“All clear, sir,” one of the men said.
Rowe flicked his mini-mic to his lips. “General Johnson, Plum Island is secure. I’m with Secretary Ringgold at Building 1. Master Sergeant Beckham and Team Ghost are here as well.”
When Kate looked back at the tarmac, a small group was piling out of the Osprey. No one said a word as the entourage approached. Kate felt every second tick by, knowing their situation was more fragile than a house of cards. A single wrong move could spark a chain of events that would ruin everything they had built here, and destroy their chance of defeating the Variants.
The formation of soldiers marched across the tarmac, and then the lawn. Through the fort of weapons and body armor, Kate glimpsed General Johnson. He walked with the posture of an old man, slow and slightly hunched.
Ringgold raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the men approached. Kate continued massaging the side of Beckham’s hand. They stood there in near silence, the only sounds Horn’s labored breathing and Apollo’s low growl.
By the time Johnson reached the stairs, Kate thought her heart was going to implode. He waved his men away and strolled forward, leisurely and non-threatening. At the bottom step, he took off his helmet and used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his wrinkled forehead. Then he continued up the stairs and extended a hand, offering a smile that showed a gap between his top two front teeth.
“Pleasure to meet you, Secretary Ringgold. I’m General George Johnson.”
She shook his hand. “With all due respect, General, I don’t appreciate the tone of this ‘extraction,’ and I would very much appreciate if your men lowered their weapons. Need I remind you that humans aren’t the enemy?”
Johnson’s gaze flicked to Team Ghost briefly before returning to Ringgold. “I’m sorry, Madame Secretary, truly, but after the incident that occurred here several nights ago, I was forced to take appropriate action. Security isn’t something I take lightly, and I have to do everything to ensure the safety of those still fighting.” He paused and drew in a short breath. “Unfortunately, we’re going to need to take Master Sergeant Reed Beckham and Team Ghost back to the GW Strike Group.”
“I know,” Ringgold said.
Kate inched forward, but Beckham squeezed her hand.
Ringgold turned to Beckham and nodded. “He goes where I go. If you have a few minutes, I’m sure I can explain in details the ‘incident’ you speak of. It implicates a long list of service members, primarily officers whom you are associated with, including General Kennor, Colonel Gibson, and Colonel Wood, whom Team Ghost killed in self-defense.”
“That’s damn right,” Riley blurted out. Kate caught Beckham’s hissed warning at Riley, but kept her eyes on the General and his men, waiting to see how they’d respond. Before the general could speak, Secretary Ringgold continued.
“From what I understand, all of those men were connected with the development of the Hemorrhage Virus, dating back to a platoon of Marines in Vietnam.”
Johnson put his helmet back on his head and pursed his lips, but Ringgold kept talking. “So before I’m sworn in as the next President, I guess my question is: What kind of country am I swearing to defend? One that continues to kill its citizens? Or one that will do everything in its power to defeat the Variants?”
“Madame Secretary, I don’t suppose anything I can say will convince you I’m one of the good guys at this point. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t trust me.”
“I sure as hell don’t,” Riley snorted.
The General sent a glare between Ringgold and Kate, aiming at Riley. Horn elbowed the kid in the shoulder, and Beckham shook his head. That was okay with Kate. She was simply relieved she didn’t have to witness another gun battle.
Johnson craned his neck to Rowe. “Lieutenant, fall back and wait for me on the lawn.”
Rowe stared back at him.
“Now, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” Rowe waved at the other four soldiers. They obeyed, filing down the steps and marching onto the grass.
Johnson took in another breath, released it, then said, “I’m going to be frank with you all. I knew nothing of Colonel Wood’s connection to Colonel Gibson, and if General Kennor knew, he sure as hell didn’t tell me.”
“You weren’t confidantes?” Ringgold asked. “Why do you expect me to believe you?”
Johnson pulled at the cuffs on his sleeves, his impatience starting to show. “Madame Secretary, there’s a fair amount I have yet to get to the bottom of, but I’m afraid you don’t have any choice but to trust me.”
“And why’s that, General?”
“Because the GW Strike Group is the last safe place in the world. Almost every single military base has fallen across the country, and judging by the defenses I saw on a flyover, Plum Island isn’t safe either. If you come with us, you will be protected by two Ticonderoga-class guided-missile cruisers, two Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyers, a submarine, and the GW aircraft carrier. We also have a Clark-class dry cargo ship and a Pathfinder-class oceanographic survey ship.”
Ringgold glanced over at Beckham, who offered a small nod of approval.
“I’m trying to defeat an enemy that wants nothing more than to eradicate our species. I hate to say this about my old friend, but maybe General Kennor and President Mitchell’s deaths were a good thing. Kennor was bullheaded and set in his ways. He didn’t give science a chance until it was almost too late. And Mitchell was never fit to be a President. But you...” Johnson wagged a finger. “You are strong. It’s the reason you’re still alive. I believe you and I can work together to defeat the Variants. With Dr. Lovato’s help, of course.”
Kate’s heart rate had just returned to normal when the General’s words sent it spiking back out of control. What the hell did he want with her?
“I didn’t just come to escort you to Central Command. I came for Dr. Lovato,” Johnson said. “If we’re going to win this war, I need her. At least for the short term.”
Kate tried to keep her voice from reflecting what she really thought. “General, I can’t leave. We just started production of antibodies here. I need to supervise—”
“I can take care of it,” Ellis interrupted.
“Excellent,” Johnson replied. “With your permission, then, Madame Secretary. My men will escort you, Master Sergeant Beckham, and Dr. Lovato to the GW Strike Group.”
Ringgold pivoted toward Beckham. “What do you think?”
Beckham let Kate’s hand fall to her side. “May I make a request, sir?”
Johnson nodded.
“We have civilian families here that need protection. Request permission for immediate evac to the strike group.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re all maxed out right now. Not a single bunk left. But I’ll tell you what: how about I leave thirty men to help secure and defend the island?”
Lieutenant Rowe took several steps forward on the lawn. “Sir, we can’t afford—”
“We will also loan the island two gunships and an additional Blackhawk,” Johnson said, cutting off his lieutenant without even turning.
“Whose command will these men and vehicles be left under? Major Smith has been in charge since Lieutenant Colonel Jensen was killed by Colonel Wood,” Beckham replied. “We also have a dozen of Wood’s men locked up in Building 4 who need to be dealt with.”
Major Smith stiffened, and Johnson gave him a critical look. “Smith will stay in charge of operations here. And we will bring Wood’s men back to the GW.”
“Thank you, sir,” Beckham said. “I’d also like to bring my men with me.”
“Granted,” Johnson quickly replied. “So, what do you say, Madame Secretary?
Ringgold put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I think we have a lot of work to do.”
Johnson smiled. “We’ll get you sworn in as soon as we arrive at the GW.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, which one of you killed Colonel Wood?”
Fitz slowly raised a hand from the
side of the landing. “I did, sir.”
Johnson walked over to him. “What’s your name, son?”
“Fitzpatrick, sir. Fitz for short.”
Johnson gave him the elevator eyes look, up and down. “Well, Fitz. Murder of a superior officer. They still call it fragging?”
Kate felt her heart beat faster. All the easy talk before was just a ruse. Now the General would show his true colors. Fitz stayed upright and calm, but Kate could tell he was worried. Beckham, Horn, and Riley all had their eyes glued to the General. Kate opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t find the words to make it all go away. Then the General was talking again.
“UCMJ says I’m supposed to arrest you, son,” he said to Fitz. “But I think I should give you a goddamn medal. I never liked that son of a bitch anyway.”
Fitz grabbed his MK11 from one of Johnson’s men and watched half of the soldiers march back to the tarmac. The others were already being debriefed and assigned patrols by Major Smith.
Rifle in hand, Fitz took in a breath and strode across the lawn outside Building 1 toward a group of civilians, his heart still pounding. Meg and Riley were busy arguing about something, and Tasha and Jenny held Kate’s hands while she discussed science shit with Ellis.
“You’re sure you can handle this on your own?” Kate asked Ellis. “I could be gone a couple of weeks.”
Ellis ran a hand through his thick black hair and flashed a smile. “I can handle it. By the time you get back, I’ll have our batch of Kryptonite ready to go.”
“I know.” She smiled back at him and turned just as Beckham, Horn, and Chow came jogging from the barracks, rucksacks and rifles slung over their shoulders. Apollo ran alongside, his ears perked and head roving as he studied the new soldiers.
The Delta Force Operators were headed back out there, and once again Fitz was being left behind. This time he wasn’t as disappointed as the last time. He felt a purpose here, and Guard Tower 4 was starting to feel like home. Besides, Team Ghost wasn’t going back to war—they were going to one of the safest places left in the world. Standing up in the tower for hours on end with nothing but the scent of salt water and the breeze wasn’t so bad. And if the Variants came back, he would give them hell.
“Daddy,” Tasha said. “Why do you have to go?” Her freckled features mashed together as she tried to understand.
“Can’t we come with you?” Jenny asked.
Horn stopped in front of them and picked them up, one in each arm. “I have to go alone this time, but you’ll be safe here. I won’t be gone that long. I promise.”
Beckham put his rucksack on the ground and dug inside, talking as he rummaged through the contents. “You keep an eye out on Johnson’s men. Don’t trust anyone. I sure as hell don’t.”
“What about me?” Riley fumed.
“Of course he can trust you, kid,” Beckham said, still digging. “I meant Johnson’s men.”
“You watch after my girls. Don’t let anything happen to ‘em. Got that, Fitz?” He put Tasha and Jenny on the ground, but both of them latched onto his legs.
“Roger that,” Fitz replied.
“You can count on me and Meg,” Riley said.
Horn patted Riley on the shoulder. “I know I can, kid. And thanks, Meg. I know you two will take good care of them.”
Meg smiled. “No problem. Try not to worry.”
Fitz’s eyes darted back and forth. “Any other requests?”
“If the Variants come back, I expect you to do what you did last time,” Chow said.
The group chuckled at that, and Beckham pulled a small green pouch from his bag. He opened it and said, “Team Ghost, gather around.” He waited for the men to circle. “Shit I said earlier outside Building 1 wasn’t right. I was wrong about Team Ghost not being what it used to be. In some ways, we’re better. Better because we’ve got Chow, Fitz, and Apollo with us now.”
The MK11 suddenly felt heavier than it ever had before. Fitz slung it over his shoulder as Beckham handed him a patch sporting an image of a skull surrounded by smoke.
“Wear it, and wear it proud,” Beckham said.
“Semper Fi,” Fitz replied. He grabbed the patch and nodded, beaming with pride.
Beckham distributed the other patches to Riley, Horn, and Chow. “You guys can thank Chow for these. Apparently he had them stowed in his pack since Fort Bragg.”
“I pulled patches for all the Delta Teams after shit hit the fan. Just in case anyone made it,” Chow said.
Riley stared at the symbol like he hadn’t seen it for the longest time. He wiped his eyes quickly with his sleeve. Beckham pulled his blade and punched a hole in a fifth patch. Then he bent down and looped it through Apollo’s collar. The dog sniffed at his hand and licked his fingers.
“Welcome to Team Ghost, boy,” Beckham said.
There were more short-lived chuckles, followed by silence. It lingered, broken only by the door to Building 1 opening and shutting. Secretary Ringgold and General Johnson stepped outside. She waved at Beckham and motioned for him to follow.
“Alright, let’s move out,” Beckham said. “You ready, Dr. Lovato?”
Kate nodded at Ellis, and bent down in front of Tasha and Jenny.
“Be good girls,” Kate said. They hugged her, then returned to Horn.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, kissing them each on the forehead.
Fitz stood next to Riley as the group departed. Tasha and Jenny sobbed while Meg tried to console them. Riley remained still, his eyes locked on his brothers and Apollo. Fitz felt the kid’s pain, but at the same time, Fitz knew in his heart they were where they were supposed to be. Every Marine had a duty. This was Fitz’s island to protect.
Garcia jerked awake to an awful smell, a mix between puke and the dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant during the height of summer. He opened his eyes to inky darkness.
He tried to move his head. That earned him a shot of pain that ran up his nose and bled through his skull like the worst brain freeze he could remember. Realization hit him with the force of a sucker punch in the gut as he remembered the Alpha Variant that had broken his nose.
“Stevo,” Garcia mumbled. He tried to turn to his left, but he was stuck in some sort of...he didn’t know what the hell it was. His body was pinned, but he was standing up with his back to a wall. Everything was blurry in front of him. At first he thought his vision was clouded, but it wasn’t a problem with his eyes. Something was blocking his sight like a thick piece of murky glass. The suffocating darkness didn’t make things any easier. Somewhere on the other side, there was motion.
Dazed but aware, Garcia finally accepted where he was. For weeks he had been tracking and killing Variants. He had seen their lairs—and the human prisoners they kept there. Now he was one of those prisoners.
A rush of fear and adrenaline shot through the Marine. He speared his head into a sticky film, his short-cropped hair getting caught in the glue.
“Damn. Fucking. Piece of shit,” Garcia grumbled. As he ripped his hair from the sticky substance, he cursed again. Not from the pain, but because he remembered his missing helmet. Losing it meant he hadn’t just lost the pictures of his family—he had also lost documented evidence of the juvenile Variants.
Stay calm, Marine. All it takes is all you got. All it takes is...
He closed his eyes. He was still alive, and still had the images of the child freaks locked away in his memory. As long as he was breathing, he would do everything he could to get it back to Central Command. But first, he had to find his way out of here. Wherever the hell here was.
How long had he been out? Had Tank and Thomas left without him? Where was Stevo?
Garcia focused on his breathing and did an inventory of his body, checking to see what hurt and didn’t. Besides his nose, the only pain came from his back. For a moment he listened to the trickle of water and the sporadic screams that echoed like he was inside a cave with no end.
He tried to move his torso, wiggling f
rom side to side. Then he attempted to move his head again. Each ear brushed up against the same sticky surface in turn, tugging on his skin. He took in a breath filled with the scent of rotting flesh and stomach acid. That made him gag, and this time he dry heaved so hard he lurched forward and tore his right arm free of the cocoon.
Distorted shapes darted by, and Garcia froze. When he was sure they were gone, he slowly moved his right hand, scraping his gloved fingers against the film. He dug the glue away from his stomach for fifteen minutes. If he could get to the switchblade, then maybe he could free himself without being noticed. That was a big if, and he had no idea what he would do after. But it was something. A small plan was better than having no plan at all.
The high-pitched shriek of a Variant broke out somewhere in the distance. The noise reverberated, making it nearly impossible to determine how far away the creatures lurked. Could be three feet or three hundred. Thirty seconds later, a tormented human scream followed.
Garcia clenched his jaw and continued peeling away the sticky sludge around his waist. There were more human screams in the minutes that followed, but his focus was on one thing: his switchblade.
Focus, Garcia. You still have air in your lungs, and you still have fight in you.
He had been given a second chance, and wasn’t going to waste it. His instinct and training had helped him survive after his wife and daughter were killed. Each mission, no matter how big or small, kept him moving. He was a Marine, and even if he hadn’t been trained to continue fighting, it was his nature.
The screaming faded away, replaced by the snapping and crunch of bones. At first he thought it was the oddly-jointed Variants, but the popping seemed to be coming from just one place. Garcia had heard it before. It was the noise the creatures made when they fed—the sound of gristle and ligaments being torn away from their prey.
Garcia held in a breath of the putrid scent of his sticky prison cell, wondering if he would be next. He waited there, unmoving, for several minutes. The screams came and went, each time seemingly closer, and each time his heart pounded harder. He didn’t dare move. If the Variants were this close, they would certainly see him digging for his switchblade.
Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) Page 13
