“Don’t worry, Ms. Ringgold! It will all be over soon!” he shouted.
Beckham jerked on the ground, causing the wounds on his broken body to spurt blood. He reached up with his left hand, fingers dripping red.
“Kill me,” he shuddered. “You have to kill me before—”
A violent spasm shook his body, and he let out a long groan, his mouth agape like that of a fish trying to suck air.
Tears welled around Ringgold’s already swollen eyes, blurring her vision. She took another step back until she was up against a bulkhead. The knife in her hand felt as light as a feather, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it.
The pool of red spread toward her, the infected blood still pumping out of Davis and Beckham.
How were they still alive?
Davis’s left leg jerked and then kicked. A spasm ripped through her body.
“Kill us!” Beckham shouted.
Ringgold studied the knife again, following the curve of the blade to the sharp tip. Wood handing her the blade was a test—everything was just a test to him.
Beckham fought the spasms, his body contorting. He suddenly sat up and clawed at his eyes with his left hand, painting his face with blood. When he pulled it away, Ringgold glimpsed the terror in his eyes.
Terror, and rage.
It wouldn’t be long now. Even a hardened warrior couldn’t stop the VX-99 from taking over his body and mind.
“If you make it out of here, tell Kate how much I love her,” he said in what might be his last moment of clarity. “Tell her and Javier Riley both how much I wanted to be with them.”
He scooted across the floor until his back was against the opposite bulkhead, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Ringgold. Shaking in horror, she looked back at the porthole. Wood was still there, with the same shit-eating grin.
He wasn’t a man. He was a monster—more of a monster than Beckham and Davis.
She gripped the knife and considered the other way out of this. A quick slice to her wrists would end it all.
Has it really come to that? Ringgold mused. You’re the president of the United States! You will not kill yourself!
But she had to do something to make the nightmare end. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Through all of the horrors, she’d persevered over the past seven months, surviving the monsters during the outbreak at Raven Rock, surviving an attack by Lieutenant Trevor Brett and a coup by Lieutenant Colonel Marsha Kramer. But the one person she couldn’t seem to beat was the bastard peering through the porthole, and she was sick of playing his games.
She knew she couldn’t kill Beckham and Davis either, even if they were turning into monsters. Not after all they had done for her.
No, President Jan Ringgold would not play Wood’s demented games any longer. Her eyes shot back to Davis, who was flopping on the floor like a caught fish. A deep cackle came from her mouth as Davis pushed herself up on all fours, joints snapping as she tilted her face toward Beckham and then at Ringgold. Studying. Calculating. The transformation was almost complete.
Saliva dripped from her ruby-red gums.
“No,” Ringgold whispered. “Rachel, please …”
It was the first time in her life the president had begged. She clamped her jaw shut and looked back at Wood. Closing her eyes, Ringgold summoned the last of her strength. Instead of slitting her wrists or killing Davis and Beckham, she dropped the knife and flashed Wood the bird.
“You won’t win, Andrew,” she said. “You can’t. In fact, you’ve already lost.”
His smile faded and he turned toward Kufman, who stood outside the hatch speaking in a raised voice. There was a low humming sound, and then a vibration in the prison cell. What sounded like the engines of a fighter jet roared in the distance.
The Zumwalt suddenly shook violently, the ceiling groaning and the bulkheads ringing. The impact knocked Ringgold to the floor, her palms splashing in the infected blood. She quickly wiped them on her pants.
An explosion rocked the ship. Davis slammed into a corner so hard it knocked her unconscious, though that wouldn’t last long. Ringgold crawled away from her friends as more blasts tore into the upper decks.
The light above blew into pieces from another impact, raining glass on them all. Ringgold shielded her face with her arm. The emergency sirens screamed over the shouts outside the hatch.
When she pulled her arm away, Beckham’s eyes had closed, but his chest was still moving up and down. Wood pressed his face against the porthole, his expression wild.
This time she was the one to smile at him.
“Your time’s up, Andrew,” she said. “You die first.”
Kate followed a three-man team through the narrow passages of the USS Abraham Lincoln. An hour earlier, Horn had escorted her onto the ship and then evacuated his girls and the other civilians to the Stallion, a US Coast Guard ship. Three of his soldiers were assigned to protect Kate and Resurrection—the cure to the hemorrhage virus inside the biohazard box she carried.
They hurried up a ladder and came upon a body covered with a white curtain. Blood had soaked through in several spots. She wasn’t sure if it was one of General Nixon’s men or one of theirs. The battle had left sailors and soldiers dead on both sides.
She could still hear gunshots ringing out through the passages.
“Keep moving, ma’am,” the lead Ranger said. He stopped at the next junction and waved her onward. She hugged the bulkhead, clutching the biohazard box closely to her side.
They were getting closer to the upper decks—and the gunfire. It sounded louder than rifles, though, more like the big guns that were mounted on the deck or on a helicopter.
Something slammed into the aircraft carrier again. The two Rangers behind her reached over to help steady her. The vibration passed, and they made a run for the next ladder. Another body was crumpled there, freshly killed, by the looks of it. The sailor had been shot through the forehead.
The lead Ranger balled his hand and cleared the next passage before waving them onward. Sailors were moving quickly in the next compartment. The Klaxon rang out, a warning Kate had little time to heed.
“Prepare for impact!” said a voice over the comms.
Kate hunched down and one of the Rangers shielded her body with his own. The ship jolted violently, the bulkheads seeming to bend and sway as a missile tore into the side of the carrier. The explosion knocked Kate and the Rangers to the floor with such force it took the air from her lungs.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” shouted one of the men.
The next blast sounded like a clap right next to her ears. A shock wave thumped against her body. She managed to cup her stomach with her hands and hunched over to protect Javier Riley.
A light blew out above her, and the air thickened with smoke. Stunned, she remained curled up like one of the fossilized victims shielding a child at Pompeii. She remained there for several seconds, maybe even a minute. Then came the voices, and coughing.
She was coughing too, hand over her mouth, eyes burning from the smoke swirling around her. Hands grabbed her under her armpits, and she realized she could hear again. There was a ringing in her ears—or was it the Klaxon?—and a man calling out her name.
Kate patted herself down to feel for any injuries. She did two passes over her stomach. Everything seemed okay, and Javier Riley moved inside of her as if to confirm he was fine.
The boy was a fighter, just like his dad.
The lead Army Ranger limped ahead of Kate, his leg soaked in blood. She grabbed the biohazard box, checking it over to make sure it was undamaged before following the team.
They moved up two more ladders, squeezing past injured sailors they had no time to help, and worked their way through passages choked with smoke. A few minutes later, they emerged at the island, which was guarded by a heavily armed squad of marines. The men waved them inside, where Captain Ingves and Admiral Lemke were standing at the helm, looking out over the water with binoculars.<
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Fighter jets tore away from the deck of the aircraft carrier and pulled into the blue sky. Smoke plumed from the deck where the missiles had struck.
To the east, bubbles frothed around a circular blast zone in the water. Debris was already floating to the surface. Three Seahawk sub-hunter teams circled overhead.
“We got ’em,” said an officer. “Enemy sub is confirmed destroyed.”
Several officers clapped, and Chief of Staff Soprano whistled. Ben Nelson bowed his head and seemed to be praying. Lemke balled his hand into a fist of victory, but the celebration was short lived.
“Give me a damage report,” Lemke said.
“Fires on decks four, three, and one, sir,” Ingves replied. “We’re taking on water, but we’re still functional for now.”
“Close off the compartments,” Lemke replied.
Kate coughed into her sleeve and approached the admiral with tears streaming from her burning eyes. She tried to blink them away and focus.
“What about the Stallion?” she asked. “Is the Stallion okay?”
“Doctor Lovato,” Nelson said. “When did you get here?”
Lemke stepped away from the observation window and lowered his binos. “The Stallion is fine, Doctor. The submarine and Nixon’s helicopters were only targeting us and one of our destroyers. They weren’t interested in civilians.”
Kate felt a trickle of relief knowing Tasha, Jenny, and the other kids were unharmed.
“Have you located Reed and Jan yet?” she asked.
Lemke gestured toward Nelson, inviting him to take over answering her questions, and then went back to consulting with Ingves.
“Not yet, but the raid on the Zumwalt is under way,” Nelson said. “Rest assured, our fighters were ordered to only knock out their missile-delivery vehicles. Their secondary goal is to rescue President Ringgold, Captain Beckham, and the other prisoners.”
Kate wasn’t reassured. She maneuvered past a radar station and stepped right up to Lemke, invading his personal space so he couldn’t ignore her. “Sir, I have a request.”
“One moment, Doctor,” Lemke said.
“Is that Resurrection?” Soprano asked, looking at the box she was holding.
“Yes,” Kate said. “Now if you’ll just listen to me …”
Soprano put a hand on her arm. “President Ringgold wanted me to tell you she was sorry for leaving things the way she did, and that she’s proud of you.”
Kate was sorry too, and now she wasn’t sure she would ever get the opportunity to tell her friend. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You really did it, huh?” Soprano asked, looking at the box.
“Most of the work was already done,” Kate replied. “All I did was—”
“Well, you did it just in the nick of time,” Soprano interrupted. He tightened his tie nervously. “I’ve been made aware of some pretty horrible news.”
“Uprisings at the SZTs are under way,” Nelson announced from one of the stations. “SZT Nineteen is already back in our hands.”
There was more applause. Chatter broke out from nearly every station, but Kate kept her focus on Soprano.
“What were you going to say?” Kate asked.
“We have reason to believe Wood is using the hemorrhage virus on his prisoners.”
Her heart flipped. She reached out and tapped Lemke on his shoulder. The admiral finally turned to look at her as another fighter jet peeled away from the deck.
“Yes?” he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice.
“I need a ride to the Zumwalt.” She held up the box. “This is Resurrection, the cure for the hemorrhage virus. If President Ringgold or the others have been infected, this is the only thing that will save them now.”
While Lemke considered the request, Kate watched the Stallion cutting through the waves in the distance. Tasha and Jenny were safe out there, but their dad was fighting for his life, and for Beckham’s life. This time Kate feared Horn and Beckham weren’t coming home.
Lemke paused for another moment and then nodded at Ingves. “Get Doctor Lovato on a bird.”
“Fuck you!” Wood shouted at the top of his lungs. He fired his 1911A1 at an F-18 Super Hornet coming in for another run.
“Sir, get down!” Kufman said. He pushed Ringgold onto the helicopter deck of the Zumwalt, but Wood continued shooting .45 rounds at the hundred-million-dollar aircraft. The pilot opened up with a M61A1/A2 Vulcan 20-millimeter cannon in response. The Gatling gun sprayed the bow of the stealth ship, tearing through the two ROT soldiers firing a pair of M2 Brownings at it. Both men fell screaming into the ocean.
“Fuck you!” Wood yelled again, firing off three more shots as the jet pulled away. Why wasn’t anybody else fighting back? He was surrounded by cowards and disloyal cretins. “Shoot the fucking plane, you imbeciles!”
“Let’s go, sir!” Kufman grabbed Wood by the arm and pulled him toward the Little Birds waiting on the stern. One of them lay in a pile of smoking ruins. The scene on the deck was chaos: ROT soldiers ran for cover. One man dragged his broken body across the ground, his back leg lying severed ten feet behind him.
The two MGM-140 Army Tactical Missile Systems that had been positioned on the top of the ship were gone, scraps of twisted metal the only sign they’d ever been there. He could no longer rain down the hemorrhage virus on his enemies.
But the fight wasn’t over yet. Far from it.
Wood still had two destroyers, the USS Gridley and the USS Mustin. The Arleigh Burke–class guided-missile destroyers fired RIM-66 surface-to-air missiles into the sky at the squadron of Super Hornets that had come out of nowhere.
One of the Super Hornets exploded. The MK38 MOD 2 25-millimeter autocannons on the Gridley and Mustin continued firing into the sky, and multiple Brownings unleashed a barrage of .50-caliber fire at the fighter jets.
Wood watched in shock. How could this have happened? Had Nixon betrayed him? If so, his daughter was going to be Variant chow as soon as Wood got out of here.
“We have to get to one of the Little Birds!” Kufman insisted.
Wood holstered his pistol and grabbed Ringgold by her shirt. He pulled her toward him and then wrapped his hand around her throat. They’d brought her up here because Wood needed her as a hostage, but now he didn’t care. He’d tear the bitch’s head off with his bare hands.
“Sir, we have contacts barreling down on us from the south. Looks like Seahawks!” Kufman shouted. “Leave her and let’s go!”
Wood turned to see a trio of Seahawks coming in hot, their troop holds full of soldiers. The door guns barked to life, spraying the rounds at the destroyers and the Zumwalt.
Ringgold coughed in his grip, her eyes bulging. He dropped her to wave at the ROT soldiers still emerging from the hatches of the smoking ship.
“Put those rifles to work, you shitheads!” he shouted.
Several missiles streaked away from a pair of Super Hornets. One of them slammed into the water, sending a geyser into the air, but the second slammed into the bow of the Gridley. Return fire from a Browning peppered the fighter jet’s wings, sending it in a nosedive into the ocean. The pilot ejected a few seconds before impact.
Another jet roared overhead, launching AGM-84 Harpoon missiles into the USS Mustin before one of Wood’s loyal men scored a volley of .50-caliber rounds to the cockpit. The fighter exploded in midair over the ship. Cannon fire and missiles continued to streak over the ocean from every direction.
It was all-out battle for the fate of the nation, and perhaps the world.
Wood shielded his face from the heat, and when he finally pulled his arm away he saw the Gridley was also fucked. The destroyer had taken two Harpoon missiles to the guts, nearly blowing her in half.
Kufman opened the door to the Little Bird and gestured for Wood to board. Three ROT soldiers followed them with their rifles raised.
The three Seahawks were already lowering toward the deck, but they were holding their fire, likely under orders to watc
h for friendlies. Maybe bringing Ringgold along had been a good idea after all.
Wood didn’t offer the assholes the same courtesy. He grabbed Kufman’s SCAR-H and fired at the troop holds where men were fast-roping from the bellies. The troops hit the ground and took off for cover while ROT soldiers fired from all directions.
Motion in the sky caught Wood’s attention, and he brought the SCAR up to fire on the pilot who had ejected earlier. He held down the trigger, pumping four rounds into the man trapped in his harness.
“Hah!” Wood shouted. “That’s what you get, you piece of—”
A round whizzed past his head, his heart slamming against his chest at the near miss. He ducked down and took up position behind the Little Bird.
Kufman pushed Ringgold into the helicopter and climbed in after her.
“Let’s go!” he said, holding out a hand to Wood. “They won’t shoot with her inside!”
Wood looked around the side of the helicopter and squeezed off several rounds, hitting one of the Army Rangers in the neck. Blood geysered from the wound, and the man dropped to the deck. Two of his comrades dragged him to safety, but it was too late.
“That’s right, motherfucker!” Wood yelled.
Kufman grabbed him by the back of his shirt and put him in an arm guard before pulling him toward the chopper.
“No!” Wood shouted. “We have to stay and—”
A high-pitched shriek cut him off. Kufman loosened his grip, and they both turned toward the hatch across the deck. A bloody figure was bounding across the tarmac on all fours. It took him a second to recognize her short-cropped hair, sharp jaw, and sharper green eyes, now bloodshot.
“No,” Wood mumbled. “It can’t be.”
Rachel Davis, the captain of the GW, was still alive. And she had all but transformed into a monster. When they had dragged Ringgold out of the room, Beckham and Davis were both sprawled on the floor, neither of them moving. He had thought they were dead, the blood loss overtaking the virus’s ability to heal their broken bodies.
I should have pumped them full of lead when I had the chance.
Extinction War Page 35
