Everly tried to time the movement but was unable to keep track of the shifting aim. His best guess was that the system targeted and fired a burst about three times per second. Even at this lower rate of fire, Everly could see the barrels beginning to smoke.
The SuperCobra still had cannon rounds on board in case he needed to help exterminate the flying abominations. Everly didn’t need to expend them. Hundreds of Variant juveniles fell from the sky or were shredded into pieces. The cannon’s nearly inch-wide, 1500-grain projectiles rocketed into the sky at three times the speed of sound. The rounds exploded through the hard carapace armor. Soon, there was nothing left other than Everly and the three remaining adults. When the last of their children had been evaporated, they turned and sped away.
“No chance,” Everly said.
He had already pushed the gunship forward and was on them before they got halfway back to whatever poisonous, God-forsaken hole they had come from.
The three separated. Everly stayed with the male. If the two females got away, it meant nothing if there wasn’t a male to mate with.
The creature dropped straight down, tucking its wings and diving for the ground. Everly had trouble following, taking the descent in a tight spiral, always keeping the monster in his sights.
The creature extended its limbs at the last second. Its bat-like wings ballooned, dramatically slowing its fall. It soared east and dropped into the Los Angeles river basin, using the thermals rising from the bottom of the riverbed to glide.
Everly followed behind the creature. The Variant’s aerial acrobatics had put some distance between them, but his IR camera kept him in contact. Once over the river bottom, the pilot accelerated and the distance between them quickly evaporated.
The monster swooped under the 4th Street Bridge. The SuperCobra’s four blades cut into the air, sending Everly soaring above it. With a slight movement of his hand and foot, the graceful machine dropped back down not a quarter of a mile behind the fleeing creature.
Before he could line up his cannon, the Variant swooped under the 1st Street Viaduct and cut hard to the left. Once again, the helicopter soared above and started to drop behind the monster.
The Variant’s wings flared as it moved to the west wall. It was landing in the middle of the river. Or was it?
Everly gave a silent thanks to whatever god had made the creature land. He was about to send his cannon rounds, when it crawled into an access tunnel on the side of the river’s wall. He lost the creature.
Working the machine into position directly in front of the opening, Everly’s IR camera picked up the monster as it stopped just a dozen meters past the tunnel’s threshold. The image created by the thermal camera was never very crisp, and only the outline of the creature’s body was visible. Everly could have sworn it was standing there, watching him hover outside.
He selected one of the Hellfire missiles and activated his laser designator. The infrared beam shot out of the night targeting system (NTS), a pod mounted on the nose of the flying tank. The beam reflected off the creature as it stood back inside the tunnel.
“Let me introduce you to my little friend,” Everly said in his best Scarface accent.
He sent the Hellfire from its rack. It tracked to the monster, following the infrared beam into the tunnel opening. It ripped through the creature and exploded. A fireball erupted out of the mouth of the passageway. A massive plume of dirt and asphalt mushroomed into the night sky almost fifty yards back. The ground collapsed into the passageway as tons of debris flopped into the subterranean corridor.
The monster was dead. Of that, Everly was sure.
He turned back to see about helping the rest of the battalion. Once elevated, he looked down on the streets. He caught his breath when he saw the horde pouring through the city. The memory of the battle at the Inglewood Forum suddenly appeared in his mind. They lost almost all of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Force that night, over a thousand men wiped out in minutes on that ill-conceived mission.
The Variants were flowing through the streets and over buildings. Through the thermal camera, it looked like hot batter oozing along the city’s avenues as tens, if not hundreds of thousands of Variants flooded the city.
“What the hell were we thinking?” he said to himself. “We just killed ourselves all over again.”
Carver
He gunned the HUMVEE, sending it rocketing up Grand Avenue. The U.S. Bank Tower rose up a few blocks ahead. His goal was to find Shader then get the hell out of town.
A block from the tower, he had to slow down. Hundreds of Variants were pouring out of the structure, flooding the streets, all moving toward Pershing Square. He cut left and barreled down 4th Street, paralleling the Variant mob as it moved east.
“Blue One. This is Red One actual. Do you copy? Over.”
“I copy, Red One.”
“What’s your pause? Over.”
A moment went by before Shader replied. “Heading east on 6th at Central. Over.”
They had pre-planned an escape route. Shader would eventually run into I-5. From there, they had a straight shot up the Glendale Freeway to the Gold Creek Center. The other units had set up separate routes back to their own points of safety. The entire operation had become totally FUBAR.
Carver attempted to radio the other groups. All responded and were on their way out of town. None reported any sign of pursuit. That was a good sign.
“Viper One. This is Red One actual. Do you copy? Over.”
“I’ve got you, Red One. I’m on your tail. Over.”
Carver looked back and up. Everly was flying a few hundred yards above. He flicked his running lights on and off, letting Carver see his position.
“Viper One. How’s our route? Any Tangos in our path? Over.”
Everly shot ahead, rapidly covering the distance between Los Angeles and their northern destination. He was gone about ten minutes before Carver got a reply.
“Red One. This is Viper. You’re looking good. Over.”
Carver made contact with all the others who were heading to Gold Creek. The drive took them a couple of hours, weaving around cars and detouring around road blockages. All the while, Everly provided overwatch, helping direct them through the abandoned car maze.
They arrived close to midnight, with Everly finally moving back to Lost Valley, his fuel nearly depleted.
Father Walsh stood at the front of the lot, his arms crossed. From the disappointed look on his face, Carver suspected the women from Gold Creek had already radioed ahead.
“Padre,” Carver said as he exited the HUMVEE.
Rex leapt out as well and ran over to Lucas. Both he and Shader had parked nearby.
“Mr. Carver. I heard things didn’t go well.”
“No, sir. Nothing went as planned. The only good news is that no one was lost.”
“That’s a positive,” Walsh replied before calling out to those who had just arrived. “We have some food up at the cafeteria.”
The priest directed the soldiers from Lost Valley and the women from his flock up to the main building, the pathway lined with small solar accent lights.
It had been a disappointing and long evening. Carver and Shader followed along at the end of the line, grateful they hadn’t lost anyone.
“It could have been a lot worse,” Shader said as they stood at the building’s entrance.
“I know,” Carver replied. “I just can’t believe how many of those damn things are still alive. It’s like it was five years ago.”
“I was there, and I have to agree. Given how many we lost at the Forum, I’d say we are lucky we got away with it.”
Carver nodded his head and patted Shader on the shoulder. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out. I’m just glad to get out of there.”
The two men entered the building behind everyone else, leaving the night to itself—and to the lone creature that stood silently in the mountainside tree line.
Its facial skin vibrated, sending pulses of hig
h-frequency sound forward as its bat-like ears received the returning echo. She memorized the location.
The flying female Variant had eluded the human machine. Its rage at losing all its children burned deep inside. It wanted nothing more than to kill the man-things that had wiped out its progeny.
The creature wasn’t suicidal, and the flying human death-dealer was easy to follow. It followed its prey at a distance, keeping low to the ground, all the way to the human lair. There were so many to feast on. More humans than her addled brain could remember. It became flush with excitement at the thought of so much food.
After standing silently for many minutes, the winged creature flew off to return to its master. It now knew where the human nest was located. Soon, the alpha would know as well.
— 22 —
Gold Creek Center
The Next Evening
“You really are a slut,” Hanna whispered.
The other three women roared as they recounted their adventures from the prior night. The stress of the day’s mission and its anticlimactic conclusion left everyone on edge. By the end of the evening, many of them had indulged in too much wine. That led to some drunken encounters with the visitors. A few good stories resulted, just not ones that could be shared with anyone other than their closest friends.
When the guests left that morning, Hanna decided to stay a few days. This was the first time she and Brett had been apart since she moved to Lost Valley. It was difficult letting him go that morning, but the next supply run was in three days, and she’d hitch a ride with them. As she sat gossiping with her old friends, the laughter and comradery allowed her to feel all right about the separation.
Hanna grimaced as she sipped her coffee. She’d partaken in the spontaneous revelry last night, as well. Now she was paying the price with a dull headache that threatened to explode out the back of her skull and an aching body that the camp’s expired Motrin failed to completely eliminate. Only caffeine seemed to help.
Sitting by a fire, the four women continued to tell their stories.
Night seemed to descend on the mountain more quickly than most evenings. The wind was flowing in from the northeast, bringing the dry, clear desert air with it. It made the evening temperature almost warm and the stars explode in the heavens.
Hanna’s friend groaned. “The last thing I remember was dancing to that god-awful country song.”
“Oh, Theresa. I remember now,” one of the others said. “You were dancing with that guy wearing the Stetson hat.”
“Guilty.” She moaned. “I hate country music, but he was just so damn cute!”
“I wonder if he was a real cowboy,” the other woman said in a conspiratorial voice.
“He did have on some ostrich-skin boots,” Theresa replied.
“I didn’t notice,” Hanna said. “As drunk as we were, how did you see that?”
Theresa blushed. “Because that was all he had on this morning when I woke up.”
This created another round of laughter from the other three women.
“Oh. Like you guys were angels,” Theresa replied with a smirk.
The laughter eventually died down, and Hanna checked her watch. She was going to take watch that night with Theresa. She figured there were only a few days to reconnect with her friends before returning to Lost Valley. If some of that time was spent in a mountainside bunker, so be it.
There were several observation posts dug into the mountainside. Over the years, they’d been reinforced with a wooden palisade roof covered by rock, dirt, and grass. Cushioned seats had been added as well. The outposts were there as a tripwire to provide advanced warning to the camp of any approaching danger.
Hanna had taken night shifts in these dugouts when she lived at the retreat. It was a boring job that was always better when shared with a friend.
“Grab some snacks,” Hanna said to Theresa. “We’ve got twenty minutes before we have to report.”
The others moaned and resumed their conversation until the very last minute before the two would be late. Then they gave each other hugs and went their separate ways.
“Gosh, I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” Hanna said.
“I know. I miss you.”
Theresa put her arm around her friend as they walked to one of the camp’s electric lorries. Recharged off their solar panels every day, the E-Z-Go golf cart shot forward, taking the girls down the mountain road to their assigned observation post.
Outpost Taylor
The Intersection of Little Tujunga Canyon Road and Gold Creek Road
Two miles south of Gold Creek Center
Hanna always liked taking watch at this observation post. It sat above the intersection where the road to Gold Creek split from the main canyon road.
The view was spectacular. Little Tujunga Canyon spilled down the mountain to their front, with the canyon’s far wall rising in the distance. The power companies used this natural sluiceway to run their lines. The blue light cast by the overhead stars illuminated the far-off high-voltage lines while bathing the desert in an azure glow. Hanna sat quietly, amazed at the clarity of the sky.
The dry wind that blew in from the east was a deadly accelerant for any fire—not that anyone manning the post would consider building one, since the idea was to keep the location hidden. For those few winter weeks when the temperatures dropped low enough, there was a 12-volt heater hooked up to an old car battery. Tonight, the Santa Ana brought warm gusts, and there was no need for its use.
Theresa chugged the rest of the water from a gallon container. Water would cause her to pee away the byproducts produced by her liver as it worked to break down the wine she’d ingested.
Hanna scanned the distant vista with the outpost’s binoculars. The valley was blanketed by a patchwork of trees and brush. The strong winds tossed the vegetation about, creating shadows that moved in a rhythmic dance.
Background noise was a constant companion. The howling of the wind whipping past the dugout and the rustling of trees and shrubs fighting to hold their ground was all the girls could hear. They were thankful they had shelter from its onslaught as the wind rushed its way down the mountainside, toward the valley floor.
“I’ve got to pee,” Theresa announced.
She stood up slowly, muscles and joints complaining throughout the ordeal. It had been twenty-four hours since the bender, but she still had some aches to deal with.
She groaned. “I hurt.”
Hanna snorted. “Some of those aches may not be from the alcohol.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then quit complaining.”
Theresa waved her off and stepped up and out of the outpost. The dugout was situated on the edge of the mountain’s outcropping that jutted above the valley. She took the short path to the large, nearby rock that provided some shelter from the wind and a place to lean against. She squatted down and relieved herself.
As she waited to finish, she gazed out at the vista to her left, which overlooked a 500-foot, near-vertical drop. The shadows created by the moonlight and moving bushes seemed especially active on this side of the canyon. More so than their view down the mountain road.
She finished then pulled her pants in place. As she buttoned the BDUs, she watched with fascination as the wall of the canyon seemed to be alive with movement. It took her a moment to realize that there shouldn’t be any shadows on the sheer wall. It was all granitic and metasedimentary rock.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She sprinted back to the dugout and crashed into Hanna. “They’re here!”
“What are you talking about? Who’s here?”
“Them…the Variants.” She grabbed the handheld radio and keyed the mic. “This is Outpost Taylor. Come in. Come in.”
There was no response.
“Please,” she whispered. “Someone answer.”
She tried to raise the base camp, but again, there was no answer.
“Oh God. They’re here.”
“Are you sure?” Hanna asked.
Theresa nodded and began to cry. Her panicked eyes told Hanna all she needed to know.
“Show me,” Hanna said, pulling her friend out of the dugout.
They both ran to the edge where Theresa first saw movement on the sheer cliff. Hanna glassed the canyon wall and gasped.
Thousands of Variants were scaling the wall with thousands more in the valley below. They climbed the vertical barrier as if they were taking a stroll in the park. The crest of that canyon wall was just a mile from Gold Creek.
Then it hit Hanna why they were out of place. The camp had positioned their observation post along the canyon road. The Variants didn’t care about pavement. They took the shortest path to their destination and that was up the cliff.
“Try to get them again,” Hanna said.
“I did. No one’s answering.”
The two women stood and watched as the Variants scaled the mountainside wall. They didn’t know it at the time, but the entire population of Los Angeles was moving in on their home. It took half an hour for the valley to clear. Both knew that the camp was no match for that many creatures. Everyone at Gold Creek was now dead.
“Come on,” Hanna said. “They’re all gone.”
“Where are we going?” Theresa sniffed as she choked back her tears.
“Anywhere but here.”
They moved quickly to the dugout and grabbed everything they could. They loaded up the golf cart and headed down the mountain, gliding most of the way to conserve the battery charge. At the bottom, Hanna turned onto Interstate 210, which would become the San Fernando Freeway.
She headed toward Lost Valley.
“We’ll never make it,” Theresa said. “Not in a million years.”
“I know, but we don’t have to go that far. Trust me.”
Theresa shut down while Hanna weaved in and out of traffic, cutting through piles of rusting trucks and roadside debris. She checked her watch. It was only two in the morning. Lost Valley wouldn’t be doing a radio check with Gold Creek until eight.
Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate Page 25
