Extinction War

by Nicholas Smith

  Davis managed to move her head far enough to see Big Horn carrying Beckham’s limp body over his shoulder. Seeing the two best friends together again epitomized everything she had felt about being a sailor and soldier. She closed her eyes, deciding this was the last thing she ever wanted to see.

  Epilogue

  Three and a half months later …

  Beckham snapped awake from a nightmare, sitting up in bed and blinking at the first rays of sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. The soothing song of a bird sounded outside.

  His hand instinctively went for Kate, patting the mattress on his left. When he turned, her side of the bed was empty. Twisting, he looked to the cradle across the small bedroom.

  Javier Riley wasn’t inside.

  “Kate!” he called out. Beckham fumbled for the Beretta M9 he kept under his pillow, and his fingers gripped the cold steel.

  A voice answered from the next room. “In here,” Kate said.

  Closing his eyes, Beckham exhaled and placed the pistol back under the pillow. He checked the clock next, hardly able to read the blurry numbers.

  It was 0630, still early, but he wasn’t going to fall back asleep.

  He flung the sweat-soaked sheets off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, where he reached for his prosthetic blade.

  Kate appeared in the bedroom doorway, cradling Javier Riley in her arms as Beckham attached the blade to his leg. The child’s cries filled the room as she rocked him back and forth.

  “Shhh,” Kate whispered. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry for scaring him,” Beckham said. He was going to have to work on staying calm. It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

  Kate looked up, her eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay, Reed?”

  He bowed his head, running a hand through his cropped hair. “Yeah, I’m fine, just another nightmare.”

  “You should go back to sleep. Today’s a big day.”

  Beckham shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m fine, really.”

  Kate hesitated in the doorway for another second before vanishing into the other room. Beckham crossed over to their closet and looked at his reflection in the mirror. A gaunt face stared back at him. Now, instead of well-developed muscles, all he saw were scars crisscrossing his skin. Every one of them was a reminder of the horrors Team Ghost had faced since Building 8. He’d lost twenty-five pounds during the war, but he was slowly gaining it back.

  It’s over now. It’s all over.

  He threw on a shirt and started toward the kitchen. He stopped to look out the window over the gardens of the Greenbrier. Snowflakes fluttered to the ground, covering everything with a layer of what looked like vanilla frosting. It had taken over a month to get the place up and running again, but President Ringgold had wanted to relocate the White House here after the final ROT flag fell.

  The scent of roasted coffee pulled him to the kitchen. It was the first time he’d smelled the aroma since leaving the isolation ward over a month earlier. Coffee, like most small luxuries, was a hard thing to come by these days.

  Kate studied Beckham as she filled a mug for him.

  “You sure you’re feeling okay?” she asked. “I mean, besides the normal aches and pains.”

  “Yeah. Fine,” Beckham replied, his voice lacking confidence. He took a sip of coffee. The warm liquid ran down his throat and warmed his gut, prompting a flood of memories from that fateful day aboard the USS Zumwalt.

  He took a seat at the table while Kate carried Javier Riley into the bedroom. Beckham barely noticed them leaving; he was caught in the grip of his worst memories as they replayed like a movie in his mind.

  Big Horn was shouting inside the troop hold of a Seahawk. Three Army Rangers had wrestled him to the floor, pinning him there while Beckham bled out. The bird was lifting them away from the Zumwalt after an intense firefight.

  “Boss! Boss!” Horn repeated. “Just hang on. Kate’s on her way with the cure. Just hold on. Fight, brother!”

  Beckham tried to do what his friend asked, but a demented voice was screaming in his mind, telling him to kill everyone. He might have listened to it if he wasn’t cuffed and bound with ropes.

  President Ringgold watched from one of the seats across the troop hold, her eyes so swollen from crying she looked like Rocky Balboa after his fight with Apollo Creed. Beckham knew he looked even worse: stabbed, beaten, broken, and bleeding from multiple wounds. It was amazing he was still breathing. The only thing keeping him alive was the very virus he’d fought so hard to eradicate.

  Horn finally pulled free from the grip of his men. He bent down next to Beckham. Instinctively, Beckham snapped at his hand with chipped teeth, trying to bite his best friend.

  Pulling his hand back, Horn flared his nostrils. “Boss, you got to fight it! For your kid’s sake, hold on!”

  The memory always ended there. That was the point where Beckham had lost consciousness.

  “Reed, can you come here for a minute?”

  Kate’s voice pulled him back to reality, and he rose unsteadily from his seat, nearly spilling his mug of coffee. He limped into the bedroom, his mood lifting when he saw Kate with their son in her arms.

  “Do you want to hold him?” she asked.

  Beckham hesitated and examined his boy’s features. He had Kate’s blue eyes for now. They weren’t sure if they were going to stay that way. At two weeks old, he was growing so fast, already sporting a full head of hair. The brown mop was impressive—it was the one feature that Beckham could take credit for.

  “Reed, you’re fine. You spent two months in isolation. The cure worked. You have no symptoms, and you’re practically back to normal. You can hold your son—you won’t hurt him.”

  When he didn’t reply, Kate frowned. “Talk to me, Reed. What’s bothering you this morning?”

  “Nightmares, the usual.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I just wish I could have done something to save Captain Davis.”

  “You did everything you could. I miss her too, but she would want you to move on. Please … this is supposed to be one of the happiest days of our lives.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Beckham held up his hands, shaking ever so slightly, and let Kate lay their boy in his arms. He felt so light—so fragile.

  Kate smiled. “See? Nothing to it.”

  Beckham nodded again, more firmly this time. Kate leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

  “I’ll make us breakfast.”

  Beckham rocked his son, looking down in awe at the life he had helped create. After so much death, holding Javier Riley was a miracle. Never before had Beckham’s heart been this full. He’d made it home to his family, and in a few hours, he was going to make Dr. Kate Lovato his wife.

  They ate a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, and sausage links before Kate left to get ready. Beckham should have been getting dressed too, but instead he carefully sat down in a rocking chair overlooking the gardens with his son clutched to his chest.

  “Snow,” Beckham whispered. “It’s your first snow, little man.”

  The trees and shrubs were airbrushed with the white powder, the idyllic view marred by with soldiers carrying M4s. The guards still patrolled the grounds, on high alert.

  The battle with ROT may have been over and the Variants nearly extinct in the United States, but security was tight at the White House. Especially today, with visitors flying in.

  Beckham felt safer at the sight of the armed soldiers. But he was also relieved to be inside, with no other mission than to raise his son to be a good man.

  His war was over.

  The time had come to be a father and, in a few hours, a husband.

  Someone knocked on the door. Beckham placed Javier Riley in his crib and answered it. Horn stood in the hallway wearing a huge grin. He held up a bottle of Jameson.

  “Heya, boss! You ready for a shot? You only got a few hours left on this earth as a free man.” Horn slurred several of
the words, and his breath reeked of whiskey.

  “Big Horn, you’re already on your way to being shitfaced. I need you sober today. You’re my best man.”

  Horn reared his big head back and blinked. “Me?” he said, fingering his chest. “I’m not drunk. I’m totally sober.”

  Beckham reached out and snatched the bottle, which was more than a quarter of the way toward empty. He took a slug, wiped his mouth, and jerked his chin for Horn to come inside.

  He hated needing help to put on his suit, but at least Horn had the decency not to crack jokes about it. Instead, they reminisced about old times, chuckling over the days when Riley had danced on the tables at their favorite strip club. The ghosts of their fallen brothers cast a shadow over Beckham’s heart, one that he knew would never fully be lifted. But Kate had been right—Davis wouldn’t want him to be sad today. None of his friends would.

  “Feels as though they’re here with us, doesn’t it?” Beckham said.

  Horn grunted and said with uncharacteristic sincerity, “They are here, brother.” He thumped his chest over his heart. “They’ll always be right here.”

  After Donna had arrived to pick up Javier Riley, with Bo and Horn’s girls in tow, they made their way into the lobby of the resort dressed in suits and ties, with fancy dress shoes that hurt Beckham’s foot. He fidgeted, trying to adjust his stride so he didn’t limp.

  “I hate wearing this getup,” he muttered.

  “Least your pants fit,” Horn said. He looked even more uncomfortable. They couldn’t find a suit that fit his muscular body, and his trousers were two inches too short, showing off black socks that weren’t pulled up enough to hide his thin, furry legs.

  “We should have just worn our uniforms,” he grumbled.

  Beckham chuckled as Horn struggled to pull his pants down over his chicken legs.

  “Sorry, but you know what Kate said. Today, we’re civilians.” Beckham led his best man through the lobby and into the ballroom. The wedding was supposed to be small, but a glass chandelier illuminated a dozen tables with white linen furnishing the room. Several waiters were still setting out china and crystal glasses.

  “Fancy shit,” Horn said.

  “Very fancy,” a voice behind them drawled. Both men turned to see Master Sergeant Fitzpatrick standing in the hallway outside the room in his military uniform. Apollo sat on his haunches, tail beating the carpet.

  Beckham choked out a response. “Fitz … Apollo!” He swallowed to hold back the tears and hurried over.

  Fitz and Beckham met each other with their arms outstretched. He clapped the younger man’s back. Apollo nudged against Beckham’s leg, and he obligingly reached down to pet the German shepherd.

  “I missed you, brother,” Beckham said. He pulled away, letting Horn and Fitz embrace, while he crouched down in front of Apollo. The dog licked Beckham’s face and growled playfully, his way of saying how much he had missed his former handler.

  “Goddamn, it’s good to see you guys,” Beckham said.

  “You’re telling me,” Fitz said. He wiped a tear from his eye and took in a deep breath before turning to gesture for someone to join them—a woman dressed in a neatly pressed uniform but with outlandish purple streaks in her hair.

  Beckham patted Apollo on the head again and stood, blinking to focus on the blurred face.

  “Sergeant Rico,” he said. “Is that you?”

  “Hi,” she said, waving sheepishly. “Hope you don’t mind if I crash the wedding.”

  Horn and Beckham both laughed and gave Rico a hug. She swiped her purple hair from her big eyes and grinned, her dimples deepening in her cheeks.

  “It’s good to be Stateside again,” she said. “For a while there, I didn’t think we were ever coming home.”

  “Some of us didn’t want to come home,” Fitz said. “Dohi is still over there with the Twenty-Fourth MEU, fighting with Colonel Bradley to clear out more cities.”

  A moment of silence passed over the group as they all remembered those who hadn’t made it back and thought of those still carrying on the fight against the rogue Variants.

  Beckham cracked his lips into a smile, deciding to celebrate the return of his friends instead of despairing about those he wouldn’t see again.

  “I’m so glad you guys could be here,” he said. “We’ve got quite the celebration planned today.”

  Horn clapped his hands together. “Hell yeah, we do!”

  “How long are you back for?” Beckham asked.

  Fitz looked to Rico. “We have two weeks’ leave before shipping back out. We’re headed to Rome next. At least, that’s what Colonel Bradley said. He sends his best, by the way.”

  Rico frowned. “It’s kind of a bummer if we go to Rome. Apparently a sergeant with the Italian military ordered the EUF to bomb the Vatican and the Colosseum in an effort to kill the Queen there. The blasts destroyed a lot of the historic architecture.”

  Beckham racked his brains for the name. “Sergeant Piero Angaran,” he said. “The guy with the pet mouse?”

  “Yup, the guy is a legend.” Fitz smiled at Rico. “Maybe they’ll build a statue of the sergeant and his mouse where the Colosseum used to be. It will become a historic piece of architecture.”

  Rico chuckled. “I’d like to see that.”

  “I’m glad to hear things are going well over there,” Beckham said.

  Rico blew a bubble and nodded. “They’re ten times better since Nixon was stripped of command. The EUF has taken back most of the major cities and is setting up the equivalent of their own safe-zone territories.”

  “Awesome,” Horn said. “We’re making a lot of headway here too. President Ringgold’s been able to get most of the SZTs back on their feet again.”

  Beckham rubbed his freshly shaved chin, thinking of everything they’d accomplished since the SZTs rose up against ROT. “We’re back from the brink. The Special Ops hunter-killer teams Command has put together have cleared the areas Wood hit with the hemorrhage virus. All that’s left to do is hunt down the final Variants and juveniles. There are Alphas who managed to hide all this time, but we’ll get them eventually.”

  “Sounds like a job for Team Ghost,” Fitz said.

  Beckham nodded. “Indeed it does, brother.”

  “This is all such great news.” Rico’s dimples widened and she clapped Beckham hard on the shoulder. “And I heard you’re a dad now!”

  “Yup, you guys will get to meet Javier Riley in a little …” Beckham’s words trailed off when he saw the entourage moving through the lobby. He stiffened to attention at the sight of President Jan Ringgold and Vice President Dan Lemke, the former admiral of the fleet that had helped take back the United States from the ROT terrorists.

  Ringgold held up a hand and waved at Beckham. He saluted—some habits were hard to break.

  “Madam President,” Beckham said. “Thanks for being here.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  Beckham gestured for everyone to follow him into the ballroom. Tasha and Jenny arrived a few minutes later with Bo, and Donna, who was carrying Javier Riley. The girls were wearing white dresses and carrying baskets full of confetti.

  “Daddy! Uncle Reed!” Tasha shouted. She ran across the room, with Jenny right behind her. Jake Temper, the former NYPD officer, and his son, Timothy, filed in after them.

  Next came Chief of Staff James Soprano and National Security Advisor Ben Nelson, dressed in navy suits to match Horn’s and Beckham’s.

  “Come say hi to Uncle Fitz,” Horn said to his girls. He grabbed his daughters and scooped them up in both arms. “Oof, you’re getting a bit too heavy for your old man.”

  Fitz smiled and reached out to shake their small hands. “Good to see you beautiful little ladies again.” He looked over his shoulder. “This is my girlfriend, Jeni Rico.”

  “Girlfriend?” Beckham said with a raised brow. “So you guys are official?”

  Fitz blushed as Rico linked her arm through his.
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  “I’d like to introduce you to my son, Javier Riley,” Beckham said. Donna held his son up for Fitz and Rico to see. They both leaned in, smiles on their faces as they looked at the little boy.

  “He’s got his mom’s eyes and my hair,” Beckham said.

  “Looks like a future member of Team Ghost,” Rico said, beaming.

  “Nah, he’s going to be a scientist like his mom,” Beckham replied.

  A man from President Ringgold’s staff, dressed in a tuxedo, cleared his throat behind Beckham. “Sir, we’re ready, if you and Mr. Horn would like to start making your way up front.”

  Beckham and Horn said their good-byes and walked toward the raised platform. Ringgold joined them, carrying a leather folder. She was officiating the wedding. The room quieted down, and the doors closed as she stepped up to the podium.

  Beckham breathed deeply as everyone took their seats and the wedding march began to play.

  “You ready for this, boss?” Horn mumbled.

  Beckham smiled. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in—”

  The ballroom doors opened, and the most beautiful woman Beckham had ever seen stepped into the light, silencing the words on his tongue. Kate wore a lace gown, with a long veil pinned over her brown hair. Her blue eyes flitted to meet his as she walked down the aisle.

  His heart slammed harder and harder with every step she took. He met her at the bottom step and held out a hand. They helped each other up the steps, Kate giving Beckham just as much support as he offered her. Together, they were an exceptional team. In a few minutes, they would make it official by entering into holy matrimony.

  Beckham turned toward the crowd, looking out over their friends and family. Donna, sitting in the front row with Javier Riley on her lap, waved his pudgy hand at his parents.

  Had he thought his heart was full earlier? Now it was fit to burst with joy.

  “Today we gather to celebrate the marriage of Doctor Kate Lovato and Captain Reed Beckham,” President Ringgold announced. “I can’t think of anyone in this world who deserve happiness more than these two. I can honestly say if it weren’t for them, none of us would be here today. They’ve been a light in our darkest hour, a rock in our fiercest storm. Thank you both for everything you’ve done.”