Flathman wasn’t a stranger to disobeying orders; it was how he had managed to survive. But these orders had come from the very top. You couldn’t just say no to the commander-in-chief.
That didn’t mean you couldn’t negotiate and make a few requests of your own. He grinned at that thought and held up a hand toward the cockpit.
“Take us in,” he said.
The bird rose back into the sky and flew over the steel gates. Rows of FEMA housing trailers were set up on the park lawn across the street from the embassy. Rusted barrels used for fires were positioned on sidewalks and alleys where those who weren’t fortunate enough to have a trailer had set up tents and makeshift shelters. It reminded him a bit of the block he had grown up in—the block he had escaped.
Funny how life could bring you back to where you started.
He scanned the area to the west, checking the rooftops. Satellite dishes and communication antennas were rigged on top of the structures. Flags whipped in the wind from poles over the side of the embassy building. In the center of the rooftop, a large red radio tower rose into the sky.
“Do you see that?” Bosse said. He directed his muzzle at what looked like a scarecrow about two thirds of the way up the tower.
“Raptor 1, what’s that on the radio tower?” Allen asked a moment later.
Flathman pushed his mic to his lips. “Checking, standby.” He didn’t even have time to zoom in before Stone shouted.
“Jesus, is that a fucking body?”
Flathman centered his crosshairs on a crucified human corpse stretched across the west side of the tower. Sunlight fell on the exposed muscles. A crow landed on the corpse and began picking at it.
“Shit,” Flathman grumbled. It was likely the handiwork of the juveniles in the area. He’d been hunting a pack for weeks and seen grisly totems like this before. But where were the other bodies? There had been hundreds of soldiers here, and they couldn’t have all been killed by a handful of juveniles, not unless they had been tricked…
“Take us down,” Flathman said.
The pilots looked back from the cockpit.
“Sir?” one of them said.
“I said take us the fuck down.”
A second of hesitation passed, the pilots exchanging a glance before they lowered the bird toward the street. Three feet off the ground, Flathman jumped out onto the concrete. The two Rangers followed him out of the chopper.
“Bosse, you and Stone take the left. I’ll take the right. High and low, clear the windows and watch the rooftops. We rally at the embassy.”
Flathman ducked low, crouched behind a Humvee, and used a stolen moment to scan his surroundings. The embassy was four buildings down, near the front gate. FEMA trailers were set up in the park across the street. There were half a dozen vehicles between him and the building, plus eight rooftops and over a hundred windows. Plenty of places for a sniper or a juvenile to be hiding.
Raising his rifle, he took off at a run, scanning the windows on the right side for motion. Above, the crow continued to pick at the dead man on the radio tower.
Gotta be those fucking juveniles.
He wasn’t just here to claim his reward of whiskey, he realized—he was here to kill the bastards that had been tormenting his post for months. Just the other day he had lost PFC Collins. The shy kid from Iowa had been taking a piss during a patrol when he was dragged into the sewers by the beasts.
Collins had been a lousy soldier, but he was just a kid and Flathman had tried to protect him. Bosse and Stone, on the other hand, were men he could trust with his life. That’s why they were here. Like any coach, Flathman had his favorite players, and he’d brought his MVPs on this mission.
The sun continued to rise over the city. Flathman pulled his sunglasses from his vest pocket and put them on. He made a dash for an old Nissan Pathfinder, his tennis shoes slapping the pavement.
Despite his bad habits, Flathman was a dedicated runner. He had traded his boots for a pair of Nikes and jogged around the inside of the fences countless times, earning him another nickname at the post.
Flathman, The Running Man. Ten Lives. Evel Knievel.
He didn’t mind the nicknames. There was a place in the apocalypse for adrenaline junkies and drunks. In fact, he was faring just fine in the End Times. Some would say he fit right in.
Bosse flashed a hand signal to indicate the area near him was clear.
Flathman bolted toward the rally point. With every step, his guts sank a bit lower. The nausea wasn’t from the hangover, either. He was getting a bad feeling about this mission. And no matter how many shiny bottles of hooch he imagined, he was starting to wonder if it was worth it.
Of course it’s fucking worth it.
He stopped at another vehicle to catch his breath, scanned the area, and then took off across the final stretch of asphalt. The embassy building towered above him. It had once been a bank. Prison-like bars covered the windows on each floor, and two fenced-in checkpoints separated visitors from the front doors. The cages were all empty, and there still wasn’t a bullet casing in sight.
The front gate creaked in the wind, the locking mechanism clicking as it hit the metal fence. He stopped in front and flashed signals to his men. Their weapons arched across their zones of fire with a precision that calmed Flathman’s rolling stomach. He could trust his boys in the field. Whatever was waiting for them, they could take it.
“On me,” he said.
Bosse and Stone fell into line behind him, their weapons trained on the building. Flathman stopped to check his six. A piece of trash whirled in the empty street. Nothing else moved.
He pulled the gate open and stepped into the checkpoint. With his weapon ready, he kept low and moved toward the second gate, then onto the steps that led up to the building.
The first gate creaked again, and this time a scratching sound answered the creak. Flathman pivoted toward the street with his rifle.
“You hear that?” he whispered.
Stone and Bosse glanced around, their muzzles moving horizontally across the street, scanning for contacts.
“Negative, sir,” Bosse said.
“I didn’t hear—” Stone began to say.
A metallic thud sounded from the direction of the FEMA trailers. Flathman silently directed Bosse and Stone to follow him. Together, they slowly retreated from the gated checkpoints and made their way into the road.
The sun cast a brilliant glow on the carmine metal walls surrounding the SZT. Flathman used the dawn light to search for more clues. He checked the pavement again for signs of gunfire, but saw nothing. No bullet casings or chunks of concrete chipped away from rounds.
Nothing.
He cursed and spat on the ground. Then he flashed another round of hand signals. Bosse and Stone fanned out toward the dozen white FEMA shipping containers. Flathman used the cover of vehicles as he approached, stopping to listen and scan before continuing.
His tennis shoes crushed the recently trimmed lawn. As he moved, he took in a breath. Hell, the park even smelled like fresh cut grass! Whatever had happened to these people, it had been sudden.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Flathman flinched at the screeching bird. He shouldered his rifle and aimed it at the tower, where the crow was now flapping away from the corpse.
Heart pounding, Flathman slowly lowered his rifle to turn back to the trailers. As he moved, an echoing whistle came from the sky. The sound rose on the wind, and Flathman recognized it. Helicopters, moving in fast. He directed his team down into a crouch near a pickup truck for cover.
“Ten Lives, this is Raptor 1, do you copy?”
“Roger, go ahead.”
“We got three bogies bearing 090.”
Flathman prepared to respond when a trio of AH-6 Little Birds emerged over the buildings to the east. They buzzed overhead with soldiers clipped to the sides, their weapons angled down on the street.
“Hide,” Flathman ordered his men. He crawled under the nearest truck, his
guts tightening. Over the past seven months, the Variants had never gotten the drop on him. Not once. He’d been lucky—Ten Lives Flathman, the man who was too stubborn to die. But he’d forgotten that the monsters weren’t the only threat out there, and he had the feeling his last life had just run out.
It wasn’t the first time in her life that Dr. Kate Lovato didn’t want to go to work, but she would have given anything now to be curled up at home in bed with Reed. She hesitated at the end of the corridor leading to her lab, one hand resting gently on top of her belly.
She drew in a breath through her nostrils, exhaled, and looked at Ellis. He was standing at the entrance to the clean room in the new lab facility, using the new fingerprint scanner by the door.
“Come on,” he mumbled. The pad flashed green, and he bent down to put his eye up to the second recognition slot.
The door chirped, then opened, revealing the clean room partitioned off by glass walls from the labs beyond. An air filtration unit clicked on above, humming quietly. They were the only two scientists in the BSL4 lab this morning. Durand and Case were working later that afternoon. Kate wanted to be out of here before they arrived.
“You coming, Kate?” Ellis said. He stood in the doorway and glanced back at her.
“Yes, sorry. I was just…thinking.”
She had been thinking about the children who died on the dock. It had been because of her protocols that the soldiers had opened fire. No matter what Reed said, it was her fault. Just like it was her fault the bioweapon she’d designed had killed her brother—and likely her parents, too. Javier had been infected with the Hemorrhage Virus during the early stages of the outbreak. She’d known, when she created the weapon, that it was a death sentence for him and all the other innocent people transformed into monsters by the plague.
Kate had become a doctor to help people. But now every time she did her job, people died.
She reluctantly followed Ellis through the doors. CBRN suits and sealed boxes waited inside. In the past, entering a Level 4 Bio facility wouldn’t have bothered her. But it wasn’t just her anymore. She had her son to think about. The slightest mistake could put her child at risk. Normally a pregnant woman wouldn’t be allowed even close to a BSL4 lab, but this was the end of the world. She was here because there was no one else to do her job. Her country—no, the world—needed her.
But Reed and their baby needed her too.
“I got here at the crack of dawn and went through the overnight reports,” Ellis said. He sat on a bench and began putting on his protective suit.
Kate grabbed hers from the wall and took a seat.
“And?”
Ellis rolled the suit up his legs to his waist. “And it’s not good. Operation Beachhead was a spectacular failure and the EUF is retreating from dozens of major cities. The list is massive, Kate. Istanbul, Manchester, Madrid.” He paused and then added, “And Rome. I’m so sorry, Kate. They’re pulling out of Italy for now.”
Kate had already prepared herself for this. She had accepted her parents were dead. It didn’t hurt anymore. Not much, anyway. If she kept telling herself that, she might start to believe it.
“The Variants set a trap in Normandy, and the 24th MEU fell right into it,” Ellis continued. The words pulled her back to the bright, clean room that reeked of chemicals. She put her hand on her chest, feeling her beating heart through the CBRN layers.
“Did Fitz and Apollo make it?”
Ellis shook his head.
“What!” Kate exclaimed, pain breaking through her wall of calm.
“I meant I don’t know. Sounds like they had to leave a lot of bodies on the beaches due to toxin saturation.”
She loosened her grip on her chest, her hand falling to her stomach. “Does Reed know yet?”
“I don’t think so. I may be the first to have read the report this morning. It came in with the specimen.”
“Specimen?”
“We got video feeds, field reports, and a tissue sample from one of the winged creatures they found over there. Something they’ve dubbed a Reaver.” He finished suiting up and walked over to her. “You sure you don’t want to go home today, Kate? You don’t look so good. I already started the process for DNA sequencing. You don’t have to be here. I can complete it on my own.”
Kate zipped her suit up and picked up her helmet. Of course she wanted to go home. But she wouldn’t, not while there was even a chance she could do some good.
“Let’s go,” she said. For what seemed like the millionth time, she secured her CBRN helmet with a click. The first breath of cold, filtered air filled her lungs. She took in another slow and steady breath. She could do this. Everyone had a job to do, and this was hers.
The six-station lab was still empty when Kate and Ellis entered. He walked straight to the sequencing machine. There was a bag on a tray next to the station marked “LEVEL 4—HANDLE WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.”
“The report came from the top. We are to determine what type of genetic modifications we will see next. They also want to know what the hell this thing is. I’m honestly surprised we aren’t being asked to find a way to kill it.”
“We’re out of time to develop anything,” Kate said. “It’s too late for bioweapons in Europe. They’ll have to kill these monsters the old-fashioned way.”
“You’re starting to sound like General Kennor.”
Kate ignored his comment and examined the specimen bag from a distance. A brownish liquid filled the inside. Ellis discarded it in the infirmary slot. Then he returned to the sequencer.
“I’ve already incubated the tissue in the centrifuge tubes. I could use some help with the detergents to separate the DNA from the cellular components, though.”
Kate took in another long breath. As long as she was safe and cautious, everything would be fine. The Variant blood wasn’t infectious, but that’s not what worried her. It was everything else stored in liquid nitrogen-cooled cryogenic freezers. The Medical Corps kept a sample of every Level 4 virus known to man, including Ebola and now the Hemorrhage Virus.
“Have you checked the biometrics?” she asked.
“Still filtering through the raw data I entered last night.”
Kate nodded. The biometrics tools aided them in comparing genetic and genomic data, which in turn allowed them to understand the evolutionary aspects of the Variants. Every time a new creature was discovered, it was analyzed, catalogued, and integrated into the pool of data.
Today, however, they weren’t just studying field reports. They actually had a sample to study—a sample Kate guessed had cost a lot of lives.
Ellis finished setting up the tiny plastic centrifuge tubes. She joined him at the lab counter and grabbed a pipette. It had been a month since they had worked on anything new. Part of her enjoyed the meticulous detail DNA sequencing required. It was a good change of pace from reading reports and data mining.
She used her pipette to put the separated DNA into the sequencer. It took two hours to complete the process, but Kate found she didn’t mind. It was a repetitive process that didn’t require much thought: pipette the liquid in, spin it in the centrifuge, then discard the supernatants and pipette new liquid in. Rinse and repeat. Kate didn’t have to think about Fitz, Apollo, Reed, her parents, or anything other than the task in front of her.
When they were finished, Ellis turned the machine on and crossed his arms.
“Now we wait.” He pivoted away from the machine and eyed his computer monitor across the room. “Ready to get back to research?”
“We don’t have a choice. The report on the new Variants is due to Vice President Johnson in 46 hours.”
“I haven’t had a chance to watch any of the new footage from the MEUs yet, but I read the report from Colonel Bradley of the 24th. There were over thirty of those Reavers at the landing.”
Kate leaned closer, biting the inside of her lip. She had never seen one of the creatures before, but just the name sent a prickle of fear across her skin. And s
he had a feeling they weren’t the only things ravaging Europe.
“Apparently there are more adult Variants in Europe than we thought. The EUF did an awful job deploying Kryptonite,” Ellis said.
He shifted through his notes and ran a gloved finger down the page. “Looks like this feed was taken from a Black Hawk at the same beach where Fitz and Team Ghost landed.”
On screen, the door gunner’s helmet-mounted camera shook violently as the chopper rolled to the right, providing them a view of the moonlit cliffs of Normandy. Below, several destroyers carved through the water. Dozens of smaller crafts skirted toward the shore, all of them filled with vehicles.
Several had already beached, disgorging tanks and armored trucks onto the sand. Although Kate couldn’t see them, she knew Fitz, Apollo, Rico, and the new members of Team Ghost were down there somewhere.
The camera rolled back to the sky.
“There,” Ellis said. He pointed to a flurry of shadows that could have been bats passing in front of the moon.
Kate leaned even closer.
“Reavers,” she whispered.
A brilliant ball of fire flashed below, blinding the feed. When it cleared, the door gunner was firing at a sky full of armored Variants with wings.
“Darwin would be amazed,” Ellis said. “Those things are…”
Kate brought her hand to her helmet, her breathing raspy. Her heart was pounding and sweat dripped down her forehead despite the chill running through her body.
Her friends were out there facing monsters unlike anything her imagination could have conjured.
Another Black Hawk crossed in front of the door gunner’s feed. The troop hold was full of soldiers, all firing their weapons into the sky. One of the beasts swooped up from below and plucked the door gunner away like a child grabbing a doll. A second soldier reached out to pull him back and plummeted into the darkness.
“Those things are incredible,” Ellis said in a tone that made Kate wonder if he was talking more to himself.
She narrowed her eyes at him and snapped, “What the hell do you mean by that? Those things are monsters, not some wonderful new species. And our friends are out there, my parents…”
The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath Page 13
