The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  You’re still a soldier. You’re still a man.

  The reassuring thoughts—not to mention the pangs of hunger in his belly—gave him the strength to continue climbing the stairs. There was nothing like hunger to drive a man to desperation. The Varianti were also driven by a primal need to feed. At least he didn’t share their disgusting appetite for human flesh.

  “That’s something, isn’t it?” he asked the mouse.

  It didn’t answer.

  He tensed as he rounded the final corner, listening for any sign of the demons. The candlelight danced in the narrow passage, like hands reaching out for him. A distant drip, drip of water echoed, but besides that he heard nothing.

  Raising his rifle, he stepped into the hallway and held his candle out to the east, then to the west, muzzle sweeping over the dark passages. The light only reached a few hundred feet, and there was no sign of the monsters.

  For the first time, he took a left to head west, starving, scared, and unsure if he would ever see the sun again.

  -16-

  Commander Davis was still shaking from shock and anger. Three hours ago, she’d seen a dozen of her crew executed. Since then she had remained hidden in the tall grass on an embankment with nothing to think about but revenge. Her small team flanked her on both sides, all watching the brick walls of Fort Pickens. They had abandoned their Zodiac in a canal and covered it with a camouflage tarp Marks had discovered onboard. So far they had avoided detection, but patrols of ROT soldiers were combing the area.

  She wasn’t sure how long they could remain hidden, and she didn’t want to try walking up to the terrorists in a stolen ROT uniform either. But they couldn’t stay here forever.

  She crawled through the grass and scoped the deck of the ship where the ROT soldiers had airlifted two MGM-140 Army Tactical Missile System delivery vehicles. Several men were carefully unloading crates around them. Zooming in, she saw the same surface-to-surface ballistic missiles she had encountered at the Earthfall facility, which could carry a payload like the bioweapon they’d used to exterminate most of the surviving Variants. But these looked more advanced with larger fuel chambers for a wider range.

  But why would ROT have those? Unless…no, even they wouldn’t be that insane.

  The only reason they’d have them would be to arm them with the Hemorrhage Virus. Firing even a few of them at SZTs would wipe out every man, woman, and child left in America. With most of the American forces overseas, there was no way they could stop another outbreak here in the States.

  Davis bit down on her lip. She would not let ROT destroy everything President Ringgold had worked to rebuild and the military had fought and bled for to defend.

  She flattened her body against the embankment, her finger creeping toward the trigger of her rifle. A patrol of six ROT soldiers was walking down the shore, their SCARS roving back and forth. In her mind’s eye, she could picture her rounds tearing through the men. But even then, she wouldn’t feel satisfied. Davis wanted to gut them—to paint the beach with their blood.

  Never in her life had she felt anger like this. It burned in the very marrow of her bones. The itch to jump up and empty her magazine into every ROT soldier she could see was overwhelming. Revenge was all she could think about.

  Get your head on straight, Rachel. You need to be smart about this. There is too much at risk to do something stupid.

  There were still members of her crew alive on the ship, and she still had Black and Diaz, as well as Marks and his men to think about. Not to mention the fate of the human race.

  The patrol was fifty yards away now, walking through a cluster of trees.

  “We can take ‘em, Commander,” Marks whispered.

  “Not without firing a shot. I’ve counted over fifty soldiers so far. We can’t kill them all by ourselves, and the ones we don’t take down will make short work of us.”

  “Look, I know you have your orders, but even you can’t be this cold. The admiral is dead and they displayed his body like a fucking dog. Then they executed a dozen of our crew in front of us. I’m just a sergeant, but even I know sometimes orders are meant to be broken.”

  Davis heard Diaz suck in an angry breath, but she held her tongue this time.

  “Those were my men, too,” Davis said. “My responsibility. I’m going to get the GW back, and then we’re going to kill every last one of those sons of bitches. But not until we have the right opportunity. Understood?”

  Marks stared her down for a moment longer, but in the end he looked away and grumbled, “Understood.”

  Davis wasn’t sure she believed him.

  Part of her wanted to charge in with guns blazing just like him, but she knew that was the wrong move. These ROT soldiers had been baiting her by displaying Humphrey’s corpse and executing the crewmen. They were terrorists, and their currency was fear.

  The only way to fight them was through superior strategy. Ideally, President Ringgold would have sent a Special Ops team to retake the ship. But Davis and her motley band of soldiers was the best they were going to get. Luckily, she had learned a thing or two about situations like these when Lieutenant Colonel Kramer had commandeered the GW.

  Quick and steady, she thought, and then mentally added quiet to the list.

  She waved Diaz over.

  “Diaz, where’s the closest SZT?”

  “There’s one in New Orleans and one in Tallahassee,” she answered promptly.

  Marks scooted closer. “Both are way too far from here to get help, if that’s what you’re thinking. And New Orleans has sided with the enemy.”

  Diaz looked back down at her map. “There is a small outpost here.” She pointed to a blue dot on the map that was marked OP119.

  “What do we know about it?” Davis asked.

  “It’s only twenty miles from here by boat, or thirty if we had a car, but there’s no way to know if anyone is actually manning the post. There are hundreds of these stations, and many of them have fallen in the past few months to juveniles or raiding parties. I think the standard crew is twenty soldiers.”

  “They say soldiers go there to die,” Black said. “They’re basically outposts, like the traders used back during the Revolutionary War. Deep in enemy territory and away from the help of the military.”

  The team flattened as the beam from a flashlight hit the top of the embankment. Davis put a finger to her lips as voices muffled by gas masks came over the hill.

  “Man, I don’t know if I like this. I mean, executing those sailors is one thing. That’s all about sovereignty. You can’t let the tyrants have anything over you, right? But turning kids into monsters is where I draw the line.”

  “Wood won’t do it. He’s just using the missiles as leverage,” said someone else.

  “What about Chicago?”

  Another voice, rougher and deeper, replied, “Stop being a pussy, Morgan. This is war. We got to do what we got to do to take our country back from that bitch.”

  “Ringgold ain’t so bad,” said the first voice.

  There was a sound of a scuffle, and then an ooph, like someone had been hit in the stomach.

  “Lieutenant Wood would have you killed for that comment, Morgan. You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat to shut your stupid ass up.”

  Davis heard coughing. “I’m just sayin’, man. Jesus.”

  “Cut that shit out,” said the rough voice. “We’re supposed to be at the checkpoint in ten minutes.”

  The muffled voices faded with the wind, but their words stuck with Davis like a fire that wouldn’t go out. She knew she had to make a decision quickly.

  “Sergeant, you and your men stay here and watch the GW. Diaz, Black, and I will head to OP119 to see if we can get some help. Hopefully they will have some firepower there.”

  Davis didn’t voice the rest of her plan out loud. She wasn’t ready to blow her ship up yet—with the rest of her crew still on it—but she couldn’t let Wood fire any of those missiles at civilian targets. If it came down
to a choice between saving the GW and saving the country…well, that was no choice at all.

  The kids in the Basilica of St. Thérèse had seen a lot since the monsters came to Europe. Fitz could tell by their hollow, haunted eyes. But the way their faces lit up when they saw Apollo warmed his heart. The dog was a well-trained combat veteran, but he was also a big, good-natured animal that loved attention. The kids petted the German Shepherd and cooed over him in French until a stern word from Mira made them scatter back to their posts.

  Most of their group had moved to the crypts while Fitz waited for Command to return his transmission. Dohi was upstairs with Stevenson, watching the grounds for movement. Fitz didn’t feel much safer underground, but he couldn’t hear the howling.

  “What is that?” came a voice.

  Fitz felt a tug on the bandana around his neck and looked over to Michel. While most of the kids were fascinated with Apollo, the boy had taken an interest in Riley’s laughing skull bandana.

  “I like it. Where did you get it?”

  “From a very good friend,” Fitz replied. As much as he wanted to tell the story, there was work to do. He glanced at the blockaded doors where Tanaka and several kids stood guarding the entrance. The children were chatting with each other, but Tanaka remained silent in the shadows.

  Rico and Mira were studying the map, their heads bent over it, the younger woman’s hot pink hair a stark contrast against Mira’s silver gray. Mira still didn’t want to talk about the beasts that had overrun her country. Fitz had to get her to talk, and fast. Enemy forces were heading their way, and it was only a matter of time before they broke into the basilica.

  He looked at his watch. The sun had gone down hours ago, and whatever was coming would move in the early morning hours.

  They were running out of time.

  “Lion 1 this is Ghost 1, do you copy? Over.”

  A response hissed into his earpiece this time. Static at first, then a voice.

  “Copy Ghost 1, this is Lion 1. Over.”

  Fitz looked at Mira. She was still holding her cards tight, unwilling to tell him any details. Not that he blamed her. She was doing what any mother would do to protect her children.

  A second transmission came across the channel. Colonel Bradley growled, “You better have some good news for me.” There was a pause of static, then, “Have you completed your mission?”

  “Working on it, sir.”

  “Have you located the Ombres?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Fitz hesitated. “They want a ride out of here.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Twenty.”

  There was a pause that seemed to stretch forever.

  “If you get me the intel I need to advance across France, I’ll send the King Stallion to pick up that MATV,” Bradley finally said. “You got to cram everyone in though, because I can’t risk sending any Black Hawks. Get back to me when you have what I need.”

  There was cursing and a shout on the other line. White noise followed, then the transmission cut off. Fitz almost tore his earpiece from his ear.

  Fitz hated being a hard-ass. He’d been raised to treat people—especially women—with respect and courtesy. But the time for being a gentlemen was over. He turned to the Frenchwoman and gave her a steely glare.

  “If you want your kids to leave this town alive, you’ll tell me everything you know. Right now. I want enemy movements, coordinates. What type of monsters we’re dealing with, and how many.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Those things outside, whatever they are, they will find us. They will kill everyone in this church. And Command isn’t coming to help unless I give them something.”

  Mira blinked and took a step back. “Your commander would leave you out here?”

  There was no hesitation in Fitz’s response. “Absolutely.”

  Rico pulled the map closer to Mira. “Show us where these ‘unthinkable’ things are so we can bomb the hell out of ‘em, okay?”

  “And show us the best route from our FOB to Paris,” Fitz added.

  “I have your word you will get us out of here?” Mira asked.

  Fitz nodded and held her gaze. Mira swiped her long gray hair over her shoulders and leaned down over the map. Michel followed her with his hands on his hips and the AK-47 dangling from a strap over his shoulder.

  “About five months ago the French military retreated to Paris,” Mira said. “They cleared and held onto several arrondissements. Those areas were their final stronghold.”

  “They put up a good fight,” Michel said. “My dad was there. He was a hero.”

  Fitz looked at the boy who was standing proudly despite the AK-47 weighing down on his shoulders. Disheveled red hair stuck out in all directions as he stepped into the light. Freckles dotted his sharp nose. He reminded Fitz a lot of his brother at that age.

  Mira smiled at Michel, and Fitz forced himself to do the same thing even though his heart ached for the kid.

  “Your father was very brave,” Mira said. “If he had known you were still alive, he would have come here instead.”

  Michel nodded solemnly, and she looked back to the map.

  “This area,” she continued. Her finger slowly crossed the map from their location in Lisieux to Paris, and then south to Orleans. She traced a circle around the Saint-Laurent and Dampierre nuclear power plants. “The government blew up these plants as a last resort. I remember the disaster at Chernobyl. The radiation here…it is worse than that.”

  Mira traced another, larger circle that reached from Bourges to the south all the way to the outskirts of Paris. It was an area of nearly fifty thousand square kilometers.

  “Jesus,” Fitz whispered. “That’s like setting off a small nuclear weapon.” He nodded at Rico to make note of the area so they could avoid it.

  “Doesn’t radiation kill the juveniles?” she asked.

  Mira clicked her tongue and folded her arms across her chest. “A nuclear bomb would have been better. The leaked radiation, it did not kill all of these monsters. It transformed some of them. Before, I was in communication with resistance in the area. They told me of the things they saw. Their transmissions have all stopped coming now.”

  Rico’s voice sounded high and thin as she asked, “What did they see?”

  “They reported things I don’t discuss with the children. Wormers, Pinchers, and Black Beetles.”

  Fitz looked at Rico and tried to process this information. If what Mira was saying was true, then the 24th MEU was going to have more than just juveniles, Reavers, and battalions of grunt adults to think about.

  “The mutated army has been moving northwest, out of the nuclear zone,” Mira said. She pointed to the Parc Naturel Regional Du Perche. “If there is one area to avoid, it’s this. Stay very clear of it. There are other creatures there that have no name. An EUF recon unit was deployed to document them. I listened to the comms. They encountered some sort of creature with bark for skin. Your commanders should set the entire forest on fire.”

  Mira continued to point out areas to bomb and places where new breeds of monsters had been reported. The picture she painted was grim. France was completely overrun.

  When she finished, Fitz thanked Mira and then gestured for Rico so they could speak in silence.

  “The leaked radiation,” he whispered. “Why would it not kill these juveniles?”

  Rico shrugged. “Maybe it killed some of them but wasn’t strong enough to kill the others. Maybe that’s why they mutated? I have heard of juveniles back home surviving the dirty bombs.”

  Fitz scratched at his chin. “I’ll relay this to Bradley so it can be passed up the chain of command. Some scientist like Kate will probably make the call whether to continue with the plan to drop the dirty bombs during Operation Reach.”

  They both looked up at a voice at the door across the room. Fitz reached for his M4 and MK11 that were propped up against the wall of mosaics behind him. Rico’s hand
went for her M9, but they both paused as Stevenson poked his big head through the open door, wearing a mask of worry.

  Fitz straightened his back in anticipation of even more bad news.

  “Whatever was on the roof is gone, but we’ve got new movement outside, sir,” Stevenson said. “Dohi is reporting motion in the gardens.”

  “Variants? Reavers?” Rico asked.

  Stevenson shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  Fitz turned back to Mira. “What else is in this area?”

  The woman unfolded her arms, her shoulders sinking. In the dim light, she looked far older. How she had kept these kids alive was beyond Fitz. Maybe this church was sacred—maybe God or St. Thérèse had protected them.

  Fitz was starting to think the place was cursed.

  “Dohi said the ground is moving out there,” Stevenson said.

  Mira narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “Wormers,” Michel said. He was already pulling his loaded AK-47 from his shoulder. He spoke in a low but confident voice for a thirteen year old and then signaled to three of the older kids in the back of the room. They all started checking their weapons.

  Wormers? Fitz imagined juveniles with tails, wiggling across the ground, sucker mouths popping as they neared their prey. It didn’t sound that scary.

  Rico chewed her gum violently like it was an overcooked piece of steak. “Reavers, Wormers, Pinchers, Black Beetles. Shit, you got all the creepy-crawlies here.”

  “Great, that’s excellent,” Stevenson said. “More monsters that want to eat us.”

  “More to kill,” Tanaka said. He reached back to check the draw on his blades.

  Fitz considered going topside to see things for himself, but first he had to get any remaining intel from Mira.

  He gestured at the map. “What’s the best route to Paris?”

  Mira looked at Michel and nodded for him to stand down. Then she pulled the map back to her. She used a pen to draw a diagonal line that snaked from the FOB north east of Lisieux all the way to Paris.

  Michel walked around the table, one hand holding his rifle, the other scratching his filthy face. That’s when Fitz noticed the red Superman cape the boy was wearing. The rifle had covered it up earlier.