Riley choked again, cracked a grin, and slurred, “You’re going to die, you evil fuck.”
A sharp pain raced through Riley’s neck, and he fell to the ground. The pain faded away, until there was only the swirling red, and then shades of darkness touching the sides of his vision. The last thing he saw was Meg crawling toward him, that beautiful girl still fighting, and Fitz running with Apollo by his side.
“NO!” Fitz screamed.
He shot the hulking beast in the back as it dropped Riley’s limp body to the ground. The creature whirled, and pointed its remaining hand in Fitz’s direction. Then it grabbed Meg by her hair and dragged her away. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, still trying to stab it with the knife in her hand.
“Alex!” she shouted. “Alex get up, you have to get up!”
Fitz aimed at the Alpha’s head, but half of the dozen Variants racing for Building 3 turned and ran toward him. The other half continued carrying their human prisoners down the path.
“Alex!” Meg shouted. She disappeared around the corner of Building 3 a moment later, her cries lost in the roar of the Variants.
Fitz hesitated, then halted. He was down to his final magazine and didn’t have enough ammunition to kill all of them. There wasn’t time to find another weapon. His heart was thumping out of control, and he was wheezing like a chain smoker. Riley was gone, but he could still save Meg and the others.
He whistled at Apollo, and grabbed him by the collar when he didn’t come. The dog struggled in his grip, and he had to yank him down the path cutting between Building 1 and Building 3. Fitz pulled Apollo into a bush and raised his rifle. Taking in a breath, he waited.
The Variants burst around the corner on all fours a few seconds later. When all seven of them had passed, Fitz opened fire from behind. He lined up his remaining shots carefully, killing three of them with shots to the back of the head. By the time the rest knew what had happened, he’d killed another two. Apollo leapt at one of the monsters, clamping his jaw around the beast’s neck. Fitz smashed the other creature in the face with the side of his M4 as it lunged at him. The impact knocked out several needle-sharp teeth, but the creature clambered back to its feet and slashed at his right blade.
Fitz kicked it in the eye with his left blade. The metal sunk through soft tissue, and he used the butt off his rifle to smash its head into a bloody pulp. Apollo let out a yelp as the final Variant clawed at the dog’s back. Fitz jumped onto the pile of bloody flesh and fur, wrapping his hands around the monster’s neck. He squeezed the life out of it, breaking its windpipe as he screamed at the top of his lungs. By the time it was over, he was covered in blood. Apollo sat a few feet away, twisting to lick his wounds.
“Are you okay, boy?” Fitz whispered.
Apollo’s tail wagged weakly. Fitz pushed himself back to his blades and whistled for Apollo to follow.
Dazed, injured, and moving on raw adrenaline, Fitz staggered back to the concrete path leading to Building 3. The Variants were dragging humans down the stairs, and now he was without a weapon.
Fitz balled his hands into fists and almost screamed to get the attention of the monsters, but a hand cupped around his mouth. He twisted to see Dr. Ellis still wearing his spacesuit. Fitz nearly had a heart attack at the sight. Ellis put a finger up to his visor, then handed Fitz an M4.
A tear fell from Fitz’s eye. He wasn’t sure if it was from joy or sadness, but he grabbed the weapon and whispered, “Follow me.” Ellis nodded and raised a pistol.
The final monster was clambering down the steps by the time Fitz opened fire. He killed it with a headshot, brains painting the landing above. The other creatures rounded the corner to Building 3, escaping with their human prisoners. Kate was the last to go. She reached out toward Fitz and Ellis, screaming for help.
Fitz ran after her, glimpsing Riley’s mangled body as he ran down the path. A gasp escaped his mouth. The horror of seeing his friend lying there was too much. Muscles burning, breath coming out in raspy gasps, Fitz bolted around the corner to the building, making the exact same mistake the Variants he’d just killed had made.
Two of them were waiting. They tackled him to the ground, slashing at the barrel of his M4 as he tried to bat them away. One of them ripped at his face, a claw sliding over his flesh. He let out a scream and smashed the butt of his gun into the side of its pale skull. Apollo and Ellis arrived a few seconds later, crashing into the beasts. By the time they killed the monsters, Fitz could hear the engines of boats firing in the distance.
“Come on!” he shouted.
Ellis helped Fitz to his feet, and they took off down the path together. Apollo reached the clearing first. The dog halted on the bluff overlooking the beach, barking and trembling. Fitz raised his rifle just as three of the boats raced away from the island.
“We have to get a boat!” Fitz shouted. He waved Ellis and Apollo forward and ran for the final three boats. They were halfway down to the beach when a rocket hit the center boat, exploding in a fiery ball that set the other two ablaze. Fitz dropped to the ground, tears streaming down his face, watching in utter shock and horror as the Variants raced away with his friends.
-Epilogue-
The storm had cleared, but another had rolled in over Plum Island. Beckham still didn’t know exactly what had happened. The GW had lost contact with the island hours ago. He ached for news, the agony of not knowing like a gut wound. He kept one hand on his weapon and the other wrapped around his stomach.
In the doorway of the Blackhawk, he searched the waves for the place he had called home since the outbreak began. Garcia, Tank, and Thomas sat behind him, their weapons angled out the other open door. Horn manned the mounted M240, muttering something about how he would never forgive himself for leaving his daughters. Beckham felt the same way. He should never have left Kate.
Anger. Fear. Confusion.
Beckham’s insides felt like they’d been put into a blender. He took a sip of water from his camel pack and spat it out over the ocean. There was no getting rid of the awful taste in his mouth, or the guilt ripping through his guts.
“How far out are we?” he said into the comm.
“Ten minutes,” one of the pilots replied.
“Hurry this fucking tin can up!” Horn shouted back.
Beckham glanced up to scrutinize his best friend. His freckled face was cherry red, and sweat dripped from his auburn hairline. When Sheila had died, Beckham thought he saw Horn at his lowest point, but the man staring out over the waves was beyond that breaking point. His eyes were vacant. Hollow and lost.
“Tasha and Jenny are going to be okay, Big Horn,” Beckham said.
Horn roved the M240 to the right. He was furious, and Beckham couldn’t blame him. He had promised Horn the island was safe. He had promised Kate the same thing.
Beckham endured the rest of the ride in silence. He raised his scoped M4 and brought the ACOG to his eye. Tendrils of smoke climbed into the air from an island on the horizon. He zoomed in on the white domed structures.
They were almost there. And so was the Cavalry. Vice President Johnson had sent choppers fifteen minutes before Beckham and his team left the GW. Johnson had strong words on his tongue, but he kept most of them in. He knew why Beckham had left without approval, and he couldn’t argue against it. Especially now that he had a child Variant to study.
“Probably would have done the same damn thing when I was younger,” Vice President Johnson had said.
Beckham played the man’s words over in his mind while the distant roar of jets broke out in the distance. A trio of F-18 Super Hornets shot over Plum Island. Dozens of choppers were already descending over the tarmac. But there were no tracer rounds splitting through the night.
Beckham squeezed the grip of his weapon with one hand and tightened the hold on his guts with the other. The lack of gunfire could mean only one thing.
He was too late.
The pilots came in low over the water, passing over a Mark V SOC that
was still burning. Beckham directed them toward the flaming wreckage of several civilian boats off the coast. He raised his M4 again, this time zooming in on the shore. In the flickering glow of the flames, he saw two figures. Both men were waving. As the bird got closer, Beckham saw there was something next to the men, a smaller figure—a dog.
“Put us down over there!” Beckham said. He lowered his rifle and grabbed the handhold in the doorway. Blinking, he tried to comprehend the images his eyes were feeding his brain. Was this some sort of illusion? Was he going insane?
“Is that Fitz?” Horn shouted.
“My God,” Beckham stuttered when he finally realized that what he was seeing was real. It wasn’t just Fitz, but Apollo too!
The pilots lowered the chopper over the beach, and Beckham jumped onto the sand. Fitz and Dr. Ellis came running over with Apollo. Both men were shouting and pointing out over the water, but Beckham couldn’t hear anything over the rotors.
Fitz approached with an awkward gait, one of his blades bent. His entire uniform was drenched in crimson, and Ellis’s CBRN suit was covered in syrupy blood. Apollo reached Beckham first, tail wagging. His coat glistened red. They looked like they had been through the wringer, but Beckham didn’t have time to check them for injuries.
“Where’s Kate?” he shouted.
“Where are my girls?” Horn asked.
Fitz was still pointing at the water. Ellis was out of breath; he reached down and put his hands on his knees, sucking in deep gasps.
As the chopper pulled away, Beckham finally heard what Fitz was trying to say.
“They took them!” Fitz said. “I couldn’t save them, Beckham. I’m so sorry. I just...I just couldn’t save them. The Alpha was too strong.”
Fitz dropped to the sand, letting his frustration out in a scream that echoed through the night.
“Who took them?” Horn asked. He grabbed Fitz by the shoulder and leaned in so their faces were inches apart. “Who took them, Fitz!”
“The Variants. The Alpha,” Fitz said. “They have them. I couldn’t stop them.” He continued repeating himself, and Beckham exchanged a glance with Horn. Fitz couldn’t be telling the truth, could he? How could the Variants have...
It struck Beckham all at once. Struck him so hard he almost fell to the sand next to Fitz. He didn’t need to ask any other questions to put the puzzle pieces together. The Variants had help destroying the island—help from men like Scabs and Frankie, who Garcia had told them about.
Horn understood too. He grabbed Fitz under the arms and hoisted him up. The Variant Hunters closed in, their muzzles angled at the sand, waiting for orders.
Beckham flicked his comm to his lips but stopped himself short of a transmission. “Fitz, where’s Riley?”
Fitz shook his head. “He’s...”
“He’s gone,” Ellis said ruefully. “The Variants killed him. But Kate and your girls are still alive, Horn. The bioreactors are safe too.”
“Fuck the bioreactors!” Horn shouted. He kicked at the ground, sand spraying into the air. “My girls. Riley. We have to do something, Beckham. And not later! NOW!”
For a moment Beckham didn’t know what to say. He simply stared at Big Horn. The kid was really dead? Horn’s girls, Kate—they were gone?
A moment of silence passed. The whistling breeze rippled their uniforms, and the distant shouts of soldiers claimed the night.
“What are your orders?” Garcia asked.
Beckham turned to look out over the water, but instead found Horn and the Marines glaring at him. The squadron of jets roared overhead again, rattling the men where they stood. He reached down and ran a finger across his vest pocket. A wave of nausea washed over him as he watched the jets tear across the sky in slow motion.
Fitz staggered up next to Horn. They all continued to stare at Beckham, anxiously awaiting orders. When the rumble of the jets cleared, he swallowed the nausea, clenched his jaw, and gripped his weapon.
Master Sergeant Reed Beckham became a Delta Force Operator once more, suppressing every emotion. He regarded his men one by one, looking at Horn last.
“We’re going after them. And we’re going to bring them home.”
End of Book 4
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Nicholas Sansbury Smith is the bestselling author of the Orbs and Extinction Cycle series. He worked for the State of Iowa for 10 years before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. That move paid off, with his post-apocalyptic/medical thriller Extinction Horizon climbing to #8 on the overall Kindle charts and #1 at Audible. A three-time kindle-all star, Smith has sold 200,000 books, and several of his titles have reached the top 50 on the overall Kindle bestseller list.
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Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) Page 31
