Lieutenant Andrew Wood stepped out of a Humvee and approached the building within a fort of soldiers. The toxins had all but ruined the vision in his right eye, but Beckham didn’t need both of them to nail a headshot. He held in a breath, lined up the sights, and fired.
Wood jerked to the left when he saw the gun, and Beckham’s bullet hit the ROT soldier behind him instead.
“You stupid fuck!” Wood yelled.
Beckham squeezed the trigger again just as something hard and sharp hit him in the back. He landed on his face in the dirt, his good eye pressed against the ground.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” came a voice, “but I just saved your life.”
Beckham squirmed and lifted his head to see Huxley. Ellis was still on his knees, but his hands were up now and his gun was on the ground.
Beckham tried to push himself up with his good hand and his stump of an arm, but a boot pressed on his back, holding him down.
“Damn it, stay down,” Huxley growled.
“That will do, Marine,” said Wood. “Step away from the traitor. I’ll take it from here.”
The boot relieved its pressure on his back, but before he could sit up, a kick to his side made him wheeze in pain. Another connected with his jaw, lighting up his skull with stars and knocking loose a tooth. A third kick felt like it broke a rib.
“Don’t kill him,” Ellis said, his voice trembling.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Wood.
“My name is Doctor Pat Ellis. We were sending a message to Europe to warn them—”
“Fuck Europe,” Wood snarled. “And I highly doubt that’s all you were doing, Doctor. I hate to disappoint you, but there’s nobody left out there to call for help. I’ve already won.”
Beckham spat out the broken tooth and gasped for air. Two ROT soldiers rolled him to his back and pinned his arms down with their boots. He blinked away the blood and tried to focus.
“So you’re the great Captain Reed Beckham,” Wood said. His eyes flitted up and down Beckham’s body. “You don’t look like much.”
Beckham struggled, but the boots pressed down harder.
Wood leaned down, sniffing the air.
“You smell like a fucking dog. I’m not even sure the Variants are going to want you,” he said. His thin lips curled into a mocking smile.
Beckham tried to speak, but all he could manage was a grunt.
Wood looked to one of his men, who was striding out of the control room. “Did their transmissions go through?”
“No sir, we stopped them before the uploads were complete.”
“What?” Ellis twisted in the grip of the solider holding him. “You don’t know what you’ve done!”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand. Colonel Gibson and my brother dreamed of an America that didn’t waste the lives of our soldiers in foreign shitholes like Saigon or Fallujah. Jan Ringgold just sent thousands of our boys to die in Europe, and for what? Not for America! The entire point of the Hemorrhage Virus was to stop that from happening.”
Blood trickled into Beckham’s eyes. He spat, coughed, and summoned his scratchy voice.
“So that’s why you killed all those innocent people here and in Chicago and New Orleans? That’s why you’re murdering kids?”
A soldier in Beckham’s peripheral went to kick him, but Wood held up a hand. That’s when Beckham saw the blood dripping down the side of his face. The man’s ear was hanging on by threads of cartilage. Fuck. An inch to the left and the shot would have killed the bastard.
“Jan Ringgold killed those people by not stepping down for her war crimes,” Wood said. “You’ve been on the wrong side of this the entire time, Beckham. It’s quite sad. You could have done well with ROT.”
“President Ringgold is the best thing to happen to America. She helped rebuild what your brother destroyed,” Ellis said. He glanced up like he was afraid he was going to be hit. “And she will continue to rebuild our great nation once people learn the truth about you.”
Beckham wanted to tell Ellis to shut up, but Wood quickly cut in.
“Jan is hiding in her underground tomb, and she isn’t coming out.”
“That’s what you think,” Ellis said.
Beckham glared at the doctor, silently trying to tell him to shut his mouth.
“What did you say?” Wood asked. He walked over to Ellis, brows raised over his wild eyes.
Ellis didn’t reply, and Wood nodded at one of his men. The soldier shot Ellis in the leg. He screamed in pain.
Wood laughed and took a step closer to the struggling doctor while Beckham fought his captors.
“Let him go! You have me!” He squirmed to his left and right, but it was no use. The men had him secured with their boots.
Ellis whimpered as Wood loomed over him. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is Ringgold?”
“Go to hell,” the doctor said, his voice a pained gasp.
The lieutenant signaled his man again.
“No!” Beckham shouted. “Take me in—”
Another shot silenced him. Ellis’s screech sounded like a mouse caught in a trap.
“Tell me what you know and this all ends,” Wood said.
Ellis didn’t say anything else, but Beckham could hear his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Even if the bullets had avoided his arteries, the shock might kill him.
“You bastard!” Beckham yelled. “You shoot him again and I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands.”
Wood laughed again. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a deal. You tell me where Jan is, or I’ll kill you both and put your heads on pikes outside my new office. Sound fair?”
“Fuck ROT and fuck you, you treasonous piece of shit,” Beckham said. Darkness was closing in on the edges of his already blurred vision, and he knew unconsciousness wasn’t far off for him or Ellis.
“I’m running out of patience. This is my final offer: one of you tells me where Ringgold is, and the other one gets to live.”
Beckham looked at Ellis and shook his head.
Don’t do it, Pat. Don’t fucking do it.
There was a long pause, and then Ellis said, “She’s here. Ringgold is on Plum Island. Kill me, but don’t kill Beckham, okay? I told you what you want to know.”
“Deal,” Wood said.
The crack of a third gunshot came before Beckham couldn’t protest. He caught a blurry glimpse of a bloodstained brim of a blue baseball cap flying to the ground, and then a body. One of the soldiers kicked it so it rolled over. Ellis, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead, stared lifelessly back at Beckham.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Wood said, brushing down the front of his jacket. He turned to his men. “Find the bitch.”
“No,” Beckham whimpered. He glanced up at Wood, expecting a bullet of his own. His mind raced as he fought to stay conscious. Horn would come. Horn would come and mow these bastards down. He would rip them limb from limb and then beat their corpses with those limbs. His best friend would kill them all. Or maybe Fitz would show up and blow Wood’s head off like he had his brother.
But deep down Beckham knew the truth.
No one was coming to save them this time.
-22-
Fitz raked his M4 back and forth over an army disgorged from the pits of hell. The shrieks, squawks, and hissing of the angry beasts filled the early morning air in front of the sacred Basilica of St. Thérèse.
This place was anything but sacred now.
Everywhere he looked, his sights fell on a different mutated creature. To one side, what looked like fifty adult Variants prowled the gardens, joints popping and lips smacking. Wormers dug through the earth to the other side. Three Black Beetles lumbered through the woods straight ahead. Fitz could barely bring himself to look over his shoulder. At least a dozen juveniles were perched like gargoyles on the roof on the vestibule, and Reavers circled overhead. Another pack of juveniles guarded the MATV, tilting their heads as though waiting for someone or so
mething to give them orders.
Fitz looked for an Alpha but saw nothing that indicated the monsters had any kind of leader like the ones he’d faced back in New York. Not that it mattered; there were enough hostiles here to overwhelm them even if they weren’t directed by an intelligent general.
The click-clack of armor and joints was joined by another sound Fitz couldn’t quite place. He looked to the gardens, where a monster was emerging from the shadows. The sight of it caused Fitz to tense every muscle in his body.
A man-sized beast crawled out of the foliage on all fours. Its torso was covered in the veiny flesh of an adult Variant, but the lower half was armored like a juvenile. It pushed itself up onto its feet with two massive claws. Both were rimmed with teeth, as was the maw in its disfigured human head.
“Pinchers!” someone yelled.
The screams of children echoed all around Fitz. He forced himself to look away. His mind processed every possible move to get them to the truck, but each thought was shut down.
They had nowhere to run or hide. They had no escape.
I’ve failed Beckham. I’ve failed Team Ghost. I’ve failed the world.
He swallowed hard. They were already a man down. Dohi was still unconscious in the center of the group.
Over the raucous screams of humans and screeching monsters came an adolescent voice.
“My dad told me something, before he died.”
Fitz looked over at Michel. The other kids were huddled together in a knot of raggedy clothes. Shaking hands struggled to hold guns aloft. These weren’t adults. Fitz had been wrong back in the crypts. They were just kids, and they couldn’t win against monsters.
They never had a chance…
“Dad told me it’s a good death to go down fighting. It’s a brave way to die.” Michel went to slap a magazine into his AK-47. His trembling fingers knocked the mag against the receiver, and he dropped it in the dirt. He scooped down, grabbed it, and slammed it into the gun.
“Jesus, Michel,” Fitz began.
“I’m afraid,” Michel said, looking Fitz in the eye. “I’m afraid I won’t die well like he did.”
The words shattered Fitz’s already broken heart. He couldn’t find his voice to reply. All around them, Wormers speared through the earth, raising a wall of rock and dirt around the group. The monsters were closing in from all directions, including the sky. Two juveniles climbed on top of the MATV, and although Fitz knew it wasn’t possible, he could swear they were grinning at him.
God, how he wished Beckham was here to bark orders. Even in the worst situations, Beckham had always kept his cool. He was half a world away now, probably eating dinner with Horn, Kate, and the kids.
“It’s okay to be afraid,” Fitz said, repeating something Beckham had told him once. He paused and looked back over the writhing mass of monsters. “You ready, kid?”
Michel nodded. Apollo bared his teeth, snarling. Fitz exchanged a meaningful glance with Rico. She had picked up an RPG launcher from one of the older kids and held it at the ready. Tanaka and Stevenson flanked her, jaws set and eyes steely. Team Ghost was ready.
And Fitz was ready to lead them in their final battle.
“Rico, focus on the Beetles,” Fitz said. “Stevenson, you got the juveniles. Tanaka, take those Pinchers. Mira, you and your kids need to keep the adult Variants and the Reavers off us.” Fitz locked eyes with the woman. She’d kept her ragtag band of orphans alive for months, and Fitz couldn’t shake the thought that he was responsible for bringing this army to her door.
Dear Lord, he thought, bowing his head, please find it in your mercy to protect these children. I don’t care much what happens to me, but get these kids out of here alive.
Fitz opened his eyes and straightened his back. “Fight to the truck!” he called. “And hold the line!”
An RPG streaked away from the launcher as soon as the words left his mouth. It hissed across the gardens and smashed into the shell of a Black Beetle, blowing it in half. Stevenson leveled his SAW and fired on the juveniles that were leaping off the roof. They dropped to all fours, stampeding toward Team Ghost. Rounds broke through armor and splattered blood on the ash-covered pavement.
Fitz fired his grenade launcher. The projectile hit the dirt in front of the closest juvenile, and the explosion blew the monster to pieces. The shockwave slammed into the other creatures, knocking them aside, but they quickly rallied and continued their advance.
Mira fired her AK-47 at the adult Variants. The Ombres followed her lead and joined the fight. The frail beasts skittered across the dirt, plowing through the gunfire despite gaping holes in their translucent, veiny skin. Blood coated the ground outside the Basilica, but the monsters still kept coming.
“Rico!” Fitz shouted.
The hiss of another rocket sounded. The Beetle bent down just as it zoomed overhead. An explosion bloomed in the canopy of trees ten feet behind it, fire raining down harmlessly on the shell. Three Pinchers waddled out of the smoke.
“Tanaka, more Pinchers!” Fitz shouted.
Rico fired again, blowing a hole in the enemy’s line and cracking another Beetle in half. Tanaka and Stevenson worked together to mow down the smaller Pinchers in a desperate attempt to clear a path to the truck.
“Hurry!” Fitz shouted. “Michel, shoot the juveniles on the MATV!”
There was no answer, and Fitz spun to see the kid on the ground, clutching his leg. Acid bubbled on the surface of his skin. Another blast hissed toward the children, hitting a teenage boy on the side of his head. He dropped to his knees, his screams stifled by the toxins.
A wave of fire rushed through Fitz, a sickening cocktail of fear and guilt.
He ducked as a Reaver swooped down with claws extended. The spiked tail sliced through his left shoulder. Pain lanced along that arm, but Fitz was beyond caring. He raised his M4 and fired a burst that pierced the monster’s wings. It fought for altitude, struggling to stay above the carnage.
Fitz swung his weapon to the juveniles perched on the MATV. They were both burping up more acid, building up enough of the toxic spit to spray again.
He dropped his M4 and unslung his MK11. He hefted the big gun up, held a breath in, and fired. The first shot punched through the forehead of the juvenile on top of the truck’s roof. It fell limply onto the dirt. The second hit the creature on the hood in the right eye. That one skidded off the side, jerking violently before falling still.
He raced to where Michel was lying on the ground. Fitz reached down to grab the boy’s hand. It felt small. So goddamn small.
He caught a glimpse of Dohi as he dragged the kid across the dirt. The man was stirring on the ground in the center of the group. He had a hand on his head and shook it from side to side.
“Dohi, we need you!” Fitz shouted.
Another RPG slashed overhead. This time Rico’s aim was true. It hit the third Black Beetle in the right leg. The blast lifted the beast into the air in a shower of sparks and body parts.
“Keep fighting to the truck!” Fitz yelled.
The group slowly moved toward the MATV. He risked a glance over his shoulder to check for casualties. Three more of the older Ombres were dead, and some of the kids were injured, but Mira had kept the younger ones close to her, protecting them with her life.
Tanaka slung his M4 over his shoulder and pulled his swords just in time to engage a Pincher that had broken through the line of fire and was heading toward the brave Frenchwoman. The creature brought up a claw to meet his sword. The steel broke through the armor with a crunch. He decapitated the monster with a swift slice and then stabbed an onrushing adult Variant through its sucker mouth.
Fitz had to let go of Michel’s hand to fire a shot at an adult that was charging toward them. His first shot kicked up dirt in the monster’s face. Before he could get off a second, the beast’s head vanished in an explosion of gore.
Michel groaned and lowered the pistol he had used to blow off the Variant’s face. His eyes rolled back in
his head, the pain finally overwhelming him.
“Hang on kid!” Fitz reached for Meg’s hatchet. He was going to have to amputate Michel’s leg to stop the toxins from spreading. A high-pitched wail from above made Fitz duck and raise his MK11. He fired at a Reaver dropping in a nosedive for their position.
Crack!
The first shot punched through a wing.
Crack!
The second hit an armored shoulder.
Crack!
The final shot hit the monster in the neck. It landed on the field between Fitz and the MATV with a thump. Their path was littered with corpses, but it was momentarily clear. He grabbed another magazine and palmed it into the weapon.
“To the truck! Everyone, go!” Fitz shouted.
As he reloaded, a pair of Wormers broke through the dirt in front of him and to his side. Tentacles grabbed a girl from the line and dragged her toward the hole. From behind came another crack of breaking ground. Another Wormer smashed through the earth in the center of the group. Fitz turned to watch Dohi bring his combat knife down on the creature’s skull.
“Come on!” Fitz yelled. He centered his rifle on the Wormer that had the girl, but he jerked the muzzle up when a human figure ran through his crosshairs.
The kids were sprinting toward the truck, urged on by their protector’s stern French commands. Mira fired her weapon at a Wormer attempting to pull a girl into its tunnel. The shot tore through the soft flesh of the monster, drenching the girl in blood. She let out a wail and reached toward Mira, who pulled her free of the limp tentacles.
With her arm around the girl, Mira guided her back to the cluster of children. Tanaka was a few feet away, hacking a thin Variant to pieces. A second beast climbed out of a Wormer hole and bounded for Mira.
Fitz only had enough time for one shot. He lined up his MK11 and pulled the trigger, blowing off a piece of the monster’s back. It crashed to the ground, flopping and gushing blood.
Mira glanced at the dying creature and held up a hand to Fitz when a shadow suddenly passed over her.
“Watch out!” Fitz yelled a moment too late.
A Reaver swooped from above, grabbed Mira with its talons, and pulled her away from the girl she had just saved. Fitz raised his gun at the beast, trying to get a clear shot. The wings and armored torso flickered in front of his crosshairs. He prepared to fire, but the woman’s face suddenly emerged. He pushed the scope away for a split second. Mira’s sharp green eyes were fixated on the kids below.
The Extinction Cycle (Book 6): Extinction Aftermath Page 30
