Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 3): Extinction Ashes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Somewhere on the taller buildings, the Apaches were on standby.

  Hunkered down behind the open windows of apartments and offices were teams of snipers. Massey had told Fischer there were over thirty posted throughout the sites to provide another layer of defense.

  Overall, he felt damn good about the defensive forces assembled here, but urban combat was a world apart from the battle in El Paso. Concrete didn’t react the same way to the vibroseis trucks as packed dirt and loose rock did. But at least it would be harder for the Variants to tunnel through, which would buy them more time to deal with any threat.

  “Anyone hungry? We got sandwiches,” said one of the outpost soldiers.

  “Starving,” Chase said.

  Fischer walked over to the center of the park. Two of his engineers were already there grabbing food. A soldier passed Massey a sandwich and she took it to a bench to sit by herself.

  Fischer walked over to see if she wanted company.

  “You mind if I sit?” he asked.

  She gave her answer by patting the empty spot beside her.

  “I figured you’d be heading back to the outpost,” he said.

  “And I figured you’d be heading back with the science team.”

  Fischer took a bite of the sandwich. It was surprisingly better than he had expected. He chalked it up to the fresh tomatoes. There was never anything better than homegrown veggies from the farm or garden, and it made him miss Fischer Fields even more.

  “You always been a city gal?” he asked her.

  “I’m from Alabama, born and raised. Came here for a job. Fell in love…”

  He shot her a look.

  “With the city, not a guy,” she clarified. “Never thought much about going back south.”

  “To be honest, I never did care for this city.”

  “It wasn’t for everyone, but I do miss it. Not all of it, but the food, culture, and parks in the summer. God.”

  “How about Alabama? You miss it ever?”

  “Not a lick.”

  Fischer figured there was a story there but didn’t ask. Instead, he thought of Texas. He would have given up just about anything to be watching a Texas sunset right now, but like New York, his homestead was probably never going to return to what it had been to him— home.

  “You really think these trucks will save us tonight? Or for that matter, tomorrow, or the night after that?” Massey asked. “And even if they do, when does this end? We can’t keep fighting forever.”

  “The president and her people are working on something,” Fischer said. “That’s what Doctor Lovato was here for.”

  “I know, but science? Science got us into this mess in the first place.”

  Fischer understood the doubt, but he had learned to trust Kate and Beckham. It hadn’t taken him long to see they were doing everything they could to save what was left of their country.

  Darkness stretched over the cityscape. Generators rumbled to life, powering the industrial lights that clicked on across the site. In the past, he might have worried about attracting Variants with the rattle of the machines. The sound and vibrations through the ground would draw every damn Variant here like a moth to a flame.

  But tonight, that was the idea.

  Distract the beasts away from the outpost and destroy them before they could surface.

  “Commander, I got some final checks to do,” Fischer said, standing. “Pleasure talking with you.”

  Massey got up too. “If you and your men do what you have promised, I look forward to enjoying a glass of champagne with you later.”

  Fischer tucked the rest of his sandwich into his pocket and dipped his cowboy hat at her. Then he went over to the vibroseis truck where one of his longtime engineers, Brian Meyer, sat drinking a coffee.

  “Everything good to go?” Fischer asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Meyer adjusted the Fischer Fields baseball cap over his balding head.

  Fischer did one last lap around the site, joining Massey. Tran and Chase trailed them. It was going on seven o’clock and darkness flooded the city. Guards and workers spoke in hushed voices as the temperature dropped.

  Minutes ticked by, and Fischer grew more anxious. A glass of whiskey and a good cigar would go miles at cooling that anxiety right about now.

  Fischer adjusted the sling holding his shotgun over the front of his jacket. Tran and Chase readied their M4A1s. All across the site the demo teams and soldiers prepared their weapons.

  For a fleeting moment the wind ceased, and silence fell like a veil over the site.

  The quiet lasted long enough for Fischer to think that maybe it would be like this all night—that maybe the monsters would rest instead of attack.

  But the demons rarely slept. Especially at night.

  The radio crackled on his belt, making him flinch.

  “We got movement, sir,” Meyer said over the channel.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Fischer and his guards ran for the truck with Massey close behind. Her radio came alive with reports from other sites.

  “Christ, they’re advancing on all fronts,” she said.

  They reached the truck, and Fischer stepped up to the cab where his engineer was working. “What do you see?”

  Meyer tapped on his screen for the geophone readings. Lines bounced up and down, spiking faster in coordinates where the tunnels were forming or filled with Variants. His engineer matched those readings with a map of the surrounding streets.

  “They’re right below West Broadway and Reade,” Fischer said. “Move the Abrams and troops to Chambers. Judging by the direction of their tunneling, that’s where I think they’re going to break through.”

  The tracks on the M1 Abrams crunched over the concrete. The cannon roved toward Chambers.

  Fischer watched the monitor. The geophone went wild, mountains of spikes crossing the screen. The Variants were nearly beneath them now.

  “Get ready!” Fischer shouted.

  Massey gave orders over the radio as the tank and soldiers moved into position. The tunneling suddenly slowed to stop, and the geophone’s readings flatlined.

  “What in the Sam Hill…” he said.

  Fischer slowly got out of the truck and walked a few steps for a better view of Chambers Street. Floodlights illuminated the cracked concrete. The demolition team waited behind the soldiers and concrete barriers topped with razor wire.

  Massey instructed everyone to get back now that the Variants had tunneled under their defenses. Silence once again reclaimed the night, but this time it was filled with palpable tension.

  Fischer swallowed. Seconds later he heard the clunk of metal against pavement.

  Something suddenly shot into the air from the street.

  It was a manhole cover.

  The metal disc crashed back to the asphalt. A moment later, concrete and dirt bulged around the manhole opening. Fischer’s pulse quickened as he waited for the first sign of a beast crawling from the earth.

  The tank cannon lowered, centering on the undulating street.

  “Everyone back!” Massey yelled.

  Once the men retreated to a safe distance, she called into her radio. “Fire!”

  Fischer clamped his hands over his ears. The high explosive round erupted from the barrel of the tank and exploded into the pavement. A deafening roar shook over the street, and the burst showered the area in fire and dust.

  Everyone crouched to avoid the shrapnel. Part of the street collapsed. Fractures fissured through the broken asphalt, chunks falling into the abyss below. But the creatures didn’t erupt from the hole like Fischer had expected.

  Massey motioned for the soldiers to advance, their rifles at the ready. Fischer followed Tran and Chase toward the curtain of smoke and dust drifting across the road.

  He moved his finger to the trigger of his shotgun. His ears still rang from the explosion. A faint screech broke through his muddled hearing.

  Another beast answered the call.

 
; “Get ready,” Massey said into her radio, a hint of fear in her voice.

  A single Variant rose from the gaping hole in the road using long, muscular arms to pull its bony body out. It let out a howl and all at once, a swarm of beasts scurried from the hole.

  “Open fire!” Massey shouted.

  Gunfire cracked from all directions, and a fierce volley cut down the vanguard of monsters. One of the beasts escaped the dying masses of its brethren. Fischer fired at the charging beast, sending the monster back to the hell from where it had come.

  The other creatures scattered, dropping from the torrent of rounds. Sniper fire took down the beasts escaping the slaughter.

  More starving creatures streamed out of the sunken street. Fischer let loose another round. The buckshot tore a Variant off its feet.

  A loud clicking noise cut through the gunfire. Fischer knew the sound well. It was one he would never forget from the horrors at his ranch. He spotted the source—an Alpha emerging from the dust and smoke, its batlike ears twitching, huge shoulders coursing with muscle.

  “Kill the Alpha!” he shouted.

  Tran and Chase followed him for a better firing position. They stopped near a parked Humvee and opened fire at the monstrous creature as it advanced with a pack of sinewy Variants toward the tank.

  Fischer squeezed the trigger again, sending a round into the Alpha’s back. Blood sprayed from its devastated flesh, but it wasn’t dead yet. It spun toward him, milky eyes seeming to stare right at him. He pumped in another shell and fired. The beast’s ugly face disappeared in a spray of blood, bone, and brains.

  “Demo team, now!” Massey yelled.

  Two of the men threw grenades into the opening. Another threw what looked like a satchel charge. Fischer, Tran, and Chase dove to the ground and covered their ears.

  Tremors rumbled through the ground as the explosives detonated underground.

  He uncovered his ears as the smoke dissipated, revealing a grotesque scene of dead and dying beasts. Bodies littered the street and pavement with body parts scattered in pools of blood.

  Massey reached down to Fischer, and he took her hand, rising to his feet.

  “They’re done,” she said. “Reload and get ready, because that was just the first wave.”

  ***

  The moon hung full in the sky, accompanied by a spray of white stars. Fitz and Rico hid behind the large rocks jutting up from the sandy beach. He pressed a pair of binoculars to his eyes.

  He didn’t need NVGs to scope the ocean. The moonlight was more than enough to reveal the silhouette of the ship still adrift. On board was everything Team Ghost needed, from medicine to a radio. And maybe even more importantly, answers about the frightening Chimeras.

  Dohi prepared the life raft they had salvaged from the C-130. The raft itself didn’t have a motor, but Mendez and Ace had spent the day fixing it with one. The duo had tracked down an old dockyard with a dozen broken boats, most in catastrophic disrepair. But they had managed to find a small rotted fishing boat inside a shed.

  The hull was damaged which was likely why it had been in the middle of repair in the shed. Its attached outboard motor was in better shape and had appeared promising to Ace. He had employed his mechanical aptitude and restored the old motor just enough that it worked on their life raft.

  Even better, it was a four-stroke outboard fishing motor compatible with kerosene fuels. Ace had explained they could use fuel still in the C-130.

  The old motor wasn’t silent, but quiet enough to get them close to the ship without being spotted. They had also scrounged up enough old netting and dark paint at the dockyard to conceal the bright-yellow of the rubber raft.

  Rico reached over and squeezed his hand, an unusual display of affection in the field. They both knew how dangerous this mission was.

  “You need me out there,” she said.

  “Dohi and I will be faster on our own. I’ll spend too much time worrying about you if you’re with us.”

  “And you think I won’t worry here?”

  Fitz sighed. “There’s no one I trust more than you. I need you to keep the injured Wolfhounds safe and…”

  “Don’t even say it, Fitzie.”

  “If we don’t make it back by morning, you have to go on without us. Get up to San Francisco or something,” Fitz said. “Reaching command, even if that means leaving the Wolfhounds behind, is our mission now. They need to know about the Chimeras.”

  Rico gave him that look that told him she wanted to argue. To his relief, she said nothing.

  One of the three helicopters suddenly lifted from the ship. Another followed, pulling into the star-filled sky and heading northeast.

  Two less choppers also meant less troops aboard the ship.

  “Shit, now might be our best chance,” Fitz said. “I’ve got to go.”

  He pulled Rico close to him. He felt her warmth, the emotion flowing between them until he drew away.

  “Come back to me safe, Fitzie,” she said.

  “I will.”

  Dohi pushed the camouflaged raft out into the surf. Fitz hopped in and Dohi followed. He started the small motor while Fitz prepared his gear.

  The motor jostled around on the improvised attachment Ace had rigged up. But it worked, pushing them out to the ocean.

  Fitz checked over his suppressed M4A1, then patted his tac vest. Only two magazines remained besides the one in his rifle. They were desperately low on ammunition. But if he could help it, he didn’t plan on firing a single bullet.

  Doing so was a last resort.

  The craft advanced into the inky night as Fitz studied their target. The ship appeared to be an old freighter that had been retrofitted into a war vessel of sorts. Machine guns were posted along the gunwales. Most of the shipping containers had been cleared from the decks, making room for the helicopters.

  He didn’t see any patrolling guards, which was odd.

  Normally Team Ghost didn’t get this lucky. He pointed to a maintenance ladder rung. Dohi motored over to the hull. They quickly tied the craft to a rung.

  Dohi scaled the ladder, and Fitz followed to the top deck. They climbed over the edge near the remaining chopper. The imposing superstructure loomed near the stern, opposite where they had boarded the vessel.

  Fitz spotted two guards who patrolled near the structure with rifles. Neither seemed particularly anxious, strolling in an almost relaxed manner between the shipping containers.

  If they were Chimeras, Fitz wondered if they had enhanced smell and hearing like a Variant. All the more reason to be cautious.

  He signaled Dohi to start toward a hatch in the superstructure. They used the rows of shipping containers along the deck for cover. Fitz did his best to keep his prosthetics from tapping too loudly against the slick deck.

  Both men crouched when footsteps sounded on the other side of the shipping containers. Dohi drew his blade and Fitz did the same.

  His heartbeat pulsed loudly in his ears. He wondered if the hyper-predator soldiers could hear it.

  The sound of the footsteps changed direction and Fitz gave Dohi the order to head for the hatch. Both got there without being spotted. But the hatch resisted, screeching slightly as Dohi opened it.

  Fitz winced and shouldered his rifle, waiting to see if anyone outside had heard. When no one responded, Dohi pried the hatch open further, and they squeezed through.

  The deck inside was illuminated in red lights, bathing the place in a hellish glow. Fitz took lead this time. He didn’t know exactly where he was going and proceeded slowly.

  He cleared two passages before the sound of boots came again. The noise echoed behind them.

  Or was that in front of them?

  Fitz continued down the passage that abruptly ended at a large hatch. A sign above read CARGO BAY in half-peeling big black letters. The sound of boot steps came again, louder now. Definitely coming from the corridor behind them.

  They had no other choice but to go forward. Fitz opened the hatch.r />
  What they found inside was not a cargo bay. Clean white walls and benchtops furnished the space, looking eerily like a lab. Huge silver drums that looked like bioreactors stood in the middle of the room.

  Equipment buzzed between banks of microscopes and computers.

  Fitz heard voices at the end of the vast room along with the squawk of a radio. He and Dohi snuck that way using the shelter of the lab benches.

  When they reached the other end, Fitz saw two men with surgical masks and scrubs covered in blood.

  A man with gray skin lay sprawled across an operating table between them.

  Not a man, Fitz realized.

  Claws and bony features told him the patient was a Chimera. An endotracheal tube attached to a ventilator was jammed into its open mouth.

  Fitz leaned in for a better look, seeing clamps inserted between the creature’s broken ribs, holding the chest cavity open. One of the doctors reached through the opening.

  The patient twitched slightly, and his eyes blinked.

  Somehow, the patient was wide awake. He squirmed slightly each time the doctors prodded an organ. Metal restraints kept him in place and some sort of muzzle had his jaw locked around the endotracheal tube.

  Reptilian eyes flitted toward Fitz, and before he could back away the Chimera started shaking. The surgeons turned toward Fitz.

  He crouched back, but it was too late.

  One surgeon started to run across the room toward an intraship telephone on the bulkhead.

  “Stop him,” Fitz said.

  Dohi ran down the man and tackled him.

  Fitz slammed into the other. The surgeon opened his mouth to scream, but Fitz yanked the scalpel from his grip and slid it across his neck. Blood bubbled from the fresh wound, and Fitz dropped the man to the deck.

  The man writhed, grasping uselessly at the deep gash.

  On the table, the patient fought the restraints.

  Fitz hurried over, catching a drift of the terrible odor leaking from the beast’s open chest. The half-man, or whatever he was, chewed through his endotracheal tube, then started to rip the tube out. Fitz brought his blade down hard into the skull.