Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Sunlight washed over Manhattan, and as their bird raced away from the city, Fitz forced himself to remember the final look in Huff’s eyes when the man realized he wasn’t going home. It was awful way to die. To have hope ripped away like that.

  Fitz bowed his helmet and closed his eyes. Once again he was returning to safety, a place he knew he didn’t deserve to be.

  Beckham strode down the passage toward a Medical Corps soldier standing guard outside the laboratory wing of the Cowpens.

  The man threw up a hand. “Master Sergeant, please stop where you are. This is a quarantine zone!”

  Beckham continued without slowing, determined to get to Kate. When he’d heard the SOS over the comms, he’d commandeered a Zodiac and raced over to the Cowpens on his own. No one was going to stop him.

  “I’ve been ordered to prevent anyone from entering this passage! Please turn—”

  “Out of my way,” Beckham said.

  The soldier moved to the left, blocking Beckham from entering the next passage with his bulky CBRN suit.

  “I’m warning you,” Beckham said. He tried to step around the man, but the soldier grabbed him by his right arm, gloved fingers clamping around the fresh bandage on Beckham’s wrist.

  “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  The man loosened his grip and held up both of his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Sir, you need to step back from the quarantine zone. We’re at level 1 lockdown right now.”

  “Let me pass,” Beckham growled in a voice he didn’t even recognize.

  “I can’t do that.” There was restrained anger in his voice, obscured partially by his breathing apparatus. Beckham eyed the M4 swung over the man’s back, but his next action wasn’t marred by a single second of hesitation.

  Using his palms, he shoved the Medical Corps shoulder against the wall and then drew his revolver. The soldier grunted and reached for the strap of his rifle, but by the time he went to unsling it, Beckham had the barrel of his .45 pointed at the man’s visor.

  “Don’t even fucking think about it,” Beckham snarled, putting his thumb on the tip of the hammer.

  “Woah, take it easy.” The man immediately pulled his fingers from under the strap of his weapon. Very slowly, he raised his hands and held them above his head. “I’m not a soldier. I’m just a microbiologist that was ordered to stand guard. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Beckham let out an exasperated breath when he saw the man’s eyes. They were very young—and also terrified.

  Gritting his teeth, Beckham moved his thumb away from the hammer.

  The scientist’s lips were trembling, his eyes centered on the barrel. “Could you please point that somewhere else? I’m not a big fan of guns.”

  Beckham slowly lowered the weapon toward the floor, tucking it against his right side without holstering it.

  “Is there a problem down there, Anthony?” shouted a voice from the opposite end of the hallway. In Beckham’s peripheral, two more Medical Corps soldiers wearing CBRN suits emerged. Both had their rifles cradled across their chests. They couldn’t see Beckham’s .45 from that angle. At least he didn’t think they could. He tucked it against his side, trying not to be obvious.

  “No problem, Jake,” Anthony replied in a confident voice. “I was just about to escort Master Sergeant Beckham here inside the quarantine zone for him to suit up.”

  “You know who I am?” Beckham whispered.

  The other two soldiers lingered at the far end of the passage, but at last disappeared around the bulkhead. Their footfalls faded into a weak echo.

  Anthony shrugged. “Didn’t at first, until you shoved me into the wall and pointed that monster .45 in my face. That gun has almost as much of as reputation as its owner.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beckham said. “Kate—Dr. Lovato is in that lab. I need to get to her.”

  Anthony nodded with understanding. With the weapon out of his face, he jerked his helmet toward the quarantine zone. “I’ll take you to her. Follow me.”

  Beckham holstered his weapon. He was embarrassed, but it was water under the bridge. If Anthony wanted to help, he wasn’t going to turn it down.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” Beckham asked.

  Anthony hesitated, turning his helmet slightly before replying. “It’s the juvenile Variant. Apparently it has some sort of self-destruct mechanism. Dr. Yokoyama was killed during the autopsy, and everyone in the lab has been quarantined until we figure out exactly what happened.”

  Beckham passed Anthony when he saw the entrance to Lab A around the next bulkhead. His gut tightened, like his intestines were twisting and churning. There were a dozen suited individuals outside the first hatch. Overhead, a sign read, Authorized Personnel Only. Hazmat and radiation symbols marked the bulkhead.

  “Let me handle this,” Anthony said as they approached.

  Beckham hung back, heart pounding, trying to imagine what was going on inside the lab. The thought of losing Kate now, after just getting her back, made him want to open the hatch and run into the lab. But that wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

  Anthony spoke to one of the other scientists-turned-soldiers. They both glanced back at Beckham several times before Anthony finally waved him over.

  “It’s all good. We just need to get you into a suit.” He hurried to a hatch and pulled his keycard.

  Inside, Beckham grabbed a suit hanging on the wall. He fucking hated these things. Anthony helped zip up the back and secure his helmet.

  “Thanks,” Beckham said. “Seriously, man, I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  They moved back into the passage and followed a second Medical Corps soldier to another hatch. He grabbed the wheel handle, twisted it, and opened it to reveal a small office with observation glass.

  Two other suited soldiers were already inside, talking through an intercom system. Beckham’s heart flipped when he saw Kate and Ellis through the glass. They were at the west end of the lab, sitting on stools next to three technicians in blue suits.

  “Sergeant Garret,” Anthony said. “This is Master Sergeant Beckham. He’s Dr. Lovato’s….”

  “Boyfriend,” Beckham said when Anthony paused. There was no time to worry about the heat rising in Beckham’s cheeks. It wasn’t from embarrassment, anyway—it was from fear.

  In the center of the room, the smoldering remains of Lucy lay cooking on a gurney. There wasn’t much left, only a pile of charcoaled bones. Part of the metal table had melted. Silver drops fell to the floor next to Dr. Yokoyama’s body. The right side of his helmet had dissolved over what was left of his skull.

  Garrett turned from the intercom and gestured Beckham forward.

  “This is the only way we have to communicate with them right now,” Garrett said.

  Heart in his throat, Beckham punched the button. “Kate, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

  Across the room, Kate slowly rose to her feet. Beckham couldn’t see her face, and that hurt more than anything. He placed his hand against the window, the desire to hold and protect her overwhelming him. The helplessness was crushing. He had to get in there.

  “Stay where you are, please, Doctor,” Garrett said.

  Kate took another step forward, then hesitated, her visor angled toward the observation window.

  Beckham whirled to the sergeant. “You have to let me in there.”

  “That’s not possible right now, sir. We’re still running tests. The lab hasn’t been cleared.”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “Sarge, at this point, what does it matter? If he’s willing to risk it, then I think we should let him. If that was your wife in there, wouldn’t you want to be with her?”

  Garrett turned to look at Kate, then at Beckham. “Goddammit.” He sighed, and shook his helmet as he walked over to another hatch leading to a compartment that opened into the lab.

  “Good luck, Master Sergeant,” Anthony said.

  Beckham took a deep breath of filtered air
and looked through the narrow window. His suit seemed to tighten around his chest. Inside that lab was an enemy he couldn’t fight. The lab was Kate’s battlefield, and most of the time he was glad to leave her to it. Biological and chemical warfare had always made him uneasy, and since the Variants, that unease had blossomed into full-fledged fear. But it was the unconditional love he felt for Kate that helped him push past the fear. No monster, big or small, would stop him from being by her side.

  Opening the hatch, he stepped into the tunnel and hurried toward Lab A.

  -13-

  A pool of steaming blood surrounded Dr. Yokoyama’s corpse. Kate darted around it and ran for the plastic door leading to the tunnel that connected to the offices and observation room. Beckham was preparing to enter through a secure hatch.

  Despite the filtered air, Kate could smell the reek of burning flesh as she crossed the lab. There was another smell too, reminiscent of something she’d encountered in 2007 when her medical team had come across an open mass grave of Malaria victims. Diseased, rotting flesh under the heat of the sun had a distinct smell.

  The memory made her shiver, and she hurried past Lucy’s smoldering remains. By the time she reached the door connecting to the tunneled wall, Beckham was already inside.

  “Stop!” Kate held up her hands and waved. The soldiers sealed the hatch behind him, and a chirp sounded on the other side of the door. A light on the overhead switched from red to green inside the tunnel. He continued to the door that opened into Lab A.

  Kate put her gloved hands against the window of the entrance. “Reed! Don’t come in here! It’s not safe!”

  He said something Kate couldn’t make out. They locked eyes, and for a moment she was lost in them. On the other side of the door was the man she loved more than any other in her life, the man who was willing to risk his life, again, just to be with her and their unborn child, even if it meant suffering an excruciating death like Yokoyama’s.

  Beckham held her gaze while he unlocked the door. He stepped inside the lab, eyes flitting to Lucy and Yokoyama’s remains for a split second. Undeterred, he continued forward and hugged her.

  The feeling of Beckham’s arms around her filled her with strength. She needed that more than anything right now.

  “Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Beckham asked. He pulled away so their visors touched and they were face to face.

  “We still don’t know,” Kate said. She craned her helmet toward what was left of Lucy. “The juveniles have some sort of self-destruct mechanism.”

  “Were you exposed?” Beckham leaned back to look at her suit, up and down. She glanced down at the blood on her chest and arms. Then she saw the smear she left on Beckham’s shoulder.

  How could you be so stupid!

  Stumbling backward, Kate held up her hands again. “Stay back.”

  “Kate, no. It’s okay.”

  “No it isn’t. I told you not to come in here. We’ve all been exposed to whatever killed Yokoyama!”

  Beckham’s gaze lowered to her stomach as she continued to retreat toward Ellis, Ronnie, and the other two technicians.

  “We’re in this together now, Kate,” Beckham said. He reached out for her and took a step closer.

  The nightmare on the Truxtun flashed in her memory. Beckham had been covered in infected blood when they had extracted his team from the ship. But that hadn’t stopped her from holding him then, and she knew nothing would stop him from holding her now.

  She reached out for Beckham as static surged from the intercom.

  “This is Captain Humphrey speaking. Air scans have revealed an unknown toxin inside Lab A. To those inside: Please remain calm, and keep away from Dr. Yokoyama and the juvenile’s remains. We’re going to use an experimental chemical spray to try to destroy the toxin.

  Experimental?

  Kate took a step toward Beckham, and slipped in a pool of blood. She flailed for his hand, but came up empty and landed on the floor.

  “Kate!” he cried out.

  She looked up, dazed but unharmed. The angle provided her a view of what had once been Yokoyama’s brain. Now it was nothing more than steaming mush spilling from his helmet.

  A pair of hands gripped Kate under her armpits and pulled her to her knees. She didn’t resist, but she couldn’t look away from Yokoyama. His left eye was centered on her. For a fleeting moment, she thought he had blinked.

  “Kate, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Beckham said. “We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”

  The words were reassuring, but it was all too much. As the jets overhead began to hiss, spraying them with the experimental wash, Beckham sat behind her and pulled her to him so she was sitting with her back against his chest. He hugged her from behind, their helmets side by side as sheets of liquid rained from the sprinklers.

  White foam streaked down her visor. In seconds, she couldn’t see past it, like she was sitting in a carwash watching through the windshield as she was slowly sealed off from the outside world.

  Never leave a man behind.

  The motto was sacred to Garcia. It had meant something six weeks ago.

  Before the monsters.

  Since those things had emerged from the pits of Hell, Garcia had betrayed his oath to bring the fallen home. Four of his men were rotting out there, and Tank was in bad shape.

  Garcia looked down at Thomas’s dog tags in his gloved hand. It was all he was bringing home of the Marine. But it was something. He had nothing of Stevo but the memory of his broken body slung up on the sewer wall.

  The voice from one of the pilots broke Garcia’s concentration.

  “Home plate in fifteen minutes.”

  Closing his fingers around the dog tags, Garcia carefully put it back into his vest pocket. He leaned down to check on Tank. The man was on his back, hand still cupped over his eye. In the few seconds he had pulled it away, Garcia had seen the slash. The Variant had cut right through his iris. Garcia didn’t need an optometrist to tell him that Tank wouldn’t see out of that eye again.

  “How you doing, brother?” Garcia asked.

  “Fuckin’ hurts like hell.”

  “Hang in there, man, we’re almost back.” Garcia patted Tank on the shoulder and crouch-walked across the floor to check on Fitz. The Marine sat cross-legged with his helmet tucked between his hands. He slowly rocked back and forth, whispering something that sounded like a prayer. It was the first time he’d heard Fitz pray.

  “Yo, Fitz, buddy. You okay?”

  Fitz stopped rocking, pulled his hands away from his helmet, and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  Garcia saw right through the lie. “Meg’s going to be okay. That wasn’t your fault, Fitz. What happened to her could have happened to any of us.”

  “She’s not a Marine, Sergeant,” Fitz said, replying through clenched teeth. “She’s just a civilian. An injured one. We shouldn’t have let her come with us.”

  Fitz’s eyes blazed with anger. Garcia knew the man well enough to recognize it as uncharacteristic for the southern gentleman. He also knew nothing he would say could relieve that burning rage. He patted Fitz a second time, then turned toward the open troop door to study the bulbous clouds drifting across the skyline. They were almost home. What they all needed right now was some chow, a little rest, and a bath full of bleach. Before that, though, Garcia would get Tank to the infirmary on the GW, and then he’d find Beckham and Horn. They needed to know about the juveniles and their continued evolution. It was only a matter of time before everyone would be going back out there to make their final stand.

  The final battle would be upon them before they knew it.

  “There she is!” Davis shouted. “Prepare for landing!” She stood and walked over to Fitz. Squatting, she put a hand on his back and said, “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you a new one of those.”

  Fitz didn’t bother to look down at his broken blade. He simply watched the toy-sized shapes of the GW Strike Group that dotte
d the horizon. The vessels coasted through the sparkling teal water. As they got closer, the flight deck of the GW filled with medical personnel. Teams of medics and soldiers swarmed below with gear. Garcia bent down to help Tank up. The moment the bird touched down, a team rushed over to the troop hold.

  “Who’s hurt?” one of the men yelled over the whoosh of the blades.

  “Are you blind?” Tank asked.

  Garcia almost laughed. He handed Tank off reluctantly to the two medics, hoping neither would walk away with a black eye. As Garcia suspected, Tank put up a fight the moment they tried to get him to sit in a wheelchair. He swatted at them with his free hand, and growled, “I can walk, goddammit.”

  It took a few moments for the men to convince him to sit. By the time they did, the younger medic was rubbing his bicep where Tank had elbowed him.

  “Sergeant,” said a sharp voice. “As soon as you got a minute, I want a debriefing.”

  The words belonged to Davis. She was helping Fitz a few feet away. He leaned on her for support.

  “Where’s Meg?” Fitz muttered in a strangled voice.

  “Just behind us,” Davis replied. She turned to look at the sky. Over the wind, came the sound of a second helicopter. A Blackhawk burst through the clouds and descended to the deck.

  The warm ocean air rustled through Garcia’s filthy fatigues as he stood and watched.

  “Do you see her? Does anyone see her?” Fitz asked.

  Davis brought a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. A dozen soldiers and civilians disgorged from the chopper, but Garcia didn’t see Meg’s blood-stained form in the mix. He pivoted to the left for a better view.

  Behind the departing group, three soldiers were bent down in the troop hold of the Blackhawk. The men were working on two people lying on the floor. Several medics piled into the craft to help.

  Blood dripped onto the flight deck. Meg wasn’t the only one hurt bad. Someone else had been injured on the way out. The crew chief moved to reveal an injured Marine on his back inside the chopper next to Meg. The medics were already cutting away his fatigues.