Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1)

by Mark Tufo

  BT roared a savage primal cry as he swung his rifle like a baseball bat, sending a mouthful of teeth flying across the room, the monster’s jaw was shattered in a half dozen places. The smoke was so thick, all they could see was a whir of gnashing teeth and slashing claws, but still they fought on.

  “Group hug!” Trip had somehow got into the middle of the trio.

  Mike awoke in the cab of the truck with a start, fending off a claw that was determined to rip half his face free. “What the fuck!” He sat up.

  “You alright man?” BT asked, he was driving.

  “Where the fuck are we?” Mike asked.

  “Huh? We’re almost to the hospital, man, remember? I knew you were tired but I had no idea you were going to fall asleep the second I pulled away.”

  “We’re not in Atlanta?”

  “I knew I should have left your crazy ass at home.” BT was looking sidelong at him.

  “Bullshit. You telling me I was just sleeping?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “You looked exhausted,” Mike told him. Then he looked to BT’s ammo pouch. “Where are your magazines?”

  “They’re right here.” BT put his hand to his side. When he came up empty he stopped the truck. “Must have fallen out.”

  “I’m out too,” Deneaux said. “And my gun is hot.”

  “Everyone out!” BT was angry. “I’m going to find my damn bullets.”

  Mike found himself standing next to Trip who was smoking another joint. “He’s not going to find anything is he?” Mike asked Trip.

  “Doubt it.” Trip exhaled.

  “Did we accomplish our mission?” Mike asked.

  “Yup.” Trip was inhaling.

  “So, now that the Master Sergeant and the Doc made it out, what happens to their world?” Mike asked.

  “That’s someone else’s story to tell,” Trip responded with a smile.

  The Fall of Fort Bragg

  by

  Rachel Aukes

  An Extinction Cycle Novella

  © Rachel Aukes – All rights reserved

  — 1 —

  @FortBragg: Unfolding situation outside the base. Shelter in place. More information will be released as it becomes available.

  Sheila Horn paced the living room for the hundredth time that hour, pausing to reread the latest tweet from Fort Bragg’s official account. God, how she wished her husband were home with her and their two girls. Instead, Parker Horn, a Delta Force operative, was somewhere outside the base and likely smack dab in the middle of this whole Hemorrhage Virus mess.

  Not that Sheila was much safer.

  The horrifying virus that began in Chicago had stretched out like a waking feline, spreading its claws into all major US cities within days—hours in several cases. Nowhere seemed immune to its relentless expanse. All the towns surrounding Fort Bragg proved to be no exception, and troops across the military base were working full twenty-four hour CQ—charge of quarters—to keep the virus from crossing the perimeter.

  How bad had things got outside Fort Bragg? It was hard to tell from the television videos, which made the situation resemble Armageddon.

  Every time she heard a Jeep’s engine, her heart jumped with hope that Parker was coming home, but no Jeeps pulled into her driveway. She tried calling Parker to order him to stay alive and hurry home, but she always reached his voicemail. She told herself that his not answering didn’t mean he’d been killed or was too injured to talk. On missions, he always went into radio silence. This time, he just happened to be offline longer than usual.

  While he was out there—somewhere—she was stuck at home in the middle of the world’s worst catastrophe. Alone and isolated with two girls, both under the age of ten.

  Whenever she thought of Parker coming home, her emotions swung from wanting to strangle him for leaving her at a time like this to craving to hold him and never let go. Either way, she wanted him home, and soon.

  Her phone chimed, signaling a new tweet had posted, and she nearly dropped her phone in her haste to check it.

  @FortBragg: Base is on lockdown until further notice due to reports of infected outside the base. All personnel are directed to shelter in place. More info as it comes.

  “Tell me something useful already,” Sheila grumbled at the screen.

  “Who are you talking to, Mommy?”

  Sheila turned around to find her younger daughter standing at the edge of the hallway. “What are you doing up so early, Jenny?”

  The five-year-old rubbed sleep from her eyes. “I’m hungry.”

  Her mother cocked her head. “How about I make you some Mickey Mouse pancakes?”

  Jenny’s brows rose. “With blueberry eyes?”

  Sheila smiled. “With blueberry eyes.” She shooed her daughter away. “Now, go and change, and I’ll get started on breakfast.”

  Jenny hustled back to her room, dragging her fuzzy green blanket behind her. Since school had been cancelled all week, her older sister would still be sound asleep.

  As Sheila whisked pancake batter, she kept reading her Twitter feed as more and more updates posted.

  @FortBragg: Ongoing incident with infected at base entrance. First responders are on scene. All personnel continue to shelter in place.

  @FortBragg: First responders are on scene to secure the base. No personnel should leave their shelters.

  Her screen froze, and she tapped the button to refresh her list of tweets. Nothing. She closed and reopened the app. Still nothing. She tapped buttons harder and shook her phone, as though either of those actions would do any good. Of course, nothing. When she noticed she had no Wi-Fi or cellular signal, she blew out a breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She clutched her now-useless phone and felt suddenly and completely disconnected from the world. In a rush, she picked up the house’s land line. “Oh, thank God,” she said on a sigh when she heard a dial tone. She glanced at the sheet of paper pinned to the wall. It was the Fort Bragg family call tree, her lifeline to the base. Her name was midway down the list. Alickina “Alic” McGregor—the name at the top of the list—had been initiating the call tree every three hours between sunrise and sunset. Even though the calls rarely brought new information, Sheila craved receiving them, if only to hear another voice. She glanced at the clock.

  Two hours and thirty-eight minutes to go.

  She grabbed the television remote, clicked on the TV, and flipped through the channels. Most were no longer on the air, and the remaining ones were replaying day-old news. By now, every city looked the same. Channel after channel showed videos of the violent infected, often scenes of them attacking people. The current video showed a police barricade across a street.

  The images brought fear that nestled deep within Sheila’s core. Even still, she couldn’t take her gaze away. The camera zoomed in on a solitary officer who held his baton in defense against a half dozen or more infected. They shrieked before lunging forward as though they were heads of a single, massive hydra. The officer cried out and disappeared under the frenzy. Blood sprayed. The screams continued, but the camera never panned away.

  Sheila cringed, but continued to watch the scene unfold. Nightmares had plagued her dreams ever since she’d seen the first graphic images a few days ago. Their primal screams and their suction-cup lips, jagged teeth, and bloodied faces were frightening enough. Their heavily jaundiced eyes… Eyes that were no longer in any way human, eyes that bore into her with the hungry stare of a fast-moving, irrational predator craving to destroy. What she couldn’t get out of her head was knowing her husband was out there somewhere, surrounded by those hordes.

  She made pancakes, watching the video clips in a daze.

  “We get to watch TV this morning?” Jenny asked.

  Sheila clicked off the set. “No, dear. I was just checking the weather.”

  Jenny shrugged before jogging down the hallway in pink polka dot pants and a purple striped shirt. The bright color combination was horri
ble, yet a perfect fit for the girl’s personality.

  Her daughter’s obliviousness to the situation outside the base made Sheila worry even more. What could she possibly do to protect her girls from the horrors just outside their doorstep?

  Jenny frowned. “Is everything okay, Mommy? You don’t look happy.”

  Sheila forced a thin smile. “Just tired, sweetie. Now, show me your outfit.” She motioned with a finger, and Jenny responded by twirling around with a wide smile and an extravagant flair.

  Sheila put her hands on her hips. “Well, aren’t you looking extra beautiful today.”

  Her daughter grinned as she took a seat at the table, her smile showcasing the gap where her two lower baby teeth had recently been.

  Sheila sprinkled blueberries around the pancake and placed the dish in front of her daughter. “A big breakfast for my growing girl.”

  Jenny puffed out her chest for a bare moment before tearing into the fluffy pancake, not bothering with syrup. She took a too-large bite for her small mouth and struggled to chew with her mouth closed.

  “Mom, my phone’s not working,” Tasha’s voice came from Sheila’s right, and she turned to watch her older daughter stare at her phone while lumbering down the hallway. If Parker had any idea how much time his older daughter spent on her phone, the veins would burst in his forehead.

  “I think the network’s down,” Sheila replied before patting a chair. “Have a seat, sweetie, and I’ll fix you a pancake.”

  “A Mickey Mouse one?” Tasha asked hopefully as she dropped her phone on the table, plopped into a chair, and lay her head on her arms.

  “Absolutely,” Sheila said, before adding, “Now sit up, sleepyhead. We don’t slouch at the table.”

  The eight-year-old mumbled something under her breath, but obeyed her mother.

  While making breakfast, Sheila glanced at the table to watch her daughters. Tasha stole a bite from Jenny’s breakfast and received a slap on the hand in return. Sheila shook her head with a smile. Some days, like today, they were her little girls. Other days, she swore her older daughter was eight going on fourteen, and her younger wasn’t far behind. They were growing up way too fast.

  Sheila glanced out the window, to the street filled with carloads of soldiers heading in for duty. She didn’t like the idea of her daughters growing up so fast, but she was downright terrified of the idea of her daughters not getting the chance to grow up at all.

  — 2 —

  SHELTER IN PLACE.

  Fayetteville and the surrounding area have fallen to the infected, but Fort Bragg is secure! All military personnel are responding to any threats to the base, and all inactive military personnel on base have been called to active duty.

  All non-military personnel are to continue to shelter in place. A second distribution of rations will be made on Friday. Phone lines and power lines are down, with no estimated time of repair. Do not leave your home unless you must relocate to one of the base’s emergency shelters.

  In national news, interim president Nathan Mitchell has authorized Operation Reaper, which he’s called a “fight to save the country.” The initiative is focused on eradicating the infected in the largest US cities. We expect Operation Reaper will make a tremendous impact on the current levels of violence and help clear the congestion of infected outside Fort Bragg. More details will be provided as information becomes available.

  As a reminder, shelter in place. FORT BRAGG IS SAFE!

  The letters were typed in a big and bold font on the flyer left on Sheila’s doorstep.

  A couple of hours after the power went out, Sheila had heard a knock on her door. By the time she’d answered, Alic McGregor—along with two armed soldiers—were already halfway down the block. Sheila had called out, but Alic had kept jogging, a thick stack of paper in her arms.

  Alic, who must’ve had one of the few house generators on the base to run her computer and printer, had delivered a new flyer every day since. Unlike the other two flyers, today’s paper brought new information. Sheila reread the paragraph about Operation Reaper several times, confused. She’d assumed the military had been focused all along on killing the infected, but according to the flyer, they were only now going in hard.

  Understanding of what Operation Reaper was all about dawned, and her eyes widened. “Oh, hell.”

  Jenny gasped. “You swore!”

  “Sorry, honey,” she absent-mindedly waved off her daughter. She reread the flyer one more time, focusing on one word: eradicating. The only way to take out all the infected in a city in one fell swoop was to bomb it. Either the military no longer cared about the uninfected, or there weren’t enough left to matter.

  Goosebumps popped up across her skin. The United States was going to bomb its own cities. In a daze, she crumpled the paper and stared out the window. She saw Kelli standing in front of the large bay window in her house across the street, gripping a matching sheet of paper. The two women shared a knowing, somber glance before Sheila turned away to continue pacing her living room.

  The base had been in a stalemate against the virus for two weeks now. Yet, she knew every day the base was losing troops while the numbers of infected grew outside the perimeter. Base commanders had already brought the perimeters in, cordoning off a two-mile radius of the most central parts of the base. Homes outside the safe area had been evacuated to emergency shelters set up in the barracks.

  Sheila shook her head. At the rate the base was retreating inward, how long could they hold off the infected? She feared it might already be too late for Operation Reaper to do much good.

  “Did the paper say we can go outside yet?” Tasha asked.

  “Yeah, can we?” Jenny tacked on.

  Sheila gave her daughters a melancholy expression. “Unfortunately, not yet, girls. It says there are still sick people out there.”

  Tasha dramatically plopped down on the sofa. “I haven’t been to Briley’s house in ages.”

  “I’m bored,” Jenny added.

  Sheila sighed. “I’m sure it won’t be too much longer. They just want to make sure no one else gets sick. Staying inside keeps us safe.”

  “This sucks,” Tasha said. “We’re going to be bored to death.”

  Sheila pursed her lips. “Now, now, it’s not that bad.”

  Tasha jumped up. “Yes, it is! I can’t use my phone. I can’t see Briley. I can’t watch TV. I can’t do anything.”

  Sheila thought for a moment, then she spun on her heel, walked into the kitchen, and returned with a jar of peanut butter and three spoons. She set down the jar on the coffee table and held out a spoon to each girl. Jenny’s eyes widened before she grinned, grabbed one, and scooped directly from the jar. Tasha’s stern expression softened, and she took a spoon. All three sat on the floor around the small table and took turns dipping into the jar.

  As Sheila licked peanut butter from her spoon, she fought back the exhaustion that had made a home deep within her bones. Keeping children locked up in a house was like keeping a herd of wild hyenas in a cage. She knew bribing her daughters with sweets wouldn’t work forever, and she’d eventually have to get more creative. Damn it, Parker. Come home!

  Fortunately, the base still had running water. Without that, she would’ve been forced to leave the house and check in at one of the base’s shelters. As it was, the quarantine frayed her nerves. The lack of electricity took away the comforts Sheila had grown used to. Her food pantry was as empty as her emotional reserves felt. At least more food was coming on Friday. Unfortunately, her energy wasn’t so easily replenished.

  A knock caused Sheila to jump, and she sprang to the door. When she opened it, she tried to hide the disappointment when she saw it was her neighbor and not Alic McGregor delivering good news. Sheila threw a hand to her hip. “Kelli Rasmussen, you just about gave me a heart attack.”

  Kelli gave her a dramatic pout. “Sorry, Shelly. I had to get out. I am going insane cooped up inside that tiny house day after day.”

  S
heila winced at the nickname Kelli gave her when they first met over a year ago. Behind her, she heard her daughters chatter and snicker, no doubt mimicking Kelli’s squeaky voice.

  Kelli continued. “It’s different for you. You have your girls…” She motioned to Tasha and Jenny, who were currently half-painted in peanut butter. The corner of Kelli’s lip curled downward in disapproval, and Sheila’s eyes narrowed, ready to defend her daughters if her neighbor was uncouth enough to say anything.

  “I’m stuck over there all alone,” Kelli finished.

  “Well, you have Michael,” Sheila began.

  Kelli rolled her eyes. “Who’s always on duty anymore.”

  Sheila sighed. “I know it’s hard, but we were ordered to stay inside. It’s only temporary. The virus—”

  Kelli waved her off. “Oh, that’s just Alic playing the overly protective mother hen like usual. Michael said that they have everything under control and that we’re completely safe inside the fence. I mean, look around you. The only thing to worry about outside is the weeds taking over my flower beds.”

  Even though Kelli was Sheila’s least favorite neighbor, Sheila found it a comforting sensation to be interacting with another adult after so many days of being around only children. “Why don’t you come in and sit for a spell?” Sheila offered finally.

  Kelli beamed and strode inside. “Why, I’d love to. I was about to go out of my mind over there. I’m living on saltines and tap water. It’s worse than a state penitentiary.”

  Sheila frowned. “Don’t you have enough food to get by until Friday?”

  “Probably not,” she said in a singsong voice. She pouted, then pinched an invisible inch of fat on her perfectly flat abs. “I suppose I could stand to lose a few pounds.”