Beckham sighed and rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. Wood didn’t want to build anything. He was like a greedy child who’d rather break a toy than let anyone else play with it. If Andrew Wood didn’t get the presidency, Beckham had no doubt he’d destroy every safe zone in the country, even if it doomed humanity to extinction.
Commander Rachel Davis and her team crouched low and raised their weapons to eye level. They moved quickly out of the forest and toward a distant road in the final rays of sunlight. Shadows lurked in every direction as they wove between wrecked cars and trucks. They cleared each one, switching their aim from back to front as they moved. Trash swirled in the gusting wind, but there wasn’t anything alive out here. Nothing that she could see, anyway. She flashed a signal to Black and ordered him toward a pickup truck blocking the street ahead.
They needed a ride to OP119. Otherwise they were going to be walking for the next two hours through enemy territory. The longer they were out here, the higher the chance a juvenile would find them. Worse than that, she didn’t know how much time they had before the GW departed. For all she knew, Wood had already finished loading the 140s onto the ship and could take off at any time.
Commandeering a vehicle was a risk, but letting the GW escape was an even greater one. The fate and future of America rested on her shoulders, and she was not going to fail.
Davis crouched behind a sedan and waited for Black to clear the pickup. He shouldered his SAW and approached slowly. After checking the cab, he motioned for Davis and Diaz to join him. They crossed the street in combat intervals, with Diaz covering their rear guard. Davis raked her sights over the road and the forest beyond. Satisfied, she approached the passenger door of the truck. Black was already working on hot-wiring the vehicle.
“Did you try this?” Diaz said. She reached into the cab and flipped the sun visor down. A key was hanging from an elastic band. She grinned and handed it to Black.
Feeling edgy, Davis lifted her M4 and checked their six for contacts. The terrain appeared to be clear, but once again she felt the sensation of being watched.
“Let me drive,” Davis said. She switched places with Black, who handed her the key. “Come on, baby,” she whispered as she cranked the ignition.
The engine coughed to life and rattled under the vibrating hood.
“And now every juvie in Florida knows we’re here,” Black muttered.
The engine soon settled into a low purr. Davis climbed into the cab and buckled herself in. “Get your ass in back, Black,” she said. “Diaz, you’re up front with me.”
Black unfolded the bipod on his SAW and climbed into the bed of the truck. The clank on the top of the cab told Davis he was ready to roll. She checked the gauges and almost grinned when she saw a full tank of gas. That was their first piece of good luck in a long time.
Davis shifted the truck into first gear. The intersection ahead was mostly clear of vehicles, but there were plenty of places for juveniles to hide in the acres of forest that flanked their route.
If they knew you were here, you would already be dead.
Davis pulled back the slide on her M9 and kept it at the ready while she drove. Wind gusted through the broken passenger’s and driver’s side windows. Both women removed their gas masks to breathe in the fresh ocean air. Each breath brought with it guilt for the crewmen she’d left behind, and as she drove in the opposite direction of her ship, she felt an almost magnetic pull to turn around.
You’ll get your chance,” she reminded herself. Quick and steady, Rachel. Quick and fucking steady is the name of the game.
Davis weaved around an abandoned motorcycle and then a truck with a fishing boat on a trailer. The boat had overturned and slid clear across the roadway, coming up against the trees on the other side. Once they were past that obstacle, Davis gunned the engine to take advantage of the stretch of open road.
“How far are we from the outpost?” she asked.
Diaz was already looking at the map. “Take your next right. Then it’s another ten miles down a frontage road on the left.”
Clouds rolled across the sky, and Davis felt another storm moving in. That wasn’t a bad thing. The clouds would help block out light that would reveal her position when they returned for the GW.
“Alright, Diaz,” Davis said. “Call Command.”
Diaz pulled the satellite phone from her vest. She dialed in the number Davis had given her and reported the 140s and the coordinates of the GW. By the time she had finished, the sun was dying on the horizon. Darkness washed over the road, and Davis flipped her NVGs into position.
“Command says to continue recon,” Diaz said. “They asked us to contact Sergeant Marks and his men for an update on those 140s.”
Davis gave the order with a nod.
Diaz pulled the ROT radio and scanned through the channels. She brought it up to her mouth and said, “Rhino 1, Scorpion 2, do you copy? Over.”
Static filled the cab of the truck. Marks wasn’t answering.
Diaz tried again to the same result and shook her head.
A hundred thoughts ran through Davis’s mind, but she had to focus on the task at hand. She steered around a police cruiser that was tipped on its side before returning to the center of the road.
“You think Marks and his men were compromised?” Diaz asked.
“I don’t know,” Davis said heavily, but in her gut she felt the silence on the other end of the radio could only mean the worst had befallen the gruff sergeant.
Diaz looked out the window. “You’re going to blow up our home, aren’t you?”
“We can’t let ROT fire any of those 140s. Doing so could destroy everything we’ve fought for.”
Davis thought of Team Ghost—of Beckham, Horn, and Fitz, especially. She could really use their help right now. She wondered how Fitz was doing in Europe and hoped he was having better luck than she was. The redheaded Marine was someone she’d like to get to know better, if she ever got the chance, and she would have been proud to have him by her side now.
“Watch out!” Diaz suddenly shouted.
Davis slammed on the brakes as something white darted in front of the truck. A thud sounded from Black hitting the back window. The truck screamed to a stop, the smell of burning rubber filling the cab.
“What the hell was that?” Diaz asked. She grabbed her M4 and roved it back and forth across the windshield.
Heart kicking, Davis reached for her M9, grabbed the steering wheel in her other hand, and turned to look at Black.
“You okay up there?”
The reply came back in a grunt.
“You got eyes?”
“Negative. But that was definitely a juvie.”
Diaz angled her M4 at the shoulder of the road. “I don’t see anything.”
“If there’s one, there are more. Hold your fire unless you have a target,” Davis said. “I’m going to try to outrun them.”
The truck had just started moving again when Black said, “Hold up. On the road at nine o’clock.”
Davis looked out the window at a dark, wet streak on the pavement.
“Blood,” Black said. “It’s injured.”
“Good,” Diaz replied.
Pushing down on the gas, Davis steered back onto the road. The tires squealed, and the truck jolted forward. She drove away with her gun still in her hand.
“OP119 is probably going to be a loss,” Diaz said. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go back to the ship? Maybe we can figure out a way to stop them without, you know, blowing the GW to smithereens.”
“Even if there isn’t anyone manning the post, we could still find explosives, ammo, and other gear.”
Davis wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel and turned slightly to avoid a car. The moon split the clouds again, illuminating a gap in the forest on the left side of the road. Acres of marshland stretched into the distance.
“We got about four more miles to go,” Diaz said.
A tap on the cab roof
made Davis flinch. She eased off the gas and stopped the truck as Black leaned down.
“Commander, did you see that?” He pointed to the marshes. “Back up a bit.”
Davis threw the truck into reverse and then backed up about a tenth of a mile.
“Slower,” Black said.
The wetlands came into view once more. Boulders speckled the muck, but nothing moved in her green-hued view.
Davis put the truck in neutral and set the parking brake, but she kept her foot over the accelerator just in case. Diaz scooted next to her for a better look. They sat there listening to the sounds of chirping bugs and croaking frogs.
One of the rocks suddenly moved and an armored face rose out of the water, a snake dangling from its jaws. The reptile twisted and jerked as the juvenile slurped it through its sucker lips.
“There’s six of them,” Diaz whispered.
Davis dearly wanted to give Black a dressing down. He should have known better than to risk their lives for a glimpse at these monsters. Then she saw something that made her pull down her NVGs to get a better look.
One of the juveniles was lit up by more than just moonlight. Its armor radiated a white glow like a nightlight, and blood was seeping from cracks in the plating. A piercing wail silenced every living creature in the marsh.
Davis threw the truck into first, popped the brake, and punched the gas. In the rear view mirror, the juveniles broke into a frenzy. But instead of following the truck, they all scampered away from the injured creature.
Pushing down on the pedal, Davis sped away down the empty road. Her mind was racing. She had no idea what was wrong with the juvenile, but if she had to guess, it had something to do with the radiation they had been exposed to during Operation Extinction. She’d heard of creatures that had survived the blasts with horrific radiation burns, but she had never heard of them glowing.
Diaz pointed toward a radio tower protruding out of the forest about a half-mile away on the left. Davis drove for another quarter-mile before pulling off the road. She turned off the truck and slipped the key back under the visor.
The pavement was still wet from the earlier rain, and her boots slapped in the shallow puddles. She grabbed her M4 and moved quickly around the vehicle with the scope at eye level, sweeping the road, the forest, and finally the radio tower. A barbed wire fence surrounded the small station. A sign hanging off the fence marked it as OP119.
“Diaz, on me. High and low, watch the cars and the trees. Black, you’re on point. Clear the left side of the road. We rally up ahead on either side of the main gate. If things go south, double-time back to the truck.”
Black and Diaz put their gas masks back on and nodded at Davis. She pushed her filter back over her face as Black took off at a crouch. The road was clear, and besides the rustling of tree branches, there was no movement.
Diaz kept close, her M4 moving from car to forest to car, just like Davis had ordered. She had held her own so far, and Davis trusted the younger woman to have her back. But she couldn’t ignore the unease she felt having someone so green by her side. They ran at a stealth crouch after Black. The gas mask crushed his Mohawk, but strands still jetted up like fins on the back of some prehistoric dinosaur.
He stopped, balled his right hand, and dropped to a knee. He signaled that there were two contacts near the fence ahead. Davis nodded and pointed at a sedan ahead of them. It looked like it had been driven off the road on purpose and nosed into a ditch.
Davis signaled to Diaz, who ran across the road to take up a position behind the sedan. Davis then moved to the left and hid behind a tree.
The sounds of nature rose into a cacophony all around them. It was peaceful, but Davis knew the noise might disguise the monsters lurking in the darkness. The juveniles were still out there in the marsh, and their unusual behavior put her on edge.
Black flashed another signal, motioning to advance. Davis shouldered her M4 and slowly moved around the side of the tree. Black was a few paces ahead, creeping along the barbed wire fence.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The gunshots came so fast Davis didn’t have time to react. Several rounds slammed into Black. He went down hard with a grunt. Return fire came from across the road where Diaz was hiding.
Davis peered around the tree and quickly located the hostiles. She spotted two of them, both wearing Army fatigues and using barrels for cover. They weren’t ROT soldiers, but they had shot Black.
“Hold you’re fire!” Davis shouted. “We’re friendly!”
Another gunshot lanced in her direction, kicking up dirt by her boot. Black was crawling toward her, reaching up with a shaking hand. Another shot punched into the ground next to him.
“Stay down,” Davis whispered. “And hold on.”
She raised her gun to lay down suppressing fire. In a swift motion, she sprayed a three-round burst at the barrels, careful not to aim too well. She didn’t want to actually hit either of the men if they were Army.
Davis yelled, “Diaz, covering fire now!”
More pops came from across the street as Davis bolted toward Black. She grabbed him under his arms and pulled as hard as she could, dragging him across the dirt by the fence. The men popped up, but a flurry of shots pushed them back down.
Thatta girl, Diaz.
Davis heaved Black to the safety of the trees. He lay on his back, gasping for air. She threw her shoulder against a broad tree trunk, anticipating another salvo of rounds to chip away at their hiding place.
“Hold your fire!” she shouted again. “My name is Commander Rachel Davis of the USS George Washington. I’m a friendly, okay? But by God, if you fire another shot, I’ll blow both your damn heads off.”
The gunfire she expected never came. There was only the sound of Black still gasping for air. She bent down to check on him. Instead of bleeding out on the ground as she had feared, he was making a thumbs up sign. Between panting breaths, he said, “Took ‘em to my vest…I’ll be okay.”
She let out a sigh of relief.
“If you ain’t here to take our post, then why you wearin’ ROT uniforms?” one of the men shouted.
Davis cursed her stupidity. No wonder. They looked like the fucking enemy. Now she had to figure out how she was going to explain their situation without making things worse.
“We stole these uniforms from some dead guys!” Diaz shouted back.
Davis cursed under her breath, and even Black shook his head.
“ROT commandeered my ship. I need help taking it back. Please, lower your weapons and let us inside,” Davis said. “There are juveniles a few miles from here.”
“Lower your weapons and come out into the open with your hands up,” one of the men replied.
The two soldiers stood with their rifles cradled across their chests.
“Do it, Diaz,” Davis ordered. She looked down at Black. “You see anyone else in there?”
He shook his head again, still holding his chest.
“Can you walk?”
This time he nodded and struggled to his feet.
“We’re coming around,” Davis said. “Hold your fire.”
Davis and Black slowly walked into the road, weapons at their sides. She pulled up her gas mask. Beside her, Diaz did the same thing, letting her mane of dark hair spill around her shoulders.
Both men looked at her like they hadn’t seen a woman in months. That scared Davis almost more than the thought that they might shoot her.
“Hold on,” one of them said. He came around the barrels and worked a lever. The gate slowly creaked open.
“I’m Sergeant Sanders,” said the man on the left. He was thin and sharp featured. A tattered baseball cap with the Miami Dolphins logo rested on his small head. “This here is PFC Robbie.”
The other man, thicker set than Sanders, nodded at them but said nothing.
“Welcome to OP119, Commander Davis,” Sanders said. He glanced over at Black. “Sorry about shootin’ ya, brother. Thought you were one of those bas
tards from ROT. They slaughtered everyone else and destroyed our radio. It’s just the two of us now.”
“How’d you two survive?” Diaz asked, her hand moving slightly toward her sidearm.
“We were on a patrol with PFC Mantel and heard the gunfire. By the time we got back…it was too late.”
“Where’s Mantel?” Davis asked.
“Juveniles got him a few days ago.”
Davis scrutinized the man for a lie but saw nothing on his face but the truth.
“So what is it exactly that you need from us, ma’am?” Sanders asked.
“You got any ordnance?”
Sanders whistled. “You’re my kinda gal. I got a few crates of C4. The ROT assholes never found it.”
“Show me,” Davis replied. She had just stepped through the gate when a new sound emerged over the chirping insects. The noise pulled her gaze to the sky. It started off as a low hiss and rose into a growl.
Everyone watched, stricken, as a missile rose from the direction of the GW toward heaven, its fiery exhaust trailing it into the night. A second missile followed shortly behind. They curved off in different directions, leaving nothing but cylinders of dissipating smoke in their wakes.
Davis’s stomach dropped, and she had to put a hand on Diaz’s arm to steady herself.
They were already too late to stop Wood.
-18-
Panicked voices echoed down the long hallway as President Ringgold and her staff marched to the elevator that would take them to the underground President’s Emergency Operations Center. She hated the PEOC; it made her feel claustrophobic. “I want updates,” she said. “What the hell is happening out there?”
“The GW launched two missiles,” Soprano said. “One is heading for SZT 61 in New Orleans.”
“And the other?”
“It…appears to be heading here.”
Ringgold halted in the middle of the carpeted passage, her heart beating so hard she felt the rush of blood in her ears.
The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath Page 23
