Above Perris
The female Variant soared low between the houses. She’d learned long ago to avoid the flying human machine. She kept her distance as it raced ahead of her. It flew more slowly than most times, and she was able to keep pace with it.
The fires raged to the rear. Her hypersonic blasts echoed back to her large, bat-like ears. She was going to follow the human back to its lair, but the enemy suddenly rushed forward and sped away at a pace she couldn’t keep up with.
Disappointed that she couldn’t follow it anymore, the female soared higher. The threat was gone, freeing her to get a better read on the area.
Hunger drove her to scan the ground. That’s when she sensed the Stryker. It moved quickly, but not so fast that she couldn’t keep up. It was more humans, with the tasty, delicious flesh that she and her king desired.
She followed the humans as they moved along through the dark night. Their path was straight. They didn’t try to hide themselves, making her job that much easier.
She wound through the mountains. So far from home. So high in the desert. It was a land the clan hadn’t even suspected of being there. The humans crawled up a winding road. As the vehicle crested a flat place, she saw it. The humans’ nest. Her radar picked up dozens and dozens of buildings. She salivated with desire.
She circled high above, looking for something to eat. There were no humans she could pick off, just a few who were clustered together, making them more difficult to harvest. She noticed other creatures in the fields nearby. She picked out one that was small enough to take in one piece.
She soared above the trees and dropped down quickly to the ground. Moments later, she sliced the neck of a calf then grasped its body and flew away. She found a quiet place to land and gorged herself on its flesh. She ate much of the meat but saved the insides for her king.
Was he alive? She didn’t know. She grasped the now limbless carcass and flew back north. The remaining meat and organs were heavy, but she struggled on. A full belly and the joy of finding the humans carried her further than she thought. With dawn approaching, she soared above the burned fields where she’d last seen the alpha. Thousands and thousands of corpses littered the land, and she became despondent. She felt the sun beginning to rise, its heat burning her flesh.
She sensed the presence of the hangars at the airfield. The flames hadn’t touched them. She aimed for the buildings, intending to spend the day there before resuming her search, when she heard his cry.
The alpha was alive. She joyfully landed next to one of the large human structures. The king was there. She presented her kill to him. He was pleased.
She would tell him about the humans. Then they would all feast.
— 25 —
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Two Nights Later
“I’ll be right back,” Hope said, smiling. “I’ve got to heat up the pies.”
“Mmmm. That sounds good, doesn’t it?” Carver said to his son.
“Yeah,” J.K. said absently as he rubbed Shrek’s coat.
“You know what goes with pie, don’t you?” Hope asked.
“No,” the young boy replied, continuing to attend to the Mal.
“Ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” J.K. said, his little eyebrows raised.
“Yes. Do you want to help mommy?”
The lad eagerly nodded his head.
Carver laughed. “Better hurry. They’ve already started carving the pig.”
Hope took their son’s hand, and they started walking to Beckham Hall. With all the work it took to churn the ice cream, there was no way she was going to forget to bring it out for the party.
Shrek had been lying next to his family, ever vigilant. He slowly stood and began to follow Hope.
“Hey, babe!” Carver yelled.
Hope turned back and saw Carver pointing at the old Mal. He was limping along several yards behind them.
Hope’s face became sad when she saw the dog struggling to keep up. She patiently waited for him to join them.
J.K. bent down and hugged the crippled animal. “Come on, boy. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
Shrek seemed to understand and began walking with a bit more bounce in his step. Carver shook his head. Maybe they needed to give the old guy ice cream instead of the anti-inflammatory drugs and willow extracts. At least he’d enjoy taking it.
The festivities had been ongoing all day. They snacked and played games, and, of course, there was plenty of food and adult beverages to consume. Now, it was time to feast, and the entire camp was going to participate. They were celebrating the end of the Variant horde.
Carver had no illusions. He knew there would be a few isolated infected still out there. But the chance of being overrun had been eliminated. They could start to reclaim the land as long as they continued to be cautious on their explorations. Extinction of the human race had been avoided. It was time to celebrate.
Carver got up from the picnic table and began to make his rounds. He was given a hero’s welcome by every group he visited. He humbly accepted their gratitude. That wasn’t the point of his stroll. He wanted to make sure the men and women didn’t let their guards down. The threat had been reduced, but not eliminated.
“Where’s your rifle?” Carver asked.
Lazzaro was at a table with several young women. Still a bachelor, he was known throughout the camp for playing the field. He was a handsome man with a warrior’s body. Regardless of his reputation, he still had no problems finding a girl or two.
“It’s around here somewhere,” the Texan drawled.
Carver noticed that the kid’s accent seemed to get thicker when he was near the ladies. It must work, because the man never lacked for female company.
“Somewhere isn’t next to you, is it?” Carver said, smiling.
Lazzaro grinned back as Carver maintained eye contact. After a few seconds of being stared down, the Marine realized that his boss wasn’t fooling around, just being nice by not berating him for being unprepared.
Lazzaro nodded slightly and stood up. The battle rifle was leaning against a nearby tree. He came back to the table and leaned the weapon against the picnic table. Carver glanced at the M4 as he returned. It was on safe with the chamber empty and a loaded magazine in its well. Just like he’d taught him.
“Well, you guys have a great night,” Carver said. “That pig was in the ground for a full day. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Carver,” one of Lazzaro’s dates said.
She stood up and stumbled over to the SEAL, giving him a very sloppy kiss on the cheek. She obviously had been dipping into the camp’s mead.
Lazzaro looked down with a stupid grin on his face when the drunk girl nearly fell as she backed away. Carver caught her arm and guided her back to her seat.
“Make sure she gets home safely. Do you copy?”
“Aye, aye,” Lazzaro said sheepishly.
Carver stared again for a moment before moving to the next group. Eventually, he found his way to the carving table. Gonzalez was at a large, wooden platform. The roasted pig was being sliced and pulled, creating piles of meat on the buffet line. Carver reached over to the stack of pulled pork and tried to take a pinch.
Gonzalez poked his hand away with a long fork. “You may be my boss out there,” G-man said. “But here, I’m the jefe.”
Carver grinned. The little Marine wasn’t fooling around.
“Come on. Let me try some.”
“You and everyone else,” Gonzalez replied. “Now move along, squid.”
Carver snorted and began to walk away. Gonzalez moved to a side table to grab a paper pl
ate and utensils. He had left a small pile of pulled pork where he’d been working.
Carver grabbed the meat and dropped it in his mouth. Even unseasoned, it was magnificent.
“Can I cook, or what?” Gonzalez said when he saw Carver contentedly chewing.
“Jeez, Gonzalez. That’s amazing.”
“You like it?”
“If I wasn’t married, I’d give you a ring.”
“No way. You’re too ugly and old.”
Carver grinned. “Copy that.”
“But could you do me a favor? Get Lazzaro over here. He needs to take a plate of food to the OP.”
Carver looked back at Lazzaro. He was in full stud mode with both young girls attentively listening to him talk. No doubt, it was another rendition of his famous escape from the USS Boxer. Each time he told it, the size of the horde and his wounds seemed to magnify.
“I can only imagine what he’s telling them,” Carver said.
“Last time I heard him tell it,” Gonzalez said as he looked on at his fellow Marine, “he had to have his leg reattached.”
Carver snapped his head around to Gonzalez. The Marine was smiling ear-to-ear. Carver couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Seriously?”
“Well, almost,” G-man replied. “But he’s getting there.”
Carver let out a belly laugh. “Don’t interrupt Don Juan. I’ll take it. Hope’s in the kitchen warming up the apple pies, anyway. I’ve got some time.”
“Apple pie?”
“Yeah. Got a large batch of Granny Smiths from our last trade.”
“Damn. I haven’t had apple pie in years,” Gonzalez said.
“With vanilla ice cream.”
Gonzalez’s smile got even bigger, and he began to hum as he piled the paper plate full of pulled pork and some sliced tenderloin. “Get some beans and potato salad,” he said.
Carver finished filling the plate and walked off to the observation post. Kinney had volunteered to take the shift. With no family, the celebrations weren’t as important to him. The only concession he got was for Carver to agree to have a glass of mead with him when he got off at midnight. It wasn’t the Mexican beer he was so fond of, but the honey-based brew wasn’t half bad.
Kinney
As observation posts go, this one was pretty plush. It sat near the crest of a ridge, not far from the camp’s water tower. Although not quite as high as the man-made structure, it offered a broader view of the land.
The dugout had evolved over years of use. Each seasonal change seemed to bring a new piece of equipment or upgrade to the furniture. After five years, Kinney found himself sitting in a recliner with a wooden roof over his head and a small camp stove. The propane flame was providing him with some warmth as it heated the pot of rehydrated powdered milk. A pouch of hot chocolate had been dumped into a mug, waiting for the liquid to get hot.
The land around him had become familiar over the years. He’d sat in this spot many evenings. So many, that he didn’t need to concentrate to know when something wasn’t quite right.
Kinney’s satellite radio sparked to life. “OP One. This is Overwatch Two. Do you copy? Over.”
Ever since the loss of Gold Creek, Twentynine Palms had been using their Shadow drones to help monitor the land around the camp. The unmanned aerial vehicle could stay in the air for sixteen hours, although the Marine pilots tried to limit flight time from dusk to dawn, reducing wear and tear on their machines.
“This is OP One. Send your traffic. Over.”
“We have a heat signature to your south. Anything on your end? Over.”
Kinney snapped to attention and stood. He grabbed his FLIR binoculars and scanned the land to the south. He didn’t see anything.
“Nothing here. How far out is it? Over.”
“It’s about two miles. We’re sending Shadow to investigate. Over.”
“Let me know. Thanks. Over.”
“Overwatch Two, out.
The drone pilot adjusted his flight pattern, sending the aerial vehicle off toward the brief sighting. If it was a Variant, he’d find it and report.
The infrared camera constantly adjusted focus on the undulating terrain as the drone flew across the desert plateau. The pilot, seated at a computer station back at the base, used the drone’s infrared cameras to search for something warm. With cool ambient temperatures, anything living would show up like a flare.
Nothing appeared on the screen, so the pilot continued south. His search would be in vain. The mule deer that had caught his attention had gone to ground. It had been frightened by something deadly. Something foul. It ran and hid. Unfortunately, the man scanning the fields nearby didn’t have its nose, and the overhead drone had already traveled too far south to pick up the heat signatures that were moving from the north toward the observation post. It was a deadly combination of events.
Kinney stayed standing. It was likely some night creature prowling about. If so, a mountain lion could be just as dangerous as a Variant if you were caught out alone.
Kinney let the infrared binoculars hang from his neck and continued to process his surroundings. With the night sky providing some starlight, he was able to see some distance without aid, although not with any resolution. What he could do was discern movement. By focusing on one spot, he could use his peripheral vision to recognize anything shifting in the surrounding grasses and trees. After looking at the bright infrared images created by his FLIR, he had to stand quietly and let his eyes readjust.
Within a minute, he had gotten his night vision back.
The land was still. Quiet. Too quiet. It dawned on him too late that the insects had stopped their incessant calls. Something had made them go silent. That was never a good thing.
Kinney grabbed his old M14 and jumped out of the dugout. He put his helmet on and flipped his night vision monocular down. The image constituted in his right eye. The world became bathed in a green glow.
A crunch of dried grass behind him made the Marine spin around. The massive creature was just feet away, creeping silently toward him. Having been spotted, it lifted itself to full height and raised its hand to strike.
Kinney didn’t have time to aim. He lifted the muzzle of the rifle up and fired from his hip. The large round missed, but the second trigger pull sent a deadly lead dart into the creature’s neck.
It continued to lunge, even as it was dying. Kinney leapt away and barely missed its strike. Kinney went to jump back into the dugout and retrieve his squad radio.
He never made it.
A second Variant was standing between him and the outpost. Its talons were already streaking toward the retired Marine’s face. The long, blade-like nails sliced his skull nearly in half, and Kinney dropped dead to the ground. He never felt the blow.
Carver
Carver was looking forward to giving Kinney the plate of food along with a can of cold beer. Without his friend knowing, he’d managed to trade for some domestic brew last week. Along with the apples, it was their most prized acquisition.
He loved watching Kinney eat. It was such a pleasure to see someone relish their meal so much. Gonzalez had made some mustard-based barbecue sauce to go with the pulled pork. The old Marine was going to be in heaven.
Carver was walking out of his house with the can of cold beer and plate of food when he heard Shrek barking from nearby Beckham Hall. It wasn’t one of the Mal’s warning whines, but rather a happy yelp. The one he made when he wanted a taste of food. Carver grinned, knowing that the dog would be lapping up a bit of ice cream.
He was about a quarter of a mile from the outpost when he heard the shots. The M14 used a more powerful sniper round. The blast was unique from the sound of the camp’s 5.56 rounds. Two shots. Kinney was in trouble.
Carver dropped the food and beer and began running toward the dugout. He pressed his push-to-talk button and called to his friend. The broadcast would go to everyone with a squad radio earpiece.
“OP One. OP One. Sitrep. Ov
er,” he screamed as he ran.
Carver had already spun his battle rifle from his shoulder. He raced forward at a break-neck speed. The trees and brush blocked his view of the dugout for the first few hundred yards. By the time he broke past them, the field was clear.
He continued his sprint until he got to the abandoned outpost. It was too dark to see details, so he turned on his pocket flashlight.
Blood. Across the dried grass and soaking into the sandy soil was blood. Too much blood. Carver knew then that his friend was dead.
He found the FLIR binoculars and scanned the field. Off to his left, he saw them. A group of large creatures moving through the woods. They were going right toward the picnic gathering. Everyone in the camp was at that field. Every human soul was celebrating the death of the Variant horde. Only, the horde hadn’t all died. The Variants were getting ready to attack, and Carver was as far out of position as he could be.
Carver pushed the button on his radio, but he was too late. He heard the screams, then the sound of gunfire.
Determined to get into the fight, he started to sprint once again. As he approached the field, his only prayer was that he would be in time to save at least some of the families he’d sworn to protect.
Escondo
The giant alpha quivered with excitement. The smell of human flesh made its heart beat even faster than normal. It could barely contain its desire to rush forward. But it had learned over the years that speed wasn’t as important as strength. Several times, it had raced ahead to battle, only to be outnumbered and nearly killed. Because of these experiences, it had grown and evolved into a methodic killing machine.
They numbered over thirty in strength. Many had been burned by the flames and were not as strong as they had been. But they followed. Even the most addled of them wanted revenge. Add to that the smell of human flesh, and all doubts disappeared. The pain from their wounds went away. They ignored everything except the need to kill. The need to feed. The need for revenge.
Extinction Survival Series | Book 4 | Warrior's Fate Page 28
