was hoping Wood would have changed his mind about Fitz after his
valiant defense of the beach the other night, but instead of talent and
courage, the colonel had only seen a man with a disability.

Wood palmed the table and bowed his head slightly before
glancing back up at the soldiers. “Make no mistake, gentlemen. We have entered
the age of extinction. It will be up to men like us to protect our species from
vanishing. I promise you one thing…I will do what I can to ensure our great
nation survives.”

Just like Colonel Gibson promised
, Beckham thought
ruefully. Career brass like Wood talked a big game, but in the end it wouldn’t
be his ass in the field defending their country.

“I’m needed at Central Command now,” Wood said. He took a
moment to scan the soldiers one last time and then turned to his staff. “Until
I return, Lieutenant Colonel Jensen will be in charge. I’m sure he can answer
any questions as he distributes individual assignments. Good luck,” he said on
his way out.

The doors to the mess hall slammed shut, and the hollow thud
echoed across the room. For a moment, no one said a word. Then Jensen took
Wood’s place at the front of the table.

“Gentlemen,” he said. Though his voice was calm, his demeanor
told Beckham he still carried the weight of the
Truxtun
on his
shoulders—not to mention the subsequent loss of his command. Even Wood’s
parting words hadn’t cheered the man up. Of course, Wood hadn’t made the
temporary transfer of command official, and Beckham suspected the men he’d left
behind would remain loyal to him, even if Jensen wore a higher rank than they
did.

Jensen’s hands shook as he grabbed the closest map and
flattened a crease with his palm. But when he glanced up, his eyes had hardened
back into the commander Beckham had come to know over the past several weeks.

“Listen up, everyone. We will be dispatching three fire-teams
from Plum Island. Sergeant Mikesell will take Alpha squad, and Sergeant
Valentine will take Bravo.”

Beckham looked for the Medical Corps soldiers. They were
standing next to each other at the far end of the table. Unlike Valentine,
Mikesell was a bulky man with fat covering old muscle. He didn’t look like he’d
be much good in a fight.

“Master Sergeant Beckham will take Charlie team,” Jensen
continued. “Our target location is the Raven Rock Mountain Complex in
Pennsylvania. As many of you know, it was the backup site for the Pentagon and
the alternate joint command before the Hemorrhage virus hit. When shit hits the
fan, that’s where they send the big boys. Vice President Cheney favored this
location when he was in office. It was among the most secure facilities in the
world, but apparently it wasn’t secure enough. Central Command lost contact
with the complex several days ago.”

Jensen continued once the murmurs had died down. “Final radio
transmissions paint a dreary picture. The Variants infiltrated the tunnel
system and killed everyone, as far as we know. While the mission is to
primarily retrieve caches of chemotherapeutics from a FEMA warehouse located
inside the complex, we are also being ordered to look for any survivors. There
were some very important people at Raven Rock when it went offline.”

Smith pulled a pen from his chest pocket and drew a circle on
a map of the complex. “There are several entrances to Raven Rock. Alpha will
scout for survivors through portals A and B.” He marked another location and
said, “This is the approximate location for the underground FEMA facility.
Bravo and Charlie will locate the warehouse and secure the caches.”

“Pretty simple,” Jensen said. “But for those of you who have
been out there, you know shit ain’t ever simple anymore. Expect heavy
resistance inside the complex.”

Smith waited a few seconds for Jensen’s words to sink in and
then said, “Any questions?”

“Do we have reason to believe anyone is alive?” Chow asked.

“Our intel is limited at this point,” Jensen replied. “I’ve
been told Central Command already ran an evac mission that failed. Their team
never made it out. Chances are slim, if you ask me.”

Beckham glanced over at Mikesell. Beads of sweat ran down his
forehead. There was no doubt that his was the toughest mission of the three.

“Anything else?” Jensen asked. After a beat, he said, “If
not, then find your team leaders for further instructions. Good luck, men.”

Beckham squirmed through the crowd to find Horn. “Big Horn…”
he began to say.

“Don’t even say it, Boss. I’m coming with. Besides, if I
don’t go, my girls are going to join their mother in less than a month anyway,
right?”

Even though he wanted to shake his head, Beckham found
himself nodding. When he went to pat Horn’s shoulder, he had to pause and
uncurl his fingers. He’d kept his hand balled into a fist during the whole
briefing.

Kate did her best to ignore Corporal
Cooper and Corporal Berg. The men shadowed her and Ellis even after they
finally left the lab. It was after ten o’clock when Kate and Ellis finally got
back to their quarters. The twins stood guard in the hallway.

“We’ll be right here if you need anything,” Berg said.

Kate nodded and hurried away. She was anxious to get back to
her room, where she hoped Beckham would be waiting.

“Good night, Ellis,” Kate called.

“Night, Kate,” Ellis said. He opened his door, gave her a sad
look, and then shut it softly behind him.

Kate stopped to use the bathroom before she continued to her
room.

“Reed?” she said, gently knocking on her door. She pushed it
open and smiled when Apollo greeted her, tail wagging.

“Jesus, Kate, where have you been?” Beckham said. He was
standing in a pool of moonlight bleeding through the window shades. The light
accentuated the muscles in his tight-fitting t-shirt, and without thinking Kate
rushed over and wrapped her arms around him.

 “Whoa,” Beckham said, stumbling back a step. “Don’t
forget about my shoulder.”

“I’m sorry, Reed,” Kate said.

“It’s fine. Hardly hurts at all now.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”

Beckham rolled his head back and searched her eyes in the
glow of the moonlight. “What you’ve done?”

Kate bowed her head. “The experiments…the Superman protein.
If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t…”

“Slow down, Kate,” Beckham said. “Breathe.”

Taking in several deep breaths, Kate focused her thoughts.
“You’re going out there to get the drugs, aren’t you?”