Major Smith pushed through the crowd and met Jensen and the others on the tarmac. Riley and Fitz were already there. The kid swiveled his wheelchair to watch the medics continue past, his blue eyes locked on the stretcher. He wheeled after it and then stopped, his hands falling to the sides of his chair.
Kate’s heart shattered at the sight. She saw Jinx’s face then—and the gaping wound that stretched across his neck. He was gone a moment later, the medics rushing him and the woman away.
When she turned back to the tarmac, Beckham was staring right at her. He stopped a few feet away, and she took him in with a quick scan. Every inch of his uniform was covered in blood and grime. She could smell the stench of raw sewage on him from where he stood.
Kate didn’t care. Horn ran to his girls, and she ran to Beckham. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so hard she could hardly breathe. When he finally let up, she tilted her head and searched his eyes. They were still strong and confident, even now, after so much had been lost.
“Are you okay?” they asked each other at the same time.
They shared a sad, companionable chuckle that lasted only a fraction of a second. He pulled her in tight again and said, “What happened here?”
“Horn didn’t tell you?”
Beckham looked toward the medics and said, “There wasn’t much talking on the ride back.”
Kate wasn’t surprised. The last thing the men had needed to hear when they were in New York was that their home was under fire.
“That Chinook,” Kate said, pointing. “It was carrying a load of Variants for medical research. Eighteen of them. One of them got out. It killed the crew and the chopper crashed. The creatures escaped…and murdered over a third of the island’s population.”
“Christ,” Beckham said. “Riley, Fitz, you, and the girls…you’re all okay?”
“We’re okay,” Kate said. “We have Fitz to thank for that. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be talking right now. None of us would be.”
Beckham’s features softened, his jawline relaxing. “Thank God for that.” When he turned to the Chinook, all trace of emotion disappeared from his features. He hardened back into an operator right in front of her eyes.
“How bad is it out there?” Kate asked in a voice shy of a whisper.
Beckham bowed his head. “It’s gone, Kate.”
“What’s gone?”
He caught her gaze and said, “The whole damn world.”
Jensen walked into a quiet command center wondering if he should have stayed behind instead of going to the front with Team Ghost and 1st Platoon. There had to have been something he could have done to prevent the massacre on Plum Island. Maybe if he had sat Operation Liberty out, the Variants would never have escaped the Chinook. Maybe he would have ordered the bird shot down before it made land.
No, you can’t think like that.
The domino effect of decisions could drive a man mad. If he had stayed behind at Plum Island, then he’d be kicking himself over Jinx, Ryan, Valdez, and the countless Marines who had died.
Regret was a part of war. Every single decision stayed with a soldier for the rest of his life. There were no take-backs, no time machines. You had to believe that everything went down the way it was supposed to, or else you’d go crazy.
Jensen strolled over to the observation window. All of this could have been avoided—the virus, the war. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the numbers. Even if he tried, he couldn’t picture what a billion people looked like, let alone six.
Major Smith walked into the room and looked Jensen up and down twice. “Shit, sir. You look like you’ve been through the grinder.”
The major eased the door shut and stood there, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. His eyes were ripe with exhaustion. Despite that, he looked relatively alert.
“Talk to me. How bad is it?”
Smith stiffened and said, “Bad, sir. We lost sixty-five people—eleven scientists, thirty-four soldiers, and twenty civilians.”
Jensen shook his head. “I thought we were safe here,” he said grimly.
“And Colonel Gibson is dead,” Smith added.
Jensen clenched a fist. “How’d he die?”
“A Variant, sir. It breached the secure medical wing where Gibson was being held. I was told there wasn’t much left when it got done with him.”
“A fitting end,” Jensen replied in a dark voice that sounded like it could have been from a stranger. He felt no trace of compassion for the colonel. Dying of a heart attack would have been the easy way out, but Gibson didn’t deserve the easy way. His fate seemed beyond fitting. It felt like some sort of retribution.
“Base is on lockdown, sir,” Smith said. “Guard posts are set up at multiple locations. The towers are all manned, and I’ve re-positioned the remaining guards to patrol the fences. Even if those things can swim, they won’t make it past the beach.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jensen said. An image of Gibson’s mutilated body was replaced with those of the Variants back in the Hudson. He could still see them swimming alongside the pier to flank Echo 3. The last thing he was going to do now was underestimate the creatures.
“I want every available man on security detail,” he said. “I’ll give the strike teams a few hours of bunk time to recover from Operation Liberty. At 1500, I want them back on patrol.”
“Understood, sir. We have a call with Central at 0900. General Kennor has requested to speak with Dr. Lovato.”
Jensen checked his watch, raising a sleeve smeared with a combination of shit and blood. The stink assaulted his nostrils. He needed a hot bath full of bleach.
“That gives us about five minutes,” Jensen said. “Where is she?” He looked around the empty room. “Where the hell is everyone?”
“Dr. Lovato’s not coming, sir.”
“What do you mean she isn’t coming?”
“She refuses to speak to the general. Said she has nothing to say to him and that he won’t listen anyway.”
The words hung in the air for an uncomfortable second. Jensen dug in his pocket for the tobacco he’d picked up from a Marine in New York. He tucked a chunk into his mouth as he spoke, his words coming out muffled. “Where’s Hickman and Benzing?”
Smith hesitated and shook his head.
Jensen swallowed hard. The juices burned his throat as they trickled to his guts. “God damn son of a…”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Smith said, his features tight and his eyes glassy. If Jensen didn’t know better, he would have thought the man was holding back tears. He wasn’t used to seeing the major show any emotion.
“They were good soldiers,” Jensen said. “Loyal soldiers.”
Smith nodded and glanced at the radio equipment along the wall.
Jensen decided against asking him how they died. All that mattered now was moving forward. He would hold a proper service for those they had lost, but for now he needed to work on salvaging what he could.
“Smith,” Jensen said sternly. “You need to get it together. Lots of people are counting on us.”
“Yes, sir,” Smith replied and straightened his posture. “I have a fill-in for now, but she’s not an experienced radio operator.”
“I’ll take whomever I can get. We need the intel now more than ever,” Jensen said. He paused in an effort to manage his thoughts. “Anything I should know before our call with General Kennor?”
Smith sat down at the war table and turned on the computer. His hand shook as he moused over to the video feed.
“Smith, what aren’t you telling me?”
The major looked up. “I was going to let the general tell you, sir.”
Jensen crossed his arms and waited.
Smith drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “General Kennor has issued a full retreat. We’ve lost the cities, sir. The military is pulling back.”
The door creaked open, distracting Jensen from his sour stomach. A woman with shoulder length
gray hair and eyes as sharp as an eagles stood in the doorway. She threw up a tight salute and said, “Corporal Hook, reporting for duty, sir.”
Jensen returned the salute half-heartedly. Pointing at the radio equipment, he said, “Put together a SITREP based on whatever you’re hearing over the net. I want a report by 1600.”
“Yes, sir,” Hook said. She hurried over to the wall of monitors, grabbed a headset, and took a seat without asking questions or making small talk. He liked her already.
“Connecting to the call with Central,” Smith said from the table.
Jensen tossed a wad of chew into the trash and took a seat next to the major. “Anything else I should know?”
“We’re running low on supplies—both ammo and food,” Smith said, shaking his head. “Just when you think shit can’t get worse.”
Jensen frowned. “Things can always get worse, Smith. At least we’re still breathing. Supplies can be restocked…Humans can’t.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll put in a request at the end of the call.”
The computer beeped at them and a live feed of the ops room at Central Command emerged on the screen. Insignias of the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines were centered on the concrete wall of the command bunker. A mahogany table with maps and papers draped across it sat empty.
Jensen heard a door open and shut. A man with white hair strolled in and tossed a folder on the table. He took a seat and stared into the camera with eyes accentuated by bags that looked a lot like bruises. At first, Jensen could hardly believe it was Kennor. If it weren’t for his wrinkled face, he would have thought the man sitting in front of them was a boxer who had just taken multiple punches to the face. Jensen wished he could add a bruise for not listening to Kate in the first place.
The general opened his folder and licked a finger before thumbing through the pages so quickly it made Jensen sick. Did he even understand how bad things were?
Kennor paused at the last page, raised his bushy gray brows, and then frowned. A curse followed.
“Jensen, Smith,” he said, looking at them in turn.
“General,” Jensen said.
“Heard Plum Island was attacked in a freak accident last night.”
“Yes, sir, we had sixty-five casualties. Colonel Gibson was one of them.”
Kennor didn’t even flinch. “How many injured?”
Jensen did flinch at that. How many injured? Was Kennor that clueless?
“Zero, sir,” Jensen replied through clenched teeth. “The Variants don’t leave behind injured.”
Kennor’s forehead tightened, and he grumbled, “Where’s Dr. Lovato?”
“Not here,” Jensen said.
Kennor glared at him, letting his eyes do the talking.
“She’s in the lab, sir,” Smith said. “Cooking up a new weapon.”
“Good,” Kennor said. “I want a SITREP at 0700 every day from here out. If she makes a breakthrough, I’m the first person you tell.”
Jensen nodded. “Certainly, sir.” He wanted to reach through the screen and strangle the old bastard. But he kept his calm for the sake of those under his command. The general was still in charge, and Jensen had to respect that. Kennor was stubborn, but he wasn’t a madman. He wasn’t Colonel Gibson.
“As you two probably already know, Operation Liberty has failed. I’ve issued a full retreat to outposts, bases, and strongholds,” Kennor said. “That means it’s even more important that Dr. Lovato develops something as soon as possible.”
“Understood, sir,” Jensen said. After a pause, he added, “How will we deploy this weapon? Aren’t we strained for resources?”
“We’ll figure that out when she creates one,” Kennor said. He looked away from the camera and held up a finger to someone Jensen couldn’t see.
“I’m needed in ops, but there’s one last thing you two need to know. This is confidential. You are to share it with no one,” Kennor said. His forehead became a canyon of wrinkles, so many that it looked like it hurt. “Raven Rock has fallen.”
Jensen fidgeted in his chair. Surely the general was mistaken. There was no way the alternate command center could have been overrun.
“The Variants got into the tunnels beneath the base,” Kennor said.
I deployed a search and rescue team, but we lost contact with them shortly after they arrived.”
Jensen didn’t know what to say. The implications were startling. First New York, then Plum Island, now the retreat from the cities and the loss of Raven Rock.
Kennor stood and straightened his uniform. “Actually, you can share this intel with Dr. Lovato. Tell her we are losing this war.”
“She understands perfectly, sir,” Jensen said. He didn’t think he sounded condescending, but Kennor responded with a glare.
“Sir, we have a request,” Smith said.
“What is it?”
“We’re running low on munitions and our food supply is dangerously low, too. Requesting a resupply of both.”
Kennor shook his head. “I can’t authorize that.”
The response came so fast Jensen wondered if the general had even heard the question. When Smith started to protest, Kennor raised his hand like he was about to scold a private.
“We have requests coming in from every remaining military asset across the country. You’ll have to wait your turn,” Kennor said.
“Sir, Plum Island could help bring an end to this war. If it weren’t for Dr. Lovato’s first bioweapon—”
“I realize that, Lieutenant Colonel, but President Mitchell has authorized resupplies based on priority level, and as of now Plum Island isn’t at the top of the list.”
“General,” Jensen said. “If you want a scientific solution to this war, you need to get me the tools.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jensen, but we have other teams working on solutions.” He folded his hands and caught Jensen’s gaze. “You’re a soldier. You’ll have to make do.”
Jensen nodded, threw up a salute, and waited for Kennor to shut off the feed. As soon as the general signed off, Jensen stood and walked to the observation window, barking orders. “Smith, I want a SITREP on our supply levels. Count every gun, every round, every can of Campbell’s Chunky Soup. Hook, I want to know what’s going on in the rest of the country.”
The corporal swiveled her chair away from the monitors. “Sir, I’ve been scanning the channels and I’m not picking up much.”
“What do you mean?” Jensen asked.
“I mean I’m not hearing much chatter at all,” she said. “I don’t think there are many people left out there.”
-6-
By mid-morning, a blanket of calm had settled over Plum Island. The only sounds were the sporadic chirp of a bird and the faint rap of footsteps. Beckham heard everything, his senses still on full alert. He hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours but couldn’t seem to shut off his mind. After everything he had been through, it wasn’t going to be easy to let his guard down enough to get some shut-eye.
He sat with Kate on the steps of Building 1, watching the cleanup crews carry bodies draped with white sheets into the medical building. Neither of them spoke. Being next to each other was enough for now.
Beckham wondered how long the quiet would last. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around Kate, to pull her tight, but he feared her soft touch could break him, so he pretended he didn’t need it. He tried to feel something—wanted to feel something—but beyond the lingering pain of losing so many of his brothers, there wasn’t much that seemed safe to feel besides anger.
Anger was a dangerous emotion. Like a house built of cards, the rage threatened to blow everything away. He’d gotten pummeled by a Variant at Bragg and taken shrapnel to the shoulder in New York, but it was always the mental wounds that hurt the worst. They went deeper than the bruises and cuts that tattooed his skin. He was a Delta Operator, yes, but no amount of training or experience could prepare him for the anguish that came with the loss of so many of his brothers, not t
o mention the civilians they couldn’t save.
“Will you stay now?” Kate asked, breaking the long silence.
“I hope so,” he said. “Need to heal.”
Kate scooted closer, just inches away from him. He almost flinched. She read his body language with a single, critical look.
Seeing her expression, Beckham said, “Sorry.”
“No, don’t do that. You don’t apologize. You’re a hero, Reed.”
Beckham shrugged; he didn’t feel like a hero. Before he could react, Kate brushed up next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. The fresh stitches screamed at him, but instead of pulling away, he leaned closer.
“I’m sorry about Jinx and the others,” Kate said. She stared ahead now, her eyes following another white-draped body on its way to the medical building.
“He died fighting. Can’t ask for anything more than a soldier’s death,” Beckham said. He looked to the north, toward New York City, and thought of Jake and Timothy. The cop and his son they’d rescued from Manhattan during Operation Liberty were safe on a destroyer now, sailing somewhere away from the monsters. He took solace in knowing that Jinx’s death hadn’t been for nothing. In the end, they had saved a few precious lives.
Kate let out a sigh and said, “What comes next?”
“Was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Back to the lab.”
Beckham shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his wounded shoulder.
“I’m going to design another weapon,” she continued. “Something that will kill every last one of the Variants.”
“That’s what we should have done a week ago,” Beckham said. His anger and frustration bubbled just below the surface. “That son of a bitch, Kennor. In some ways he’s no better than Gibson. If he would have just listened before Operation Liberty. And don’t get me started on Lieutenant Gates, that piece of shit. Called in an airstrike and left us out there to fight an army of Variants numbering in the hundreds of thousands.”
Kate placed her hand over his and gently squeezed his battered knuckles. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Reed.”
Extinction Age Page 6
