Several of the Little Birds swooped away to chase a pack of Variants still retreating. They opened up with their M134 Miniguns, 7.62mm rounds plowing into concrete and the buildings the Variants were scaling.
Harms, a young Marine with a neck tattoo and a scar on his right cheek, yelled, “Yeah! Kill those motherfuckers!” He roved the M240 toward the battle with one hand and pumped his other in celebration.
Tank and Garcia ignored their fellow Marine, and Horn didn’t bother telling him to watch his language around his girls. It was obvious everyone had other things on their minds.
Beckham didn’t know Thomas very well. He had been quiet, but he had fought furiously and without fear. No matter how many Variants were slaughtered below, it wouldn’t relieve the pain of losing Riley or Thomas.
“Holy shit, look at that!” Fitz said. He brought his MK11 to his eye.
“My God, I’ve never seen so many!” Tank shouted over the rotors.
Kate suddenly pushed up off Beckham, alert. Wiping her eyes, she turned to the door, her interest piqued.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” Beckham said.
Kate grabbed his hand. “I’m coming with.”
Apollo and Meg followed them to the open door. Beckham narrowed his eyes on a city void of lights. It was still remarkable to see New York like this. Hundreds of buildings were dark, derelict, and tattooed with scars of war. Moonlight spilled over the towers and the beasts below.
Beckham heard them before he saw them. The clatter of talons and snapping joints was audible even over the whoosh of the choppers.
Spotlights from several Blackhawks danced over the skyscrapers and angled toward the ground. The beams hit a street swelling with pallid flesh. The monsters were streaming into a massive crater.
“That’s Grand Central Station,” Fitz said.
General Kennor had pounded the location into the ground during Operation Liberty, after they’d learned there was a hive over one hundred thousand-strong there. Apparently those bombs hadn’t gone deep enough.
There were still thousands of the monsters.
No, tens of thousands. And they were all returning to their home after being drawn out by the recent military activity. The creatures were smart. They knew they couldn’t win a battle against aircraft.
The pilots of the Little Birds swooped lower, beneath the roofs of buildings surrounding what had been the metro hub. Those with missile launchers let their salvo fly.
“We still got any F-18s left in the area?” Beckham asked over the comm.
“They’ve been recalled to the GW,” Lewis replied instantly.
As the Blackhawk shot over the street, Beckham and the other observers watched in grim silence. Beneath them was one of the largest hives the military had ever discovered. If only they had the firepower to take them out while they were still in the open. Even with the 7.62 mm rounds and rockets, the Little Birds were only picking away at the swarm. The Apaches broke off ahead and banked to the left, Command apparently ordering them to the fight. One by one, the Blackhawks flanking Beckham’s bird peeled away.
“Ghost 1, be advised, Central has requested all aircraft without refugees to pound the shit out of that Hive,” Lewis said. “But I could always slow down for a few minutes.”
Garcia looked over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes despite the bruises beneath them. It was the Marine’s tell. He wanted to stay in the fight.
Beckham shook his head. He wasn’t going to risk anything happening to Kate or the others now.
“Get us back to the GW, ASAP,” Beckham ordered.
“Roger that. Command, this is Raven 1, en route to home plate, over.”
Their Blackhawk circled the Hive one last time. The six Little Birds dropped even lower, hovering thirty feet above the street. The beasts leapt at the choppers, talons reaching for skids. The Variants were torn apart as they continued to jump onto cars and into the sky. Relentless and crazed, these monsters were far different from the intelligent Alphas.
Beckham went to turn away when he saw the rooftops were filling with the creatures. Variants jumped out of broken windows, scaled the exteriors, and climbed onto the roofs. Several of the Variants galloped to gain momentum and then propelled themselves into the air, using their back legs as springs. Most of the pilots managed to pull away from their reach, but one of the creatures landed on the skid of a Little Bird.
“Shit!” Fitz shouted.
The chopper jerked hard to the left, nearly crashing into one of the other small black aircrafts. The Variant held on as the pilots tried to shake it off.
Raising his scope to his eye, Fitz took in a deep breath.
He waited for the perfect moment, when the chopper seemed to be gliding in slow motion, then squeezed off two shots that lanced away from his muzzle. The first streaked by the skids, but the second took off the Variant’s head. It hung there for several seconds before falling limply to the street below.
“Holy fuck!” Harms shouted. “Nice shot, brother.” He was laughing, but Fitz simply spit out the open door.
The Little Birds pulled up so they were out of the reach of any more leapers before continuing their assault. Crimson flowed freely in the street. Rounds streaked into the mass, but it wouldn’t be long before the pilots were out of ammo.
“Wolf 9 said he owes one to whoever pulled off that shot,” Lewis said.
Fitz simply nodded, and continued scanning the terrain with his rifle. Beckham gripped Kate’s sweaty palm and laced his fingers with hers. She reached up and wrapped her arm around him to whisper something in his ear.
Beckham only heard five words over the gunfire, rotors, and shrieking monsters.
“Didn’t…think I’d see…again….”
He hugged her. “I’m so sorry. I should have been….”
“It’s okay, Reed. This is war. We all have our missions.”
Beckham heard every word this time. The strength in her voice took him off guard. This was the Kate he had fallen in love with. Her words reminded him of something Riley had told him weeks before, when he’d had to leave the wounded young Delta Operator behind on Plum Island while the rest of Team Ghost went back into the field. He loosened his grip on her hand, but she quickly tightened hers on his.
That didn’t relieve his pain. He had failed the kid, failed him like he had so many others. The agony was almost unbearable, and Beckham choked on the rush of pain. A tear fell from his eye. He didn’t bother wiping it away. Kate did it for him.
As they left New York, Team Ghost and the civilians retreated to the center of the troop hold, taking seats or crouching on the floor. Only Fitz remained at the door next to Harms. He raked his MK11 back and forth, scanning rooftops and windows for hostiles.
When they were almost out of the city, he pointed with his right hand. “Harms, you see that?”
“Yeah, holy shit, man!”
“Beckham, you better get over here,” Fitz said.
Beckham kissed Kate on the cheek and worked his way over to the door. The husks of skyscrapers lined the horizon like metal gravestones. One building was nothing more than a skeletal frame that looked like a ribcage blown outward.
He followed Fitz’s finger to one of the tallest apartment buildings in the distance. A full moon carpeted the roof with a blanket of white. But Beckham still couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Here,” Fitz said. He handed Beckham his MK11.
Taking the rifle, Beckham zoomed in on the rooftop. His aching heart skipped a beat when he saw the plastic buckets. There were hundreds of them, all positioned carefully to spell out a message: HELP US.
Ellis left the control center of the GW with a spring in his step.
He didn’t care that Captain Humphrey had pounded a table when he found out Kryptonite wasn’t working on Lucy, or that he had yelled at Ellis for failing to have a backup plan to kill the juveniles. Nothing could mask the relief Ellis felt knowing Kate was alive.
Humanity had finally receiv
ed a win.
“Yes!” Ellis fist pumped for a second time. A sailor working on a pipe turned to glare at him, but Ellis didn’t care. His partner was coming back, and they were going to finish what they had started.
Rushing through passages and up ladders, Ellis made his way back to the flight deck, where he was escorted by a squad of six Marines to a Blackhawk. He climbed inside with a smile on his face, ignoring the heavily armed men. His eyes were on the jeweled sky. The storm had finally passed, the cloud cover dispersing and the rain letting up. Ellis settled into his seat as the engine fired and the rotor’s whup-whup drowned out the quieter sounds of an ocean after a storm.
“Hold onto something, Doctor,” said a Marine with the largest nostrils Ellis had ever seen. Ellis gripped a handhold just as the bird jolted and then ascended into the sky. In the distance, the Strike Group drifted across the waves. The ships surrounded him on all sides. For a fleeting moment, there was a sense of calm. It was a reminder of the days before the outbreak, back when he had been fighting microscopic monsters on the other side of the world. He had loved his life then. Traveling, seeing new cultures, and helping impoverished populations.
A draft of crisp, warm ocean air pulled him back to the present. The Cowpens grew in size as the chopper lowered over the vessel.
Jumping onto the flight deck, Ellis ran in a hunch after the Marine with big nostrils. The man cradled his rifle across his chest when they got to a hatch. Ellis turned to scan the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of helicopters returning from New York. Instead, he saw nothing but a sky painted with dazzling stars.
“Doctor Ellis, if you would follow us, please. Doctor Yokoyama is waiting for you at the brig.”
Ellis nodded and pivoted away from the view. They worked their way below decks at a relaxed pace. None of them seemed anxious to get where they were going. Not that Ellis could blame them. The inside of the Cowpens was dark, and reeked of bleach. None of the ships were exactly inviting, but there was something about this one that gave him the creeps. The Cowpens had an evil history with the experiments that had been conducted on Lieutenant Brett, other Variants, and now, Lucy. Building 8 had given Ellis a similar chill.
Leaving Plum Island behind for this place was going to take some getting used to, but at least he was alive.
Doctor Yokoyama was waiting outside Lucy’s cell when Ellis arrived. In the weak glow of overhead lights, he saw the Asian doctor's face was paler than normal.
He spun away from the window, nearly jumping at the sound of footfalls. “Ah, Doctor Ellis. Thank God you’re here.”
Ellis stroked his goatee as he approached Cell 6. He stopped mid-stride and locked eyes with Yokoyama as a shriek echoed down the passage. The high-pitched noise ebbed into a low whine that was followed by a long, sharp hissing.
“Holy shit,” Ellis whispered, continuing to the hatch. Those were not the sounds of a healthy Variant. These were the screeches of a creature in complete agony.
The older doctor ran his fingers through his thick hair, whispering, “It works. It really works.”
Through the glass window, Lucy hung from the chains. Still stretched into an X, the juvenile was no longer fighting her restraints. A bib of vomit rimmed her armored chest, green bile and blood frothing around her sucker lips. The flesh around her navel was bright red and splotchy. Boils prickled across the unprotected skin.
Lucy struggled to lift her head; droopy, bloodshot eyes tried to focus on Ellis. She blinked as she stared at him. Her spiked tongue shot out, then hung loosely from her lips, bloody webs of saliva dripping down her long chin.
Ellis pressed his hand against the glass, heart thumping. If Kryptonite killed Lucy, then it would likely kill all of the juveniles. Welcoming two miracles in a single day seemed like pushing his luck. Ellis wasn’t used to the good fortune. His cheeks ached from the wide grin on his face; he hadn’t smiled like this for months.
Lucy’s lips suddenly puckered. She titled her head back and pulled on her chains, releasing a guttural scream that sent bile exploding from her mouth. The spike of her tongue whipped around, saliva hitting the window.
Ellis leaned back. When Lucy finally looked at the door again, his smile had disappeared. His heart skipped a beat, then slammed against his ribcage. The juvenile’s face had transformed from that of a merciless, soulless monster into something he almost recognized as human. Lines of liquid streamed from Lucy’s wide saucer-like eyes.
But it wasn’t blood.
They were tears.
-6-
“Get us closer!” Garcia yelled.
Beckham held up a hand to protest, but fell short. He looked just as fascinated by the message spelled out in rain buckets as Garcia was. Everyone in the troop hold was staring. Could people have really made it this long out here?
“We can do a circle. One time,” Beckham said to the pilot while he locked eyes with Garcia.
It had been two weeks since Garcia had come across any stronghold of survivors. He had assumed they’d all fallen by now. Perhaps the survivors who had lived here were gone now too, killed by the Variants before anyone could rescue them.
Garcia closed his fingers around Thomas’s dog tags. He knew his mind wasn’t operating correctly. The surge of emotions ripping through him made him want to empty a magazine into the face of a Variant. But that wouldn’t bring Thomas or any of his other men back.
He craned his neck to see what his brother had died for. The troop hold was nearly full with civilians, including three children. The man had given his life so these people could live.
Closing his eyes for a second, Garcia remembered Thomas, his quiet brother, a man who spent his days meditating and reading dog-eared philosophy books. Thomas was a rare breed. He never bragged about his kills like Tank or Stevo. He never gave anyone shit. He just fought.
Garcia bowed his head, remembering all of those he had lost. Jimbo, Morgan, Stevo, Thomas. His wife, Ashley, and his daughter, Leslie. The apocalypse had stuck a knife into his gut, plunging it deeper every day, but he wasn’t done fighting back.
“Get us down there!” Garcia shouted.
Beckham glared at him. “Are you fucking crazy? We don’t even know if anyone is alive.”
The pilots slowly circled the thirty-story tower. Garcia shouldered his M4 and zoomed in on the building. The roof was surrounded by a metal wall with a makeshift barbwire fence rimming the top. From his vantage, it looked secure.
“If there’s someone down there, we have to help them!” Meg shouted.
Tank grumbled. That was Tankspeak for agreement. Garcia appreciated the hulking Marine’s support, but Beckham was in charge now. It was up to him, and judging by the crazed look on his face, it was going to take some convincing.
“Down there!” Fitz suddenly shouted.
In the center of the roof, the access door swung open, disgorging the silhouetted shapes of four people. They ran toward the buckets, waving.
Back at the open door, a tiny figure hid in the shadows. Others crowded behind it.
Children.
“Get us the fuck down there!” Garcia shouted.
Beckham stared in disbelief, then turned to the cockpit. “Can you land?”
“I would, sir, but we got a major fucking problem!” Lewis replied.
The pilots made another pass, directing the spotlight on the bottom of the bird at the exterior wall on the south side of the building. The yellow brick was covered with a horde of Variants. They looked like oversized crabs, their jointed arms and legs snapping as they climbed.
The sight chilled Garcia to the core. Harms centered his M240 on the beasts, but Garcia grabbed his arm. “Hold your fire! There could be more civilians on the upper floors.”
“What the fuck do you suggest we do?” Harms asked, his eyes still on the building. “They’re sitting ducks up there.”
The creatures were quickly scaling the exterior, and the civilians on the roof had no idea. There was no way they could hear the snapping o
f joints over the rotors of the Blackhawk. They had survived out here this long, only to have the military draw the Variants to their stronghold.
Harms let go of the M240 and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Get back inside!”
Shouting didn’t help. The survivors continued waving, oblivious to the approaching threat. Five children had emerged from the open door. Garcia zoomed in on a boy no older than seven. He was gripping a ragged stuffed animal. A man in a flannel shirt rushed over to the kids. There were over twenty civilians, and more continued to emerge, far too many to extract in the Blackhawk.
“We have to do something,” Garcia said. “If you won’t land, get me and Tank close enough to jump!”
Beckham didn’t hesitate in his response. He snapped into action. “Fitz, I want you to surgically take those Variants out! Lewis, get us as close as possible. We’ll take as many people as we can. Children first. Then women.”
“You sure about this, boss?” Horn asked.
“There are kids down there!” Meg shouted.
Apollo howled and pawed at Beckham’s leg.
Horn nodded in agreement, and Fitz started squeezing off shots. One by one, Variants plummeted to the road below, shrieking the entire fall before splattering on the concrete.
As the other creatures continued climbing, Garcia glimpsed flashes of motion coming from inside the building. Shit, they weren’t just on the outside; they were on the inside too. Variants broke through windows and climbed inside to escape Fitz’s precise gunshots.
“Lewis, radio in support. Tell Command we’re going to need another chopper,” Beckham said.
“On it.”
The bird lowered toward the rooftop, wind from the rotors slamming into the rain buckets and sending them scattering. There were thirty civilians on the roof now. How that was possible was beyond Garcia. Humans were resilient, and Garcia had seen some crazy shit in the past six weeks, but this many survivors in downtown Manhattan? It gave him hope there were more in other places like this throughout the country. Hell, there might be strongholds all over the globe.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 7
