Extinction Age (8 page)

He wasn’t going to let the same happen to Chow.

“You sit this one out,” Beckham said.

Chow flicked the toothpick to the other side of his mouth,
glaring. “Hell no, man. I’m going.”

“No. You sit this out,” Beckham repeated. “You too, Horn.” He
rubbed his shoulder again and then cracked his neck from side to side. “I’ll
go,” he said. “I’ll bring Fitz, too, if he’s game. We could use him on this
one.”

Beckham knew Jensen wanted another operator, but Fitz was
good with a rifle. Damn good. He had saved Kate and countless others. He didn’t
want to know what she would say about him leaving again, but this was a short
mission. Hopefully, she would understand.

“That good enough?” Beckham asked. He locked eyes with Jensen
and the officer nodded in a way that only two leaders would understand.

“Can I go?” Riley asked. His features were hard, and Beckham
wondered if he was joking. Then he winked and cracked a half grin. Despite the
kid’s good humor, the sight of Riley confined to the chair made Beckham want to
punch a wall.

“Thanks,” Jensen said. “You guys get some rest. Master
Sergeant Beckham, report to command at 1700.”

“Yes, sir,” Beckham replied.

Jensen and Smith left Team Ghost and Horn’s daughters in a
companionable silence. The quiet was broken a few moments later by a brittle
voice.

“You can’t save us all,” Chow said. “World doesn’t work like
that, man. You don’t get to make decisions like this for me.” He hurried out of
the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Give him time,” Horn said. “He just lost his best friend.”

Beckham nodded and took a seat on his bunk, the energy
washing out of him. Chow was right. He couldn’t control a situation that had
spiraled completely out of control. Panda, Tenor, Edwards, Jinx, Ryan,
Valdez—Beckham hadn’t been able to save any of them. And by the time this war
was over, Beckham had a feeling he was going to bury more of his brothers.

Or maybe they’d be the ones burying him.

Meg maneuvered her wheelchair through
the doorway, using her palm to keep the door open. A soldier wheeling his own
chair down the hall stopped to gawk at her. He ran a hand over his mop of wild
hair as she struggled with the door.

“What the hell are you staring at?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Wondering when you’d ask for some help.”

She turned the wheel with her left hand and elbowed the door
with her other arm. The metal swung open and then came back and hit her on the
elbow before she could react. She bit back a whimper and glared at the soldier.

“You going to help me or what?” she said.  

The man laughed and wheeled over. He held the door open so
she could finally move into the hallway.

“Thanks,” she said listlessly.

He sat there, continuing to stare. Up close, she could see
that his eyes were bright blue.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Meg asked. “Do I have something on my
face, or what?”

He shook his head, grinned, and held out his hand. “I’m Staff
Sergeant Alex Riley, but you can call me Riley. Or ‘kid’ is fine, too. That’s
what my brothers call me.”

She regarded him with a raised brow, giving him a once over.
His legs were both in casts, and his face was covered with the soft yellow of
healing bruises.

“Meg,” she said, grabbing his hand reluctantly.

“Welcome to Plum Island. How’d you get here, if you don’t
mind me asking?”

Meg licked her dry lips. “Look, I’ve been bedridden all day.
I’m tired, my legs are killing me, and I just want some fresh air. Can we skip
my life story?”

“Sure,” Riley said. His eyes darted away to the window in the
room behind her. “I’m here for a check-up, just thought I’d say hi.” He started
wheeling away and said, “Nice to meet you, Meg.”

She sighed and watched him go. When he was halfway down the
hall, she said, “I was rescued from New York.”

He twisted around and looked at her for a moment. “Beckham
found you, didn’t he?”

Meg remembered the name. “Yeah,” Meg said, wheeling after
Riley. “Yeah, he did. Do you know him? I want to thank him.”

Riley smiled so big his dimples nearly went all the way to
his ears. “He’s my team leader.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“You aren’t going anywhere!” a female shouted.

Meg looked over Riley’s shoulder to see the hospital’s only
nurse running down the hall. Dr. Hill was right behind her.

 “What on earth are you doing?” the doctor asked.

“I was about to get some fresh air…” Meg began to say.

“You need to rest, Meg. Rest and heal,” Hill said.

She glanced back at Riley and he winked at her.

“You can’t see Beckham right now, anyway,” Riley said.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s about to leave for another mission.”

“He just got back,” Meg said, shocked.

“He’s Delta Force—and even if he wasn’t, that’s just how he
is,” Riley said. “He won’t rest until there are no more missions.”

-8-

T
he clouds vanished as afternoon turned into
evening. A carpet of blue stretched across the seemingly infinite sky. Warm,
radiant rays sparkled over the waves below. The view was hypnotizing, and Fitz
had a hard time leaving his guard post when his shift was up. If it weren’t for
Lieutenant Colonel Jensen’s sharp voice barking in his headset, he would have
kept staring.

“Fitz, report to command, ASAP,” Jensen said.

“Roger that, sir,” Fitz replied. He scoped the north with his
MK11 one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the
Truxtun
, but only
saw the vast blue of calm waters.  

Fitz turned away from the view when he thought he heard a
distant scream come from the sea. Imagined or real, it was time to get moving.
He gritted his teeth and climbed the skeletal ladder to the beach. Each rung
put pressure on his thighs, the muscles burning with every step. When he
reached the bottom, he bent down to rub them and check his prosthetics. As he
examined the carbon fiber blades, the voices of his fellow amputees back at
Bragg came up from memory. They’d called each other
Flex-Foot Cheetah
and
Blade Runner.
Both were nicknames he’d never liked much. The legs didn’t
define him; they only helped him get from point A to B, like a car. And he
didn’t label his friends by what they drove.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his palm
and crouched down for a better look. There was a small dent on the right blade
just above the curve. He reckoned it was the result of his fall the night
before. A dark streak of blood that he couldn’t seem to wash off had settled in
the indentation.

Fitz threw the strap of his rifle over his back. He stretched
for several minutes by reaching down to his blades. When his muscles felt
fresh, he took off running toward Building 1. Four soldiers were jogging across
the concrete path ahead. He couldn’t help but wonder if Jensen was cooking
something up. When he saw Beckham, Fitz knew the answer. Something was
definitely happening.

So much
for
a nap, shower, and a shit.

“Master Sergeant!” he yelled.

Beckham halted at the base of the stairway to the command
building while the other men continued inside. The operator’s face lit up the
moment he laid eyes on Fitz.

“Fitz, good to see you,” Beckham said. He looked him up and
down. “You look like hell, Marine.”

“Clearly you haven’t looked in a mirror lately,” Fitz replied
with a chuckle.

They shook hands and fell quiet, the somber mood of the day
taking over. Beckham looked away for a moment. Fitz could see the pain of a
memory surfacing on Beckham’s mind. It was evident in his posture and critical
stare.

“Sorry to hear about Jinx,” Fitz said.

“He was a good man,” Beckham replied.  

Fitz didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded and tried
to stand as tall as he could despite the pain in his thighs and knees.

“Glad I caught you before going inside,” Beckham said. “I
haven’t had a chance to thank you yet for saving the day here.”

Fitz grimaced and shook his head. “Man, you don’t need to
thank me. I did what anyone else would have done.”

“No,” Beckham said sternly. “Most men would have run the
other way in your situation.”

Fitz considered that as he glanced at the blue sky. He was a
Marine, which meant he was trained to run toward a fight, not away from it. But
Beckham was still right; Fitz had known men who had cowered in the face of
evil. The Variants were more awful than any enemy he’d faced in Iraq—that was
for damn sure.

“Just doing my duty,” Fitz finally said. He bowed his head
slightly like he was tipping his hat. Beckham grinned and patted him on the
shoulder.

“Anyway, thanks. Your reward is a new mission that I
volunteered you for. Hope you don’t mind,” Beckham said. His grin faded away
and his features hardened like a light switch had been flipped.

Fitz adjusted the strap of his rifle on his shoulder.
“Depends on what it is,” he said.

“We’re about to find out.”

Fitz looked up at the double doors and then back at Beckham.
“Let’s get on with it then.”

The command center was packed by the time they got there.
Jensen and Smith stood at the head of the war table. Rodriguez, a short
Hispanic Marine, sat across the other side, his wide shoulders bent over a map.
To his right was Timbo, his dark muscular arms crossed as he waited. Peters,
another Marine with the build of a long distance runner, sat across from Timbo.
The thin man was staring out the window with an absent look on his face. Peters
was a bit of a space cadet, and Fitz wasn’t sure if he liked him or not.

Jensen looked up from the maps when the door closed behind
Fitz.

“Beckham, Fitz, take a seat,” he said.

Fitz plopped down on one of the cushioned chairs. His body
greedily accepted the rest. He worked a knot in his thigh with the tip of his
thumb, keeping one eye on Jensen.

“Gentleman, I know you’re all tired from New York. I’d love
to let you sleep for a few days. Problem is, I spoke with General Kennor this
morning and our request for a re-supply was denied. We lost more than bodies
last night. We lost precious ammunition, and our food reserves are dangerously
low. Fortunately, the biggest treasure chest of food, gasoline, ammo, and gear
just showed up practically on our doorstep,” Jensen said. He paused to let the
words sink in.

Fitz wanted to shake his head when he saw where the
conversation was going.

“As of 1600, the shoreline and adjacent area was Variant
free. I’m not sure how long we can count on that,” Jensen continued. “If we’re
going to make a move, we need to do it tonight.”

“We haven’t even buried our dead yet,” Timbo said.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to mourn right now…or
rest,” Smith said. “We need to think of the living.”

“He’s right,” Beckham added. “We’ve all seen how bad things
are in NYC. The cities have fallen. Outposts like this island are the end of
the line. We need to build something here. Something sustainable. And that’s
going to require taking risks.”

“Boarding that destroyer is one hell of a risk,” Fitz said.
“We don’t know anything about it. Have we heard anything from them at all?”

Major Smith frowned and tapped his pen on the table. “We’ve
been flying recon for several hours. They haven’t seen any movement. All hails
have gone unanswered. Doesn’t look like anyone’s on board. I checked with
Central, and the ship went dark several days ago.”

“And it just happened to shoot right by the island?” Timbo
grumbled.

“Do you know how many ships are drifting out there?” Jensen
said, his tone growing frustrated. “Thousands.”

Fitz raised a brow. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
There could be a hundred Variants below decks.”

“That’s why I’m sending in our best,” Jensen said. “We’ll
proceed with caution. We see any sign of the creatures, we get the hell out of
Dodge.”

Fitz shook his head this time. Jensen ignored him and said,
“I’ll take strike team Alpha with Timbo and Rodriguez. Beckham, you got Bravo
with Fitz and Peters.”

“I’m going!” shouted a voice from the doorway.

The soldiers all spun. Chow was standing in the door, decked
out with a flak jacket bulging with extra magazines. He cupped a helmet with
‘four-eye’ night vision optics under his left arm. Strands of jet-black hair
hung over his forehead, partially covering his right eye. Jensen was pitching
the mission as a salvage op, but Chow looked like he was heading to war.

“Give us a moment,” Beckham said to Jensen.

Beckham jogged over to Chow and they exchanged a few hushed
words that Fitz couldn’t make out. Chow took a step back, glared at Beckham
like he was about to punch him, and then finally nodded. They walked back to
the table in silence.

“Chow’s with me,” was all Beckham said.

Fitz could smell the pressure of this mission. It was the
stink of sweat, blood, and fear. Everyone in the tiny command center had been
through so much. Hell, Fitz still hadn’t taken a proper shower, and he’d hardly
slept a wink for nearly twenty-four hours. He was having a hard time holding
his tongue.

Jensen broke the silence. “Echo 1 will drop Alpha on the bow.
Bravo will be dropped on the stern. Alpha will clear the CIC first while Bravo
works on clearing the compartments below decks. Any questions?”

No one replied and Jensen looked at his wristwatch. “All
right. You have two hours to snag some shut eye. We meet on the tarmac at
2100.” He took a minute to scan every face and then stood. “That’s all.
Dismissed.”

Fitz groaned as he got up and followed the others out of the
room. When he got outside, Beckham had already pulled Chow aside at the bottom
of the steps. Fitz stepped into a cool breeze and took in a breath. The tension
between the two operators gave him the jitters.

“Fitz, hold up,” Beckham said. “You too, Peters.”

When the Marines reached the bottom steps, they stopped and
waited. Beckham massaged his shoulder.

“Are you up for this? If not, tell me. There’s no shame in
sitting this out,” he said, shooting a glance at Chow. “If you’re in, you’re in
for the mission as Lieutenant Colonel Jensen described it. That means no going
rogue and trying to be a hero if we meet the enemy.”

“I’m good,” Peters said.

Beckham held the man’s eye for a beat. Peters gave a slight
nod and crossed his chest with an arm, stretching the muscle by holding the
elbow with his other hand. When he switched arms, Beckham returned Peters’ nod
and turned to Chow.

“I’ll be fine,” Chow said. “Just want to get this over with
and give Jinx a proper burial.”

Fitz was up next. He forced a half smile. “I’m with you.”

Beckham kept his eyes level with Chow’s gaze.

“Like I said, Beckham. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry
about me,” Chow added.

Beckham nodded and clapped a hand on Chow’s shoulder. “All
right, brother,” he said and then looked toward the tarmac. Sunlight flickered
off the idle Blackhawks, the metal shimmering in the final moments of the day’s
heat.

“Get some rest, if you can,” Beckham said. He pivoted away
from the view and began the walk back to the barracks. That’s when Fitz saw the
blood stain on the operator’s upper shoulder. Nobody had questioned whether
Beckham was okay to go. Fitz was starting to wonder if someone should.

“Have you ever done this before?”
Kate asked.

Ellis shook his helmet. “Can’t say that I have. Never been in
a situation where I needed riot gear.”

Kate paused to scan her partner. Black armor bulwarked his
chest and neck. He pulled on his leg and arm guards and then donned a helmet
with a metal grill.

“I meant have you ever taken a bone marrow biopsy?”

Ellis bent down to lace up his boots. “Nope. Never done that
either.”

Kate finished putting on her own gear and considered the task
ahead. The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and
hoping for a different result. Every time they entered the facility where they
kept the Variants was a risk. Flying them to the island had been a risk. But in
order to save lives, they would need to continue to take risks. This time there
was no one else to do it but Kate and Ellis.

She slipped the chest armor over her shirt just as the door
to the small locker area in the armory opened. A tall Medical Corps soldier
strolled inside. His face showed a racial mix that Kate couldn’t place. His
olive skin could be Italian, but his green eyes were far from Eastern European.

“Doctors, I’m Sergeant Lombardi. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen
requested that I help you with the test.”

Italian after all
, Kate mused.

“Which one are we going to put down?” Lombardi asked. He
continued across the room to a locker and inserted a key.

“The injured female Variant in Cell 3,” Kate said. “I want
one that’s healing. The stem cells will be proliferating at an extraordinary
rate.”

Lombardi nodded like he knew what she was saying. “Can’t put
that one under though, Doc. The tranquilizer almost killed it the last time.
Too damn weak right now. We were lucky to save it.” He opened the locker and
pulled out a metal rod. Holding it firmly in his hand he said, “Not to worry.
It will already be restrained by metal chains, and I’ll be bringing this.”

Ellis backed away from the oversized Taser. “Looks like it
would just piss one of ‘em off to me.”

The sergeant shook his head and reached back into his locker.
He removed his riot suit and began changing right in front of them.

Kate caught herself staring at the man’s tanned, well-muscled
physique. Ellis was doing the exact same thing. He quickly glanced over to Kate
and then at the ceiling like he didn’t know what to look at. She could see the
color rising his face. She felt the heat of embarrassment in her own cheeks,
but when Ellis’ nervous eyes darted back to Kate, she was smiling warmly. She’d
always wondered why Ellis had never mentioned a girlfriend, and now she knew.