“Run!” Beckham screamed.
Fitz lowered his smoking rifle, jumped to his blades, and bolted into the building just as the street lit up with tracer rounds. The Variants vanished in a cloud of bloody mist and body parts. The sound of gunfire and incoming aircraft hit Kate like a wave, crashing into her. She cupped her hands over her ears and crouched.
Beckham waited for Fitz in the middle of the room. A grin touched the sides of the Marine’s lips when he reached Beckham.
“Sorry, boss, I had some unfinished business,” Fitz said.
Ellis stood in front of the glass window of Cell 6. Inside, the juvenile Variant Yokoyama had named Lucy glared back at him. She was still hanging from the chains that kept her stretched in an X. Thick lids, rimmed with scabby armor, blinked slowly. She tilted her head from side to side and narrowed her slitted, almond-shaped irises at Ellis. For a second, he wasn’t sure who was observing whom.
The analytical part of his mind studied Lucy with a deep fascination, but the emotional side was still focused on Kate. It was hard to concentrate on the beast in front of him without confirmation that his partner was dead or alive. The only consolation was knowing Beckham was on his way to rescue her. If there was anyone left in the world who could pull that off, it was the Delta Force Operator. He would use his bare hands if he had to.
“It’s not working, is it?” Yokoyama asked.
Ellis shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.” He let out a long sigh.
It was several hours since Sergeant Russo had injected Lucy with Kryptonite. So far she'd shown no reaction. If the Superman protein wasn’t present in her body, then the drug particles would be moving aimlessly through her bloodstream like bullets without a target.
“Goddammit.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling it back and holding it there. “The protein must have changed in the offspring.”
His mind swam with questions. What came next? How could he possibly find a way to kill these monsters without Kate? And more importantly, how could he do it in a week’s time? The clock was ticking, and if they didn’t defeat the Variants soon, there wouldn’t be enough people left on the planet to rebuild the human race.
Yokoyama took a step closer to the glass, but they both turned at the sound of footfalls in the passage. Lieutenant Davis led a group of Marines into the brig. Russo and his men greeted them halfway down. Lieutenant Davis directed her sharp green eyes at Ellis. He stared back at her, hoping she had news for him about Kate.
“So,” Davis said. “Do you have a SITREP or what?”
“Kryptonite doesn’t appear to be working,” Ellis said. When she didn’t budge, he added, “Yet.” He gestured toward the hatch. “Have a look for yourself.”
Davis pushed up to the window. Lucy hissed, her tongue shooting out and circling wormy lips. Her armored eyelids clicked, the sound audible from where Ellis stood.
“Yet? She looks pretty goddamn healthy to me,” Davis said. “The President and Vice President are not going to be pleased.” She ran a finger across her chin. “And I’m not going to be the one to tell them. Doctor Yokoyama, you stay here and keep an eye on Lucy. Doctor Ellis, if you would follow me, I’d like this to come from you. Captain Humphrey has requested an update in the CIC. There’s also something I think you should see.”
“Let me know immediately if something changes,” Ellis said to Yokoyama. As he turned to follow the Marine escort, his heart raced. Davis didn’t seem like the type of woman that would just hand over information, but he had to ask.
“Have you heard anything about Kate?”
“I’m not authorized to say, Doctor,” Davis replied.
Ellis considered asking in a different way but kept his mouth sealed. He would find out soon enough.
It took fifteen minutes to depart the Cowpens and return to the George Washington. Davis didn’t say another word until they got to the Zodiac that would ferry them to the aircraft carrier.
“You think it’s possible Kryptonite hasn’t had a chance to work yet?”
Ellis twisted his mouth to the side, considering his next words carefully. Perhaps he could barter for news. “I’m not authorized to say,” Ellis said. Wiping salt water from his forehead, he raised a brow. “Unless you can tell me anything about Kate?”
Davis’s alligator jaw remained clamped shut.
Damn. I suck at negotiating.
“Maybe it needs more time,” Ellis said. “But I’d say it’s highly unlikely. My guess is the protein the drug targets isn’t present in the juveniles.”
Davis nodded and they endured the rest of the trip in silence. The moonlight sparkled over the water, and bulging clouds rolled across the horizon as a storm moved east. Jolting up and down, Ellis shielded his eyes with a hand as salty spray hit his face.
Halfway to the GW, Davis bowed her head and laced her fingers together as if in prayer. Ellis hadn't taken her for the sentimental type, but the show of emotion didn’t last long. Davis sat up straight a few minutes later to look for the aircraft carrier.
Every wave the Zodiac crested made Ellis’s heart pound harder. He couldn’t wait any longer for news.
“Lieutenant, please just tell me. Have they found Kate? She’s my partner, I deserve to know.”
Davis grabbed a handle on the side of the boat. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you even if I did know.” She looked over his shoulder at the Marines in the back of the craft.
Ellis didn’t reply. He focused on the aircraft carrier as it ballooned in size. A chopper took off from the deck and thumped overhead. A few minutes later Ellis was climbing a ladder to the deck. He hurried after Davis and moved inside the ship, navigating the bulkheads at a brisk jog. The pace confirmed what he already knew. Humphrey didn’t just need a report on Lucy; he had news from New York.
Davis slowed when they reached the CIC. She waved Ellis through the open hatch. He was blasted by hot air as soon as he entered. In the center of the room, men and women in blue uniforms huddled around a cluster of monitors. Ellis scanned them as he approached. These were the faces of humanity's last hope; the pock-marked cheeks of a man with a receding hairline, a young officer with a birthmark over his right eyebrow, and the freckled nose of a woman around Ellis’s age. There were all shapes, sizes, and colors represented in this room. The crew of the GW and the other vessels of the Strike Group were the last American forces standing between the Variants and extinction.
“Stay here, Doctor,” Davis said.
Ellis stood on his tiptoes to see the monitors. They were divided into different screens, each with the green hue from night vision cameras.
“Target coming into view in a few seconds, sir,” the freckled woman said to Captain Humphrey.
Davis joined the small crowd, but Ellis remained where he was, straining to hear the conversation. “What are you hearing, Corporal Anderson?” Captain Humphrey asked.
The man with the birthmark looked up. “Lots of chatter, Captain. Still trying to get confirmation that it’s Dr. Lovato and her people.”
Ellis took a step forward, heart kicking at his ribcage. It felt like he’d just downed a Red Bull and Adderall.
He pulled at his soaked collar and took a deep breath.
On screen, he could see four vehicles peppered with tomato-sized bullet holes outside a shattered storefront. Hundreds of smoking bodies lined the street and sidewalk. Limbs and chunks of gore speckled the concrete. Some of those bodies were still twitching. There was movement at the top of the screen where Variants fled the scene. The beasts crawled into sewer openings and scaled buildings.
“Just got word, Captain,” Anderson said. “Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters are seeking refuge in a building on 42nd Street, along with Dr. Lovato and several other survivors.”
Ellis couldn’t control his excitement. He did a fist pump as he watched the live feed, but no one seemed to notice. They were all admiring the view. The cavalry had arrived in Manhattan, just in the nick of time.
Blac
khawks circled, M240s spitting rounds at the fleeing creatures. Apaches pursued the monsters to the east and west, sending missiles streaking through the air. Little black birds roamed the skyline with mini-guns, taking out the beasts that tried to escape to the rooftops.
The Variant army was on the run.
All around Ellis, the officers studied the feeds. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to smile until he saw a grin on Davis’s face. She glanced over at him, her smile fading slightly, and said, “I sure hope Kryptonite starts working on Lucy. The human race could use another miracle right about now.”
-5-
Fitz usually felt a rush of adrenaline after killing a monster. Man or Variant, it was almost always the same. Satisfaction mixed with the slimy chill of taking a life.
But not this time.
This was different to what he'd felt killing Iraqi insurgents, or even the Variants he'd taken down before now. The Bone Collector hadn’t just been an Alpha—it had been evil. And it had killed his friend.
This rush was pure satisfaction, without any guilt.
Rot in hell, you piece of shit.
The anger felt good. Much better than the despair he’d been living with for six weeks. It reminded him of when he’d arrived at Walter Reed to begin his long rehabilitation, when it finally sank in that his friends were dead, and his legs were gone. He had to rebuild his life back then.
Loss wasn’t new to Fitz. He’d lived with it his entire life. Friendly fire took his brother in Afghanistan. His parents had died in a car accident, and most of his brothers-in-arms had been killed in the War on Terror or by the Variants. But he still had some friends left.
He was still part of Team Ghost.
And he could still fight.
Sometimes he needed the rage and anger to remind him he was a warrior. Killing the Bone Collector had felt good, but it would pass. The darkness would try to slip back over him. He had to stay ahead of it; he had to stay frosty. He had to keep fighting.
The zip of a round punching through drywall sent Fitz ducking. He stroked Apollo’s blood-stained coat and tried to calm the dog.
“Everyone stay down,” Beckham said. He shielded Kate with his flak jacket, hovering over her on the floor. “Central 1, Ghost 1, we’re taking friendly fire. Advise your goddamn pilots again of our location.”
Fitz blocked out the noise from the radio and focused on the civilians. Looking over at those inside of the storeroom, he saw the faces of men, women, and children who would have to rebuild their lives just like he had after Iraq. For some it would be harder than for others. Especially the children.
“Where’s my daddy?” Bo asked.
Donna was on the floor a few feet behind Beckham, with Bo curled up in a fetal position next to her. Horn lay on his belly in middle of the room, Tasha and Jenny tucked up against him. His SAW was strapped over his back, the muzzle still smoking. Garcia and Tank were crouched next to the door, peering through the gap at the battle raging outside. Meg was the only one by herself. She was covered in ash, had her knees up to her chest and was rocking back and forth against a wall. She held an M9 tightly in her bloody right hand. Her knuckles were white from squeezing the grip.
Two more rounds tore through the ceiling, sending panels shattering to the ground. One of the pieces landed on Beckham’s back. He shook away the dust and wiped away the residue from Kate’s forehead.
The air support continued circling outside, hunting down the monsters that had, minutes before, been hunting Fitz and the others. The chop of rotors, explosions from missiles, and chatter of high caliber gunfire was music to his ringing ears. They were safe. For now. Beckham was reunited with Kate, and Horn with his daughters. There was no bringing back Riley, but maybe Fitz could offer some comfort to Meg.
“Stay,” Fitz said to Apollo. He crawled over to Meg and wrapped his arm around her. She wiped away a tear to look at him. The raw, deep pain in her eyes told Fitz how much she had cared for Riley. Hell, they’d all loved the kid. He’d been the comic relief, and a ball of positive energy in Team Ghost.
“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay now,” Fitz whispered.
Meg let out a skeptical sigh, but she allowed him to hold her.
They sat like that for several minutes, listening to the battle raging outside. The sounds were more distant now. Only intermittent gunshots echoed through the store.
Fitz dreaded the silence. He would rather have the crack of gunfire than the crying of those around him. War, it seemed, had become a relief from the quiet of peacetime. That’s when it was the worst for Fitz. At least, when he was fighting, he had something to keep his mind off the darkness.
A voice flared in his earpiece. “Ghost 1, Central 1, prepare for extraction, over.”
Fitz put his hand on top of Meg’s shaking hand. He tried to tighten his grip, but his hand was shaking too.
“It’s okay,” Fitz said. “We’re going home.”
“N-no,” Meg stuttered. “We’re not.”
Beckham looked back at them. “Plum Island is gone, Fitz. We’re going back to the GW.”
Fitz slowly pulled his hand away from Meg’s. He’d forgotten. Guard Tower 4 was no longer his office. His post had been destroyed, and the island he had called home for the past month was abandoned.
“Let’s move!” Garcia shouted.
Tank swung the door open and rushed through with his SAW out in front. Garcia shouldered his M4 and followed with his hand on Tank’s back. They were the only two members of the Variant Hunters left. Fitz shook his head. Team Ghost was down to only two original members as well. And Chow was the only surviving member of Delta Force Team Titanium. Perhaps they would all merge under one banner soon. That gave Fitz the energy to scoop Meg to her feet.
Beckham whistled at Apollo, and in seconds the team was moving.
The downdraft from helicopters hit the group as soon as they were in the storefront, whipping up dust and the stench of scorched flesh. The street was covered in body parts, spread out like some psycho killer's food truck had tipped and spilled all of its rotten contents.
Fitz held Meg around her waist. She kept up with him, but still had the pistol gripped tight up against her chest. In front of them, Beckham jogged through an inch of blood as he crossed the street. Meg gasped and stumbled. Fitz had to hold her tighter to keep them both from going down.
Overhead, four Blackhawks hovered. Apaches and MH-6 Little Bird choppers raced across the skyline, still searching for stragglers. A squadron of F-18 Super Hornets roared over the horizon, their mission complete, heading back to the GW.
One of the Blackhawks set down nimbly between the wreckage of two vehicles. A crew chief jumped onto the pavement, waving frantically. A Marine roved the door mounted M240 at the buildings above, searching for any monsters that had survived.
Fitz threw glances over his shoulders every few feet as he led Meg to the chopper. The sight of the civilians ducking under the shattered glass of the storefront window and running into the gory street was surreal. Horn couldn’t spare his girls from the horror, and Donna shared the same lost look as Bo.
“My God, what have we done?”
At first, Fitz wasn’t sure who he was talking to, or what he was talking about. He helped Meg climb into the Blackhawk and sent one last look around the ruined city street. In the near-silence under the rotor wash, Fitz realized he was talking about the human race.
Beckham slumped against the bulkhead as the Blackhawk ascended into the sky. Kate sat between his legs, turned at an angle to rest her head against his chest. Normally he would be at the door next to his men, firing on any threats, but he couldn’t let go of her now. He wrapped his arms around her so tight he could smell the sweat on her neck. Bowing his helmeted head, he kissed her on the forehead. Apollo was nestled up against him, his muzzle on Kate’s leg.
“It’s okay, Kate. I’m never going to let go of you again. I’m never going to let anything happen to you or our child.”
She gla
nced up at him with eyelids swollen from crying. Her blue eyes had lost their passionate spark. It wasn’t the first time Beckham had seen her like this, but it was the worst. The assault on Plum Island, the kidnapping—it was enough to break anyone and drive them over the edge.
“Kate, are you with me?” Beckham asked when she didn’t reply.
She managed a nod, then rested her head back on his vest. Beckham stroked her hair and took a moment to scan the troop hold. Fitz and Tank stood at the edge of the open door, their guns angled at the street. Garcia was right behind them, holding something shiny in his hands.
Thomas’s dog tags.
Another Marine lost. And this time it wasn’t even to a Variant, but to a human collaborator. Beckham buried the pain and focused on what seemed like a miracle. Horn still had his daughters. Donna and Bo were alive. Meg was safe. Fitz and Apollo had survived Operation Condor. And Kate was back in his arms. There was no denying things were bad, but they could have been much worse.
The pilot of the Blackhawk turned from the cockpit and shouted, “Ya’ll okay?”
Beckham gave a thumbs up and took in a long breath.
“Name’s Lewis. Hang on, everyone, I’m taking us home,” the pilot said. “Harms, stay frosty on that gun. Wilson, check those kids.”
“I’m on it,” the crew chief said.
Apollo’s obsidian eyes flitted up every few seconds, pained whimpers coming from his throat.
“Hang on boy, we’re going to get you fixed up really soon,” Beckham said. He looked for Wilson. The man was crouched next to Tasha.
“When you’re finished, can you look at my dog?” Beckham shouted.
Wilson nodded and went back to applying a bandage on Tasha’s leg. Horn was gritting his teeth, the sight of his daughter in pain overwhelming him as nothing else had. Jenny sat on his lap, her head buried against his crimson-stained flak jacket.
Outside the open door, an armada of helicopters traversed the sky. Four Apaches led the pack, with a half dozen MH-6 Little Birds racing after them like miniature beetles. Next came the eight Blackhawks.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 6
