Extinction Age (4 page)

Before Kate could respond, the radio operator twirled her
chair away from her terminal. She cupped her hand over her headset and said,
“Sir, I’m getting a transmission from New York.”

Smith hurried over to the equipment. “Put it on the
speakers.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said. She twisted a dial and static
coughed from the PA system.

“Plum Island, this is Beckham. Does anyone copy?” There was a
pause and then, “Team Ghost is on the run. I repeat, we’re on the run and need
extraction, ASAP.”

The crack of gunfire surged from the muddied speakers. Kate
flinched, her heart leaping at every sound. Beckham was alive—for now. She
rushed over to Smith’s side as the other soldiers crowded around.

There was a break in gunfire. “We’re at Fiftieth and Eighth,
going to try and make it back to Pier 86 in a—”

Smith flicked his mini-mike to his mouth and said, “Echo 3,
Smith. Warm up the bird. Ghost Team is on their way to Pier 86.”

The other men were already hurrying out of the room by the
time Smith gave the order. Horn touched Kate’s hand on his way out. “Don’t
worry. I’m going to bring him back.”

Beckham bolted toward the sounds of
Jinx’s screams with his .45 out in front, scanning for a target. Muzzle flashes
lit up the dark streets as Variants charged their position. He looked past
them, yelling, “Jinx! Jinx, where are you?”

Chow was shouting now, too. “Tell us where the fuck you are!”

Beckham hesitated once he finally saw the numbers they were
facing. The creatures charged toward Team Ghost from every direction. They
spilled out of manholes and came crashing through the glass doors of nearby
buildings. A dozen scampered across the walls of a bombed-out skyscraper.

Ghost’s gunfire drew them in like moths to a flame. Beckham
felt every shot, counting them in his head, hoping they had enough
ammunition—but knowing they didn’t.

Beckham slowed to fire his .45 at a female perched on a
scorched Toyota Corolla a hundred feet away. The crack only an MK11 could make
sounded behind him first, and her skull exploded in a cloud of mist from the
7.62 mm round, saving Beckham from using one of his precious cartridges. She
tumbled to the ground, blood gushing from the gaping hole where her face had
been.

“On me!” Beckham yelled.

He jumped onto the hood for a better vantage. Ryan and Valdez
acted as flankers, setting up firing positions to cover the east and the west.
Beckham would have ordered Timbo with Ryan instead of Valdez, but the Ranger
was busy carrying Meg and Valdez had proven to be an expert marksman. The
Marine Sergeant from 1
^st
Platoon had killed more Variants in New
York than Beckham had.

Chow and Jensen covered the rear, while Timbo struggled
forward with Meg bouncing on his wide shoulders. He was falling behind despite
her frantic pleas to go faster.

The entire team was running on fumes. They were all
morning-after-leave tired, but the current threat was far worse than a bad
hangover. As Beckham scanned the streets, he realized what a terrible mistake
he’d made. He had broken every fucking rule in the book by giving chase to the
Variant that had Jinx, and his order to open fire had only drawn more of the
things from their lairs. He could blame it on the fatigue, but he knew better.
The wound still hadn’t healed from the massacre of Team Ghost at Building 8 a
month earlier. Seeing Jinx pulled away into the darkness had torn the scab off
that wound. Now he’d put the lives of every person in his team in jeopardy by
giving chase.

And still Ghost worked forward, the muzzle flashes forming a
fiery barrier around the group. Beckham searched the terrain desperately for
any sign of the fallen operator.

A male Variant with a crooked back galloped down the
sidewalk, jerking from side to side. It leapt over bloated corpses, coiled its
back legs, and then sprung into the air. Beckham shot it in the face with a
movement so smooth it surprised him.

Five rounds left.

“Eyes! Who’s got eyes on?” Beckham yelled frantically.

A smaller Variant charged him from the right, and Beckham
turned to fire. He jerked the barrel aside at the last second when he realized
it was a child. The shot went wide, whistling past the creature’s head. Beckham
knew the thing racing toward him wasn’t a boy. It was a monster. He took aim
again and shot it between the eyes. The tiny Variant crashed to the ground,
skidding across the pavement until it came to a rest in front of Beckham. He
jumped over the corpse and pushed on.

Three rounds left.

“Jinx!” Beckham shouted.

Gunfire erupted from his six. Jensen and Chow took turns
holding the Variants off their tail with short bursts.

“Come on!” Beckham stormed through the clogged street toward
Eighth Avenue, where they had last seen Jinx.

“We have to get out of here!” Valdez yelled.

“Not without, Jinx,” Beckham said.

“I’m down to my last mag!” Valdez snarled. 

“We’re not leaving him,” Chow shouted back. “I don’t care if
we have to use our knives.”

Even if Beckham wanted to, it was too late to turn back and
retreat. The entire city block was swarming with the monsters, hemming them in
on all sides. Several rogue Variants made dashes for Team Ghost. Each was cut
down in controlled fire. Jensen and Ryan halted to shoot at a pack that had
broken off from the horde trailing them. They took turns, stopping every
hundred feet to thin the group.

It was obvious that
the Variants were continuing to
evolve, growing smarter and more cautious. Their actions in the tunnels and out
here reflected that of predatory animals hunting in packs. They were testing
Beckham’s men, figuring out who was weak. They’d started by grabbing Jinx and
now they would do the same with the rest, picking them off one by one rather
than risk a suicidal charge with their main force.

“Jinx! Say something!” Beckham said into the comm. There was
a faint response, more of a croak than a word. He couldn’t tell if it was
static or the operator struggling to reply.

A flash of motion at the intersection with Seventh Avenue
commanded his gaze. Beckham jumped onto another hood just in time to see two
Variants dragging Jinx past several abandoned Humvees.

“Twelve o’clock!” Beckham shouted. “Ryan, hurry!”

The Ranger crouched behind a vehicle and scoped the street
with his MK11 while the rest of the team covered the perimeter.

“Why have we stopped?” Meg yelled.

“Ryan, take them out!” Beckham shouted.

Two cracks sounded, and Beckham watched the Variants’ heads
disappear in a satisfying spray of red. He ordered the team forward with a hand
signal before the bodies had slumped to the ground.

“Jinx… Hold on… We’re coming!” Beckham wheezed.

There was a muffled response before it was lost to a torrent
of gunshots. Beckham gritted his teeth and sprinted toward the convoy. When he
reached the edge, he slowed to raise his .45 and moved the barrel from side to
side over the motionless street. Pounding boots and frantic voices followed him
into the intersection. He darted through the street and collapsed at Jinx’s
side.

The operator held his neck with glistening hands. Blood
gushed between his fingers. His wild eyes searched Beckham’s face in the
moonlight, roving back and forth. Beckham gripped Jinx’s wrist and whispered,
“It’s okay, man, it’s okay.” They locked eyes as Jinx struggled for air. His
lips moved in and out with each gasp, blood gurgling in his mouth.

By the time the team caught up, Jinx was gone. Beckham bowed
his head and closed Jinx’s eyelids as more gunshots broke over the high-pitched
screeches of the Variants.

Chow dropped to his knees and shook Jinx’s body. “Jinx! Jinx!
We’re going to get you out of here.” He felt for a pulse, knocking Jinx’s limp
hands away from his throat and revealing a deep gash that stretched across his
neck.

Beckham pulled Chow away. “We’ve got to move!”

“I got us a Humvee,” shouted Valdez over the comm. The cough
of a diesel engine confirmed it.

“Help me with him,” Beckham said.

Together, Chow and Beckham carried Jinx’s body to the truck.
As soon as the team was inside, Valdez pounded the gas, the tires squealing as
they left the army of Variants in a cloud of dust and ash.

-4-

T
en minutes had passed since Kate had watched Horn
kneel next to his girls and tell them he was going to pick up Beckham. They had
begged him not to go, but Kate had known by the blazing look of fury in his
eyes that he wasn’t going to leave his best friend in the field again. Horn had
hugged his daughters goodbye, knocked fists with Riley, and followed the other
soldiers through the crowded lobby, shouting, “Move, move!”

“He’s going to be okay. I promise,” Kate reassured the girls
after their father had bolted out of the building. She wanted more than
anything to follow the men onto the tarmac and watch the chopper fly into the
darkness. For a moment she considered it, but then a voice echoed down the
hallway behind her, calling her name.

 “Doctors, there’s something I need you to see.” It was Major
Smith, and he was standing in the corridor with his arms crossed.

“Just a minute,” Kate said. She strained to see outside the
windows of the crowded atrium one last time and then glanced down at Tasha and
Jenny. Both girls were sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn’t leave them.

“Bring ‘em with,” Smith said.

Kate grabbed Tasha’s hand and squeezed it. “Come on.”

Riley leaned over his wheelchair and snagged Jenny in his
arms. He placed her gently on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and
buried her face in his chest. Ellis was already halfway down the hall by the
time Kate managed to convince Tasha to come with her.

Smith sat at the head of the war table, typing his
credentials into the main computer. “Don’t worry, girls, your father is going
to be just fine,” he said, hardly looking away from the screen.

The major’s words did nothing to comfort either of them, and
Tasha yanked on Kate’s hand. “When’s my daddy coming back?”

Smith looked up. “Actually, they probably shouldn’t see
this,” he said.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Riley said. He offered a reassuring nod, and
Kate joined Ellis and the major at the table.

“One of the Variants survived the attack,” Smith said.

The monitor flickered on and Kate saw a female Variant on the
floor of a holding cell, hands and feet bound by chains. The bone on her right
leg was exposed under a flap of skin and muscle. Bright ribbons of flesh hung
loosely from her left arm, and her face was a mess. One of her eye sockets was
caved in, the eyeball missing. Kate couldn’t stop staring at the monster as it
squirmed in a puddle of its own blood.

“Awful,” Kate whispered.

Smith scratched his chin. “I’ve ordered one of my technicians
to try and keep it alive.”

“What… why? We already have two others,” Kate said.

The door to the holding cell slowly opened and a man in riot
gear took a careful step inside. He glanced up at the camera, his eyes hidden
by a mirrored visor. After flashing a thumbs up, he crouched down with a box of
medical supplies.

“Neither of the other specimens is injured,” Ellis said as
they watched. “If this one survives, it could prove to be very useful in our
research. Just think about how much it could tell us about their healing
abilities.”

“That’s precisely what I was thinking,” Smith said.

The Variant jerked toward the technician, snarling through
broken teeth as he bent down to tighten the chains. Staggering backwards, he
hit the wall and held out an armored arm like he was about to fend off a rabid
dog. The creature pushed itself to its feet and used its good leg to spring
toward him. He batted it away with an arm and reached for the Taser on his
belt. Before he could grab it, the Variant was on him again. This time it
clamped onto his armored wrist with its swollen lips. He hit the creature with
his free hand, pummeling its broken eye socket with his fist.

“My God,” Ellis said. “It’s like it feels no pain.”

The technician hit the monster again and again, his fist
striking harder each time. He finally knocked its lips off his armor. Instead
of pulling his Taser, he scrambled back to the door, grabbed a tranquilizer gun
from his supplies, and shot the creature in the neck.

Smith crossed his arms and shook his head. “I hope you can
find a way to kill these things.”

 “We will,” Kate said, staring at the screen. The female
Variant collapsed face first onto the concrete. Her body twitched several times
before finally going limp.

“I need a guarantee the Variants won’t get out again,” Kate
said. She realized how insane she sounded. Each time the Variants had been
brought to the island, they had escaped. Too many innocent lives had already
been lost, but Smith was right—they had to continue their research. Kate knew
what she had to do, and what she had to ask for. It meant putting humanity’s
dwindling survivors in jeopardy, but without a live specimen, her research
would be limited to observations from other facilities.

 “I want a third of your remaining forces posted at
Building 4. The Variants need to be sedated and monitored at all times,” Kate said.

The major seemed to consider her words and said, “Okay,
Doctor.”

Kate nodded and brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen
over her face as she focused on the monitor. The technician was working on the
unconscious Variant. He dressed its wounds and then injected something into its
chest.

“Why don’t you snag a few hours of sleep before you begin?”
Smith said. “Report back here at 0900 for the call with Central.”

“No time for sleep,” Kate said. “And tell General Kennor I
don’t have anything to say to him.”

Smith raised a brow. “He requested to talk to you
specifically.”

“And
I
requested that he reconsider his tactics for
Operation Liberty. How many died because of his stubbornness? The man is
clearly too egotistical to listen to reason. I’m not wasting another minute
with men like Gibson or Kennor.”

“Gibson’s dead,” Smith said coldly.

The shocking memory of shutting the doors to the ICU and
sealing Gibson and the others inside sent a chill down Kate’s entire body. The
past few hours had been so chaotic she’d almost forgotten about the colonel’s
fate. Hearing it now brought satisfaction she couldn’t hold back. She was glad
he had perished at the hands of one of the monsters he created.

Kate didn’t reply. There was too much on her mind, too many
things she could say. She turned to stare out the observation window, imagining
the burned Variant that had ended Gibson’s life, plunging its talons into the
man’s soft flesh. It was odd, taking pleasure in death, especially now that
every human life was so precious. A month ago she would never have felt
anything short of horror. But the apocalypse had changed her. Hardened her. She
was no longer the same woman she’d been before the Hemorrhage virus emerged.

“Look at that!” Tasha said. She stood at the window, her
finger pointing out over the waves. The sun emerged on the horizon, breaking
over the ocean with a brilliant orange glow.

Kate strolled over to the little girl and took her hand in
her own. The squeak of Riley’s chair caught Kate’s ear as she watched the
sunrise. A thumping replaced the sound, growing louder every second. The floor
trembled and the windows rattled as a Blackhawk soared by.

Tasha first backed away and then inched closer to the window.
“Is that daddy?”

“Yes,” Kate said.

The chopper raced over the sapphire waves and banked hard to
the left as it flew toward New York.

Tasha palmed the glass as if she was reaching out to say
goodbye. “He’s going to bring Reed home?”

“Yes, sweetie. He is.”

Tasha followed the chopper with wide eyes until it was only a
dot on the horizon. Her hand fell away from the glass and she turned to Kate.

“I’m tired,” Tasha said. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Kate glanced back at Riley. Jenny was quiet on his lap, her
head still buried and moving up and down with his breathing.

Sunlight spilled over the floor, bathing the room in golden
light. For a moment, Kate felt everything was going to be okay—even though she
knew this moment of peace was balanced on a razor’s edge.

The whine of the M260 from the
Humvee’s turret and the roars of the Variants seemed so far off, like they were
in a part of Beckham’s mind that he couldn’t completely access. He was hardly
paying attention to Valdez’s erratic driving as the Humvee sped down West
Fiftieth. The only thing he seemed to be fully aware of was Jinx’s blood
soaking into his uniform.

A sharp jerk to the right sent Beckham smashing into the side
of the door. The pain snapped him out of the shellshock. Everything came
crashing down at that moment. His senses activated like he’d taken a shot of
adrenaline. He could hear and feel everything.

“They’re fucking everywhere!” Timbo yelled over the comm.

The Humvee tore through the intersection, giving Beckham a
glimpse of Ninth Avenue. Every inch of street seemed to be covered with the
creatures. The mass surged over charcoaled cars and flowed across the surface
of every building, moving so fast they seemed to blend together in one solid
sea of pale flesh.

He twisted away from the view to check on Meg. She was in
shock, her catatonic gaze locked on the windshield. She shared a seat with
Chow, both of them jammed between the door and the console that separated them
from Beckham. Jinx lay across their laps.

Up front, Jensen and Ryan shared the passenger seat, while
Valdez leaned to the side of the steering wheel to see through the filthy
window. The sunrise bled through the filthy glass. At first Beckham couldn’t
quite believe what he was seeing. Hours before, he would have bet against ever
seeing the sun again.

A voice crackled in his ear at the same moment a Variant
speared Beckham’s window. The creature’s skull smashed into the glass with a
crunch, leaving behind a smear of blood.

“Holy shit!” Chow said.

Beckham hardly flinched. He was more focused on hearing the
incoming transmission.

“Ghost, this is Echo 3. En route to Pier 86, ETA five
minutes. What’s your location? Over.”

“Echo 3. Ghost,” Beckham paused and smacked the front
passenger seat. “Where the fuck are we?”

Valdez hunched farther to the side for a better view out the
driver window. “About to hit Tenth Ave. Shouldn’t be more than a few—”

“Watch out!” Jensen screamed.

There was a flash of white, then the unmistakable crunch of
metal on bones. The windshield cracked in every direction as the naked body of
a Variant rolled off.

“Hold on!” Valdez yelled. He swerved to avoid two more of the
creatures. The overcorrection sent the Humvee fishtailing, and the rubber
screamed as they spun out of control.

They hit something else a moment later that made a wet
thunk
.
A second and then a third body crunched under the tires, the truck jolting
violently over each lump.

Chow held onto Meg to keep her from sliding out of their seat
and Beckham grabbed Jinx’s body. He closed his eyes as Valdez clipped the back
of a car. The windshield disappeared in an explosion of glass, and the turret
grew silent.

When Beckham opened his eyes, Jensen was already kicking out
the final shards. Valdez twisted the steering wheel, put the truck in reverse,
and yelled, “Somebody get those things off our ass!”  

Beckham whirled to see a pack of Variants that were almost on
them. They charged forward using muscles that seemed to stretch in the morning
light. He locked eyes with a hairless female, her yellow eyes smoldering with
rage.

“Timbo! You okay up there?” Chow yelled, patting the man’s
legs.

The bulky Ranger’s response came in the crack of heavy
gunfire. The rounds shredded the Variants behind them as Valdez backed away
from the snarl of vehicles.

Ryan fired one of the rifles he’d picked up off the street
from the front passenger window, and Jensen unloaded a magazine of his own out
the now absent windshield while Valdez shifted back into drive. The truck
lurched forward and continued down Fiftieth.

“Meg, you okay?” Beckham asked.

She nodded and groaned.

“Echo 3, Ghost. We have an army trailing us,” Beckham said
into his mini-mike.

“Roger that, Ghost. We’re flying hot.”

The distant rumble of a jet broke over the city. Were they
coming in for another bombing run? Had Horn and the survivors of 1st Platoon
made it out of the blast zone? Beckham’s mind hammered with questions he’d
forgotten in the chaotic violence.

“Echo 3, did 1st Platoon get out?” Beckham asked. White
noised surged over the comm long enough to make his heart skip.

“Roger that, Ghost. Got several of ‘em with me now. Came to
save your ass.”

“Almost to Twelfth,” Valdez said. “Just one more block.”

Ryan changed magazines and jammed his M16 out the window as
they passed through the intersection.
He mowed down three Variants
making a run for their position.