A sharp jerk to the right sent Beckham smashing into the side of the door. The pain snapped him out of the shellshock. Everything came crashing down at that moment. His senses activated like he’d taken a shot of adrenaline. He could hear and feel everything.
“They’re fucking everywhere!” Timbo yelled over the comm.
The Humvee tore through the intersection, giving Beckham a glimpse of Ninth Avenue. Every inch of street seemed to be covered with the creatures. The mass surged over charcoaled cars and flowed across the surface of every building, moving so fast they seemed to blend together in one solid sea of pale flesh.
He twisted away from the view to check on Meg. She was in shock, her catatonic gaze locked on the windshield. She shared a seat with Chow, both of them jammed between the door and the console that separated them from Beckham. Jinx lay across their laps.
Up front, Jensen and Ryan shared the passenger seat, while Valdez leaned to the side of the steering wheel to see through the filthy window. The sunrise bled through the filthy glass. At first Beckham couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Hours before, he would have bet against ever seeing the sun again.
A voice crackled in his ear at the same moment a Variant speared Beckham’s window. The creature’s skull smashed into the glass with a crunch, leaving behind a smear of blood.
“Holy shit!” Chow said.
Beckham hardly flinched. He was more focused on hearing the incoming transmission.
“Ghost, this is Echo 3. En route to Pier 86, ETA five minutes. What’s your location? Over.”
“Echo 3. Ghost,” Beckham paused and smacked the front passenger seat. “Where the fuck are we?”
Valdez hunched farther to the side for a better view out the driver window. “About to hit Tenth Ave. Shouldn’t be more than a few—”
“Watch out!” Jensen screamed.
There was a flash of white, then the unmistakable crunch of metal on bones. The windshield cracked in every direction as the naked body of a Variant rolled off.
“Hold on!” Valdez yelled. He swerved to avoid two more of the creatures. The overcorrection sent the Humvee fishtailing, and the rubber screamed as they spun out of control.
They hit something else a moment later that made a wet thunk. A second and then a third body crunched under the tires, the truck jolting violently over each lump.
Chow held onto Meg to keep her from sliding out of their seat and Beckham grabbed Jinx’s body. He closed his eyes as Valdez clipped the back of a car. The windshield disappeared in an explosion of glass, and the turret grew silent.
When Beckham opened his eyes, Jensen was already kicking out the final shards. Valdez twisted the steering wheel, put the truck in reverse, and yelled, “Somebody get those things off our ass!”
Beckham whirled to see a pack of Variants that were almost on them. They charged forward using muscles that seemed to stretch in the morning light. He locked eyes with a hairless female, her yellow eyes smoldering with rage.
“Timbo! You okay up there?” Chow yelled, patting the man’s legs.
The bulky Ranger’s response came in the crack of heavy gunfire. The rounds shredded the Variants behind them as Valdez backed away from the snarl of vehicles.
Ryan fired one of the rifles he’d picked up off the street from the front passenger window, and Jensen unloaded a magazine of his own out the now absent windshield while Valdez shifted back into drive. The truck lurched forward and continued down Fiftieth.
“Meg, you okay?” Beckham asked.
She nodded and groaned.
“Echo 3, Ghost. We have an army trailing us,” Beckham said into his mini-mike.
“Roger that, Ghost. We’re flying hot.”
The distant rumble of a jet broke over the city. Were they coming in for another bombing run? Had Horn and the survivors of 1st Platoon made it out of the blast zone? Beckham’s mind hammered with questions he’d forgotten in the chaotic violence.
“Echo 3, did 1st Platoon get out?” Beckham asked. White noised surged over the comm long enough to make his heart skip.
“Roger that, Ghost. Got several of ‘em with me now. Came to save your ass.”
“Almost to Twelfth,” Valdez said. “Just one more block.”
Ryan changed magazines and jammed his M16 out the window as they passed through the intersection. He mowed down three Variants making a run for their position.
“Hold on,” Valdez shouted. He took a left at Twelfth Avenue, turning so hard the Humvee almost tipped on its side. The change in direction gave Beckham a close up view of the Hudson River, its banks littered with the dead, and the distorted shapes of Variants coming to join the chase.
The crimson glow of the sunrise flickered over the water and flooded the city streets. The radiant light wasn’t stopping the Variants this time. They were too focused on food.
Beckham narrowed his eyes on a single sailboat drifting toward the shore. It disappeared behind the clogged vehicles on the opposite side of the street, and Beckham shifted his gaze toward the sky, searching for Echo 3.
“I’m out!” Timbo yelled. “Someone give me a rifle.” He reached down and Ryan handed back one of the extra M16s he’d picked up.
“There has to be thousands of them!” Timbo yelled as he pulled himself back into the turret. The crack from his rifle came a beat later.
Beckham continued to scan the sky. There, through the gleaming sunlight, he made the shape of a chopper. He imagined what the scene would look like from above: a single vehicle moving at a breakneck speed through the ashes of a burned-out city with an army of enraged monsters chasing them. It was like something out of the movies.
He gripped one of Jinx’s limp hands, wishing desperately that he could fire on the Variants that had killed his brother. Sitting there and doing nothing felt like a betrayal.
The truck swerved to the left before taking a hard right. When he looked up, they were on the pier. Both Bradleys and the other Humvees were there, abandoned where 1st Platoon had left them. Echo 3 hovered over the end of the platform. Valdez navigated around the vehicles and raced toward the chopper.
The high-pitched roar of the M240 machine gun sounded as soon as their Humvee was clear. The door gunner unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds that whizzed overhead. Beckham twisted and watched the projectiles pound the concrete and slam into flesh. A geyser of limbs, rock, and bone exploded into the air.
Beckham felt a moment of relief that quickly turned into panic as he looked back to the windshield. They were heading full-speed toward a concrete barrier. Valdez slammed the brakes, and the truck ground to a halt just inches from the blocks. Beckham jolted forward, Jinx’s body nearly rolling off of his lap.
“Everybody out!” Valdez shouted.
“Chow, Timbo. You carry Jinx. I’ll get Meg,” Beckham said as he opened the door. “Valdez, Ryan, Jensen, you lay down covering fire.”
He staggered out onto the dock. The Variant horde streamed down Twelfth in both directions. They were changing their tactics again. With thousands joining the chase, the individual Variants seemed to know that the chances of getting hit by a bullet were slim.
The army surged forward.
Beckham forced himself to look away. He bolted around the side of the vehicle to help Meg out, nearly crashing into Valdez and Ryan. The two men took knees and laid down covering fire. Jensen was already shooting from the other side of the truck.
“Get out of here,” Valdez grumbled.
“Help me,” Chow said. He struggled to drag Jinx’s body to the edge of the seat, and Timbo helped pull him from the vehicle.
“Beckham, you and Chow get Meg,” Timbo said, jerking his head toward the woman. “I’ll carry Jinx.”
Beckham leaned down, and with Chow’s help they hoisted Meg to her feet. She glanced up at Beckham, still clutching the blade he’d given her.
“We’re really leaving?” Meg said like she didn’t believe it.
“Yeah,” Chow said. “Come on, we have
to move.”
They squeezed through the gap in the barriers and hustled toward Echo 3. Meg muttered a response Beckham couldn’t make out. He tightened his grip on her and focused on the bulky outline of the soldier behind the M240. The man raked the weapon back and forth, battling for every inch of the pier.
Whipping wind from the rotors hit them then, and Beckham squinted to see Rodriguez and Peters jump from the chopper.
“Get inside!” Rodriguez yelled as he raced past.
The ground trembled from the hammering of thousands of feet. The ethereal screeches from all those gaping mouths reverberated through the city. Reality seemed distant, the fog of war setting in around Beckham’s consciousness.
Meg went limp in his arms when they were one hundred feet from the Blackhawk. The knife slipped from her hand, hitting the concrete with a faint clank. Beckham put everything he had left into hoisting her up, his injured shoulder blazing. Working with Chow, they carried her toward the bird. Timbo beat them there. He placed Jinx inside and then grabbed Meg with his massive hands.
Beckham’s eyes flicked to the door gunner. He saw then it was Horn, his features raw with pain in the flash of gunfire. It was the look that only seeing a fallen brother could produce.
The whine of high caliber rounds intensified as Horn channeled his rage into the assault. Beckham turned back to the battle and cupped his hands over his mouth.
“Fall back!” he shouted. Despite Horn’s efforts, the pier was already being overrun. Hundreds of Variants flowed onto the dock. Some spilled over the side to avoid the gunfire, splashing into the Hudson River. Others climbed onto the vehicles and lunged over the spray of bullets.
Waves ten thousand strong crashed down Twelfth Avenue, fighting, clawing, and biting their way to the pier, hungry mouths starving for human flesh. The army stretched across Beckham’s entire field of vision.
“Beckham, gun!” Chow shouted. He grabbed an M-16 from the chopper and tossed it. Valdez and Ryan were already retreating by the time Beckham loaded and shouldered the rifle. Peters and Rodriguez had taken up position halfway between the bird and the concrete barriers. Jensen, unyielding, was still firing from the side of the truck.
“Fall back!” Beckham shouted. “FALL THE FUCK BACK!” His voice cracked, the countless screams finally taking their toll.
Chow and Beckham joined Peters and Rodriguez. There was no need to aim when they got there. Everywhere Beckham lined up the iron sights, he found a target.
Jensen backpedaled with his rifle shouldered, squeezing off burst after burst. Tracer rounds from the M240 whistled overhead, thumping into the wall of Variants that had reached the abandoned Humvee. The rounds cut through the creatures and peppered the vehicle with holes, punching through metal. Air hissed out of the shredded tires.
“Move your asses!” Beckham screamed.
“Let’s move!” Chow shouted. He pulled Beckham away. “Come on!”
A flash of motion behind the chopper stopped Beckham’s heart mid-beat. The Variants that had jumped into the water had flanked the team.
“Behind you!” Beckham shouted.
A half dozen of the creatures pulled themselves onto the dock, water dripping off their veiny, muscular flesh. The pilot lifted off just as two of the Variants launched into the air. One of them crashed back to the ground, but the other grabbed the landing skids. The chopper jerked to the right, the creature swinging with it.
Jensen finally caught up and crouched next to Chow while Beckham aimed for the Variant’s long arms. He held in a breath and squeezed off four shots that cut through its wrists, leaving its hands still attached to the skid while the rest of its body fell into the water.
The chopper rotated in a circle, giving Horn a clear shot at the remaining Variants. He opened up again, his gunfire marked out a perimeter around Beckham and the other men, the large-caliber bullets kicking concrete into the air. The rounds punched through flesh and shattered bones, splattering the dock with pink chunks of gore.
“Let’s go!” Horn yelled, waving them forward with one hand.
The chopper lowered again, and the three men piled inside next to Timbo, who had been firing from the doorway next to Horn. Rodriguez and Peters jumped in a moment later, but Ryan and Valdez were still retreating.
“Out of the way!” Beckham shouted. He pointed his rifle out the door as soon as the men were clear and squeezed off covering fire for Ryan and Valdez.
They were only fifty feet away from the chopper. So close it seemed like Beckham could reach out and touch them. Five seconds. Maybe ten. That’s all they needed. To most people, the fraction of time would go unnoticed, but for Valdez and Ryan, this was a matter of life and death. Both of them had abandoned firing and ran like madmen, their arms pumping and their helmets bobbing up and down.
Beckham pulled a dry magazine from his M16 and reached to Chow for another when he saw the Variants jumping from the water along the side of the pier. They climbed onto the dock, lean muscles glistening from the Hudson. The pilot saw them too, and he pulled up before Beckham could react, knocking him against a wall.
“NO!” Beckham shouted. He watched helplessly as Ryan crashed to the dock in a blur of motion, the monsters tackling him from two directions. Beckham glimpsed the terror in his eyes and the bloody mist exploding from arteries as they tore him apart. And then he was gone.
Beckham sucked in a long, stunned breath. He scrambled back to the edge of the open chopper door. Horn was firing madly in an effort to save Valdez, but it was too late. The rounds shredded the first wave, but another pack that had emerged from the river circled the Marine. He spun with his rifle blazing, dropping several of the monsters. The others reached out with talons as long as knives. They cut into him, tearing gashing wounds across his body. He spun as they slashed him, his eyes falling on the chopper, a defiant look still on his face. The man was as tough as a bag of bricks. It took five of them to finally bring him down.
Beckham forced himself to watch. Valdez had given his life for his men. He’d fought valiantly to the end so that his brothers would live. Looking away would dishonor him.
Halfway down the pier, the main mass of Variants surged over the concrete barricades. Thousands of talons reached toward the sky. The creatures climbed over one another in an effort to reach the feeding. What was left of Ryan and Valdez was quickly consumed, buried in the heart of the diseased flesh.
The pilots maneuvered over the river and pulled away from the city. Beckham said a prayer, scanned the ruined New York skyline one more time, and collapsed next to Jinx’s limp body. The nightmare that was Operation Liberty was finally over. A handful of heroes were dead and New York was lost, but he had a feeling the war had only just begun.
-5-
The monsters were gone, but signs of the nightmare they had unleashed on Plum Island were everywhere. Blood stains from the Marines who had tried to hold the Variants back crisscrossed the concrete. Bullet casings littered the ground. A single helmet remained on the tarmac.
Kate stood at the front of a group of civilians, waiting again for Team Ghost to return. A brilliant sun cast rays of morning light on the skeleton of the Chinook a hundred yards away. It sat there like a brooding beast, the darkened metal still steaming. Above it, the shape of a single Blackhawk sparkled in the sunlight. Kate squeezed Jenny and Tasha’s hands as they watched the helicopter approach.
“Clear a path!” someone shouted. Four medics in Medical Corps uniforms pushed through the group. They broke off into pairs and hurried across the tarmac carrying stretchers.
“What are they doing?” Tasha asked.
“They’re going to help the soldiers,” Kate replied.
“Is daddy hurt?” Jenny asked.
“No, honey.”
Tasha looked up with glossy eyes. “Is Reed?”
“He’s going to be just fine.”
Riley wheeled his chair to the front of the group and took off after the medics. Fitz followed close behind, ignoring the orders
from a Medical Corps guard posted at the edge of the tarmac. Kate was still amazed at how fast the young Marine sharpshooter could run on his prosthetic blades.
Kate watched anxiously as the chopper set down and disgorged over a half dozen men. The medics rushed forward in a low run beneath the blades. They pulled two people from the craft a moment later, a soldier and a woman in a CBR suit. Team Ghost huddled around and helped the medics place the injured onto the stretchers.
She scanned the group, counting the survivors. Relief came flooding over her when the familiar faces came into view. Timbo, Peters, and Rodriguez were the first. Next came Chow and Jensen. Horn and Beckham were at the back of the group, jogging alongside the medics. A pale, limp hand hung from the stretcher on the right. There was no question then that another life had been lost.
The woman on the other stretcher reached up slowly, and Beckham grabbed her hand. Kate’s heart lurched at the compassionate gesture. After everything he’d been through, the fact that the hardened soldier could still be so gentle and kind was the thing she admired most about him.
Ellis stepped up beside Kate. She hadn’t heard him approach. He scooped down to pick up Jenny and then held her so she could see the approaching team.
“They found another survivor out there?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Kate replied. “I overheard 1st Platoon had a couple of survivors, but they were taken to one of the destroyers off the coast.”
“Maybe Beckham’s team found someone else,” Ellis said.
“I guess so,” Kate said. She stepped back as the Medical Corps soldier in front yelled, “Make room!”
Jensen was the first to reach the end of the tarmac. He stopped to stare at the downed Chinook.
“He doesn’t know,” Kate whispered more to herself than anyone.
The commander took off his helmet and ran a hand over his head. Kate could only imagine what he was feeling. He’d returned from war to a home that had been ravaged by the monsters.
Extinction Age Page 5
