Nothing….
A rising panic filled Davis. She was used to fighting the monsters head-on like she had in New York. Variants didn’t stalk their prey; they charged. That’s what the beasts did. Especially when they were hungry.
Davis had just raised a hand to signal to her team when a gunshot echoed from the peaks above. The blast echoed, making it impossible to pinpoint.
“Man down!” Garcia shouted.
Murphy slumped to his knees, the gaping hole in the middle of his chest armor gushing blood. He choked and fell forward into the snow.
“Ambush!” Davis shouted. “Fall back!” She considered grabbing Murphy and pulling him to safety, but she could see he was already beyond saving. The sheer amount of blood pooling around his body left no question.
Another gunshot rang out, biting into the concrete beside Davis’s head. The shrapnel pinged off her helmet. She dove for the ground as two more shots ricocheted above her.
“Eyes? Does anyone have eyes?” Rico shouted. She ducked just as another shot hit the wall where her head had been a second earlier.
Spartan Team scattered for cover. Hoffman ran for the airfield while Rico, Garcia, Fitz, and Apollo bolted for the western side of the building.
Chatter from M4s broke out from the south; Lynch and Adair were opening fire on targets Davis couldn’t see. An M240 joined the fight a moment later.
“Multiple contacts!” Adair reported.
“Form a perimeter around Kryptonite,” Davis replied in the calmest voice she could manage.
The crack from a high caliber rifle sounded from the northeast. Davis craned her neck as a shot streaked from a particular rock formation. She took a knee and aimed her M4.
“Fitz! Two o’clock!” she shouted.
She raised her rifle to lay down suppressing fire as Hoffman crashed to the ground ten feet from the nearest Blackhawk. Davis looked over to him, but kept her muzzle on the rocks. The Marine squirmed on the ground, pressing a hand over his right thigh.
“Hold on, Hoffman!” Davis yelled. She pressed the scope back to her NVGs and centered her crosshairs on the rocky outcropping. The flash of a muzzle illuminated a face in the shadow of a parka’s hood. The sniper fired off another round of shots. Two of them punched into the ground around Davis, kicking up dirt and snow. She scrambled for the cover of the building. Another shot silenced Hoffman’s screams.
She pushed herself to her feet, raised her rifle, and squeezed off three shots toward the sniper.
Crack!
The reassuring sound of Fitz’s MK11 echoed off the concrete walls of the Earthfall building, yet the sniper continued firing. How? Fitz never missed a shot.
Davis resisted the urge to twist to search for Fitz when the same guttural howl from earlier filled the night. She froze in place, a chill running up the length of her body.
The muzzle flashes continued from the northeast, lighting up rock after rock. The sniper was on the move. Davis squeezed off three of her own shots, two of them punching into the serrated formations.
“Fitz! Where are you?” Davis shouted.
Rico and Garcia were firing now too.
“Headshots!” he shouted.
“Watch out!” Rico yelled back.
The deep growl of a beast Davis couldn’t see reverberated off the peaks. She gritted her teeth and zoned out the noise to focus on the sniper. Spartan Team was only going to get one chance at this, and a single mistake put the future of the human race at jeopardy. That was the type of pressure that could make a man’s heart pound.
But Davis wasn’t a man. And she was ready to give her life to complete this mission.
Another booming screech filled the night, rising into a furious cacophony that hurt Davis’s ears. Apollo’s barks and a slew of gunfire followed.
What the hell is making that sound?
Davis made the mistake of twisting to look. It was a mistake that resulted in her first gunshot wound ever. The bullet punched through her armor and cut through flesh with such power it took her breath. She fell to her left knee and aimed her rifle, furious at herself and the bastard killing her team. In her crosshairs, she saw the bearded face of a sniper. He closed his right eye, lining up his next shot, at the same second she fired three of her own.
His muzzle flashed as blood blossomed around the hole in his forehead where one of those three shots hit him. The one round he managed to squeeze off streaked toward her. The millisecond that passed before the shot pinged off the top of her helmet wasn’t nearly enough time to move or even blink, but plenty to understand she had almost lost the insides of her skull.
The force of the round knocked her NVGs off and spun her helmet sideways. She crashed to her back still holding her rifle, head pounding, stars dancing before her vision.
That was good.
It meant she was still alive.
The high-pitched howl of the monster behind her snapped her back to reality. Fighting the blinding pain, Davis craned her neck for a view of the battle. A figure draped in shadow towered above Rico.
It lumbered into the white light cast by the crescent moon overhead. In the glow stood a naked beast covered in silvery fur. A narrow torso connected to chest muscles that were covered in black hair.
The Variant tilted a massive head toward Davis, narrowing yellow slitted eyes. Rico wasted the opportunity to escape, reaching for her sidearm instead.
“Move!” Davis managed to shout.
As Rico raised her M9, the creature slashed at her with claws tipped with the same talons Apollo had discovered. The nails knocked away her gun and sent her skidding into the wall of the building.
Davis blinked, and in the next moment took in the entire landscape. Garcia was laying face first on the ground a few feet away from Fitz. The Marine dragged his new blades as he crawled for his MK11 sticking out of the snow just out of reach.
Flipping to her stomach, Davis raised her M4 and held down the trigger. Two shots punched into the beast’s upper chest before her magazine went dry. It roared in anger, bulging lips opening to reveal a maw studded with four massive canines. Saliva webbed between the barbed teeth.
Apollo latched onto the Alpha’s leg from the side. It kicked the dog away with a quick blow to the ribs.
“No!” Fitz shouted.
The German Shepherd landed in the snow close to Garcia, turning tail over snout before jumping back to all fours. Apollo let out a low whine that rose into a growl.
“Over here, you ugly son of a bitch!” Fitz shouted. He unslung his M4 and fired at the creature.
Davis reached for another magazine as the beast hunched its back and barreled toward Fitz. She slammed it home the same second it bulldozed into the Marine’s side.
Fitz was launched three feet into the air. He came crashing back down on his side, letting out an oof that Davis could hear over the chatter of gunshots.
Apollo rushed over to his aide, standing between man and monster, teeth bared. The Alpha dropped to all fours and took a few steps forward, stopping inches from the dog’s face. Opening its mouth, it let out a roar that peppered Apollo’s muzzle with saliva. His tail dropped between his legs, but he held his ground, barking furiously.
“Fitz, get down!” Davis shouted.
She waited for a shot, but Fitz was in the way. He struggled to push himself up, then fell back to his stomach. In that moment, she fired off a round that lanced into the beast’s thick back. It rose on two feet and clawed at the wound, yelping in pain.
“Contacts! We got multiple contacts!” Adair shouted over the comms. “Can’t hold them back for long!”
Gunfire and the shrieks of Variants rose into a macabre chorus that drowned out the transmission. Davis ignored everything but the Alpha. It was on the run now, galloping away toward the western ridgeline. She fired off a dozen more shots, but the beast was fast, and using the protection of rocky outcroppings. By the time Davis finished her magazine, it was gone.
“Damn,” she muttered, reaching for a
fresh mag.
“We have to move, LT!” Garcia shouted. He was back on his feet, but had a hand clamped on his helmet as if he were still dazed.
“What…the fuck…was that thing?” Rico gasped. She pushed herself up and grabbed her rifle.
Davis rushed over to Fitz. He was on his knees, clutching his side with one hand and checking Apollo with his other. Garcia met her there. Together, they helped Fitz to his feet.
The gunfire intensified behind them.
Davis turned to the south, looking past Murphy and Hoffman’s corpses to the Chinook holding their batch of Kryptonite. Lynch and Adair were retreating toward their Blackhawks, firing on the move. An M240 blazed from the right shoulder window of the Chinook at shadows flashing across the tarmac. Davis could see the shadows belonged to furry abominations advancing on all fours. There were dozens of them. Maybe more.
“Lynch, Adair, get our Kryptonite out of here!” she ordered. “We’ll radio you when we clear the facility.”
The Marines were two steps ahead of her. The rotors of the Chinook had already fired, making their first pass.
“You’re shot,” Rico said. She grabbed Davis under an arm. “We have to get out of here.”
Davis shook her hand away. “No. We have to find the rest of the Kryptonite.”
“LT, if we don’t move, there won’t be anyone to launch it,” Rico protested.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Garcia replied. He raised his rifle and fired at the mountain slope to the north. Another pack of Variants descended the rocks. “We’re being surrounded.”
Davis looked back at the double doors leading into the facility. She jerked her chin toward the entrance. It was their only option.
“Inside!” Garcia shouted. He slung his M4 over his back and pulled his shotgun out as the team hurried for the locked doors. He fired from a distance, the blast of bullets peppering the steel. Another shot sent the left door swinging open.
“On me,” he called. “All it takes is all you got, Marine,” were his last words as he burst into the darkness.
Davis sucked in a breath, preparing herself for what came next. Whatever was inside, she could handle it. She had to handle it. She was in charge now.
Fitz and Apollo followed. Rico helped Davis next. When they were all inside, they came together in a phalanx, weapons raised and searching the walls and ceiling for contacts.
The cold, dark room stank of rotting lemons and wet fur.
Outside, the Chinook and one of the Blackhawks lifted off the ground. Two packs of Variants gathered underneath, all but one set of claws swiping just out of reach. A single beast grabbed onto the side of the Chinook. It clambered toward the open right shoulder window, where it yanked the Marine firing the M240 out and tossed him to the field below.
Davis gritted her teeth as the man was consumed. His screams were audible even over the sound of rotors and bark of gunfire.
Fitz aimed his rifle at the creature still on the Chinook, but didn’t fire. If he missed, he could hit the hydraulics, and Davis wasn’t going to risk giving that order no matter how good a shot he was.
“Three o’clock,” Rico said. She pointed at an abandoned Blackhawk across the airfield where two human collaborators wearing parkas watched from a distance.
“Get these doors shut and secure,” Davis said.
Fitz kicked a blade at the left door while Garcia worked on the right.
As the pilots pulled away from the mountain, a second Marine emerged in the open shoulder window of the Chinook. He fired a handgun at the monster, hitting it in the face. It tumbled away, claws slashing at air as it plummeted thousands of feet.
In the final moments of moonlight, Davis glimpsed the maws of a dozen Variants on the south side of the airfield. Fresh blood dripped from their lips as they fed.
“Hurry!” Rico said. She kicked the left door with Fitz.
The monsters looked away from the remains of the Marine, curious now. In seconds, a dozen Variants had stripped away his armor and flesh, leaving only gristle and bone. Their starving eyes homed in on what was left of Team Spartan. All at once, the pack reared their heads back to unleash a chorus of howls. Then they were moving, long limbs pounding the ground as they advanced toward doors Fitz and Garcia were still trying to close.
Beckham and Horn stood beside Riley’s body in silence. Neither of them had said a word since the coroner let them into the morgue. A dozen corpses retrieved from Plum Island were in body bags on gurneys throughout the small room. A bank of LEDs illuminated the shapes of men and women who had lost their lives.
Red, Donna’s husband and Bo’s father, was somewhere amongst them. So were the Marines who had made a valiant last stand against the Bone Collector. Beckham had said a silent prayer for each of them, and especially for Major Smith. The officer had died alongside his soldiers, fighting off the Variants that had swarmed the island.
Horn broke the silence by clearing his throat. “You ready, boss?”
Nodding, Beckham drew in a breath, and unzipped the body bag in front of him. Riley’s ruffled blond hair popped out of the opening. Blue irises surrounded by broken blood vessels and covered in a milky film stared up at the ceiling.
Beckham’s lips quivered, and he almost dropped to his knees. This wasn’t the young man Beckham had known. The spark of mischievous humor was gone.
I’m so fucking sorry, kid. I’m so fucking sorry.
Horn put a hand on Beckham’s shoulder. They stood there for a few minutes, as tears cascaded down their bruised, scratched faces. A few minutes turned into fifteen. Then thirty. An hour passed, and though their sobs at last subsided, still they remained, Horn’s arm around Beckham and Beckham’s right hand on Riley’s shoulder.
He couldn’t bear to look at the bruises around Riley’s neck, or the way his blue eyes were bulging from his face. But somehow, standing there in the kid’s presence gave Beckham a small sense of comfort.
They stood there unmoving until the hatch clicked open and a voice called into the room.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, Master Sergeant.”
Beckham kept his gaze on Riley as he closed the kid’s eyes. He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this.
“Yeah,” Beckham replied.
“President Ringgold and Vice President Johnson have asked to see you and your men in the CIC, ASAP.”
The hatch closed, sealing him inside with Horn. For them, as soon as possible would be after a few more minutes with Riley. Horn pulled his hand off Beckham’s shoulder and wiped his eyes.
“You were a good man. I’ll see you again someday. And I’ll beat you in the one hundred yard dash again,” Horn chuckled.
Beckham bit back his own chuckle. “I love you, kid, but I know you’re in a better place. And you’re no longer chasing tail, because you finally met someone who could keep up with you. Meg’s a hell of a woman, little bro. You better treat her right.”
Horn laughed at that too.
They took another few minutes of silence before Beckham zipped the bag back up and put his hands in his pocket to touch Riley’s dog tags. Horn opened the hatch, and they left the room together.
Ten minutes later they were in the CIC. It was bustling with activity. The movement, energy, and adrenaline helped Beckham put things into perspective. There was a war going on outside that would determine the fate of the human race. Fitz, Davis, Garcia, Apollo—they were all fighting to ensure there was a future.
“Master Sergeant, where are your men?” came a voice.
Captain Humphrey eyed Beckham as he turned.
“We’re it,” Beckham replied, gesturing toward Horn.
Humphrey hesitated before waving them into a conference room. Vice President Johnson and President Ringgold were at the table with Lieutenant Colonel Kramer and General Kohl.
They all looked up when Beckham and Horn entered the room. Johnson wasted no time.
“The Earthfall Facility has been compromised,” he said. “Davis an
d her team are trapped inside. We just lost contact with them.”
The news hit Beckham like a brick wall. He could only take so much, and after seeing Riley like that, he couldn’t hold back his next words. “I thought that area was clear of Variants. This was supposed to be an easy mission, goddammit!” Beckham stiffened his spine and clasped his hands behind his back. “Sir.”
“The Variants had help,” Kramer snapped. “We aren’t dealing with mindless monsters, Master Sergeant.”
Focusing, Beckham put on his game face and dipped his chin. He knew what was coming. They hadn’t called him and Horn here to tell them about their fuck-up. The final two members of Team Ghost were called here because they were about to be sent into the fray, and that made Beckham even more furious.
“What do you know about radiological dispersal devices?” Johnson asked.
Beckham raised a brow and glanced over at Horn, who shrugged.
“Dirty bombs? I know they were one of the biggest threats to our national security before the Variants,” Beckham replied. “Team Ghost was trained to deal with an RDD scenario where terrorists smuggled them into the US.”
“Good,” Johnson said.
A hundred questions were dancing around Beckham’s head, but behind all of them he couldn’t help but think of Fitz, Apollo, Garcia and Davis. They were in trouble, and he was being questioned about dirty bombs?
“We have come up with a plan to sneak RDDs into the major lairs of the juveniles in our target cities. It won’t kill all of the bastards, but it puts fewer troops at risk, and the radiation impact is much smaller than that of a nuclear weapon,” Johnson said.
“We want you to lead one of those missions,” Ringgold said. “We want you to take back our nation’s capitol. I don’t trust anyone else.”
“With all due respect, Madame President, what about Kryptonite? I thought Vice President Johnson just said—”
Kramer cut Beckham off. “It’s not a matter of if we deploy Kryptonite, it’s just a matter of when. If Davis fails, we’ll send someone else. In the meantime, we’re moving forward with the final stage of Operation Extinction.”
Beckham and Horn exchanged an uneasy glance. He was going back out there, but he wasn’t heading to Colorado; he was heading to Washington, D.C.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 25
