“There’s another reason I want you two to lead this mission,” Johnson continued. He nodded at Kohl. The general crossed the room to flip the lights, then pointed a remote at the wall projector. Footage from a strike team flashed over the screen.
“This is a team of Navy Seals inserted into D.C. earlier this week. Their mission was to document the Variants that have been breeding in the tunnels under the Capitol building. We’ve known they are down there for a while, but no team has returned with footage until now.”
The video feed flickered, and a three-man squad crouched through a tunnel. They came to an old blast door pock-marked with rust. A few minutes later, they entered a massive domed chamber. Orange barrels the size of oil drums were stacked twenty feet high. Boxes and crates marked Dry Food filled the room.
“This is one of the shelters designed to house members of Congress during a nuclear attack,” Johnson said.
As the camera tilted, Beckham saw a room the length of two football fields, full of food and something else….
At the far end, near a pair of blast doors, was a web of human prisoners that climbed one hundred feet up the east wall. Armored Variants skittered about like bees, plucking off chunks of flesh and returning to an area blocked from view behind the crates.
The SEAL team slowly snuck through the room to flank the monsters. Beckham fidgeted as he watched, knowing the men were likely going to die.
But they didn’t.
They stopped at the edge of a pile of crates and snapped the most terrifying image of the Variants Beckham had ever seen. Beyond the stockpiled provisions was a glistening pool of red water, and hundreds of juvenile Variants were swimming in it. Body parts bobbed up and down in the bloody soup. Countless more of the offspring either rested nearby or chased each other around the open space.
The lens zoomed in on a head floating in the water. Beckham squinted at the screen and the bulging lips on the pale, wet face before it was submerged. He realized then why there weren’t any adult Variants in the chamber. The limbs, torsos, and heads drifting in the pool weren’t all human; some of them were Variants. The beasts were eating their parents.
“Gentleman, this is the largest lair of juveniles ever documented. And this is where we want you to set off the RDD,” Johnson said.
“If the SEALs made it out, so can we, sir,” Beckham said confidently.
“They made it out, right?” Horn asked.
Johnson nodded. There was no lie in his gaze. Beckham still couldn’t quite believe anyone could make it out of there alive, but if there was a job for Team Ghost, this was it, and he was ready to accept the challenge if it meant helping end the war.
-20-
It felt odd not having someone up against his back who wasn’t a Variant Hunter. He was used to having Tank or Stevo next to him. Unlike Marines assigned to larger units, Garcia was used to fighting and working in his small recon group. He prided himself on being able to accomplish missions with only a handful of hardened Marines.
But now, standing inside the green-hued passage of the Earthfall facility, he wouldn’t have turned down a couple extra men and women.
Or a couple hundred.
Hell, Garcia would have been happy just having Tank’s three hundred pounds at his back. Eye or no eye. Fitz and Davis were warriors, and Rico held her own, but Garcia had trusted his men with his life.
A rumble shook the doors as the first of the Variants slammed into the metal. Whoever had taken control of the facility had clearly thought ahead. Several coils of heavy chains sat just inside the door. The only thing missing was a way to tighten them. The loose chains rattled violently as the beasts pounded the exterior.
Garcia checked them a second time, but he could already see they weren’t going to hold.
“Other than me, who’s hurt, and how bad?” Davis asked.
Garcia examined the team with a quick glance. Fitz had a hand on his vest, but shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“Me too,” Rico replied.
“Good to go here,” Garcia added. He turned back to Davis. She was hurt the worst. Blood seeped from the armor covering her right thigh. There was enough to make Garcia nervous, but she continued to play it off as just a flesh wound.
She’s still in charge, Jose.
He looked past Fitz at the hallway behind him. It curved and led to another set of doors about two hundred feet away. The white walls were bare, and there wasn’t a single window. The structure was hollow, like an empty grain silo. There were only two options now: fight the beasts outside, or descend into the depths of the facility.
“Alright,” Davis said in her command voice. “Fitz, you and Apollo take point. Garcia, you got rear guard. Rico, stay close to me.” She flashed an advance signal and limped forward.
The chains rattled again, metal clanking on metal.
Garcia centered his shotgun on the door. The collaborators he’d seen outside hadn’t fired yet, which told him something—they were going to let the Variants do the dirty work.
Four dents appeared on the inside of the door simultaneously. Garcia roved his muzzle from spot to spot, waiting to blow a gaping hole in one of the beasts.
Come on, you furry fucks.
Another thud shook the door. There wasn’t much standing between what was left of Spartan team and a dozen hungry Variants, not to mention whatever firepower the collaborators carried.
He took another step backward as the beasts continued ramming the doors. The left one bent inward. Moonlight streamed through the gap. An arm covered in icy fur shot through, claw swiping at the air.
“Garcia!” Davis yelled.
“I’m on it!” Garcia aimed his shotgun at the arm just as the clawed hand wrapped around the frame and pulled. He squeezed the trigger with pleasure. The blast blew the arm off at the elbow. He fired three more shots at the right door, sending several beasts retreating and screeching in agony.
“Come on, Sarge!” Rico shouted.
The sound of boots pounding the floor echoed through the narrow hallway. Garcia backpedaled as fast as he could while keeping his shotgun trained on the door. His mind was working in overdrive, adrenaline dumping into his system at the thought of the human collaborators. They were clearly still outside, but there had to be some inside, too. So where the fuck were they?
“Coming up on the stairwell,” Fitz said. “Who’s got the keycard?”
“Me,” Davis said.
Garcia whirled the same second the double doors to the building flew of the hinges and smashed into the wall across the passage. Three Variants on all fours skidded across the floor, talons drawing sparks.
Outside the open doorway stood the colossal beast that had just about taken Garcia’s head off earlier. He flipped up his NVGs to stare into the moonlit night. Fur matted with sticky blood, the creature ducked into the hallway and rose to a full seven feet, its head narrowly missing the ceiling.
Swollen, veiny lips opened as the beast unleashed a roar and extended a claw directly at Garcia. The beast coughed as it tried to speak.
“Get…them….”
Holy hell. Not just an Alpha, but one that fucking talks too!
Garcia squeezed off a shotgun blast at the beast, his heart firing like the weapon. The spray took off the monster’s right ear and punched into the ceiling. The smaller Variants scattered to the walls.
He pumped the gun, firing it over and over at the monsters. The spray clipped their extremities, slowing their advance, but he was too far away for kill shots.
“Hurry up with that door!” Garcia screamed. He plucked an M84 stun grenade off his vest and wrapped a finger through the pin. There was a precise technique to using the grenades, but with his hand shaking and the beasts closing in, he wasn’t sure he could execute it perfectly.
The Alpha staggered down the hallway. Rico and Fitz fired on the creatures clambering over the walls. One of them crashed to the floor, coughing up blood and something that looked like a heart. The m
assive beast kicked the dying creature out of the way. It smashed into the wall next to Garcia, bones crunching.
He waited several seconds to toss the M84, his eyes glued to the Alpha. Rounds lanced down the passage around him. Over the gunfire, there was a click.
“It’s locked!” Davis shouted.
“Improvise, LT!” Garcia yelled back.
A shotgun blast tore into metal. Two more sounded in unison.
Pulling the pin, Garcia yelled, “Stun grenade out!” He launched it toward the Alpha. The toss was perfect, hitting the monster square in the eyes, then clanking on the floor.
Garcia rushed after Spartan team into the stairwell. He counted the seconds in his head as he ran.
One.
Two.
On the third second, he closed his eyes, and bolted through the open door. A bang of 180 decibels sounded as he slammed the hatch shut a second too late. The ear-splitting noise sent him dropping to his knees on the top of the landing. The pressure in his pounding head squeezed his brain, and the hazy shapes of his comrades blurred into apparitions. Their voices echoed up the stairwell.
“Sarge, lock that door!”
Garcia brought a hand to his head and tried to stand, but lost his balance. He grabbed a railing and closed his eyes.
All it takes….
Rising to his feet, Garcia forced his eyes open and fumbled with the lock mechanism. It had been shot to hell, but a security bar was still on the wall, strapped upright beside the door. He batted at it with a clumsy hand, knocking a retaining pin loose and freeing the bar, but it didn't fall. Garcia staggered as he tried to control his arms and get the bar down. His eyes just wouldn't focus.
“Out of the way!” Rico shouted. She grabbed the bar and slammed it into place across the door just as something collided with the metal, sending Garcia stumbling backward and almost down the stairs.
Rico grabbed his right arm and helped him grip the railing. Using the handle as a guide, Garcia shambled down the stairs away from the noise, dragging his feet like a drunken frat boy. The shrieks of the beasts in the hallway dwindled.
Step by step, the team descended into the darkness. It was too dark for their NVGs, so the other Marines switched on their tactical lights. The beams danced over the concrete walls.
Garcia’s head was spinning now. Nausea swirled in his gut. He was going to puke. There was no holding it in.
The vomit came out in a stream just as he stopped to flip up his mouth guard. He coughed, wiped off his mouth, and blinked rapidly. Then he clicked on his own light and shouldered his shotgun.
He was still unbalanced, but at least he was able to see in a straight line now. Rico was several steps ahead of him. She looked back and said, “You good, Sarge?”
Garcia opened his mouth to reply, but gagged. He swallowed the bile and mumbled, “Good.”
“Ten flights to go!” Fitz shouted somewhere ahead of them.
I’m not going to make it another two.
Garcia fought the blinding pain in his head as he looked up at the flights above him. He’d bought them some time. The Variants still hadn’t broken down the door.
“Stay sharp!” Davis said when they reached the fifth flight.
Garcia pulled shells from his vest and loaded his shotgun as he moved. Several of them slipped from his grip and dropped to the floor.
Get it together!
Pumping the gun, Garcia readied himself. The anticipation ate at him with every step. He was a recon Marine; his job was to identify danger before they encountered it. But now he couldn’t help but feel like they were escaping one threat only to be led directly into something even worse.
“Two floors to go!” Fitz shouted.
Garcia loped down the next flight. His beam caught the backs of Spartan team. They were clustered at the final landing, muzzles angled at an open door. Fitz slowly reached up and shut off his light while Davis balled her hand into a fist.
There was a second of silence that was promptly shattered by the shrieks of the prowling monsters fifteen floors above. Garcia strained to hear over the noise. There were too many sounds from too many directions, all equally as distracting, and his ears were ringing like someone had fired an M249 next to his head.
He stumbled down the final two stairs and braced himself with a hand on Rico’s shoulder.
“I’m okay,” he panted.
Davis took a second to examine him, then ordered the rest of Spartan team to retreat up the stairwell. This time she wanted Garcia on point. She shook her head when he pulled an M84 grenade.
“LT, what about hostiles?” he whispered in protest, still clutching the grenade.
“We can’t risk damaging any of the equipment.”
Garcia clipped it back on his vest. He had been thinking about enemy combatants inside, not electronics. Personally, he didn’t give two shits about the computers, but their mission was to launch Kryptonite. Damaging vital equipment could put that at risk.
When he finished loading his shotgun, he bounded around the corner. Hurrying down the stairs, he ran into the room and kept as low as possible. He played his tactical light over the space, sweeping it back and forth as he entered a vaulted chamber the size of a hockey arena. Idle computer stations lined the walls.
He angled his light up the fifteen floors at the hollow center of the structure to reveal a domed ceiling. Then he worked his gun back to the far end of the room. A platform rose four feet off the ground. A ramp of three stairs led to the carpeted surface, which was furnished with leather chairs positioned in front of five wall-mounted monitors.
Garcia strode toward the platform, sweeping his gun from left to right. The beam cut through the darkness and spread over the hatches leading to the Earthfall missile launch tunnels. Both doors were slightly ajar.
He still couldn’t hear much past the ringing in his ears, but there was something—something oddly familiar, but too faint to make out. He searched for the source, raking his gun back and forth, finger ready to squeeze the trigger.
“Looks clear,” Garcia whispered into his headset. He could hardly hear himself speak, but he could make out the reassuring footfalls of Spartan team entering the room and shutting the door behind them.
Davis, Rico, Fitz, and Apollo fanned out around him.
“What is that?” Rico whispered.
A cold screech replied, like the caw of a dying crow, the echoes fading as they bounced off the fifteen floors of circular walls.
Garcia froze and perked his ears, aching to hear. His guts churned and made a gurgling sound.
He could hear that, dammit.
Beams from Spartan teams guns flickered across the walls and the platform at the other end of the room. Garcia centered his on the leather chairs with their backs facing him. He approached slowly, heel to toe, heel to toe.
Deliver me from evil, Lord.
Garcia held his breath as he approached. To his right, Fitz centered his M4 on the ceiling. Apollo’s tail suddenly dropped between his legs. He froze next to his handler, his hackles raised as he focused on the two hatches leading into the missile tunnels.
Cracking his jaw from side to side, Garcia's ears popped. The ringing subsided for a fleeting moment, to be replaced by the stifled sounds he couldn’t make out earlier. They were unmistakable now.
The moaning came from everywhere, and nowhere.
All at once, the monitors on the platform flashed. Garcia’s heart flipped at the sight. The creak of a chair made it skip a second time. He almost fired off a blast at the leather chair as it turned.
Spartan team trained their guns on a figure that rose and slowly pivoted toward them. At first, Garcia thought the six foot tall man was a Variant. His face was covered in a thick silver beard, and he pulled a hood back to reveal deep eye sockets with dark irises that made them look like black holes.
“Welcome to Earthfall,” he said.
“Hands on your head!” Davis shouted.
The man flashed a crooked grin of st
ained teeth. He slowly raised shaking hands, then turned to point at the screen to his right.
Apollo let out a low growl at the doors and cowered behind Fitz.
“It’s okay, boy,” Fitz whispered.
“Command, Spartan 1, we have located….”
The man chuckled in a low tone.
“Shut up!” Davis shouted. She paused, then said, “Command, do you copy?”
Static filled Garcia’s earpiece, same as before. There had to be some sort of interference in the facility.
“No one’s going to help you,” the collaborator said. “Or help your friends.”
Garcia followed the man’s fingers to the monitor. Now he knew why the German Shepherd was hiding behind his handler. Nothing scared the dog, not even the Alpha Variant still pounding the door fifteen floors above them.
“Drop your weapons, or die,” the man said dryly.
Garcia stared incredulously, his brain unable to process what his eyes were feeding it. On screen were images of the long, narrow tunnels that led to launch tubes already pre-loaded with missiles. Every inch of the passages were covered with the bodies of the missing Marines, pilots, and support staff from teams Lightning, Saber, and Wolverine. Some were plastered to the ceilings and walls. Others were stuck to the floor. Most were already dead, limbs missing and flesh torn away. There was some movement as a few of them twitched and squirmed in their gluey traps. Variants prowled the tunnels. Several were hunched and feeding, while others moved lethargically, their bellies full from the feast. Moans ebbed out into the command room, surrounding Spartan Team with ghostly voices.
“You’re radios won’t work,” the collaborator said. “Nor will your video feeds, and by the time reinforcements arrive, you’ll all be dead. Unless you listen very carefully.”
Garcia was only half paying attention. His eyes flitted from screen to screen and finally to the human scum in front of him.
“I said shut the fuck up!” Davis yelled.
The man reached forward and pecked at the keyboard in front of him. Garcia took a discreet step to the right, catching movement in his peripheral. The Earthfall hatches slowly creaked open and disgorged the shadowy shapes of Variants. Dozens of monsters scrambled into the room on all fours, circling Spartan team. Despite their full stomachs, they moved with astonishing speed.
Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Page 26
