Extinction Edge (The Extinction Cycle Book 2)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Gear check in fifteen,” came a voice down the hallway. Five Army Rangers advanced through the crowd, checking the wounded and splitting the survivors into groups.

  Beckham wiped his eyes as Chow and Jinx approached.

  “Horn, I’m guessing you want to stay with your girls, right?” Jinx asked.

  An incredulous look broke across Horn’s face. Beckham had to chuckle.

  “Copy that,” Jinx said. He turned to Beckham. “We better get working on our formation. I just sent a scout out to check on the smoke. Good news there; it’s changed course away from the evac zone.”

  Beckham considered the route they’d used to get to the tunnels and said, “The tunnel is filled with corpses and gore. We have kids to think about.”

  Jinx scratched his nose. “With all due respect, the kids have already seen that shit and worse.”

  The words hit Beckham hard. He knew the horrors the kids had already seen, the same horrors he’d seen in New York and Niantic. Those images would stay with the children for the rest of their lives.

  “Other way is risky, man,” Chow said, pulling out his map. “We’ve been using it for supply runs and recon, but you already know the last time we were ambushed.”

  “Four Delta Operators and six Rangers to protect fifty people. Against things that move like insects,” Jinx muttered. “I don’t like our odds.”

  “What’s the distance between the two routes?” Beckham asked. He helped Chow spread the map against the concrete wall.

  “Way we came in is about one and half miles. Other way is three.” Chow wiped a strand of jet-black hair out of his face and focused. Beckham could see it in the man’s eyes—he wanted to take the way they’d come in. He didn’t like the idea of exiting through a tunnel full of corpses, but maybe he didn’t have any other option. Beckham looked to Horn for support.

  “Probably the fastest way is the best way,” Horn said, stroking Tasha’s hair. “Especially if the smoke has cleared.”

  Beckham licked the roof of his mouth. Once again he was at the helm, but this time he had a shit-ton of civilians to look after. “All right. We’ll exit the way we came in. Chow, you and I will take point. I want our best Ranger snipers on the rooftops along the route. Two'll have to go out ahead of us and stay ahead as we move, but they fall back to join the main group if they meet any threats. Horn, you and Jinx stay with the civilians. The other two Rangers will take rear guard. Buddy up every able adult with a child. Tell the kids to cover their eyes if they can. I don’t want any of them seeing this shit if they don’t have to.”

  Chow, Jinx, and Horn nodded simultaneously.

  “You said those things won’t follow us into the smoke, right?” Beckham asked and then remembered they’d been followed into the tunnels.

  “Correct,” Chow said. “Except…” Clearly the man was thinking the same thing Beckham was.

  “Maybe they came from a different location. Maybe they didn’t follow us after all,” Beckham said. “Do you guys have any smoke grenades? We can form a perimeter around the group when we get topside.”

  “Good idea,” Jinx said. “I’ll distribute a couple to each man.”

  Beckham paused to think. Was he missing anything? Was this the best way? His gut said it was. He swept his gaze over the tunnel, listening to the coughs and whimpers of the civilians. His eyes stopped on the veteran with the blades. He was standing behind Jinx, eavesdropping from the looks of it.

  “What’s your name, Marine?” Beckham said, gesturing the man forward. He wore a pair of shorts and a black T-shirt with Semper Fi across the chest.

  “Joe Fitzpatrick, but everyone calls me Fitz.”

  Beckham smiled. “You want to fight, Fitz?”

  “Thought you would never ask,” the man said with a wide grin.

  “Jinx, get this Marine a weapon,” Beckham said. “Whatever he wants.”

  “M27,” Fitz requested.

  Beckham looked at his watch. The birds would be en route now. It was time to start moving.

  Kate opened the door to Riley’s room quietly, just in case he was sleeping. An energetic voice greeted her.

  “Hey, Doc! Hit the lights, will you?”

  She smiled and flipped the switch. Riley was sitting up in bed, his arms folded and his hair sticking out in all directions.

  “You’re awake early,” she said. “You’ve just been sitting here in the dark?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Too worried about Beckham and Horn. I still can’t believe they went to Bragg on their own.” Riley pounded his sheets with a hand and centered his light blue eyes on her. They were focused, alert. He looked like he’d been up for hours.

  “I couldn’t sleep either.” Kate sighed. “Plus, I’m waiting on more test results.”

  Riley flattened his wild hair with a pat of his hand. Kate chuckled when it puffed back out.

  “Here, I brought you something,” she said, tossing him a copy of The Forever War by Joe Haldeman.

  He caught the paperback with one swipe and then stared at the cover with arched brows. “A book?”

  “Not just any book.” Kate took a seat in one of the chairs next to his bed. “I hear this is quite the story. Aliens, soldiers, and sex. You should enjoy it.”

  Riley quickly thumbed through the pages. “Um, I don’t see any pictures. What page is the sex on?”

  Kate rolled her eyes, but could not suppress a smile. “Start from page one.”

  He laughed and set it on his bed. “Thanks. Seriously, I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  “So why are you really here? You got word about Beckham and Horn?”

  Kate pulled her chair closer to his bed. “Three Black Hawks are en route to Bragg. Beckham found fifty survivors, including Horn’s girls.”

  “What about Sheila?”

  Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “God,” Riley said. He used his fingers to trace a cross on his chest and then bowed his head in a whispered prayer.

  She put a hand on his bed. When he finally looked up, she said, “But two other Delta soldiers made it. Jinx and Chow. Do you know them?”

  “Jinx and Chow!” He winced in pain as he repositioned his casts. “That’s great news. Didn’t think anyone could have survived.”

  “Me too,” Kate said.

  He brushed something away from his eye and straightened his back. “Thanks for coming to see me, Kate. And for the news. Sitting on the sidelines is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  “I know,” Kate said. “Seems unfair, doesn’t it? Us being here, safe, while Beckham and Horn are fighting to save the helpless.”

  Riley nodded several times. “It’s the ugly truth about war. Only a brave few fight while the rest of the world sits back and watches.”

  “It’s been like that for centuries,” Kate said.

  “Yup.” Riley picked up the book again. “Aliens, huh?”

  “Beats zombies, doesn’t it?”

  Riley pursed his lips and changed the subject. “Listen, Doc, I know you and Beckham got this thing going on. I kind of got a magical ability to read people like that. And I just want to say…” He paused as if he couldn’t find the right words.

  “Riley, it’s not like that,” Kate said, her cheeks growing warm. “We’re just friends. I respect him.”

  “He’s a good man. A good leader. Never been married, you know. Really hasn’t had many girlfriends either. He cares about us more than himself. So I guess I’m just saying don’t mess with his heart. He’s probably got the biggest one out of any Delta Force Operator to ever walk this planet.”

  Kate was completely taken aback. “I—”

  “It’s okay. I’m probably overstepping my boundaries here, but I see the way he looks at you. I can tell he cares about you. When this is all over, I just hope…”

  “I care about him too, Riley,” Kate said.

  “Well, yeah,” he mumbled. “I know.”

  “You sound surprised
. I thought you had this all figured out.”

  “I did, I did. You know, just good to hear it’s reciprocal.”

  They shared a laugh and then fell into companionable silence. Kate imagined Beckham, Horn, and the survivors winging their way toward the island. She closed her eyes and said her own little prayer, pleading with God or whatever was out there to watch over them. To watch over them all.

  -8-

  Beckham slowly opened the door and swept the tactical light on his new M4 into the tunnel. On reflex he pulled his scarf over his nose and nudged a Variant corpse away from the door. A pungent stench filled the space.

  Beckham took a guarded step inside, playing his beam over the way ahead.

  Nothing moved.

  He turned and motioned the others forward, his gaze falling on the boy he’d given his gas mask to. The child’s chaperone grabbed his hand and told him to close his eyes. Cries and whimpers from the civilians followed as they inched forward. Beckham brought a finger to his mouth. Knots formed in his stomach as he took in a breath and proceeded slowly. Beams from flashlights danced across the slaughterhouse, crisscrossing blood-splattered walls and mangled bodies.

  Beckham thought of Horn and his daughters. No man should have to experience what he was going through. And no child should have to endure the horrors surrounding them. He hoped to God that Kate was right about the risk of infection being minimal.

  A low croaking stopped Beckham in his tracks. Balling his hand into a fist, he stopped the group and swept his tactical light over the concrete until he found the source of the noise. Just as he feared, one of the Variants was still alive. How, he wasn’t sure. Its legs were a twisted mess of exposed muscle and ligaments. Blood oozed from multiple bullet wounds, and one of its ears hung by a thin strand of cartilage.

  Chow joined Beckham at his side. “Christ, man. How is that thing still alive?”

  The Variant dragged its broken body toward the group, prompting several screams of alarm.

  “Keep quiet,” Beckham ordered. He stepped past Chow, leaving about twenty feet between him and the Variant.

  “Tell the adults in the front to shield the kids from this,” Beckham said.

  Chow nodded and returned to the group.

  Beckham waited a moment and drew his knife. The Variant clawed the air with one hand and crawled with the other. Kneeling, Beckham prepared to jam the blade into the monster’s skull. Its eyes followed his motions, studying him, a hint of humanity still left inside. Without further hesitation, he brought the knife down into flesh and bone. There was a pop from the bulging sucker lips and then one last gasp of air as it fought for a final moment of life.

  Beckham dislodged the knife and stood. The Variant collapsed on its stomach. He nudged the body to the wall with the tip of his boot and then motioned for the others to follow.

  “On me,” Beckham said, taking point. He trained his muzzle on the double doors at the end of the hallway. He stopped again when they were fifty feet away and waved Chow forward. Together they advanced to the doors. Heel to toe, heel to toe.

  Chow inched the one on the right open, sticking the barrel of his M4 through. “Looks clear,” he whispered.

  Beckham put his hand on Chow’s back. In tandem, the two men moved into the hallway. More carnage greeted them, bodies strewn about the area just beyond the doors. The operators played their lights over every inch of concrete. This time nothing moved.

  So far, so good, Beckham thought. He nodded at Chow and then began the walk up the sloped floor, checking his six every few steps. The adults kept the children in the middle of the formation, doing their best to shield the young ones.

  “Let’s check those doors,” Beckham whispered to Chow. They ran ahead and took up positions on both sides of the doors. Propping his shoulder against the wall, Beckham nodded at Chow. The operator took a knee and crawled in front of the door, slowly rising to peek through the glass. He pulled away, raising his rifle like he’d seen something.

  “Contact?” Beckham asked. His muscles tightened as he waited for the high-pitched shriek.

  Chow peeked through the glass again and shook his head. “Thought so at first, but must have just been the flicker from the emergency lights.”

  The observation wasn’t reassuring, and Beckham dropped to his knees and then checked for himself. The light blinked, casting an eerie glow over the remains of broken ceiling tiles.

  “Clear,” Beckham said. Behind them, the other survivors stood in a bunch, some of them shivering. Beckham propped the doors open and, taking point with Chow, he motioned the group forward again.

  Minutes later Beckham was staring through the ash-covered windows. A plastic bag sailed over the sidewalk. Bodies littered the lawn, cooking under a brilliant morning sun. The light cut through the smoke to the north, rays breaking through the plumes.

  The knots in Beckham’s stomach tightened. His senses told him something was off.

  “Looks clear,” Chow said.

  Beckham held up a hand. “Got a bad feeling,” he said. “It’s too quiet.”

  Chow stared out the window. “I’ve had a bad feeling for weeks, man, but we have got to move. We got a hike ahead of us, and those choppers are on the way.”

  A minute passed before Beckham finally pushed open the left door. Shouldering his rifle, he crossed the lawn to the street. He scoped the area a second time and then shifted back to the civilians, catching a glimpse of the half-burnt magnolia to the right of the building.

  “Clear,” Beckham said. “Let’s move.”

  Chow led the group from the building in a tight line, the Rangers taking up positions alongside. Horn and his girls were near the back, both of them latched on tightly to their father. The sight sent a spike of adrenaline swirling through Beckham’s bloodstream. He was ready to rock ’n’ roll. Everything that happened before this was in the past. Saving Horn’s girls was a fresh start, a way to move forward. All that mattered now was extracting these people safely to Plum Island.

  The two forward snipers moved out fast and began looking for hides along the route. Beckham and the others made sure the main body proceeded at a sharp pace, probably too fast for some of the kids. Beckham checked the pack every hundred yards to ensure no one was falling behind.

  He glanced down at his watch as they passed across the Expressway on Zabitosky Road. The choppers would be close now. Beckham ran a bit faster, his eyes sweeping the road, trees, buildings, and vehicles for contacts. The stretch of Zabitosky that ran through the forested area made him uneasy. They were surrounded on all sides by a canopy of thick trees. The perfect place for an ambush, and with no high ground for the snipers to provide good cover. Or advance alert of incoming threats.

  The crunch of a tree branch elevated Beckham's heart rate, taking him back to the first hour they arrived at the post. He eyed the sea of green with a new sense of urgency. Beckham gripped his rifle tighter. They passed another intersection that crossed Honeycutt Road and continued around a mess of vehicles.

  Besides a few whimpers from the kids, the group was silent. Everyone knew what was at risk. Even the children. Beckham slowed to check the smoke from Womack Medical Center. The solid columns were finally starting to dissipate.

  “Chow, take point,” Beckham said, halting in the street.

  The operator rushed past with his weapon sweeping over the road. Beckham hung back to see how Horn was doing. He was running with Jenny on his back. Tasha held onto one of his hands. The two men shared a moment without uttering a single word. It was all Beckham needed to know that his friend was okay. He continued on to the rear guard to check on the others. The two Rangers stood like statues with their MK11s angled to the northwest. After a few beats they lowered their weapons and jogged to catch up with the pack.

  “See anything?” Beckham asked the man Chow had referred to as Timbo. He was a tall, bulky African-American man, with a chinstrap of facial hair. They ran side by side for a few moments.

  “Negative,” Tim
bo said in a gruff voice. “Pretty quiet so far.”

  “What about you, Steve?” Beckham asked.

  The other Ranger shook his head.

  “All right, headed back up front. Keep sharp.”

  Beckham tucked his chin to his chest and burst into a run. The group was passing a tangle of wrecked vehicles when he heard a creaking in the distance. The noise was so soft it could have been the wind, but when he eased to a stop, his ears told him what his mind wanted to deny. There was something out there.

  Not wanting to alarm the group, he jogged back to the snipers at the rear, waiting for the group to get ahead before saying anything. Both men had set their rifles up on the hoods of cars. Beckham watched their muzzles search the road to the north.

  The sound came again, a scuffling like a rat scampering across the concrete. Only this wasn’t coming from a rodent; it was a combination of many faint scratches. There were other noises too: low moans and the awful clicking of joints.

  Beckham forced himself to look. The sound was coming from Honeycutt Road, about five hundred feet to the north. He readied his rifle.

  Steve and Timbo trained their MK11s on the intersection. A solid wall of trees blocked the view to the east and west. Beckham threw a look over his shoulder. The civilians were a couple hundred feet to the south of the intersection now, making their way toward the Airborne Inn and a cluster of other civilian buildings. They were moving at a trot, slowing down. The kids and the injured were fatigued.

  “Shit,” Beckham said through clenched teeth. He knew the journey wasn’t going to be easy. The sounds of the Variants erased any hope for a simple extraction.

  “Twelve o’clock,” Timbo growled, spitting onto the hood of the car as he repositioned his rifle.

  Beckham glassed the concrete just as the first Variants burst onto the street. Tumbling bodies exploded across the intersection, somersaulting and crashing into cars and one another. In the blur of blood-soaked flesh, a single Variant caught Beckham’s attention. He zoomed in on a man dressed in tattered camo shorts. The Variant leapt with ease onto the roof of a pickup truck. His muscles bulged and blue veins webbed across his skin. He tilted his head at an angle, sniffed the air, puckered his sucker lips and pointed in Beckham’s direction. The action shocked Beckham. He’d wondered if the woman in New York had been an anomaly, but the truth was perched on a car in the middle of Honeycutt Road.