There were other figures hanging from the wall on his right. He recognized the woman from the other night and the human shape next to her that must have been her daughter.
How is that possible? Piero wondered, his mind a confused mess.
His brain couldn’t comprehend what his eyes were seeing. This was supposed to be hell. He was supposed to be dead. Were these tortured souls next to him just part of his imagination? Was he hallucinating?
He blinked until his vision was as clear as a photograph. The pain seemed to fade away, and in that moment, he realized he wasn’t dead after all. Piero Angaran had been cursed with an even worse fate.
With renewed sight, he realized that the moans and grunts weren’t coming from the other humans hanging on the wall. His ears were picking up the noise the monsters made when they were breeding.
He rolled his head to the left to see that the fires weren’t fires either. The red was the Queen’s flesh. She moved into focus, and he saw her chitinous upper body and egg-shaped skull crested with small spikes. A pair of almond-shaped eyes were set above a bulbous, warty nose that dripped a green sludge over swollen, wormy lips. Like a macabre god, she was creating monsters right in front of him, breeding with Wormers, Beetles, Pinchers, and Reavers.
She hovered over a male Reaver half her size, spread her wings out like a dragon, and then straddled the male beast that squawked in their otherworldly language. The Queen’s fleshy wings folded around their monstrous bodies, covering the act of procreation with a curtain of wrinkled, red skin.
“No. This isn’t real. This is worse than hell,” Piero mumbled.
The metal spikes and crosses in the room were plastered with a host of humans and animals. Resting on the floor were dozens of baby monsters, all of them waiting for their first taste of flesh.
Piero wasn’t dead after all. He just wished he was.
“Kill me,” he grumbled. “Get it over with …”
He moved again, resulting in a flash of pain. The glue, or whatever the hell it was holding him to the wall, had marinated in the wounds inflicted by the Reaver that had dropped him here. He couldn’t see the gashes, but he knew his body was covered in them.
He sobbed again and watched the massive Queen finish mating. She stood a full height of nine feet and stretched her wings in both directions, revealing an unarmored section of flesh just above her reproduction organs.
A draft of air that smelled like rotting lemons hit Piero’s nostrils.
The beast folded the leathery wings behind her back and lumbered over to the next creature to continue building her evil army.
Piero squirmed again, pain flashing across his flesh. A squeaking sound followed. He glanced up to see a pink nose and a small pair of black eyes looking down at him.
Ringo …
The mouse leaped off the body to his right and perched on Piero’s shoulder.
No. Get out of here, little buddy.
The furry creature trembled with fear, but it wasn’t deterred. It bent down and began clawing at the glue holding Piero’s hand and arm to the wall.
Ringo was trying to free him.
But even if his tiny friend could get him off the wall, there was nowhere to run or hide. The tomb was filled with monsters. He fought to pull his head away from the stone, but the hair on the back of his skull stuck to the glue. Finally, a patch ripped out, and he managed to lower his head to search for anything that might be useful.
An empty pistol holster and knifeless sheath were attached to his duty belt, but below that he could hardly see anything in the weak glow of light.
The pain was starting to make him light-headed, and he closed his eyes for a moment while Ringo continued gnawing and scratching at the glue around his right hand. He moved his index finger, and then his entire hand.
When he opened his eyes again, he noticed something his brain had ignored. The pain vanished for a moment while he took in the sight.
No … No, it can’t be.
Ringo could scratch and chew all day long, but even if the mouse managed to free Piero, he wasn’t going anywhere. Ribbons of flesh hung from his knees like spaghetti. His legs were gone, fed to the baby monsters sleeping all around him.
He gagged at the acid stench, knowing now it was the glue keeping him alive. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the monsters preserve their meals with the chemical substance.
“Get out of here, Ringo,” Piero stuttered. “Go on, get …”
The mouse looked up at him, tilting its head.
“You can’t save me, little buddy. Save yourself.” Piero whimpered in pain and despair. It was all too much, even for a soldier. You were a soldier. Now you’re a dead man.
He couldn’t fight anymore—his fight had ended.
Across the room the Queen had moved on to another beast. Ringo went back to chewing at the glue around Piero’s hand. He tried to swat the mouse away with a finger and in the process broke his hand free. It brushed against the radio in his MOLLE pack.
Ringo crawled up his arm and began working on the glue binding it to the wall.
“Get out of here,” Piero whispered. His vision faded, and Ringo blurred into triplets.
Your fight isn’t over yet, Piero thought. You still have one more mission. You have to kill her. He looked back down at his vest. He didn’t have a weapon to shoot or stab the beast, but he did have something even better.
Piero wiggled his hand and wrist until he could reach the radio. Plucking it slowly from the pouch, he then carefully turned it on. It was already set to the correct channel. All he had to do was bring it to his mouth.
“Crow’s Nest, this is Sergeant Angaran. If anyone is listening to this, you have to blow up the Vatican. The Queen is here, under the building. You have to destroy it,” he whispered. “Destroy everything.”
Static crackled out of the speakers, and Ringo stopped chewing on his arm. He skittered up to Piero’s shoulder and squeaked as if to tell Piero to stop the noise.
There was no response over the radio channel, but the Reavers prowling the room replied with hisses. One of them got to all fours, folded its wings, and tilted its head in his direction.
Piero repeated his message again, adding, “The Queen won’t escape this time. Bomb the Vatican. Bomb the Vatican!”
Ringo squeaked louder as two of the Reavers skittered over. When they were a few feet away, the Queen let out a clicking sound, stopping the beasts midstride. She flapped her wings and spread them out, holding them in place.
Both of the smaller Reavers retreated into the shadows.
“I love you, little buddy, but you have to go,” Piero whispered. “Go and find a new home and new friends.”
Ringo squeaked again and nuzzled up against Piero’s neck. A tear streamed down Piero’s cheeks.
“Go,” he whispered. “Go home.”
The mouse licked the salty tear from Piero’s cheek and then took off across the wall, using the other bodies to climb. He watched his friend vanish into a hole in the ceiling while he relayed one more message over the radio.
“Bomb the Vatican and end the nightmare in Rome.”
The Queen slowly crossed the room, walking until she was just inches from his face. A spiked tongue flicked through the black hole between her swollen lips.
The speakers crackled on the radio, forcing the beast to rear her head back.
“Sergeant Angaran, do you copy?”
Piero tried to bring the radio to his lips, but the Queen let out a screech and slapped the radio from Piero’s hand, her talons scoring deep lacerations in his flesh. Blood pumped from his veins and coated the floor.
There was the crackle of static, and then another message. “Sergeant, if you can hear this, we just launched a bird from an aircraft carrier. You have fifteen minutes to get the hell out of there.”
The Queen stepped away from Piero and walked over to the radio. Using a clawed foot, she crushed the device, screeched again, and went back to breeding.
&nb
sp; Piero closed his eyes as the blood pumped out of his veins. Not even the glue would save him from bleeding out now. He pictured his family as vividly as in the photograph he kept in his locker on base. They were all gone now, and he would be joining them soon, hopefully in heaven rather than hell.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, recalling better times and taking solace in the fact Ringo was safe and free.
The roar of a fighter jet snapped him alert.
The Queen stood just ten feet away, hunched over several of her creations sleeping on the floor. The baby monsters stirred awake, opening jaws already lined with jagged teeth.
Piero rolled his head to look at the woman and her daughter on the wall. They were both unconscious, oblivious to the nightmare awakening in front of them.
The Queen tilted her head toward the ceiling as the scream of the fighter jet neared.
It was all about to end for everyone—and in one fiery blast, it did. The flames blew out the windows and enveloped the room, incinerating the baby monsters and their mother before swallowing Piero and the two human women in a torrent of fire.
23
Davis spotted a small cluster of lights in the distance. Months ago, the entire horizon would have dazzled with city lights, but the safe-zone territory set up in Charlotte, North Carolina, was only five city blocks, and only two of them appeared to be lit up.
“There it is,” she said.
“Good thing, because we needed a drink a hundred miles back,” reported Colonel Pressfield.
Davis was honestly surprised the Seahawk was still in the air. Even with the reserve tanks, they were down to fumes. After leaving the Greenbrier, they had put down in a field to plan their next move. Problem was, they couldn’t get ahold of anyone on the USS Abraham Lincoln.
Beckham, Blade, and Davis all knew something had happened to the fleet. The three of them had decided to go to SZT 68 in Charlotte to rally support. It was the closest SZT still loyal to Ringgold. Mayor Marie Gallo had been one of Ringgold’s first allies, but it was only a matter of time before she too folded and aligned with ROT, or was found with a bullet in her head.
Davis waddled over to Dixon, who was lying on the floor of the chopper. Blade was at his side, checking his vitals.
“How is he?” Davis asked.
“Morphine’s working, but we need to get him to a doctor,” Blade announced.
Beckham sat stoically across the troop hold, lost in thought, like a monk meditating. She had a feeling he was thinking about Kate and his unborn son. That’s what she would be thinking about if she were in his shoes, but her family was dead, and her final mission in life was to kill Wood.
“Once we land, we’ll take this intel straight to the mayor while the pilots refuel again. Then we’re headed back to the fleet to plan our next move with President Ringgold,” Davis said.
“That’s your plan?” Beckham asked. “What if Mayor Gallo has already flipped? What if ROT is there waiting for us? They know we were at the PEOC.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know if we got any data from the PEOC. Every ROT soldier back there is dead,” Blade said. “As far as Wood knows, those fuckers were all infected.”
Beckham shook his head wearily. “We really don’t have any good options.”
“Not really, but this is the only thing that makes sense.” Davis held up the thumb drive from the PEOC. “This is our best shot at taking down ROT. It’s our only shot.”
Blade nodded. “She’s right.”
“Yeah, but you guys are forgetting something,” Beckham said. “The moment Wood hears this message going out, he’s going to start hitting SZTs, starting with SZT Sixty-Eight. All the message does is clear Ringgold’s name. Wood still has WMDs and an army working for him. We have to kill him. It’s the only way.”
“And how do we do that if we don’t even know where he is?” Blade asked.
Beckham lowered his head for a moment as if he was considering something. He finally glanced up with sad, brown eyes. “Wood’s main goal is simple: He wants revenge. He wants the people who killed his brother, and when he finds out I’m still alive, he’s going to come after me. We need to use that to our advantage.”
“We’re cleared to land,” Pressfield announced before anyone could respond. “I told ’em we have a medical transport in need of assistance.”
Blade stood and walked to open the troop hold door. Davis and Beckham joined the SEAL to look at the tarmac set inside the barrier of the SZT’s eastern concrete wall. Figures were already moving across the helicopter landing pad in the moonlight.
It would be morning soon, and Davis wanted to be back in the air before the sun came up. She had considered taking Dixon back to the fleet, but without knowing more, and in his condition, they couldn’t risk it.
“I have a pretty shitty feeling about this,” Blade said.
“This isn’t the end,” Davis replied. “Just follow my lead.”
She eyed the group from a distance, glimpsing Mayor Gallo standing among the soldiers below. The woman stood out in her white coat among the drab clothing the soldiers around her wore.
“On second thought, you guys stay here,” Davis ordered. She liked the idea of dealing with the woman one-on-one.
As soon as the pilots set down, she jumped out and, keeping low, jogged over to the mayor and her staff.
Quick and steady, Rachel.
“I’m Captain Rachel Davis, with the United States Navy,” she said. “I’d like to speak to Mayor Gallo.”
Gallo made her way to the front of the group. She was at least twenty years older than Davis, with shoulder-length gray hair and white-rimmed glasses that matched her coat. A tall soldier with a long, braided beard stood to her right, glaring at Davis suspiciously.
“Why are you here, Captain?” Gallo asked.
“We have an injured Navy SEAL on the bird,” Davis said.
Gallo nodded at a man to her right, and several soldiers took off for the chopper to grab Dixon.
“And the other reason you’re here?” Gallo asked.
“We need your help, Mayor. We have intel to prove ROT attacked those SZTs, not President Ringgold.”
Gallo exchanged a glance with the rough-looking soldier with a long beard.
“I guess you haven’t heard the news then?” Gallo asked.
Davis didn’t reply, giving the mayor a chance to speak first.
“From what we’ve been told, President Jan Ringgold has been betrayed by General Nixon. The fleet that was protecting her was attacked and is now being relocated. Ringgold herself is on her way to the USS Zumwalt for execution.”
Davis felt her guts roll. They were too late. Everything they had done had been for nothing.
“I tried to hold out,” Gallo said with a frown. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I believed in President Ringgold and her mission to restore the United States with the safe-zone territories. I, like many of the other mayors, didn’t believe she would attack them, but I’m afraid I can’t hold out any longer. If I don’t align with Wood now, we’ll lose everything. We can’t afford to get caught up in a civil war.”
“It’s not too late,” a voice said.
Davis turned to see Beckham’s bruised face in the moonlight. He limped up to her side and held out his hand.
“Mayor, I’m Captain Reed Beckham, and I need to borrow a radio. It’s not too late to stop Wood. I’ve got an idea for how to end all of this.”
Andrew Wood was getting sick of prison cells. Presidents weren’t supposed to visit prisoners, they were supposed to spend their time in the Oval Office meeting foreign leaders, or on the golf course talking about legislation.
So far it seemed as though all he’d done was interrogate and kill the people who opposed him. The killing didn’t bother him, but he was ready for some R&R.
First, though, he was going to meet the woman who had given him a headache for several weeks now.
Kufman led Wood through the brig aboard the USS Zumwalt
and stopped outside a hatch where two ROT soldiers stood guard. They saluted as Wood approached.
Wood felt a chill of excitement as he grabbed the handle of his knife and ran a finger across the side of the twelve-inch saw-toothed blade.
Kufman opened the hatch, and Wood instructed him to stay put.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, eyeing the knife, then nodding.
The hatch clicked shut behind Wood, sealing him inside the small, dark room. Ringgold was sitting on a bunk with her hands cuffed and her head down like a child.
“What should I do with you?” Wood said. He stroked his jaw and studied the former leader of the free world, or what was left of it. She was a nice-looking older woman, with sharp bones, full lips, and kind brown eyes. Wood really didn’t want to hate her, but he couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done.
“You made a pretty epic error at Plum Island that has set in motion a chain of events that have killed a lot of people,” Wood said. He scratched his face with the tip of the knife’s blade and crossed over to stand in front of her.
She finally met his gaze.
“Just get it over with. You outsmarted me, I’ll give you that, but there’s no reason to drag this out any longer. I surrendered. You are the president of the United States of America, a country that, at one point, you swore to defend. If you have any decency you will stop destroying this wonderful country and finish what I started—rebuilding our home.”
Wood chuckled. “You think I’m destroying the country? I’m cleaning up your mess. Those deaths are on your conscience, not mine. Those people died for a purpose.”
Ringgold arched a brow in disbelief. “You really believe that?” She shook her head. “If so, then your mind is more diseased than the monsters you created.”
“I didn’t create them,” Wood said, quickly losing his patience.
Ringgold focused on the knife in his hand. “Just finish me off. I can’t stand being in your presence another moment.”
Wood ran his fingers along the saw-toothed blade while he considered where he would plunge it into her flesh first.
Extinction War Page 29
