Extinction War

by Nicholas Smith

Rotor wash hit his back, and the mind-rattling thump sounded just overhead. The pilots lowered to the bottom of the hill, and as soon as they set down, Blade and Davis helped Dixon into the troop hold. Beckham climbed in after them and yelled, “Go, go, go!”

  He collapsed on the floor, M4 still in hand. Blade kicked the bottom of a seat and screamed a curse. Then he bent down next to Dixon. The only surviving member of SEAL Team Four besides Blade was clutching his kneecap and groaning in pain.

  Davis hovered over them, her hands shaking and chest heaving.

  Beckham sat up, trying to catch his own breath.

  “There was no one left,” Davis said between gasps. She took a seat and put her hands on her helmet, fighting for air. After a few minutes, she pulled a thumb drive from her vest. “But we got the intel that will end this.”

  Blade, who was working on Dixon, looked up. “I hope so, because I lost a lot of good fucking men today!”

  Beckham wiped the blood and sweat from his forehead. They had lost four SEALs and the crew chief, but it was worth it if they could break Wood’s grip on the SZTs.

  “Nothing will bring back your men, but know this—they died for something worthwhile,” Beckham said.

  Blade flared his nostrils and focused on Dixon. “This is going to hurt, Papa Smurf,” he said as he tightened a dressing around Dixon’s knee.

  “Contact the USS Abraham Lincoln and tell them we’ve got the goods,” Davis told Pressfield over the comms. She joined Beckham at the open door as they flew over the gardens surrounding the Greenbrier.

  “Watson is still down there,” Beckham said.

  Blade looked up from Dixon. “You saw him?”

  “Yeah,” Davis replied. “He’s one of those things now.”

  22

  Fitz didn’t have time to bury Stevenson before the convoy left the village of Hardanges. His corpse was in the back of a Humvee somewhere at the rear of the convoy traveling down the deserted highway.

  The Twenty-Fourth MEU had rolled out minutes after saving Team Ghost from the ambush. The EUF in Paris had fallen, and the war was moving full steam ahead. Burying the dead would have to wait.

  Fitz gripped Stevenson’s dog tags in his sweaty palm. Stevenson hadn’t been the most likable guy, and he sure as hell hadn’t been the most polite, but he’d been one of the team.

  After a quick prayer for his comrade, Fitz slipped the dog tags into his vest pocket. He bit the inside of his bottom lip to fight off the no-sleep hangover. He’d gotten a few minutes here and there but hadn’t slept more than two or three hours in the past two days. Add to that his injuries, his lack of nutrition, and the loss of Stevenson, and Fitz was about to crash.

  He felt as though he was in the middle of a race that wouldn’t end.

  The radio blared from the front of the vehicle, where Bradley sat shotgun, listening to intermittent transmissions about the battles raging across France and Europe.

  “I’m sorry about your man,” he said in between messages. “We lost a few on our way here, and a tank.”

  Fitz dipped his helmet. He could feel the one-eyed glare of the colonel, but Fitz was focused on the new pair of prosthetics they’d given him. The blades looked as if they had been pulled from a junkyard, a far cry from his old black carbon-fiber blades. These were rusted and chipped.

  “We got sixty-seven marines in fighting shape with the addition of Team Ghost,” Bradley said. “Right, Domino?”

  Domino, who sat next to Fitz, looked down at an old-school yellow notepad. He flipped a page and reported, “We’ve got two Humvees, two LAV-25s, two M1A1s, five MATVs, and sixty-eight marines in fighting shape.”

  Fitz felt his face warm. He didn’t want Bradley or Domino seeing him despair, but the numbers were startling—just a fraction of the marines who had landed in Normandy were still alive.

  Bradley drowned his sorrows with a drink from a flask and listened to the new report crackling over the radio. It wasn’t good: A battalion that was part of the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment was taking heavy casualties to the north from camouflaged Variants. The Second Cavalry Regiment was also reporting heavy losses. Another column of tanks had been hit by an acid attack from fully grown juveniles.

  “Despite what you’re hearing, the fuckers are on the run,” Bradley said. “We’re pushing them to the borders of Paris. Those bombs we dropped worked. The resistance we’re finding out here is pretty light. The meat of the army is in the capital.”

  “Good news, sir,” Fitz said. There were a dozen questions in his mind, but he let the officer speak.

  “Good news for now,” Bradley said. He took another drink and dragged a sleeve across his lips. “But Paris is going to be crawling with the fuckers. The EUF forces that managed to evacuate the HQ have formed a perimeter on the west side of the city. That’s where we’re headed—the front lines.”

  Domino looked up from his notepad. “The Eleventh MEU should be at the first rendezvous point, sir.”

  “How long till we get there?” Bradley asked.

  Domino looked out his window at one of the M1A1s chugging alongside of the Humvee.

  “At this pace? Three hours, maybe a bit less,” Domino said. “Then it’s just another hour to Paris.”

  The colonel twisted in the passenger’s seat and centered his gaze on Fitz’s new prosthetics.

  “Those going to work out for you?”

  Fitz nodded. It didn’t matter what he thought, since these were the best blades he was going to get.

  “Good, ’cause we got another mission for you,” Bradley said.

  Fitz knew he’d been called to the command Humvee for a reason, but he was still reeling from Stevenson’s death and too tired to guess what kind of a mission they had in store for Team Ghost this time.

  “EUF Command believes there is a high-value target in Paris that’s controlling the army there.”

  “Like an Alpha?” Fitz asked.

  Bradley scratched at what was left of his left eyebrow. “This ain’t no Alpha. Scientists now believe the insectlike Variants are taking orders from Queens in different cities that all have their own nests. Word is, if we kill the bitch in Paris, the army turns on itself. Cut off the head of the snake …” He paused and shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Is that a fact or a theory, sir?” Fitz asked. He didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but the comment slipped out.

  Bradley arched the brow he was itching. “That sarcasm I hear, son?”

  “No, sir—sorry, sir. I’m asking because it sounds as if most of the Variants are seeking refuge in the city, and we already know there are a ton of them there, which means we’re going to be vastly outnumbered if we go to try and locate this HVT.”

  The Colonel stopped Fitz with a raised hand. “If it were up to me I would hit Paris with all the MOABs and bunker busters we got left. Problem is, we don’t have many, and the EUF wants to save what’s left of Paris. There are still civilians there, believe it or not.”

  Fitz dipped his helmet in acknowledgment.

  “The main battle for Paris will start miles away from the city limits, but the most important battle will likely occur inside the city. Team Ghost is one of many teams we’re dropping in to terminate the Queen,” Domino said.

  “We’ll find and destroy the HVT, sir,” Fitz said as the convoy began to move again.

  “I know.” Bradley heaved out what might have been a sigh as he turned to the front of the truck. “We’ll have a bird pick you up once we’ve reached the front. Right now, Command isn’t authorizing any flights due to the concentration of Reavers in this area.”

  “Sir, I have a … concern.” Fitz paused to consider his words. He knew how strained the military was, but they couldn’t take Alecia with them.

  “Speak, Master Sergeant,” Bradley said, agitation rising in his voice.

  “Sir, a civilian snuck into our vehicle back at the FOB in Normandy—a teenage girl. I was hoping we could get her airlifted out of here to safety. She’s a
real fighter, and she’s been through a lot.”

  Bradley wagged his head and cursed. “I’ll see what I can do. I mean, that’s what we’re here for, right? Saving the locals.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Bradley motioned for the driver to stop the vehicle.

  Fitz knew the drill. He scooted off the seat, opened the door, and jumped out into the dirt with his rusty new blades. He jogged back to the MATV, climbed inside, and did his best to remain calm.

  Tanaka glanced over from the wheel, and Rico, Dohi, and Alecia looked to the front. Apollo glanced up from the cup of water Rico had poured for him. Even the dog was trying to get a read on Fitz.

  “Well?” Rico asked.

  “Everyone grab some sleep when you can,” Fitz said. “We’re all going to need it.”

  Kate stood with Orlov and Bruno outside the clean room, listening to the report from the EUF in Paris. Horn was there too, with his rifle cradled. Orlov and Bruno didn’t seem to have a problem with the gun now. Horn and his team had saved their lives, and the lab.

  “I can’t make out any of this shit,” Horn growled.

  The message playing on nearly all frequencies was in Spanish. They had missed the one in English, and Kate understood only a few words of Spanish.

  “They are saying Phase Two of Operation Reach is currently under way,” Bruno translated. “All EUF forces and allies are being instructed to locate and terminate the Queens throughout Europe.”

  “So they do exist,” Orlov said. He muttered something in Russian and ran a hand through the crest of his thin, greasy hair. “The beasts defy science.”

  “So did the Variants,” Kate replied. “That’s why I never focused on a cure. I didn’t think it was possible.”

  Horn shifted uneasily. “Not as if you really had a choice. Colonel Gibson pretty much ordered you to make the bioweapons.”

  Orlov snorted. “Your military caused all of this,” he said.

  Horn didn’t argue or apologize. He merely watched the scientist.

  “Now the assholes in America have tried to start it over again,” Orlov continued. “You should all—”

  “Listen, bub, I get where you’re coming from, but me and my boys saved your ass earlier, so don’t direct that vitriol at me and Kate. We’re Americans too, and we’re here to save your buns.”

  Kate held back a smile. She had never heard Horn use a word like “vitriol” before. The big man liked to play up his simple Texan ways, but deep down he was razor sharp.

  “I know you’ve been cooped up in this rattrap for a while, but if you didn’t know, we sent a shit-ton of troops to help in Europe,” Horn continued.

  Orlov rolled his eyes. “Big macho American, just like the others. Well, your boys and ladies aren’t doing a very good job of taking back Europe, now are they?”

  Horn took a step forward, and so did Orlov. The Russian scientist’s eyes came up to Horn’s chin.

  “Stop,” Bruno said. “Both of you. This isn’t helpful.”

  “We understand how you feel,” Kate said, trying to make peace. “But President Ringgold is a good woman and she will make up for the sins of Colonel Gibson, Colonel Wood, and the other men who created monsters that doomed billions of lives.”

  “We just have to give her a chance,” Horn said.

  Kate nodded. “That’s why this cure is so important.”

  “Yes, so let’s finish it,” Bruno said. “We should be seeing the first results from the nanoparticles now.”

  That seemed to calm Orlov down a bit. He looked over his shoulder at the storage area inside the clean room where they kept the caged rats.

  “Let’s go check on them,” Kate suggested to Orlov and Bruno before glancing up at Horn. “Why don’t you go try and get ahold of the USS Abraham Lincoln and give them a sitrep. See if they’ve heard anything about Reed yet too.”

  Horn curled his lip at Orlov, but the Russian scientist backed down this time.

  “Now, Big Horn,” Kate said.

  He cursed two syllables under his breath and retreated back to the upper decks.

  “That was beautiful, just beautiful,” Bruno said sarcastically. “They’re here to help us, you know.”

  Orlov shrugged a shoulder as he walked away. Bruno offered a warm smile to Kate. They hardly knew each other, and Kate was still skeptical of Bruno, but the Italian scientist seemed as though her heart was in the right place. In the end, they wanted the same thing—a cure.

  Kate walked over to the wall of the clean room to look at the rats, while the other doctors got suited up. The infected rodents were idle inside their cages, sedated to keep them from breaking any bones or cannibalizing themselves.

  She bent down to look at the dried blood in their fur. Under the influence of the hemorrhage virus, the creatures had all undergone significant physiological changes: hair loss, elongated nails, and rashes speckling the hairless patches on their hides.

  Orlov took a sample of blood from the first sedated specimen, and Bruno did the same with the second. They both moved back to their stations, where they prepped their samples.

  Kate sat at her computer, where the information would feed out. In a few moments, she would know if the nanoparticles were working on the VX-99 chemical particles in the rats.

  At first glance, they didn’t seem to be doing much. The creatures were still clearly infected with the virus, although it was hard to gauge any improvements due to their sedation.

  The sight of the bloody rats transported her back to the early days of the outbreak, when the rhesus monkeys were all infected with the hemorrhage virus. Ellis and Kate hadn’t sedated the beasts and were forced to kill them all with gas when they broke into a frenzy inside their cages.

  She shut off her mind and prepared for the results on the computer screen. While she was waiting, Horn returned down the ladder.

  “Kate, I need to talk to you,” he said.

  She could tell by the urgency in his voice that something was wrong. Her mind snapped back on, jumping from scenario to scenario.

  “This is remarkable,” said Orlov over the wall-mounted speaker.

  “Doctor Lovato, are you seeing this?” Bruno asked.

  Kate was already walking over to Horn.

  “No one is answering on the encrypted line,” he said. “My girls, Kate. What if something happened to my daughters?”

  “What do you mean, not answering? Is it possible the fleet has gone radio silent?”

  Horn shook his head. “No way. That’s what the encrypted line is for. Something must have happened.”

  Kate felt nauseous. Her mind scrolled through the terrible things that could have happened to the fleet. But the only scenario that seemed plausible was an attack from ROT. If Wood had somehow located Ringgold, it was possible he would use his weapon of choice—the hemorrhage virus.

  “I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes,” she said. “Stay calm. We’ll figure this out.”

  Horn nodded and ran back up the ladder.

  “What’s that all about?” Bruno asked as Kate walked back to her computer.

  “Our contact on the USS Abraham Lincoln isn’t answering,” Kate said, her heart pounding. She took a seat at her computer and clicked on the monitor, finally seeing what the other doctors were calling remarkable.

  On the screen were the nanoparticles that Orlov and Bruno had designed. Normally the tiny particles and VX-99 were invisible, even under a microscope at this magnification, but as they snowballed together, they formed jagged lumps that were near the size of red blood cells. It appeared that the nanoparticles were actually attaching to the VX-99 chemicals and attracting the phagocytes. They continued bumping into the snowballed VX-99 particles and devouring them like Pac-Man.

  It was working.

  The cure was actually working!

  Kate could hardly believe her eyes, but the implications were enough to make her choke out a sob. If this was a cure, then perhaps the billions of people she had killed with VX9H9 c
ould have been saved—perhaps her brother, Javier, could have been saved.

  She wiped away a tear. There was no time to consider the past. There was only the future. Beckham and her friends were still out there, and if Wood had hit the fleet with the hemorrhage virus, there was something Kate could do this time.

  “Get the cocktail into a syringe and make as many as you can,” Kate said to the other doctors.

  “Hold on,” Bruno said. “We don’t know if it works on a human yet.”

  Orlov folded his arms across his chest. “Only one way to find out.”

  Sergeant Piero Angaran was dead.

  He’d opened his eyes to find himself trapped. His vision was still blurred, but he could see flames raging in pots set in the corners of a stone prison cell, the light flickering over the silhouettes of figures crucified and impaled on metal spikes.

  It certainly looked the way he’d pictured hell. But the pain was even worse than he imagined. His entire body seemed to be on fire, every centimeter of his flesh burning. Sweat prickled out of his pores and soaked what was left of his uniform.

  Demons danced around the cell, their feet slapping the ground and their grunts taunting him. The moans of damned souls came from all directions. It took Piero a few minutes to realize his voice was among them. He hardly recognized the guttural sounds coming from his throat.

  He tried to move, but his skin was stuck to something, a pole, or perhaps a cross. The itching and burning across his flesh made it feel as if he was inside an oven. Every time he tried to move, the pain would intensify. The mental anguish was just as bad. The longer he was aware of his condition, the worse it grew. He felt as if he was in quicksand, but instead of sand, it was fire ants that were biting and crawling across his skin.

  “No,” he cried.

  He realized he would never see his family again, for they would be in heaven. He would never see his friends, and never see Ringo.

  At least the mouse had survived.

  He blinked and tried to focus on the demons on the stone floor. The fires seemed to be moving with them. Piero managed to wipe his right eye on his shoulder. His vision cleared enough to see rays of white light streaming in through a window somewhere at the top of the tomb’s walls.