Apollo halted and snarled.
“What is it, boy?” Fitz asked.
The dog whined and paced, his tail held low. Something had him spooked.
“Set me down and form a perimeter,” Fitz said.
Dohi did as ordered, and Fitz unslung his rifle. Team Ghost formed a phalanx around him, with each of them angling their rifles in different directions. Alecia gripped her pistol, a World War II–era 1935A semi-automatic, a beautiful gun that fired 7.62-by-20-millimeter cartridges. They had plenty of weapons and ammo to hold back a small Variant attack, but without their MATV there was no way they would last long out here if they ran into multiple contacts, no matter how brutally they fought.
Clouds shifted across the moon, carpeting the valley in darkness. To the east, the glow from the fires warmed the dark horizon. Fitz and the other members of Ghost flipped their night-vision optics into position.
“Stay close to me, Alecia,” Rico said.
“Anyone got eyes on hostiles?” Tanaka whispered.
“Negative,” Dohi reported.
“I’ve got nothing,” Fitz said. He scanned the meadow to the left of the road below them where the MATV and Stevenson had been swallowed. Then he zoomed in on the woods surrounding the lake.
Apollo continued to growl. The dog was slowly roving his head from the meadow to the forest.
Fitz was squirming over for a better view when he felt a slight vibration under his butt. Dohi glanced at his boots.
“You feel that?” he whispered.
Apollo suddenly bared his teeth.
“Where’s that sound coming from?” Rico asked.
Alecia pulled out her knife and held it up alongside her pistol. She looked ready to take on the entire missing army of Variants and juveniles, even without a pair of night-vision goggles. Tanaka and Dohi moved their M4 barrels back with calculated precision to search for targets.
“Two o’clock,” Dohi said.
Fitz roved his rifle to a field of burned vegetation. The earth bulged, something moving beneath the surface. He swallowed and chambered a round inside his carbine.
“Get ready,” Dohi whispered.
Team Ghost came together, back-to-back, with Fitz on the ground between them. If the Wormer or Beetle or whatever was large enough to shake the earth, he doubted their bullets would do anything against it.
“You have to run,” Fitz said. “Everyone get the hell out of here.”
“No fucking way, Fitzie,” Rico said.
“That’s an order,” Fitz said, his voice rising. “I’m just going to slow you all down. Get Alecia out of here.”
“I can fight!” the girl yipped.
Dohi and Tanaka exchanged a glance.
“I’m not leaving a man behind,” Tanaka said.
“We all die together,” Dohi added.
The ripple in the dirt was spearing in their direction now, but it wasn’t moving erratically, like the subterranean beasts Fitz had witnessed from the bell tower of the Basilica of St. Thérèse. Whatever was beneath the surface was coming for them in an almost completely straight line.
“Prepare to fire,” Fitz ordered.
Every gun was aimed toward the dirt. The mound suddenly sank, the dirt folding inward, creating a hole like a mouth opening. From the gaping darkness came a strange humming sound.
Fitz zoomed in just as a massive black object exploded from the dirt. The pop of gunfire broke as Alecia fired her pistol. The round pinged off the armor of what looked a lot like their missing MATV.
“Hold your fire!” Fitz said.
Tanaka lowered his rifle. “Well, fuck me sideways. Is that what I think it is?”
“Shit,” Dohi said. He kept his barrel on the filthy MATV that was driving up a dirt ramp leading out of the hole. The oversized tires kicked up chunks of soil and mud.
“How is this possible?” Rico said.
Stevenson—at least Fitz assumed it was Stevenson—drove the MATV into the meadow. The vehicle halted for a moment, wipers streaking across the mud-caked windshield.
Fitz caught a glimpse of Stevenson’s bulky frame through the glass, and for a moment he was sure it was a ghost or a hallucination. The MATV lurched forward and turned toward the road.
Team Ghost all backed away as Stevenson eased to a stop next to them, propping open the driver’s door. He looked at Tanaka first, then down at Fitz.
“So were you guys going to leave me back there or what?” Stevenson asked.
“We thought you were dead!” Rico said. “How are you not dead?”
“Everyone get inside,” Fitz said. “Explanations can wait.”
Dohi picked up Fitz and placed him in the passenger’s seat, while the rest of the team piled in the back of the truck.
“You didn’t happen to find my blades, did you?” Fitz asked.
Stevenson looked over at him, a wide grin on his face. “Nope—but I found something better.”
Rico squeezed between the front seats.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I know where the Variant army is,” Stevenson said. “Wait till you see it, Master Sergeant.”
“See what?” Fitz asked.
Stevenson’s features turned serious. “The highway to hell.”
Kate stood on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln in a tight-fitting NAVY sweatshirt and jeans, looking out over the sparkling purple water. She had only seen the sun for a few hours before darkness rolled in.
The USS Florida had slipped back below the surface, and the Thalassa was long gone. She stared at the horizon in the direction of Europe, wondering if the French scientists were going to accomplish what she and Dr. Ellis hadn’t been able to do—to cure the virus that turned men into monsters. Had she known that was what they were doing, she would have—but no. She’d made her choice. She was going to focus on Javier Riley and Beckham and leave playing god to other scientists.
Behind her, the deck was alive with activity. Sailors and soldiers prepared for the arrival of the ships that General Nixon had deployed. Everyone was ready to move out at a moment’s notice. As soon as Lieutenant Wood’s stealth ship was located, Ringgold had authorized a mission to destroy or neutralize all ROT targets.
Kate walked over to a group of Army Rangers preparing their gear behind an Osprey. Horn was briefing the men who would serve under his command on the mission to the Greenbrier.
“Our job is to link up with SEAL Team Four, Captain Davis, Lieutenant Flathman, and Reed—I mean, Captain Beckham,” Horn said, correcting himself. “We’re told there will likely be hostiles and infected in the area.”
“Infected?” said a handsome young man with a freckled face. “Do you mean with the hemorrhage virus?”
Horn looked at Kate. She zipped her sweatshirt up to her chin.
“Yes. That’s why we have CBRN suits,” Horn replied to the young man.
“Is there reason to believe ROT soldiers will be at the White House?” asked another soldier.
“It’s possible, but I’m more worried about infected,” Horn said. “ROT launched a missile over the Greenbrier and the White House before some of President Ringgold’s staff could get inside.”
“That’s all the intel we have?” asked another man with a thick beard.
“Yes it is. Do you have a problem with that, Sergeant?” Horn asked.
The soldier massaged the tip of his beard and shook his head.
“This is a volunteer mission,” Horn said. “America needs you now more than ever, but if you’re having doubts, I’d rather you stay behind than slow me down once we get there.”
“We’re with you,” said the younger man with the freckles.
Several firm nods followed his vote of confidence, and Horn concluded the briefing with a whistle. “All right, then—we move out in fifteen.”
Horn strode over to Kate wearing black fatigues under matte armor that covered his chest, knees, and elbows. A dark helmet topped with night-vision goggles covered his strawberry-blond h
air. He tightened the skull bandanna around his neck as he approached.
“Look after Tasha and Jenny while I’m gone, okay, Kate?” Horn didn’t wait for a reply. “If something happens to me, the girls have no one left. I know you got your own kid to worry about soon, but I’d feel better if I knew you would look after them. Will you do that?”
“Of course, but nothing is going to happen to you. You’re going to bring Reed home, and Javier Riley is going to grow up with his cousins, Tasha and Jenny, and his big uncle Horn. One big, happy family, right?”
Horn beamed, revealing his row of crooked lower teeth.
“Sounds like a dream,” he said.
“Make it a reality. Go get Reed back.”
He embraced Kate in a hug that was a bit too tight, but she didn’t complain. When they parted, Horn looked up at a group of sailors hurrying across the deck. Among them were President Ringgold, Captain Ingves, and Rear Admiral Lemke.
“Doctor Lovato,” Ringgold said, waving.
The president’s tone and her use of Kate’s title did not bode well. She knew before Ringgold got to them that something was wrong.
“What is it?” Kate said, shivering despite her sweatshirt.
“SEAL Team Four and Captain Davis have reached Outpost Forty-Six,” Ringgold said. She hesitated for a second, eyes flitting from Kate to Horn. “They were able to rescue Captain Beckham, but he’s been exposed to the hemorrhage virus.”
The news took the breath from Kate’s lungs. Her knees seemed to wobble, and she reached out to grab on to Horn. He put an arm around her back, steadying her despite the fact that his own breath had quickened.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask your team to stand down, Master Sergeant,” Lemke said. “SEAL Team Four and Captain Davis are on their own right now until we can confirm Beckham isn’t infected.”
“They will proceed with their mission to the former White House, but for now, I’m not risking sending anyone else out there,” Ringgold said. She continued talking, but it was just noise to Kate.
Horn’s face instantly took on the color of a tomato, and his nostrils flared, an indication he was about to blow a gasket. Kate put a hand on his arm, a subtle hint to choose his words carefully. Then she pivoted back to the view of the ocean, looking out over the waves in the direction the Thalassa had sailed. She could have been on the ship working on a cure, but instead she had remained here, doing nothing. If Reed was infected, if he died because the cure didn’t get finished in time, it was on her.
“President Ringgold,” she said, turning back to face her friend. “I made a mistake. I need to get to that research ship right now.”
Piero could hear the monsters roaming the streets, but he didn’t dare look out his window. He didn’t need to see them to know what kind of beasts they were anyway. The noises they made gave them away. Full-grown juveniles hunted in the streets, and a Reaver perched on a nearby balcony, squawking at the creatures below.
He and Ringo had spent most of the night and the early-morning hours hiding in a small bedroom while the mutated beasts crawled out of the Colosseum and brought food back to their nest like an army of ants. Sometime around midnight, he had seen the Variants with crablike hands for the first time. The sand-colored chitinous double claws looked as though they could cut off a human limb. The beasts were what the EUF had called Pinchers, he realized. Piero was going to make a special point to avoid tangoing with any of those abominations. The last thing he needed was to lose a leg. Running had saved his life a hundred times now.
There were also several Black Beetles and even one of the Wormers moving beneath the buildings across the street. He could feel the tremors as it tunneled under the ground.
Each and every monstrosity below was a creature of nightmares—morphed from different types of animals, insects, and reptiles. Piero had no idea how the mutations occurred, but he was making a mental note of every creature he saw to pass to Command. Hopefully some scientists a hundred times smarter than him would know what exactly these things were and how to kill them.
There was one thing he remembered from school: Insects worked together in a hive, and the Variants seemed to be doing the same thing. He peeked out the window to watch them in the street below. A sinewy Variant moving on all fours had a snake hanging from its maw. Another beast had several big black birds. He even saw a juvenile carrying a limp cat. They were heading back to their colony in a nearly single-file line, like drones.
A human scream filled the night. The sound snapped Piero to his feet. He knew it was a risky move, but he couldn’t help but look. It was the first human sound he’d heard that hadn’t been transmitted over the radio in … he wasn’t even sure how long.
The scream faded away.
Piero remained standing, looking desperately for the human survivor. Across the street, the Reaver turned in his direction, forcing him back down.
“Please, no!” a woman screamed in English. “Let me go!”
Slowly raising his head above the windowsill, Piero spotted an armored juvenile dragging a woman by her hair across the cobblestone street.
He ducked back down before the Reaver could see him looking.
“Help!” she yelled.
Piero was almost more surprised to hear the pleas in a foreign language than to see the woman at all. Had she been a tourist? If so, how had she survived all of these months? Were there more survivors out there?
The questions ping-ponged in his mind. But there was one that was more important than all the others.
What could he do to help her?
Nothing. You can’t do anything, he realized. The magazines sticking out of his vest wouldn’t even put a dent in the mutated army. By the time he killed the Reaver watching over them, another would have heard him and attacked his hiding spot.
Your mission is to document and relay information to Lieutenant General Piazza. That is your only mission, Sergeant, and you can’t—
“Please, somebody help!” the woman screamed in a strangled voice. “They have my daughter! They have my—”
A guttural screech and crunch silenced the woman. Piero jumped up with his rifle at the ready. He couldn’t just let a little girl die. He was a soldier—his job was to protect the innocent.
Keeping to the side of the window, he pulled the drape back to look at the Reaver across the street. The beast was still perched on the balcony, wings folded against its sides, as still as a gargoyle. It appeared to be watching the unconscious and possibly dead woman below with interest. A lizard tongue shot out of its puckered lips, leaving behind a strand of saliva. The beast suddenly flapped into the air, shrieking in its otherworldly voice.
Piero scanned the street for the little girl, but there was no sign of her, only her unconscious mother, who was now being dragged by her wrists. The juvenile halted and craned its neck toward the sky before letting out a long screech.
Four more of the juveniles galloped past, cracking the stones beneath their feet as they moved into position beneath the Reaver.
Another squadron of Reavers was flapping across the skyline. A Beetle came crashing out of a storefront across the street, shattering wood and glass. Another hissed in the distance, answering the call.
Bricks burst outward near the sidewalk where one of the Wormers was tunneling. Tentacles shot out of the opening.
It took Piero a second to understand what he was witnessing. What had been an organized migration back to the colony had broken into all-out chaos—the monsters fighting over the flesh of the woman and possibly her child, although he still didn’t see the girl.
A battle was about to occur in the street right below Piero’s hiding spot. The creatures were starving, and while they seemed content to bring back animal meat for the good of the colony, they were ready to tear one another apart for a chance at human flesh.
Piero ducked and placed his back against the wall, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles popped. Armored plates collided below, and then the scre
eches began. Hissing, wails, croaks, shrieks, and the clank of armor and scratching of nails rose into a din that hurt Piero’s ears.
For several minutes, the monsters tore into one another. Piero closed his eyes, telling himself that there was nothing he could do for the woman or her daughter, wherever the little girl was.
But you still have to do something.
He forced his eyes open to a sliver of light streaming in through the apartment window. The sun was rising over the ancient city, golden light warming the tile rooftops.
A long, guttural croak, louder than those of all of the other monsters combined, rang out. The sound was followed by the same rattlesnake clicking he’d heard back at the Colosseum.
Piero slowly stood and pulled back the drape to look at the carnage below. The street was flooded with blood and hunks of gore. Armored plates, ripped off like scabs, lay surrounded by pools of red.
A Reaver staggered down the sidewalk gripping its leathery shoulder where a wing had been attached. It halted, along with every other Variant on the street, to tilt its head in the direction of the rattling noise.
He had thought the noise was a warning, but this was something else—it appeared to be a command.
All at once, the monsters that still could walk began to march in the direction of the Colosseum. They moved robotically, as if nothing had happened, leaving their dead and dying behind in an urgent and organized fashion.
Piero watched with grim interest, his heart hammering in his chest as the juveniles dragged the helpless woman away. It pounded even harder when at last he saw her daughter, a girl no older than his sister had been when his family visited Rome years ago. She too was unconscious, but that didn’t make Piero feel any better.
It took several minutes for his heart rate to return to normal. When he could breathe again, he pulled Ringo from his pocket and sat him on the window ledge, then he pulled out his radio.
Piero had a message for Lieutenant General Piazza. The mutated Variants in Rome had a leader, something that was controlling the army, and Piero knew exactly where it was hiding.
Extinction War Page 18
