“Jesus Christ, Kufman, I’m just fucking with you,” Wood said.
Kufman didn’t reply and continued studying Wood as if this was still part of the test.
“Close the door!” Wood yelled. He put his other hand back on the cyclic and directed the bird toward the tarmac. “And I’m supposed to be the crazy one,” he grumbled.
They flew over a single-file line of people looking up at them outside the embassy building. They were dressed in civilian clothes but were standing at attention. They would make good soldiers if they kept that up, Wood thought.
“Looks as though my draft is working,” he said. His grin returned. All of his plans were coming together.
Price’s broken body and the skids smacked against the tarmac a minute later. Kufman remained in his seat for a second before he opened the door again. Wood clapped him on the shoulder to relieve the tension. “I’m sorry about that stunt, but I’ve got to know if you’re loyal.”
“I am, sir.”
“You know me—I like testing people.”
The rotors slowed, and Wood jumped out onto the tarmac. A group of ROT soldiers, all of them armed to the teeth and wearing black tactical gear, surrounded the Little Bird to form a perimeter.
“Come on, let’s go meet Coyote,” he said to Kufman.
They kept low and walked away from the bird toward two ROT soldiers checking Price’s ruined corpse. Wood’s half grin spread into a full-fledged smile.
Back when he was a kid, he would toss frogs like baseballs against the barn out back of their house. The splat and crunch had always produced the same thrill in him. Sometimes, when he’d grown bored with that game, he would hack off a leg or two, then tape them back on and apply Neosporin to see if the frog would survive.
But no amount of Neosporin would save Price, even if Wood had been inclined to help the man. He was as dead as a doornail.
Wood knew he was a psychopath. But, being a psychopath, that truth didn’t bother him. Xerxes, the King of Kings, was a psychopath too. Many of the world’s finest military minds were just like him: Napoleon, Genghis Khan, Adolf Hitler, Mao Zedong, Pol Pot, Alexander the Great. History didn’t always look favorably on them, but historians failed to see that sometimes it took a psychopath to make great changes in the world.
Bending down, he looked at Price’s dead eyes, picturing Xerxes hovering over King Leonidas after the Persian army had riddled him and his men with arrows. The Persian king was said to have cut off Leonidas’s head and put it onto a pike, a grave insult to the Spartan warrior.
Wood had even better plans for Joe Fitzpatrick. The crippled marine was going to pay for what he had done to Wood’s brother. Years of killing other men, and women, across the planet had given Wood plenty of experience in coming up with unique ways of executing men. Especially during his time leading ROT. Now all he had to do was capture the son of a bitch.
“But first,” he said to himself, still smiling, “Coyote.”
11
Fitz had a hell of a headache. He still couldn’t believe that Alecia had snuck onto the back of their MATV. No wonder she was freezing. She’d flown over fifty miles, with nothing but a tarp covering her, at five thousand feet above the ground.
Rico had wrapped a blanket around the girl and was talking to her in the back seat of the MATV. Apollo sat on the floor in front of them, allowing Alecia to stroke his fur without complaint.
She hadn’t said much over the past few hours, but she was starting to talk now that the sun was going down.
“She wants to fight with us,” Rico said. “That’s why she risked her life to come out here.”
“I can fight,” the girl said.
Fitz snorted a laugh as she pulled out her knife. “Better be careful before you cut yourself.”
Alecia twirled the handle impressively before sheathing the weapon again.
“She’s good—maybe she’ll take your place, Stevenson,” Tanaka joked. He had taken over for Rico and was driving through the remains of an old forest.
“How old are you, Alecia?” Rico asked.
The girl sat up straighter. “Almost fourteen.”
“Do you know how to fire a gun?” Stevenson asked.
Alecia glared at Stevenson as if he was slow. She pulled out a pistol that was the size of her forearm from a satchel she kept on the seat next to her.
“Well, okay then,” he replied. “I hope you’re a better shot than Tanaka.”
“Hah,” Tanaka said, making a face. “I bet she’s got bigger nuts than you, bro. Hell, she came out here voluntarily.”
Stevenson shot Tanaka an angry glare.
“Cut the shit,” Fitz said. He changed the subject by pulling out his map and saying, “Dohi, you got any idea where we’re at?”
Their primary navigator held up a finger, signaling for Fitz to wait. Despite the tension in the vehicle, Dohi was busy working. He was staring at the screen of the Geiger counter. His brows knit together at the ticking of the device.
“Higher rads here,” he reported.
“How bad is it?”
“Better find an alternate route.”
Fitz turned back to the windshield. The sun retreated on the horizon, leaving behind a sky striped with orange and blue.
“Hold us here for a minute, Tanaka,” Fitz ordered.
The MATV eased to a stop on the dirt road. Fitz snatched their thermal scope and roved it back and forth over the landscape, searching for even a flicker of a heat signature. There were several cars parked on the road ahead, but besides that he didn’t see much sign of civilization.
“Where did this so-called army go?” Fitz said, frustration rising in his voice. “They couldn’t have just disappeared, and they didn’t make it out of this forest, so where the hell are they?”
Tanaka tapped the steering wheel. “Could they be camouflaged? Remember the beasts that killed President Mitchell at Cheyenne Mountain? I’ve seen multiple reports of Variants that can blend in with trees.”
Fitz studied the rigid bark of an oak tree to the right of the road. He half expected to see a pair of yellow eyes staring back, but there wasn’t anything but charcoaled branches and bark.
He shook his head. “If they are out there, why wait to attack us?”
“Could they have gone underground?” Stevenson asked. “Maybe the Wormers tunneled away from the forest.”
“I thought of that,” Fitz admitted. “Colonel Bradley told us to keep our eye out for any tunnels, but so far I haven’t seen shit, and we’ve been out here for hours.”
“Yeah, but how would thousands of the Variants escape into tunnels during the bombing?” Rico asked. “Those Wormers can’t work that fast, can they?”
Fitz massaged his chin. They’d seen the Variants as they’d flown away from the Basilica of St. Thérèse. There had been thousands of the pale monsters below their helicopter, their ranks so thick they looked like a carpet of pallid flesh.
He could count the amount of corpses they had found out here on his hands, and there was zero evidence of tunnels. Seeing nothing, Fitz grabbed the radio and brought the receiver to his lips.
“Lion One, Ghost One, do you copy? Over.”
Static fuzzed out of the speaker for several minutes before Colonel Bradley replied.
“Copy, Ghost One, you got a sitrep?”
Fitz reluctantly relayed the lack of intel, then waited through another long pause.
“We’ve got just a few hours before General Nixon gives the green light for all troops to advance to Paris, son,” Bradley replied. “The EUF HQ is under attack from all directions, and they’re not sure how long they can hold the lines.”
“Roger that, sir. We’ll find the creatures. Over and out.”
Fitz pointed at the road. “Keep driving. We’re running out of time.”
Tanaka put the truck back into gear. The engine hummed and the vehicle lurched down the road.
Fitz propped his M4 up against the door and grabbed his MK11. He was get
ting anxious for multiple reasons, not the least of which was his uncertainty about what was happening back in the United States. General Nixon was preparing for the second phase of Operation Reach to Paris, and America was on the brink of a civil war.
How had things gotten this bad?
He had thought coming to Europe was the beginning of the end, but now it seemed like a detour from an even bigger problem back home.
Fitz breathed deeply and pushed away his other concerns. He focused back on the terrain.
One mission at a time.
The MATV crested a hill, and Fitz saw life for the first time since they landed. The green canopy of a forest surrounded a sparkling lake in the next valley. Rays of waning sunlight danced over the oasis in the center of the scorched landscape.
“Anyone thinking what I’m thinking?” Fitz said.
“You think the Variants went for a swim when the bombs dropped?” Rico said.
Fitz lifted a brow. “Only one way to find out.”
“On it,” Tanaka said. He pushed the gas pedal down and accelerated along the winding road. Rocks and other debris had fallen from a bluff hanging over the right side of the road. Chunks of juvenile armor were strewn around the scree. Fitz spotted more bones protruding out of the dirt to the side of the road.
Tanaka rolled up next to the lake a few minutes later.
Fitz grabbed his MK11 and turned back to Dohi. “Do we need our suits?”
“Not if we make it quick.”
“Okay, let’s check this lake out,” Fitz replied. He opened the door and took in a breath that smelled of charred firewood, pine needles, and sour fruit. Dohi joined him in front of the truck.
“You smell that?” Fitz asked.
“Was just about to ask you the same thing. Smells like dead Variants to me.”
Fitz opened the back passenger’s door and gave the rest of the team orders to stay put.
“Stevenson, get on the two-forty if we run into trouble. We’ll be back in thirty minutes, okay?”
“Someone else should go out there with you,” Rico said.
Apollo jumped up and moved toward the door, eyes pleading with Fitz to let him go.
“Fine,” Fitz said.
Apollo leaped out into the dirt. Fitz shut the door and scanned the sky with the thermal scope. If there were Reavers up there, the scope would pick them up. The dog checked the sky too, sniffing the air.
“Looks clear,” Fitz said.
Apollo confirmed it with a tail wag, and the trio set off for the lake, leaving the rest of Team Ghost and the girl behind.
Dohi took point and moved slowly, cautious with every step. Fitz crept behind him, watching for contacts. Apollo sniffed the ground for a scent as he trotted next to Fitz. They didn’t have a full radiation suit for Apollo, but the dog was wearing protection over his paws. Fitz almost told Apollo to return to the MATV, but they needed him out here. Countless lives might depend on the dog’s keen senses.
They moved into the forest on the northern side of the lake. Tree branches shifted in the breeze. A leaf cartwheeled to the ground in front of him and crunched under Fitz’s blades.
He scanned the bark of the trees for the outline of hidden Variants, but nothing stirred. Dohi stopped every few feet, bent down to look for tracks, then kept moving. He paused longer at a clearing overlooking a brown beach and the calm lake. The setting sun had receded behind storm clouds, and with the smoke choking much of the sky it was difficult to see.
At the grassy overlook, Dohi took a knee to scope the area and then motioned for Fitz. He crossed over the meadow and joined the laconic marine.
“Look,” Dohi said quietly. He pointed at dozens of corpses below. A pincher claw stuck out of the sand, and armored carapaces littered the beach like seashells.
Dohi scooped up a handful of dirt. He let it filter through his fingers and then looked up at Fitz. “If they can tunnel through rock, they can tunnel through this.”
Fitz nodded back and walked closer to the beach. Dohi was a stoic man, always calm, always thinking. Fitz trusted him to find the creatures, but so far even Dohi seemed stumped.
Apollo, on the other hand, seemed to be onto something. He trotted away, muzzle to the ground. Fitz and Dohi took off after the dog. They moved along the grassy bluff overlooking the beach and then back into the woods.
The dog was zigzagging around rocks and foliage, definitely onto a scent. He weaved back and forth as he followed whatever clue his nose had picked up.
They came upon another sandy clearing set about a hundred yards away from the beach. Grass grew in patches around the perimeter. Apollo stopped at the edge of the clearing, sniffing, and then backed away. He trotted along the sandy ground and then began to circle as though he had lost the scent. Fitz and Dohi swept their rifles over the area while Apollo hunted. The dog moved to the edge of a rocky outcrop above the beach, where his back suddenly went rigid.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Fitz said as he approached.
The dog looked back at him and then toward the water.
Dohi flashed a hand signal to Fitz, and they retreated to the safety of the trees on the edge of the clearing. The wind whipped the branches, creaking eerily, as Fitz finally saw what had spooked Apollo. About halfway across the lake, a ripple broke across the water, and a fin poked through the surface.
“Master Sergeant,” Dohi said.
“I see it,” Fitz replied.
A dozen more of the fins poked out of the water. They hadn’t found the army, but they had discovered some of the monsters.
“Looks like juveniles,” Fitz whispered. He watched for a few more seconds and then jerked his chin to the north. “Let’s get back to the MATV.”
The men had only taken a few strides when Apollo yelped. Fitz turned to see the dog standing in the sandy clearing on the other side of the trees.
“Come on, boy,” Fitz said, waving.
Apollo tried to lift his left paw, but it was inexplicably stuck in the sand. He let out a low whine and then barked. Fitz rushed over to him and bent down to grab Apollo’s leg. The first tug did little to move his paw, and the dog yelped in pain.
Fitz moved to the other side to get a better grip. The vantage point gave him a wide view of the lake—and the monsters still moving beneath the water. A humanoid head surfaced. It was connected to a long back that looked eerily like an alligator’s. The juvenile, not really a juvenile anymore, was a monstrosity, with scabby armor protecting most of an elongated body.
“Hurry,” Dohi said. He was standing on the other side of Apollo, rifle aimed at the creature.
“Hold your fire,” Fitz said. He finally freed the dog’s paw from the sand. Apollo bolted away toward the grass. Fitz went to stand, but his right blade was now stuck to the wet sand where he had knelt to help Apollo.
“What the hell?” Fitz muttered.
“I’m stuck too,” Dohi grumbled. He stood a few feet away from Fitz, his left boot sunk into the sand and his right in the grass, where Apollo was now rolling as if trying to get something off his fur.
Static buzzed over the comms, and Rico’s panicked voice came over the frequency in Fitz’s earpiece.
“Fitzie, where the heck are you guys? We’ve got multiple contacts back here!”
Automatic gunfire cracked in the distance, and Fitz looked to the north. Tracer rounds from the M240 shot into the sky.
“We’re on our way,” Fitz replied. “What’s going on back there?”
“Reavers! Get back here pronto!”
Fitz cursed and pulled as hard as he could to free his blade. It finally popped out of the sand and he fell on his rear. He pushed himself up and took another step, but this time both of his blades sank in the muck.
He looked down at some sort of quicksand, realizing he and Dohi were right on the border of the deadly pit.
Dohi shouldered his rifle and squeezed off a three-round burst into the water as his left boot sank. The rounds punched into the monster’s shell, and
it dove beneath the surface.
More gunfire cracked to the north.
“Fitz, hurry!” Rico shouted over the comms.
In the lake, another row of fins emerged, attracted by the gunfire. There were now at least three of the monsters swimming toward the beach.
“Apollo, get back to the truck,” Fitz ordered.
The dog barked in defiance.
“That’s an order, boy!” he shouted.
The dog took a few steps back in the grass, growling, and then stood his ground. Fitz cursed again and tried to free his blades, but they were being sucked down into the sand.
Dohi set his rifle in the grass and then reached down to untie his boot and yank his foot out of it. He managed to free his leg and hopped backward. The sand swallowed his boot with a slurp.
Scooping his rifle off the ground, Dohi extended it to Fitz.
Fitz tried to reach it, but his fingers came just inches from the carbine.
Was this how he was going to die? Sucked into the earth while his team was slaughtered and forgotten?
Hell no, it’s not, he thought as he pulled harder to free his blades.
Dohi searched for a longer stick to hand to Fitz. By the time he found one, Fitz’s blades were almost completely submerged. The force of the suction was stronger than the grip of a Variant.
The world slowed as if he had been stunned by a flash grenade. The Reavers swooped through tracer rounds over the road. Fitz turned back to the lake, where one of the juveniles emerged from the water. It clambered onto the beach and shook the water from its armor.
Apollo’s barking pulled Fitz back to real time. The dog stood on his hind legs and pawed the air as if he was trying to reach out and help Fitz.
The creature on the beach focused a pair of almond-shaped eyes on the dog.
“Dohi, shoot the juveniles!” Fitz ordered.
Dohi dropped the stick he was holding and brought up his rifle. Fire blossomed from the barrel and lanced into the creature’s leg, splattering blood on the sand.
Another beast scrambled out of the water and tilted its head in Fitz’s direction. It cracked open a wide mouth, revealing jagged teeth.
Extinction War Page 15
