Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  No blood. No bullet casings. No footprints in the snow.

  “Yo, LT, you better see this,” Garcia said over the comm channel.

  Fitz spotted the Marine through the windshield. He stood with Murphy outside the open door of a Chinook to the west. Davis waved at Fitz, and he jumped back to the snowy ground.

  This time Apollo didn’t budge. He stood staring at the rocky barrier to the east. His ears pricked just before Fitz heard the guttural howl. It grew into a booming screech that echoed off the rocky peaks.

  The dog growled back, fur trembling. Fitz followed Apollo’s gaze across the shadowy rock outcroppings. The reverberating screech was only vaguely reminiscent of a typical Variant’s—a cross between a grizzly bear and an enraged human. Whatever was making the high-pitched howl belonged to a beast Fitz had never seen.

  Rico raked her M4 in all directions. “What the hell is that?”

  “Adair, Lynch, you got eyes?” Davis asked.

  “Negative, LT.”

  The howl ended, and with it went the final rays of sunlight. Darkness consumed the mountain.

  “Everyone switch to NVGS,” Davis ordered.

  Fitz flipped his into position, then took off running after her. This time he had a hard time keeping up. In the green hue of his NVGs, Fitz scrutinized the Chinook. He prepared himself for a grisly discovery, but when he reached the bird, he saw nothing but the empty interior of a troop hold.

  “What’s the problem? I don’t see anything,” Rico said.

  Davis lowered her rifle and turned to look at the building a few hundred feet away.

  “That is the problem,” Garcia said.

  “The other strike teams aren’t the only things missing,” Davis said. She kicked at the snow. “Kryptonite is missing, too.”

  Beckham couldn’t believe his eyes.

  A soldier holding an IV pole and covered in bandages was walking toward him down the aisle of injured. If it weren’t for the strands of black hair hanging over the man’s slashed face, Beckham wouldn’t have known it was Chow.

  “What are you doing out of bed, brother?” Beckham asked.

  “Making the rounds, boss. Can’t sit all day or I’m going to lose my muscles.”

  There was a reason the other men used to refer to Chow as Bruce Lee. He had the same physique of the late martial artist legend, and he knew about as many moves.

  Beckham shook his head. “You’re also going to tear your stitches.”

  “Nah, I’m good. I told you I’d be on my feet in no time.” The sutures that ran from Chow’s lip to his right eyebrow tightened every time his jaw moved. Beckham gritted his teeth, feeling his friend’s pain. He would have taken it from him if he could.

  “I’m hopped up on so many drugs I can hardly even feel my dick,” Chow said. “And trust me, I would know it if I did. There are some nurses that are hot as….”

  Chow grabbed the IV pole and stepped to the side at the sound of footfalls. Beckham backed up a step too, making room for a pair of doctors rushing down the narrow aisle. He moved to Chow’s side, and together they watched as a soldier on a gurney was wheeled out of the room into surgery. The hatch sealed shut behind them. The metal thud echoed through the enclosed space.

  The silence that followed made Beckham want to say something, but instead he found himself praying for the soldier who was going under the knife.

  Chow broke the silence with a question Beckham had been dreading.

  “Meg’s gone?” Chow’s voice was serious now; he had hardened back into a Delta Force Operator.

  “She made it back from New York, but….” Beckham paused, then found Chow’s gaze. “She died on the operating table.”

  “I’m sorry. She was a tough chick.” Chow tightened his grip on the IV pole like it was a weapon. They were silent several more moments before he started pulling it down the aisle. “Come on, I want to check on Tank. He just got out of surgery a few hours ago.”

  Beckham drew in a breath through his nostrils. It was almost more stressful waiting around with nothing to do but worry. Fitz and Apollo were in Colorado, and Kate was working in the lab. What the hell was he doing?

  Helping the injured was honorable, but he wasn’t hurt. He could fight.

  He ached to fight.

  The itch crept up so fast he didn’t even recognize it at first. It was a messy, addictive feeling that brought with it a rush of adrenaline.

  Heart pounding, Beckham approached Tank’s bedside, still fighting the urge to run above decks and board a chopper to join Fitz. But it was too late for that. All he could do right now was prepare for the next battle.

  The final battle.

  “You hear anything ‘bout Sarge yet?” came a deep voice.

  Tank struggled to sit up in a bed that was way too small for him. He traced a finger around a patch covering his right eye.

  “Not yet,” Beckham replied. He looked at his wristwatch. “Should hear something soon. They ought to have arrived at the Earthfall facility by now.”

  Tank swung his legs over his bedside, grumbling. “I should fucking be there. This is bullshit.”

  “Me too,” Chow said.

  At first Beckham thought they were joking. But looking at them, he saw they too would hop on a chopper in a second if they could.

  “We’ll all have our chance again,” Beckham said. “Very soon.”

  “I’m ready,” Chow and Tank said at the same time.

  There was no time to share a laugh. A voice called Beckham’s name.

  “Boss.”

  Horn was walking down the aisle, his shoulders sagging. Beckham’s heart dropped when he saw a man dressed in blue lab scrubs and an apron covered in blood behind him. Horn stopped and put a left hand on Beckham’s shoulder.

  “They brought the kid back from Plum Island,” he said softly. Horn held out his right hand to reveal a pair of dog tags.

  Chow looked at the floor.

  “I figured you’d want to see him one last time before the ceremony,” Horn said.

  Beckham took the tags. The cold metal made his gut sink. He closed his eyes and remembered Riley’s blue eyes and contagious smile.

  For a fleeting moment, Beckham couldn’t think of anything other than the collection of dog tags in his quarters. He had a feeling that, before the war was over, he would be adding more to his collection.

  -19-

  Davis wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was no sign of Teams Wolverine, Saber, or Lightning. That was over fifty Marines and support staff who had vanished into thin air. The only evidence they had even landed were the birds and a single bloody helmet.

  There was something that bothered her even more than the missing army—the sensation of eyes on her back, no matter which way she turned. Every time she checked the steep mountain slope to the northeast, she saw nothing but powder and jagged rocks.

  The howl they’d heard earlier hadn’t been repeated, but that didn’t relieve the slimy feeling of being watched. It was starting to eat at her. The thin oxygen made things worse. She was lightheaded and nervous as hell. What if the other teams were already dead? What if she was the only one left who knew how to operate the Earthfall facility?

  Shit just got real. So much for an easy in and out.

  A gust of wind bit into Davis’s side. The cold air whistled across her armor and kicked up snow at her feet. The wind was growing stronger. She tensed every time she heard it, the same defensive reaction her body made when she saw a Variant. The sudden hiss of static in her ear made her flinch.

  “Spartan 1, Command, do you copy? Over.”

  Davis flipped up her face guard and pushed the mini-mic closer to her lips. The damn armor stifled her voice, and she wanted to be very clear in her reply.

  “Roger that Command, this is Spartan 1.”

  A familiar voice spiked over the channel. It was Captain Humphrey, and he was breaking mission protocol.

  “Davis, what is going on there? Wolverine, Saber, and Lightning ar
e dark.”

  “We’re not sure, sir. We lost contact with the strike teams approximately thirty minutes ago, sir.”

  “What the hell happened? We have no video feed. No radio transmissions. They just vanished. Something scrambled the network moments after they landed.”

  Davis scanned the airfield again. If that were true, why was she able to communicate with Command?

  “Sir, we’re not sure what happened,” Davis said. “Last we heard, Wolverine was preparing to enter the facility, but when we landed, all the strike teams were gone. And so is their Kryptonite.”

  There was a pause that filled the channel with white noise. It lasted several agonizing seconds as Humphrey no doubt consulted with his team aboard the GW. Davis used the stolen moment to scrutinize her own team. It was hard to see their features with their NVGs covering most of their faces, but there were small tells that betrayed their nerves. Murphy and Hoffman both flung repeated glances over their shoulders. Rico blew her bubblegum behind her face guard. Fitz and Garcia were the only frosty ones of the bunch. Both men scanned the terrain with their rifles, breath and hands steady.

  Humphrey’s voice, proud and stern, fired back over the channel. “Your orders just changed, Lieutenant. Find the other batches of Kryptonite. Secure that facility and launch the weapon.”

  “Understood, sir.” She made sure her voice was as confident as possible, but there was no hiding the hint of fear in it. The proud side of her wanted to leave it at that, but the logical side needed to ask, “What about reinforcements, sir?”

  There was another pause over the channel.

  “There isn’t any backup within a hundred mile radius. If you fail, we will have to retake the facility, but that will further delay the deployment of Kryptonite.” Humphrey said. “We’re counting on your team, Lieutenant.”

  In the past, the words might have made Davis’s gut churn.

  Not today.

  She had promised herself a long time ago that she would not let her husband and nephew die in vain. There were survivors out there like those she had helped save from New York. She hadn’t been able to save Blake or Ollie, but she could still save others.

  She had to.

  “Roger that, Captain,” Davis said. “You can count on us.”

  Another voice that Davis didn’t immediately recognize filled the net. “Lieutenant, this is President Ringgold.”

  “Oh, uh, hello, ma’am,” she said, taken off guard.

  “I’m not going to remind you how important this mission is. Captain Humphrey has already made that quite clear. What I will say is that I have the utmost faith in you. I’ve been watching you, and what you did in New York took guts. I have faith you will finish the work we started. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, Madame President,” Davis replied. “We won’t let you down.”

  Each member of Spartan Team nodded at Davis to say they were ready. They had all heard Ringgold’s words, and they were all prepared to give their lives to ensure the survival of their species.

  “Lynch, Adair, you see anything back there?” Davis asked.

  “Nothing, LT. All clear,” Adair replied. “We’ll keep our Kryptonite safe.”

  Davis glanced back at the team one more time. “Roger that. Stay sharp. We’re heading into the facility. Stand by.”

  Fitz and Apollo pivoted toward the building with the rest of Spartan Team.

  Slinging the M4 over her back, Davis pulled out the map of the facility. This wasn’t supposed to be their mission, but all the team leads had been handed blueprints back on the GW. She studied it for a moment to double-check she had it memorized.

  “Fitz, watch our back. The rest of you huddle around.”

  Rico, Murphy, Hoffman, and Garcia crouched next to her.

  “Alright, listen up. Kryptonite and the other soldiers have to be inside the structure. My guess is someone went rogue or there was a collaborator in the group. That’s the only theory that makes sense. They took the other Marines prisoner, stole the Kryptonite, and went inside.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Garcia said. “I bet that pilot got his brains blown out when he tried to take off.”

  “Apollo senses Variants,” Fitz said. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but that howl we heard came from a beast, not a collaborator.”

  Davis paused to look at her team. “Whatever happened, we have to deal with it. This is our job now—our mission. Once we enter the building, we proceed into this stairwell. It leads fifteen floors down to an open command center. From there, there are two access doors, here and here,” Davis said, pointing. “Those directly connect to the tunnels that launch the Earthfall missiles. Once we secure the building and find Kryptonite, I’ll order Lynch and Adair to bring our supply into the facility.”

  Garcia stood and looked at the building. “What do we do if the other batches of Kryptonite aren’t inside?” Garcia asked.

  Davis swept her arm in a wide arc. “Where else could it be? We cleared every chopper. Unless our missing strike teams just walked over the ledge to their deaths, they have to be inside that building.”

  The whistle of the wind was the only reply.

  Davis stood, put her map back into her vest, and unslung her M4. “Let’s get it done, Marines.” It was time to stop talking and lead. No matter what waited inside the Earthfall facility.

  As she fell into a steady jog, she tried to picture what things looked like inside. But the longer she ran, the less she could seem to imagine the stairwell and command room. Instead, flashes of the missing strike teams filled her thoughts. She could picture human collaborators marching Marines toward a hungry pack of Variants waiting in the basement. In her mind, the beasts were stringing prisoners onto walls and ceilings. Others were torn apart by talons and maws rimmed with needle teeth. If that’s what they were heading into….

  I have faith in you.

  Remembering the President’s words, Davis swallowed her fear and waved her team forward. They crossed the final stretch of airfield with Apollo out in front. He sniffed the air all the way to the double doors. Then he bent down and scooped something up into his mouth.

  Fitz crouched next to the dog’s side and whispered, “What ya got, boy?”

  Apollo looked up with a thick twig in his mouth. He pulled away when Fitz went to grab it from him.

  The wind screamed through the jagged peaks, a deep shrieking sound that made Davis shiver. She looked up at the green hue of the silhouetted mountain. Snow drifted across the rocks and vanished into the sky. To the northeast, an elongated rock formation that reminded her of the vertebrae from some prehistoric monster rose toward the skyline. The entire side of the mountain was covered in similar outcroppings.

  Perfect place for Variants or collaborators to hide.

  At this point, she didn’t believe a damn thing Command had said. The recon runs had revealed no sign of Variants, but something was watching her team.

  Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

  The words from her days at West Point echoed in her mind. Davis flipped up her night vision goggles and squinted with naked eyes. The rising moon had penetrated the clouds. Another blast of wind swirled across the serrated rocks. Somewhere out there, something was watching and waiting.

  Behind her, the sound of crunching boots broke her concentration.

  It was Garcia. He stepped up to her side and followed her gaze to the northeast. “You see something, LT?”

  Another blast of wind bit into Davis. The icy gust sung her eyes. She shook her head, flipped her NVGs into position, and motioned for Garcia to move to the double doors.

  “Drop it, Apollo,” Fitz whispered.

  The dog reluctantly spit the stick onto the snow. Fitz held it up and studied it in the moonlight while Davis took up position behind Garcia. She handed him the keycard for the building.

  “Get ready, Fitz,” Davis said.

  Rico, Murphy, and Hoffman fell into line behind them
. Davis could see and feel the tension. It came in puffs of icy breath that rose from the nostril slits in their armor like cigarette smoke. Hoffman’s labored breathing rattled in his chest. He had been holding in a cough since they were in the chopper.

  “LT,” Fitz said. “Take a look at this.” He handed her the branch Apollo picked up earlier. But in the moonlight she saw it wasn’t a stick at all.

  It was a talon. The largest she had ever seen. If it weren’t for the scaly exterior, it could have been from a grizzly bear.

  She dropped it back into the snow, unwilling to hold onto it any longer. “Changes nothing. We still have a mission.”

  “Thought Command said there aren’t supposed to be any Variants out here. Recon came back with nothing, right?” Garcia said in a deliberately soft voice.

  Davis rolled her eyes. “You really believe that still, Sergeant?”

  “Then what the fuck are we doing here with just one squad?”

  “We're supposed to be more than one squad, remember?” Davis said.

  Garcia shrugged, then pressed the keycard against a rectangular control panel to the right of the door. The glass surface flared red. He pushed the card against the panel a second time.

  Davis stepped forward and reached for the card. “Let me.”

  Each time she waved the card over the panel, it turned red.

  “LT,” Fitz said.

  She continued a fourth and fifth time, growing more frustrated with each swipe.

  “Lieutenant Davis,” Fitz said, louder this time.

  “What, Fitz?” she turned and followed his finger toward a video camera that was angled down on them.

  She didn’t see anything unusual about the device—until it twisted in her direction. It blinked red, and the lens zoomed in and out.

  “Someone’s watching us,” Fitz whispered.

  The slimy feeling from before paralyzed Davis. She staggered backward and motioned for her team to retreat from the door. They raked their weapons over the terrain, from the helicopters to the mountain towering over them.

  The howling wind rose into a high-pitched screech that sounded almost like a Variant. Davis searched the jagged rock formations for movement.