How much longer are they going to make me wait?
The slow burn of solitude ate away at Kate. It opened the door for every negative thought to come rushing back through.
She wasn’t going to let that happen.
The trick was keeping her mind off the nightmares, and the images on the walls provided the perfect distraction. As the wall clock ticked, she studied the pictures and maps. There was an entire wall dedicated to different types of Variants. Those with camel humps, others covered in fur, some with gills, and, of course, the Alphas. The Bone Collector was there, and so was the White King, but there were others she had never seen.
Kate stopped to examine a thin beast with green skin. Bulging yellow eyes stared back at the camera that had taken the photo. Jointed limbs with triangular forearms were held down by chains. It looked remarkably similar to a praying mantis.
According to the accompanying notes, the Alpha hailed from northern Japan. The beast had killed hundreds of Japanese soldiers before finally being captured. Instead of killing the monster, they had tortured it and sliced it into pieces.
The subsequent pictures were of that autopsy. Kate felt no empathy for it, but was startled by the brutality of the Japanese soldiers. The war had reached a point of attrition. She reminded herself that these men weren’t the only ones who had tortured Variants. Dr. Yokoyama and his staff had done the exact same thing to Lieutenant Brett. And with the discovery of collaborators around the world, it was hard to keep faith in her species. The one thing she could count on was that there would always be men like Beckham, Horn, and Fitz, as well as women like President Ringgold and Lieutenant Davis, to fight those that would see the world destroyed.
Truthfully, nothing really shocked Kate anymore, but the juveniles’ venom came close. A message had already been transmitted to the strike teams on their way to Colorado, but Kate needed to explain in more detail how this would affect the final stage of Operation Extinction. If the offspring could fire venom that ate through CBRN suits, then flak jackets and helmets weren’t going to do much for soldiers in the field.
“I hope this is very important, Dr. Lovato,” said a female voice.
Kate expected to see Ringgold, but instead found Lieutenant Colonel Kramer in the entrance to the conference room, a laptop held against her hip. Several other officers followed her inside.
“Where’s President Ringgold?” Kate asked.
“She’s on her way. We’ve had pressing matters to deal with.”
Kate stepped away from the maps as Kramer took a seat at the table. The woman opened her laptop, the glow illuminating her sharp eyes. She said nothing further to Kate, seeming to forget she was even there. Two soldiers, dressed in black and carrying shotguns, waited just outside the hatch. Kate wasn’t sure why Kramer felt the need to march around the GW with her own personal armed guards, but it made her uneasy.
A few minutes later, Ringgold and Johnson entered the room. They both offered a smile as they sat, but Kate could see the worry in their features.
“Good evening, Doctor, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” Ringgold said. “I’m told you have more information about the venom. Johnson and I got wind of it a few hours ago.”
“More bad news, I’m afraid,” Kate replied. “We’ve discovered the offspring may have a delivery system. What we first thought was a self-destruct system is potentially another weapon.”
“Christ. What can’t these things do?” Kramer asked.
Johnson laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the table. Crunching his brows together he asked, “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Ninety-nine percent, sir.”
Johnson shook his head. “So what does this mean, exactly?”
“It means that whatever you’re planning for the final stage of Operation Extinction needs to account for more adaptations like this. We haven’t even scratched the surface of what these things are capable of. Lucy was more than just an armored monster. She was able to show emotion and manipulate her captors. Remember when we said the Variants are the perfect killing machines? Well, think of the juveniles as a step above that.”
“Another reason to nuke the bastards,” Kramer muttered.
Johnson glared at her, but didn’t reply. He focused on Kate. “So you’re saying they could continue to change?”
“Absolutely. I would put money on it.”
“We’ve already relayed this information to our strike teams and told them to be on the lookout if they encounter juveniles,” Kramer said. “So I’m assuming there is something else you want to discuss, since we’re all here.”
Kate nodded. “There is.”
“We’re all ears,” Ringgold said. She rested her arm in its sling on the edge of the table.
“We found a weakness. Something that could work in our favor during the final stage of Operation Extinction.”
That got everyone’s attention. Several officers repositioned their chairs so they could get a better look at Kate. Kramer folded her arms across her chest and twisted her lips to the side skeptically.
“The juveniles are extremely sensitive to radiation. By sensitive I mean exposure that wouldn’t affect a human would kill them. One hundred rads, for example, would not produce any symptoms in a human besides some blood changes. Up that to two hundred over a short period of time, and the human body could suffer from acute radiation syndrome. Anything above two hundred is where we would start to have serious illness.”
Kramer scooted closer to the table and stiffened her back, more attentive now. “How many rads do we need to kill a juvenile?”
“One hundred. Maybe even less,” Kate replied.
Johnson unlaced his fingers and looked at a bald general at the end of the table. “General Kohl, what about that program a few years back? Radiation weaponry, right?”
Kohl stroked his mustache. “Yes, sir, but it wasn’t fully funded. Congress got wind of it and decided to shut it down. Some spineless senator from Montana said it was no different than biological or chemical weapons. Hell, what was his name?”
“Senator Bradley,” Kramer recalled. “He argued that it broke the Geneva Conventions.”
“Great,” Johnson said. “What else do we have to work with?”
Kate looked at Kramer, expecting the woman to mention their nuclear arsenal, but she said nothing.
“I’ll look into it,” Kohl said.
“Very good,” Johnson replied. “Is there anything else, Doctor?”
Kate shook her head.
“Keep up the good work,” Ringgold said.
Kate remained seated as the room quickly emptied. She stared at the map on the table in front of her and traced her finger over the smooth surface. The boot of Italy was marked with red. Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples—they were all covered with the bloody ink that webbed out to surrounding cities.
Her parents had taken her to Naples when she was a child. She would never forget that vacation, or the look on her dad's face when she pulled a chemistry book out of her bag on the beach.
You’re going to make a good scientist someday, Katherine, he had said.
How she longed to hear his deep voice again. He was the only man on Earth who always referred to her by her birth name.
“Doctor,” said a voice from the door.
Kate had been so focused on the map that she hadn’t noticed Ringgold had stayed behind after the meeting.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please.” Kate stood and gestured toward the chair next to hers. The President made her way across the room in what seemed like slow motion. Maybe it was the lighting, or perhaps Ringgold’s injury, but all of a sudden, the President looked ten years older.
She sat next to Kate and cradled the sling with her good hand.
“I need to know something, Kate, and I want your honest opinion. Don’t sugarcoat your response. Okay?”
Kate felt her insides tighten. She nodded and held the President’s gaze.
“Do
you think we can defeat the juveniles with bullets and bombs?”
The question caught Kate off guard. She hesitated, her jaw opening but no words forming. A mental image of a Blackhawk landing in D.C. and disgorging Team Ghost sent a chill up her back. She could picture the armored offspring surrounding Beckham and his men.
“I said what I thought needed to be heard earlier,” Ringgold said. “That’s the role of a politician sometimes. In the face of such daunting odds, we must remain strong. We must have hope; otherwise we will fail.”
In Kate’s imagination, the battle against the offspring raged. Beckham and Horn were back to back, firing their rifles at the advancing beasts.
“I really need your scientific opinion,” Ringgold said. “If I’m sending our soldiers to their deaths, then I will re-evaluate the final stage of Operation Extinction.”
A wall of armored flesh closed in on Beckham and Horn in Kate’s mind. Fitz was tossed to the ground, his helmet flying off and tumbling away. He was pulled by his blades into the horde. Beckham and Horn ran after him, their weapons blazing.
“Kate?”
The sound of the President's voice pulled Kate from the awful images.
“I’m sorry, Madame President.”
“For what?”
Kate wasn’t sure how to reply. She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—not replying right away, or the fact she didn’t think it was possible to defeat the offspring with conventional weapons.
She didn’t need to reply. Ringgold leaned away, her features hardening with understanding.
“I was afraid you felt this way,” Ringgold said. She bowed her head and pressed her lips together. “If you have any better ideas, Doctor, I’m open to hearing them.”
Kate shook her head. “I’d love nothing better than to find a way to save our soldiers from the nightmare that awaits them in the cities. Sending Reed and his men back out there hurts more than you know. But I’ve done everything I can at this point. There’s no scientific answer. We’re simply out of time.”
-18-
Fitz was still high on adrenaline from his kill shot. He never took pleasure from his job when his targets were other human beings. And even now he wouldn't call what he felt good. But it was better than the place he'd been after losing Meg and Riley.
As dusk settled over the Rockies, the jagged white tips swallowed the fiery glow of a radiant sunset on the horizon. The Blackhawk carrying Spartan Team raced toward the receding sunlight. From a distance, the Earthfall facility didn’t look like much. Most secret facilities didn’t. Some were disguised with other structures built over the top, like the Greenbrier Hotel in West Virginia. Others were constructed on remote islands, or under deserts. Then there were places like this.
A groove three football fields long had been carved into the western edge of the mountain. Peaks towered thousands of feet above an airfield and a single concrete building. Walls of boulders created a natural barrier on the western and southern edges of the terrain. From above, it looked like a miniature high-altitude airport. Anyone flying over the top probably wouldn’t think twice about it.
Fitz sucked in a breath of cold air that burned his lungs, and scanned the area with his MK11 as the pilots circled. Patches of snow dotted the brown landscape. Several spindly trees stunted by the lack of oxygen grew below. A dozen idle helicopters dotted the airfield.
“Where the hell are the other three teams?” Rico shouted. She plucked the bubblegum off her helmet and jammed it back into her mouth, then turned from the open door and gave Davis a meaningful look.
Fitz zoomed in on the choppers. Rico had taken the words from his mouth. There was no sign of the soldiers or pilots from the other strike teams in the dim light of the vanishing sunset.
Davis narrowed her brows and stepped closer to Fitz.
“No one’s guarding those Chinooks,” she said.
Fitz roved his rifle to one of the massive birds. Sure enough, there wasn’t a single sentry on duty. He moved his gun to the cockpit, seeing no movement through the windshield.
“Wolverine 1, Lightning 1, Saber 1, do you copy? Over,” Davis said on the open channel.
Static hissed into Fitz’s ears.
“Does anyone copy out there?”
Rico blew a pink bubble and shook her head. “Must still be inside, LT.”
“No,” Davis said. “Orders were clear. Wolverine would secure the facility while Lightning and Saber guarded the Kryptonite.”
Garcia elbowed Fitz in the arm. “You see any sign of Lighting and Saber?”
Fitz zoomed in on the four-story structure. It was void of windows, and the only entrances appeared to be sets of double doors on the south and north sides. Both were sealed shut. No Marines were standing guard, nor were there signs of the teams returning for Kryptonite.
“No sign, Sergeant,” Fitz replied.
Garcia shook his head. “I don’t like this, LT. I got a bad fucking feeling in my guts.”
“How could everyone just disappear in half an hour?” Rico asked. “We didn’t even hear anything on the comms.”
“I’m not sure, but we’re going to find out.” Davis turned to the cockpit. “Put us down on the south side of the airfield.”
The other Blackhawks and the Chinook from the GW convoy rolled to the right. Grass whipped back and forth around the base of a patch of stilt-like pine trees, and the branches of the small pines swayed violently in the gusts. Fitz crouch-walked to the other side of the troop hold as the pilots touched down next to the Chinook.
“Go, go, go!” came shouts from the other birds.
The thrill of pre-combat rushed through Fitz, but he remained in the doorway with Apollo to take in his surroundings.
He drew in another cold breath to test it for the sour scent of the Variants, but he sensed nothing but the clean, alpine hint of pine needles. He scoped the terrain a fourth time, scanning for bodies or blood.
Nothing.
The Marines from the other two Blackhawks and the Chinook piled onto the airfield. Davis shouted orders the moment her boots hit the ground. “Sergeant Adair and Sergeant Lynch. Secure that Chinook. Guard Kryptonite with your lives.”
The two Marines waved their men over to the big black bird. Amber from the fleeting sunlight reflected off their black armor as they ran.
“Fitz, you afraid to use those or what?” Davis asked.
Still standing in the open doorway, he followed her gaze toward his blades. That kicked him into gear. He whistled to Apollo and jumped onto the snow with a crunch. The bottom of his blades sank a few inches into the soft powder. The German Shepherd joined him on the ground.
Fitz flexed his thighs for a moment before bolting after Davis. She was already running across the airfield toward the other birds. Garcia, Rico, Murphy, and Hoffman fell into line behind them, each shouldering M4s and sweeping muzzles over the terrain for contacts.
Every step closer, Fitz expected to see a mangled human corpse. But there wasn’t a single streak of red. Nothing to indicate a battle had occurred. It was like the other three teams had vanished into thin air.
“Radio discipline from here on out,” Davis said.
Fitz quickly caught up with the lieutenant. His nimble new blades were much lighter than his old pair. Even Apollo was having a hard time keeping up.
I could get used to this, he thought.
Davis held up a hand as the team approached the idle choppers. She then flashed Fitz an advance signal toward the first of the abandoned Blackhawks. He slung his MK11 over his back and pulled his M4. There was just enough light that he didn’t need his NVGs to see the blood dripping from the bottom of the left cockpit door. Slightly ajar, it creaked in the cold wind.
The sound sent a chill up Fitz’s back. He raised his rifle at the window, his finger hovering over the trigger. The dripping blood pooled on the snow. Apollo let out a low growl, fur trembling. Fitz gestured for the dog to get behind him. Taking his left hand off his M4, he put the butt of hi
s weapon into the crook of his right arm. Slowly, he reached for the door handle.
He swung the door open to an empty cockpit. An upside down helmet sat on the pilot seat. Chunks of gore streaked down the visor like the pilot’s skull had detonated inside. He grabbed it and held it up so Davis could see from her location.
She pivoted slightly. It was a subtle movement, but Fitz could see she was nervous as she flashed an order to Garcia. They moved side by side toward the troop hold with weapons raised.
Fitz placed the helmet back on the seat and took in a breath that held a trace of sour rotting lemons. Apollo smelled it too. His wet nose was working in overdrive, and his tail had dropped between his legs.
That was his tell. The Variants had been here.
So why hadn’t the soldiers fought back? There wasn’t a single empty shell casing. None of it made any sense.
Fitz, Davis, and Garcia returned to Spartan Team. Rico chewed her gum nervously.
“I’m officially creeped the fuck out,” she said.
“Me too,” Murphy said. “Marines don’t just disappear without a fight.”
Davis paused to think. She checked the Chinook at the south side of the airfield. Lynch and Adair paced back and forth beside it.
“Let’s keep moving. We have a mission to complete,” Davis said. “Garcia, you and Murphy take those choppers on the left. Rico, you and Hoffman got the right side. Fitz, on me.”
Spartan Team examined the final birds lining the airfield slowly. Fitz and Davis cleared each to the same sight—empty cockpits and troop holds. The closer they got to the building, the more agitated Apollo became. His tail dropped farther between his legs and he bared his teeth.
Davis paused at the next bird and said, “Saber 1, this is Spartan 1. Does anyone copy? Over.”
Fitz opened the door to the cockpit and climbed inside. Besides the wrapper from an energy bar, the seats were clean.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 23
