Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Stanton shook his head. “Too late to turn back now. We’re closer to the heliport than the blast doors anyway. We have to keep moving.” He pushed down on the gas.

  The road curved again, and Mitchell lost sight of their salvation. The brake lights of the first Humvees suddenly flared red ahead. Both of the trucks screeched as the drivers slammed the brakes.

  “Hold on!” Stanton shouted.

  “Cheyenne 1, Command. Variants in the vicinity. Repeat, heat signatures are confirmed to be—”

  In less than a blink of an eye, Mitchell’s world cascaded into chaos, his heart skipping and every muscle tensing. He held in a breath as the crunch of metal sounded, drowning out the radio operator’s voice. Mitchell braced himself with a hand against the front seat.

  The lead Humvee had smashed into a fallen tree draped across the road. Vice President Black’s Humvee swerved to the side of the road to avoid the wreckage. Tendrils of smoke rose from the first truck. The Marine in the turret was slumped over his machine gun, surrounded by swirling smoke and fog.

  “Are you okay, sir?” Olson asked.

  Mitchell gasped for air, his hand on his chest. The radio crackled before he could reply. “Cheyenne 1, Command. Variants closing in from your north and south—”

  “There!” Olson yelled, pointing to the left side of the road.

  Hand still on his rising chest, Mitchell followed Olson’s fingers to the trees. Pale limbs and bald skulls shifted in and out of the mist. All at once, a trio of Variants exploded from the wall of fog and landed on the lead vehicle. Four more leapt off the ridgeline and skittered across the road. Another pack galloped from the trees to the right. They swarmed over Vice President Black’s truck before any of the Marines fired a single shot.

  “Shoot them!” Mitchell screamed.

  “We risk hitting the VP!” Stanton protested.

  “He’s already dead!” Mitchell yelled back. “Get us the hell out of here!”

  Stanton put the truck into reverse and glanced up at the mirror. Mitchell saw something in the Marine’s gaze that made Mitchell feel even more terrified: desperation.

  “We’re boxed in!” Stanton shouted.

  Mitchell spun. Humvee 5 had already retreated, but the fourth truck was stalled. The gunner was gone, and a pack of Variants had already overwhelmed the truck. On the ridgeline to the right, a thick Ponderosa leaned over the side of the road. The pine needles shook violently as it lowered, the branches bobbing up and down with dozens of Variants. At the bottom of the tree, a goliath monster pushed at the base, ripping the roots from the ground. Three other beasts helped push, but the leader dwarfed them. Fog swirled around the creatures like a ghoulish curtain.

  “Move this fucking truck!” Mitchell shouted when he finally realized what was happening.

  “Now, Lieutenant!” Olson added.

  “Working on it!” Stanton yelled back. He put the truck in reverse and raced toward Humvee four. “Cunningham, clear us a path! Don’t let that thing bring the tree down!”

  Mitchell flinched as the Marine open fired from the turret. The bark of the heavy machine gun reverberated inside of the truck, and the President cupped his hands over his ears. Rounds kicked up dirt toward the leaning tree. A dozen Variants climbed the branches while the beasts at the base continued pushing. Cunningham centered his fire on the shaking branches, sending the monsters spinning away into the night.

  “Stop the one at the bottom!” Stanton yelled.

  The tracer rounds lowered, and .50 cal projectiles lanced into the ground, kicking up a geyser of dirt and pine needles. A round clipped the colossal Variant pushing at the trunk, taking off its right arm in a blast of red. The monster roared and slammed its left shoulder into the tree. Cunningham raked the gun left to right, taking out the other three creatures, then back to the injured beast. Chunks of gore bloomed out of the mist, but the monster kept pushing, relentless.

  “Take it out, Goddammit!” Stanton shouted again.

  The heavy machine gun finally turned the monster into confetti, rounds punching through flesh and slamming into bark. Cunningham roved the gun away, but he inadvertently hit the exposed roots, finishing what the Variants had started. They snapped, and the Ponderosa crashed onto Humvee 4.

  “Go right, go right!” Olson shouted.

  Stanton slammed the brakes, put the truck back in drive, punched the gas, and maneuvered the vehicle onto the shoulder of the road. Rocks crunched under the tires as the truck jerked up and down.

  The beams hit a Variant pulling a kicking man from Humvee 2. It wasn’t hard to spot the Vice President’s shiny, bald head in the bright lights.

  “They got the VP!’ Reno yelled.

  “Cunningham, fire on Humvee 1 and 2,” Stanton said, making an effort to try and remain calm. But Mitchell knew the truth. The Lieutenant wasn’t in control. They had never been in control.

  The turret swiveled overhead and the gun coughed back to life. Rounds spat down the road, splitting through metal and shattering glass. The monsters abandoned the Vice President’s vehicle and scampered up the ridgelines on both sides of the truck, providing Stanton a window for escape. He gunned the truck past Humvee 2, smashing into a soldier crawling across the road. Mitchell’s gaze flitted to the man as he skidded over the pavement. When he came to a stop, he moved an arm, then a hand. It happened so fast that Mitchell hardly had time to recognize the man as Black. The Vice President reached up at Mitchell’s Humvee as Stanton sped past.

  Mitchell opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a groan. He had been the only one to see Black still alive. They couldn’t go back for him—they had to keep moving. They couldn’t do anything for him. At least that’s what Mitchell kept telling himself.

  “Through there!” Olson yelled. He pointed to the right of the fallen tree Humvee 1 had crashed into. There was a narrow gap between the roots of the tree and the hill it had tumbled from.

  A Variant yanked a civilian from the twisted metal of the wreckage of Humvee 1 by his arms, both of which were broken at the elbow, bones protruding from flesh. He let out a scream that Mitchell could hear over the bark of the machine gun.

  Stanton steered the Humvee onto the right shoulder. The driver’s side clipped the roots from the fallen Ponderosa, and the passenger’s side scraped the ridgeline to the right. In a screech of metal, their Humvee shot through the gap.

  Stanton pulled back onto the road just as a Variant lunged from the hill. It landed on the roof with a thud. Cunningham let out a muffled scream. His boots rose up into the turret as the beast pulled on him. Olson grabbed one of the Marine’s boots and shouted, “Help me!”

  Mitchell hesitated before he reached forward and grabbed the Marine’s other boot. Both men pulled, but the Variant lifted the man out of the truck with ease. Mitchell jerked back in his seat, feeling the Marine’s boot laces still digging into his palms. Gasping for air, he wrapped his arms across his chest. He wanted to curl up and hide.

  “Cunningham!” Reno screamed. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into the turret just as Cunningham came crashing onto the windshield. The impact splintered the glass, blood filling the cracks. The Variant jumped onto the hood and tossed the Marine’s body away.

  “Get it off!” Stanton yelled.

  The truck swayed from side to side, Stanton trying to see around the beast. The turret roared to life again, and the monster disappeared in an explosion of blood that coated the entire windshield with slimy gore.

  “Brace yourself!” Stanton shouted.

  Mitchell reached up for a handhold as the truck spun out of control. The bumper clipped something he couldn’t see, and then they were spinning with such force that Mitchell crashed into the side of the door.

  For a second, Mitchell locked eyes with his Chief of Staff, sharing a moment of terror. The Lions of Capitol Hill had reached the end of the line.

  Mitchell’s fingers wrapped around the handhold just as the truck flipped. His neck lurched, pain shooti
ng down his spine. The atomic football sailed through the air in slow motion. The vehicle landed on its side, shattering every window before it rolled onto the roof. Mitchell’s seatbelt dug into his waist and he gripped the handhold harder. Upside down now, sparks trailed the truck as it screeched over the pavement.

  A few agonizing seconds later, the Humvee ground to a stop. Smoke and fog spilled inside, filling Mitchell’s straining lungs. He coughed and swatted at the smoke. Olson hung from the ceiling, his neck twisted in a way that left no question.

  “No,” Mitchell said. “Olson, no...” He unbuckled his belt and crashed to the floor with a thud that echoed through the vehicle.

  Stanton coughed from the front seat. “Mr. President, are you okay?”

  “I think so,” Mitchell replied, glancing over at his Chief of Staff again. “But Olson’s dead.”

  The radio crackled, cutting him off. “Cheyenne 1, you have hostiles surrounding your position. Get POTUS out of there now!”

  Stanton swiped for the radio, but his hand came up short. He let out a groan and coughed. Mitchell scrambled into the front of the truck where the lieutenant hung from the ceiling. He reached down to Mitchell with a hand covered in blood.

  “Let me help you,” Mitchell said.

  “No, sir, I can’t feel my legs. I’m done... You have to get out of here,” Stanton said.

  Mitchell grabbed the radio as a high-pitched shriek rang out. Stanton let out a cough, but quickly covered his mouth with a sleeve to suppress the sound. Then he pulled a pistol from a holster on his vest and handed it down.

  “Sir, take this.”

  “But I...I don’t know how to shoot,” Mitchell stuttered.

  The noise of snapping branches came from the rear of the vehicle. Mitchell whirled as jointed appendages whizzed by the shattered back passenger window. Then came the scrape of talons over the concrete, like one of the beasts was dragging a pickaxe across the ground.

  Mitchell froze, his eyes darting from window to window as his heart assaulted his rib cage. A pair of feet staggered by the passenger side. The creature stopped and pounded on the back gate of the truck. Another joined, rocking the Humvee from side to side.

  Stanton pushed the gun down to Mitchell.

  “Take it, Mr. President.” The lieutenant whispered in a formal voice even as they were being surrounded.

  A thud sounded on the undercarriage of the vehicle. The creatures were on top now. Others circled outside. Wet, naked feet slapped over the asphalt as two emaciated Variants raced in front of the windshield, their backs arched and yellow eyes roving for prey. Mitchell grabbed the pistol, his heart rising into his throat.

  “Aim for the head,” Stanton said.

  Mitchell looked up and nodded. When he glanced back to the passenger side window, a female Variant on all fours tilted her head just outside the vehicle, blinking thick eyelids. Wispy blonde hair dangled over her scarred face. Her tongue shot out of her swollen lips and made a circle, leaving a trail of saliva. She cracked her head at an unnatural angle, focusing on Mitchell. Then she was moving, skittering forward on oddly jointed arms and legs.

  “Shoot it!” Stanton shouted.

  Raising the pistol, Mitchell let out a whimper. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The monster’s wet, veiny lips twisted into what looked a lot like a smile.

  “The safety lever!” Stanton shouted. “Back of the slide.”

  Mitchell struggled with the gun as the creature clawed into the truck. Her talons whooshed by his head, and he heard another pair slash through the broken windshield to his side. He flicked the safety up and squeezed the trigger at the shrieking female Variant. A bullet punched through her neck, hot blood splattering onto Mitchell’s face.

  Before he could turn, something stung his left arm and yanked him through the windshield.

  “Mr. President!” Stanton shouted.

  Mitchell pointed the gun at the Variant dragging him onto the pavement. He fired twice at the creature’s withered stomach. Howling, the beast loosened its grip on his arm and reached down at the gushing holes in its belly.

  Mitchell tried to push himself to his feet, but his left arm gave out in a rush of pain. Stanton was struggling upside down in his seat. The Marine raised a hand and pointed behind Mitchell.

  “Behind you!”

  The President turned and squeezed off two more shots at a male Variant. Both bullets hit the beast in the left side of the chest. It retreated back into the rising curtain of fog, screeching in agony.

  Mitchell crawled toward the Humvee, pulling his body with his right arm, the pistol in his hand scraping across the concrete. He risked a glance behind him. Dozens of Variants watched him from the ridgeline. Some perched while others prowled. There were three more on the road, the fog shifting around their bark-like flesh.

  “No!” Mitchell yelled. He continued crawling toward the truck. When he got to the windshield, he dropped the pistol and pulled himself inside.

  Mitchell screamed as a Variant clamped down on his left calf. His eyes widened as needle-sharp teeth mowed through his muscles. The hot pain was so intense it took away his breath. He gripped the frame of the windshield with his right hand, hardly noticing the broken glass slicing into his fingers. Stanton watched helplessly, his eyes locked on Mitchell as another beast clamped onto his right leg.

  “Help,” Mitchell whimpered, tears blurring his vision. He tried to hold on, he tried to fight, but no matter how much he wanted to live, there was nothing he could do to stop the monsters.

  A third Variant clamped down on his left thigh, and together the creatures yanked his grip away. They dropped him on the ground a few feet from the truck and tore into him a second later, twisting and stretching him so hard his tendons snapped.

  He let out a guttural, tormented scream, and closed his eyes. As the Variants fought over him, he didn’t think of his glory days on Capitol Hill, or even his wife, June. All he could think about was how history would remember him, or if it would remember him at all.

  -8-

  Ellis put his hands on his hips. “You still haven’t told Beckham yet?”

  Kate sighed, shook her head. She thought of a response, but figured it would be more of an excuse. Instead, she downed the rest of her morning coffee and prepared to enter the lab.

  When they’d finished suiting up, Kate joined Ellis at the entrance. They stood there for a few seconds staring at the stations beyond the BSL-4 labs, neither of them discussing the empty spaces. Specters of the men and women Kate had worked with emerged in her mind. There was geeky Rod from Toxicology, and her lab assistant Cindy with a cocky smile. Sergeant Lombardi was there in his riot gear.

  All of them were dead now. Murdered by the monsters they were trying to stop.

  “Another day in paradise,” Ellis said. His tone was apathetic. A far cry from the normal animated version Kate was used to hearing.

  “Let’s check the status of the reactors first,” she said. “You take one to six, I’ll go over the results from seven to twelve.”

  Ellis raised his keycard when the wall intercom behind them blared.

  “Hold on, doctors,” came a voice over the speakers.

  Behind the secure door to the changing room, Secretary Ringgold peered through the glass window. Kate strode over to the intercom and punched the button with a gloved finger.

  “Madame Secretary,” Kate said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning.”

  Ringgold smiled. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either, but apparently my curiosity won me over.” She took a step closer to the glass. “Where are all the other doctors?”

  When Kate didn’t reply, Ringgold’s smile vanished. “So it’s just the two of you now?”

  “Pretty much,” Ellis replied.

  “I see,” Ringgold said, her gaze shifting to the empty labs behind Kate. “Would you mind if I join you and watch you work?”

  Ellis glanced over at Kate, but she wasn’t about to turn down one of
the most powerful women in the world.

  “We’d love for you to join,” Kate said. “We’ll help you get suited up.”

  A process that normally took ten minutes ended up taking thirty, but when they had finished, Secretary Ringgold looked just like any other scientist inside her CBRN suit.

  “So, what’s on your agenda?” Ringgold asked.

  “First, we’re going to check the bioreactors to see how the cultures are populating. Then we were going to focus on contacting labs in other countries,” Kate said. She paused in the center of the first lab. “Actually, we were hoping you could help with that.”

  “I still haven’t spoken to President Mitchell, but I do have a call with General Johnson in a few hours. I was hoping to speak to the President first, but it sounds like I have no other choice.”

  Kate frowned. “You’ll ask him about facilitating the production of Kryptonite with other labs across the world?”

  Ringgold took a moment, breath fogging up her visor. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” Kate and Ellis said at the same time.

  The trio shared a chuckle, then proceeded to the lab housing the bioreactors. Antibody production levels seemed on schedule across the board. Kate breathed a sigh of relief that the experimental gene modification strategy was actually working. All the reports indicated there were no foreign contaminants or microbes negatively affecting the cell proliferation within the massive tanks. The hybridomas were dividing and producing antibodies at a rate sufficient to coat all the chemotherapeutic drugs they’d secured. If they were lucky, the accelerated rate would continue to hold steady.

  “There’s something I still don’t understand,” Ringgold said. “How did people turn into those things, the Variants, so quickly?”

  “Funny you ask,” Ellis replied. “I was about to go over a new theory with Kate this morning about their evolution. Especially now that they’re breeding.”

  Ringgold fidgeted in her bulky suit. “Those things can breed?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “And the gestation period appears to be weeks, instead of months.”