Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate

by Browning, Walt

  They were within screaming distance when the redheaded alpha emitted a horrifying cry. The other leader, body beset by steel shards and spikes, looked up and roared back.

  The two groups met, and the lines opened up, encircling the two combatants.

  Charlie watched the other group’s alpha. It was much larger than his own leader. It wasn’t an admission of superiority that Charlie thought this, but of tactics. He knew their alpha would use its speed to take out the other.

  Both groups began to chant, pounding their fists on the blood-soaked pavement, their cries almost religious in sound and cadence.

  The two adversaries moved toward each other, sizing up the other with each slow step. The creatures around them continued to battle, but the circle the two groups created had walled off the violence.

  The metal-studded monster crouched and slapped both fists on the ground, baiting the other to attack. The challenge was met by the redheaded alpha with a roar and pounding on its chest. They stared each other down, snorting and splattering their black-speckled spittle. They froze about ten yards apart and the circle silenced in anticipation.

  The metal-studded monster lifted itself to full height, raising its arms to the heavens. It let out a final battle cry and lunged. Charlie’s leader smiled as it flung itself forward, crashing into its oversized opponent. The winner of this death match would become the undisputed leader of both hordes.

  And so, began the final battle for Southern California.

  — 6 —

  Now I am weary, and I can no longer tell good from Evil.

  — Jean-Paul Sartre

  Highway 76

  The Variant appeared thirty minutes into the drive to Dana Point. It was about the same time that the two alphas were doing battle, miles to the west.

  The two-lane road funneled between the stony hills along the western edge of Palomar Mountain. At any other time, the scenic drive would have been pleasurable. This stretch of the highway felt desolate as private dirt driveways occasionally meandered off either side of the pavement. These unpaved paths threaded their way up the side of the mountain, cutting between chaparral, live oaks, and sage brush, before disappearing over its crest.

  A single electric wire, strung between ancient pine poles, ran along the edge of the highway. The lack of any other utility conduit reminded Carver of the remoteness of the area.

  In many places, the road narrowed with a mountainous ridge to the convoy’s right. Several times, the HUMVEE’s side mirror scraped against the hillside dirt as the highway swerved through the winding pass. As they approached the southern edge of Temecula, stone replaced dirt along the borders of the road. It had been installed against the berm, keeping the sandy soil from spilling onto the pavement. This maintained the integrity of the road, but it also gave anyone, or anything, a commanding view over the convoy. That’s where they came across Fred.

  Fred had been some kind of blue-collar worker. His outfit, tattered from time, hung loosely from his body. He still had his nametag, which was how the convoy knew his name.

  He’d flung himself off the hillside and on top of the second bus in line. When they slammed on the brakes, he flew forward and ended up tumbling over the vehicle’s hood and onto the street.

  Fred wasn’t the most fearsome of Variants. It had been old when the virus hit and looked like it hadn’t had much to eat since. It was scrawny, with patches of wispy, grey hair clinging to its ancient, leathery skull. The feeble creature lay in the street, face down, too weak to even roll over.

  Before Carver could warn everyone to stay in their vehicles, Gonzalez jumped out of his bus and raced around its front. He stood over the pitiful thing, watching it struggle to even flip over. It was like a turtle that had ended up on its back, powerless to do anything other than flail its limbs.

  Carver watched Gonzalez hover over the ancient Variant. His handgun was out but the young Marine was unable to place a bullet in its brain. After a few moments, Carver climbed out of the HUMVEE.

  “Let’s go. Shoot it and get back in the bus. There could be more of them nearby.”

  “I can’t,” Gonzalez replied. “Look at it.”

  Carver saw the creature slowly thrashing its arms and legs. Its moans were barely audible. It was near death.

  Gonzalez raised his pistol and aimed. He hesitated again as the old creature’s head settled back down onto the pavement.

  “Go ahead. It’s suffering,” Carver said softly.

  The Variant turned to face the two men. It reached its wrinkled hand out and opened its palm. Its eyes were dim and watered. Its mouth moved, as if trying to speak, but nothing came out other than a frail gasp.

  Carver felt pity the dying beast. The old Variant looked as if it was begging to be released from its personal hell. It was near death and some of its humanity appeared to be bleeding through the veil of infection.

  The crack of Gonzalez’s handgun jolted Carver. The bullet left a hole in the creature’s forehead, splashing infected brain and blood onto the pavement as the rear of its head exploded back. Both men stood motionless afterwards. Gonzalez even muttered a prayer.

  They pulled the body to the far side of the road and silently returned to their rides. The entire affair took less than a minute, but it shook both men.

  Carver slid back into the passenger’s seat and sat quietly, staring out the window.

  “You all right?” Gavin asked.

  The experience was a reminder of how tired he was of the new world and worse, that the life they once knew was gone forever.

  “I’m exhausted.” Carver sighed before turning to look out the window.

  “Saving the world is a lot of work,” Gavin joked, before immediately regretting the sarcasm.

  “If you only knew,” Carver wearily replied. “Living in a world with no hope of normalcy, and this never-ending struggle to stay alive, is getting old.”

  As the HUMVEE began accelerating, he forced his growing despondency into the background. Staying focused on the next task allowed him to move forward. The trick to keeping one’s sanity was to always have enough jobs to stay busy.

  — 7 —

  There is only one principle of war. Hit the other fellow, as quickly as you can, as hard as you can, where it hurts him most…

  — William Slim

  Oceanside, CA

  Outside Camp Pendleton

  Charlie

  The metal-studded Variant wasn’t nearly as quick as Charlie’s leader. The redheaded alpha side-stepped a hammer blow and shredded the big monster’s side with his nails. Several deep wounds opened, eliciting a howl of anger from the attack.

  The two opponents faced off again. The opposing Variant crept forward with one massive arm extended and its fist flexing. The alpha rushed forward and tried to again slip to the larger monster’s side. The big Variant anticipated the move and raked the alpha’s skull with a glancing blow, using its metal-studded forearm.

  A wide gash appeared next to the shock of neon-red hair. Infected fluid spilled out of the wound. Black chunks dripped off the alpha’s ear, covering its shoulder with blood and contagion. The redheaded giant screamed.

  Another attack by Charlie’s alpha resulted in a second major laceration. The pavement was slick with the redheaded monster’s blood as the battle began to turn against it.

  Charlie stood helplessly to the side. He clenched his weapon, flexing his remaining fist around the leather-wrapped handle. His clan’s leader was losing as the other Variant used the metal studs imbedded in its own flesh as a weapon.

  One of the other enemy Variants pushed next to Charlie, shoving him to the side. Charlie pushed back, and the Variant struck. The blow never hit Charlie. He held up the shiny weapon as the creature’s arm came down, slicing the attacking claw off at the wrist. The monster screamed and lunged. Charlie plunged the katana’s blade through its jaw and out the back of its neck. It fell lifelessly to the ground.

  The two alphas had frozen their battle, watching Cha
rlie dispose of the other creature. Charlie looked up at his leader. It was bleeding profusely and close to losing. Charlie looked down at the weapon he’d just used and then back to his clan leader. He tossed the blade on the ground at the alpha’s feet.

  Both combatants stared at the bloody blade before the heavily wounded alpha picked it up. A glint of recognition registered in its virus-addled brain. It grasped the weapon and attacked.

  The fight quickly turned. The other Variant swung at Charlie’s alpha as the nearly three-foot-long blade slashed down. A spark flew when the samurai sword’s metal deflected off an iron bolt just before it severed the swinging limb. Blood spurted from the stump.

  The monster staggered back as the alpha pressed forward. Both creatures were severely wounded, but the redheaded monster sensed its opponent’s weakness. It attacked mercilessly, swinging the Tamahagane blade across its enemy’s chest, filleting muscle from bone as the giants battled.

  A blow to the redheaded alpha’s arm shattered its elbow. The blade flew to the side and landed a few feet away. The metal-studded Variant turned to retrieve the katana. It exposed itself, and Charlie’s alpha leapt onto its enemy’s back and bit down on its neck. In one, giant tear, the studded creature’s spine was shredded. It collapsed to the ground, its hand still reaching for the bloodied sword.

  The alpha roared in victory, screaming a challenge to any that dared confront him. None answered.

  Charlie lumbered over to the sword and retrieved it, then stood at the alpha’s side.

  As the hordes continued their fight, the alpha, weakened from blood loss, staggered to its downed opponent. It tried to remove its head from the torso but struggled to wrench it free.

  Charlie lumbered to the body and decapitated it with one, swift blow. The alpha grunted its approval and lifted the head into the sky, screaming in victory. The battle quickly calmed as the alpha held the fallen Variant’s skull out for all to see.

  The circle around the red giant closed in. The other horde had to make a choice—continue the fight or become part of the alpha’s clan.

  An enemy Variant, one that was close with their fallen leader, moved next to the downed body. It tensed, unsure if it would challenge the redheaded king or live as its minion.

  The alpha lowered his enemy’s head and bent over the body. It ripped away the creature’s pectoral, a muscle that it had already partially severed during the fight and shoved it into his mouth. It tore off a chunk and handed it to the enemy Variant.

  The monster hesitated. It grabbed the partially eaten meat and looked down at the decapitated torso. Then it looked up at the alpha and pushed the remaining flesh into its mouth. It roared its approval.

  Charlie relaxed his grip as the battle finally ended. Hundreds of thousands of Variants were now united. Los Angeles to San Diego and as far west as the desert was now one large horde. Within moments, the remaining creatures descended on the fallen, ripping and consuming their dead brethren.

  After a short time, the sun became unbearable, and the creatures retreated to the nearby abandoned Marine base. Within minutes, the land was clear of the Variant horde while the corpses of the dead began to cook in the rising sun. The creatures would be back to finish their feast after dark. Then they would begin to hunt again. Only now, the alpha would have to feed a clan twice the size that it once was. Their hunting grounds would have to grow, putting Lost Valley well within their expanding grasp.

  — 8 —

  A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within.

  — Marcus Cicero, Ancient Roman Philosopher

  Outside Temecula

  The drive through Temecula went remarkably well. The few Variants they ran across were injured or too old to be a threat. Whenever one of them appeared, they simply drove past them.

  Carver led the convoy to the west of Lake Elsinore. The street was flanked on the right by the large body of water and on the left by occasional housing developments. Most of the clusters of homes were less than a few dozen in number and had been abandoned long ago. A year of infection had lain the area bare. Signs of destruction were sporadic, with just a few burned-out homes along the way.

  With bicycle lanes on either side and an ample middle turn lane, Grand Avenue was wide enough for the convoy to maintain speed. It also allowed them to easily bypass the occasional stalled car. It was the reason Carver had chosen to take this road rather than the highway. Interstate 15 was jammed with abandoned cars and impossible to navigate.

  “The turnoff to 74 is just ahead,” Carver said to Gringleman.

  State Route 74 was a two-lane, paved road that wound through the Santa Ana Mountains, eventually ending outside Dana Point.

  The HUMVEE slowed as it approached the traffic light. They drove by several two-story alabaster apartments that had been gutted by a fire. Human bones, bleached by the sun and scattered by time and the elements, dotted the dirt lawn. Several cars and SUVs were off to the side, their doors ajar or windows shattered. Nothing was whole. Everything was broken or out of place.

  They had just made the turn when Kinney’s voice crackled in Carver’s earpiece.

  “John. We’ve been on the road for a few hours. Some of our guests need to relieve themselves. There’s a market to the left. Can we stop there and give everyone a chance to take a leak?”

  “I don’t want to have to clear any buildings,” Carver replied.

  “Nah. See behind the building? There are some pallets stacked up and a field behind that. Plenty of space to see something approaching. The women can go there.”

  Carver slowed down and checked the spot. It looked good. The building had no windows in back and only one metal door that was closed tight. He had at least a quarter mile of vision beyond that.

  “All right. Ten minutes. I want every squad to rally on me once we arrive. None of the civilians leave their bus until I say so.”

  The convoy rolled into the parking lot. Carver swung his HUMVEE around and pointed it out. The rest lined up behind him, prepared for a hasty escape if it was warranted.

  Carver organized the men, pairing them off then sending them to set up several hasty observation posts. He then went to the first bus and released the scientists to go off and do their business.

  “Gonzalez. Get behind the Ma Deuce,” Carver ordered before turning to Gavin. “Once the first bus returns, you can let the second bus go. I don’t want more than one vehicle unoccupied at a time.”

  He turned to his friend and nudged him. “Hey, Kinney. Let’s take a look at that store.”

  The two men walked up to the shattered glass windows. The inside of the local market was remarkably intact. Several shelves had been overturned, and a few dark stains marked spots where Variants had made a kill. But these were faded and nearly black in color. Many months had come and gone since then.

  Shrek stood at Carver’s side, staring into the space. The dog’s stance and overall demeanor were calm. Carver felt comfortable that there were no Variants in the building.

  “Come on,” Carver said. “Let’s see what’s left.”

  They stepped through the broken picture window. Months of exposure to the elements had spread a few bits of trash throughout the building but, overall, the structure was intact.

  Carver walked past the registers and stared down the long aisles. The linoleum floors were dusty from months of inattention, but the space itself was remarkably organized and free of debris. More importantly, it was nearly void of anything useful. Someone had raided the place, leaving sporadic patches of products on the shelves, while entire lengths of some aisles were bare.

  “Notice anything?” Carver asked.

  “Yeah. Ain’t nothing in here,” Kinney replied.

  “We have survivors in the area,” Carver said.

  “How do you figure? It could have been cleaned out last year.”

  “I don’t think so. Look over there. That grocery cart was used not too long ago. See the tracks in
the dust? They’re not that old.”

  The two men walked up and down the aisles, looking for anything salvageable. Many of the placards were printed in both Spanish and English, and the product lineup was definitely tilted with a Latin flare.

  “Check out the meat department. Empty. Someone cleaned it out early. I don’t see anything rotting in there,” Kinney said, pointing at the long glass counter. “Let’s check the back room. Maybe there’s something useful.”

  The rest of the search proved fruitless. It wasn’t a surprise. Many of the stores they’d searched the last year had been cleared out.

  “Come on. We’ve given the scientists enough time to do their business. Let’s get going. Shader will be waiting for them at the harbor. This has been a waste of time,” Carver said before commanding Shrek out the door.

  “Well, at least we know there are some survivors running around,” Kinney replied, looking back at the recently made marks on the dusty floor.

  The winding road quickly rose above the valley floor. All of the vehicles were heavy with people and supplies, and the diesel engines rumbled as they struggled up the incline. The vehicles spewed their exhaust into the clear skies, marking the convoy’s progress.

  As they crawled up the mountainous two-lane road, each switchback turn brought them higher into the Santa Ana Range. The ever-increasing altitude made the distant scenery appear like a movie set or diorama. It was mesmerizing. Gavin would take his hand from the steering wheel and nudge Carver with his elbow each time a far-off lake or panoramic view appeared.

  A thousand feet above the valley floor, Carver’s HUMVEE started another hard turn. All three men were focused on the distant valley when a roadblock suddenly appeared to their front. Gavin slammed on the brakes, throwing them forward into their safety harnesses.