Extinction Shadow

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  He aimed his .357 at the beast’s head.

  An eyelid flicked open, a reptilian eye flitting toward Fischer. He stumbled backward as its upper lip drew back to reveal jagged, yellow teeth. The shredded chin and jaw hung loose, a strand of gristle snapping as it opened its mouth wider.

  “Kill it,” Chase said.

  Fischer pulled the trigger, the gunshot piercing the night. The round broke through bone right below the yellow eye.

  But the creature didn’t die.

  A screech of rage followed, piercing Fischer’s ears. He glared at the monster in shock as blood burst from the hole in its face.

  The Alpha roared and twisted violently under the razor wire, opening up cuts across its entire body, and prompting all of the men with rifles to step back.

  The dogs let out guttural barks.

  “Jesus Christ,” Fischer said. He aimed, held the gun steady, and fired a bullet into the eye. It popped, exploding and leaking blood and goo.

  Still, the beast continued to screech.

  “Shoot it,” Fischer said, gesturing to the soldiers and other men around him. “Open fire!”

  A hail of gunfire lanced into the monster, punching through muscular flesh and bone. The monster jerked and twitched in violent fits as the rounds pummeled its body.

  Fischer finally held up a hand.

  “Hold your fire!” he yelled.

  The men lowered their rifles, but the dogs continued to go crazy, barking and pulling on their leashes. The creature let out a final gruesome death rattle, and then went limp, blood pooling from its lacerated flesh.

  Although Fischer wanted to think this was the last of his Variant problems, he knew it wasn’t. Kill one pack of wolves, another took their place.

  There would be more beasts, more Alphas.

  Only one thing would end the threat.

  “Get that thing out of here,” Fischer ordered. He holstered his gun and jerked his chin for Tran and Chase to follow him over to a vehicle to take him to his ranch. He took shotgun and shut the door, watching as his men dragged the monster off the tarmac.

  It took ten of them to get it into the back of a pickup truck.

  This wasn’t going to stop, not with this dead Alpha, and not with the next one either. Fischer Fields needed an army, and Fischer had a feeling there was only one person that could give him the resources he needed.

  He rode home in silence, thinking of his upcoming meeting with Cornelius. He was more anxious than ever to hear what the presidential candidate had to offer in return for his support.

  — 6 —

  “Approaching LZ,” reported the pilot.

  Fitz tried to stay focused looking out the open side door of the Black Hawk as they circled over Outpost Turkey River. A full moon hung like a gleaming silver disc over the darkened fields. Cloud cover to the west threatened to block out the glow.

  The entire team was already on edge after learning about the attack on Portland, Maine, and several other outposts. Having a bit of moonlight to navigate with would help them see, but it wouldn’t make the ache go away. People he knew and cared for were in harm’s way, and Fitz may as well have been on the other side of the planet.

  This wasn’t the first time Fitz had been deployed while his friends were in danger, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The orders came from POTUS.

  He pushed aside his worries and patted his helmet to get back in the game.

  “All it takes is all you got, baby,” Lincoln said.

  Fitz nodded back. “Damn right.”

  “Wish I could have met Sergeant Garcia,” said Mendez. “Dude sounded like one hell of an hombre.”

  “One of the best Marines I ever met,” Fitz said.

  Ace adjusted the strap on his modified mag-fed Mossberg 500. Metallic clinks rang out as the rest of Ghost checked over their suppressed M4A1s, inserting magazines and ensuring everything was in working order. A crew chief manned the M240, sweeping the barrel back and forth over the dark terrain.

  From what Fitz could see with his night vision goggles, the area was abandoned just like the SEAL team had reported. That was no surprise. SEALs didn’t make mistakes.

  Neither did Team Ghost.

  The chopper passed over the minefield pockmarked with craters from exploded mines. Hunks of a body remained scattered on the darkened earth.

  But where the hell was everyone else?

  The other people hadn’t just disappeared into thin air. Team Ghost had to figure out what the SEAL team had missed.

  One thing was for certain, the Variants responsible for this attack were far more sophisticated and far more dangerous than the Alpha they had just taken down in Ellicott City.

  “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” Fitz said staring out the window.

  Rico chewed on a fresh piece of gum. “Tell me about it.”

  “Good thing we got Dohi,” Mendez said.

  Dohi remained silent, his helmet down as he meditated.

  Ace patted his belly. “Anyone else hungry? Maybe we will find some food down there.”

  “Chances are better you will end up food if you don’t focus,” Lincoln said.

  “He’d be one hell of a meal,” Mendez laughed.

  “Cut the shit,” Fitz said. “There were three hundred people living there, and aside from some poor, torn-apart soldiers we have no idea what happened to them, or where they went.”

  “Maybe it’s tied to those raiders that have been hitting the other outposts,” Rico suggested. “Could be some ex-military dudes that know how to cover their trail.”

  “Cover a trail from SEALs?” Lincoln said with a shake. “I doubt it.”

  “I’ll find them,” Dohi finally looked up, eyes smoldering.

  The rest of the team simply stared at him and then Lincoln burst into his contagious laugh.

  “Dude, that was creepy.” Lincoln continued laughing for a few seconds.

  “Jesus.” Fitz reached over and smacked Lincoln on the side of his helmet.

  “Sorry, man,” Lincoln said.

  Mendez chuckled under his breath, and when they had finally finished, Fitz handed out orders.

  “I’ve got Alpha with Ace and Lincoln. We’ll search the interior of the outpost,” he said. “Rico is leading Bravo with Dohi and Mendez on the perimeter.”

  After confirming Lincoln and Mendez were done goofing off, Fitz told the pilots they were good to go. The chopper descended, kicking up waves in the dried grass in the middle of a field inside the outpost’s perimeter fences.

  “All it takes is all you got, Ghost,” Fitz said.

  The wheels of the Black Hawk hit the ground with a jolt.

  “Ace, you’re on point,” Fitz said. “Lincoln, rearguard.”

  Ace hopped out of the chopper first, his combat shotgun pressed tightly against his shoulder. Fitz followed with Lincoln close behind. He crept forward at a crouch, roving his rifle over the buildings at the edge of the field.

  An eerie shiver crept down his spine. He couldn’t attribute the feeling to just the rotor wash hitting his back as Bravo exited the chopper next. It felt like he was being watched from the many windows of the office building and school across the field.

  Fitz waved at Rico, and she smiled back, her way of saying she loved him without words.

  I love you too, Jeni.

  Dohi led her and Mendez out the front gate, past the guard towers. It never got easier fighting with her, and every mission Fitz worried about losing her, but they had both decided long ago to stay together. Of course, neither one of them wanted to give up serving on Team Ghost either.

  There wasn’t anywhere he would rather be.

  The chopper lifted back into the sky, leaving Team Ghost alone.

  Fitz flashed hand signals for the team to spread out. He doubted the Variants had stuck around for an ambush, especially after the SEALs had sifted through the base. But with the monsters, he had come to expect the unexpected.

  Soon the thrum
of rotor blades evaporated into the whispers of wind gusts tickling through the trees scattered through the outpost. Somewhere a wind chime tinkled, letting out a ghostly metallic ring.

  The place looked like an idyllic town just like where Beckham and Kate lived on Peaks Island. The kind of place where your neighbor always had your back, whether you needed help with a flat tire or to borrow some sugar.

  The lived-in animal odor of the barns drifted toward them, but there was no more livestock to be found, just as the SEALs had reported.

  They pushed toward the town and stopped outside a one-story brick building with a sign out front that said ‘TOWN HALL.’ Ace held up his fist as they approached.

  Dried blood spray appeared like dark shadows through Fitz’s night vision goggles, covering the brick walls and the sidewalk. He noticed something else in the torn-up lawn.

  Next to spent shells and bullet casings were a scattered array of boot prints in the soil. Those seemed to belong to the people caught mostly unaware, barely able to defend themselves.

  And beside those marks were long, even gouges in the soil. Talon-marks. The SEAL teams had reported similar findings throughout the town; blood stains and claw and talon marks were everywhere. But strangely, the SEALs hadn’t found any talon marks or blood outside of the outpost’s perimeter where Bravo was searching.

  Fitz hoped Dohi could clear up that mystery.

  Ace looked back at Fitz, waiting for his next command. Fitz held up a finger, asking him to wait. Something in the air had caught his attention. He looked up at the dark sky, sniffing the wind.

  He picked up the faintest odor of rotten fruit. Not so strong as when a Variant was nearby, but strong enough he didn’t discount it. Or maybe the smell was nothing but Fitz’s mind playing tricks on him, priming him for what he expected to encounter.

  He looked back at Lincoln and pointed at his nose. Lincoln seemed to understand the gesture, pausing and taking a big whiff before he gave Fitz a nod.

  So I’m not crazy.

  Where the hell was this smell coming from?

  Fitz gestured for Ace to proceed to the open door of the town hall. The wooden door was hanging off a single hinge, flapping in the wind. Alpha team gathered around the front entrance. Fitz held his breath, listening for sounds from inside.

  Nothing.

  Fitz gestured for Ace to go in. He went afterward, with Lincoln watching their backs. They found themselves in a wide room with folding chairs scattered across a wooden floor.

  At the front of the room was a table that had collapsed, legs broken. A handful of other seats were tossed about behind it. Long streaks of blood crossed the floor. Dark, crusted handprints marred the walls beside gaping holes punched into the drywall. Scratches along the floorboard showed clear marks where the Variants had been.

  The single bathroom and a door leading to a kitchen told Fitz this place had served not just as a place for town meetings, but also a location for community gatherings.

  They crept into the kitchen next. Flies clouded the room, buzzing relentlessly. On the counter lay a half-dozen opened glass jars reflecting the moonlight shifting in through the nearby window. A large mixing bowl was filled with the source of the smell—a putrid mix of rotten moldy fruit.

  Fitz moved past the scattered pie tins and spilled cans of fruit preserves littering the floor. He noticed a knife on the ground with dried blood crusting the edge. Maybe a desperate, last-ditch weapon.

  The three-man team advanced on to another house, and then the school, and finally an office building.

  Every place showed some signs of struggle, but if they ignored the blood, it was as if they’d walked into a town where people had just vanished doing their daily chores: baskets full of half-folded laundry and sinks with dishes still soaking in water.

  Fitz cursed, trying to think outside of the box. They were basically doing the same thing the SEALs had already done.

  He went back to the road to look for tire tracks, wondering if it was possible that collaborators working with the Variants had brought in large vehicles to ship these people somewhere.

  But he didn’t see any major tracks. He shook his head. No way they would have missed something that obvious, anyway.

  Ace led them toward a storehouse in the center of town when the sound of crunching glass broke over the wind chimes.

  Fitz instinctively ducked low, signaling for Ace and Lincoln to do the same. They took cover against the wall of the warehouse.

  Another crunch came. It could have been a wild animal. Maybe a raccoon slinking through garbage. But if it wasn’t…

  The sound came from behind a house across the street. He signaled for Ace to take one side while Fitz and Lincoln took the other.

  They rushed over to the house, running as quietly as they could, then rounded the corner. He leveled his rifle, ready to squeeze off a burst into the wart-covered face of a beast, but there was nothing except for a patio with broken pots spilling dirt and plants positioned across the rail.

  Only a few fragments of glass remained in the sliding doors, gleaming in the moonlight, making them look like the maw of some angry monster.

  Ace appeared on the opposite side, and Fitz motioned for him to go inside the house. Lincoln and Fitz went through the broken sliding door next.

  Toys were scattered over the floor, and a playpen, torn apart, lay in the corner. Bloodstains covered the carpet amid dried brown footprints that looked as if they’d belonged to Variants.

  The living room opened up into a hall with toppled bookshelves. Ripped book pages fluttered in the breeze coursing through the place.

  At the end of the hall, broken windows opened to the view of the trees outside. Drapes danced along the frame.

  He went to turn when something or someone jumped through one of the windows.

  Fitz gave Ace the go ahead with a nod, and all three of them stormed over the trampled books and fallen bookshelves, charging down the hall, then leaping out the window back onto the lawn.

  Gravel on the driveway crunched under Fitz’s blades as he pursued.

  Ahead of them, the contact had just disappeared around the side of another house. Fitz pumped harder, rocketing forward. He made it to the backyard, getting a good glimpse of his target for the first time.

  It was a man, covered in dirty, ragged, blood-stained clothes.

  A rifle hung over his back.

  He looked like he might be a raider.

  “Stop!” Fitz said, shouldering his rifle. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

  The man kept running.

  Fitz gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was actually kill what might be their only clue.

  The man looked over his shoulder, then started to run faster as Fitz took off after him. Lincoln had already sprinted down the sidewalk, keeping out of sight. The athletic soldier quickly caught up and tackled their contact like a linebacker.

  A crunch sounded, followed by a muffled grunt.

  Fitz slowed his pace and aimed his rifle as Lincoln wrestled the guy to his back.

  “No!” the man yelled. “Let me go!”

  “Who are you?” Fitz said.

  The man snarled, baring coffee-stained teeth, but they were all intact, which told Fitz this guy was probably not a collaborator.

  “I asked you a question,” Fitz said standing over the man.

  He signaled to Ace who helped Lincoln get the guy upright. Dried mud covered nearly every inch of the guy’s face, including an eye. But even through the grit, Fitz could see the deep wrinkles carved into the man’s skin.

  No matter how many times Fitz demanded that the old guy tell him who he was, he got nothing but incoherent babbling.

  Exasperated, Fitz tried another tactic. “My name is Joe Fitzpatrick and I’m with Delta Force Team Ghost. We’re here to figure out what happened and to help any survivors.”

  That seemed to snap the man out of his fugue. He looked down at the ground. “I’m a coward.”

  “What
?” Fitz said.

  “I am a soldier. A good soldier…”

  Lincoln and Ace shot each other wary glances.

  “You were posted here?” Fitz asked, flipping up his NVGs. “Were you defending the outpost against the attack?”

  Now the wheels seemed to be turning in the old man’s head again, he lifted his head slightly at Fitz’s shoulder where the Team Ghost patch was: a skull next to pistols emblazoned against black fabric.

  “We never saw it coming,” the man muttered.

  Then he lifted his head fully to meet Fitz’s gaze, one eye blinking through the mask of grit. It was then Fitz saw the mud covering half his face wasn’t masking a second eye—the soldier only had one eye.

  “I’m Cedric Long,” he said. “I know Captain Beckham.”

  “Well, goddamn, ain’t that something,” Ace said.

  Fitz vaguely remembered meeting the one-eyed soldier at the White House years ago, but this was not the man he remembered.

  “I’m sorry,” Cedric mumbled. “They came out of nowhere. They were just…there. All at once.”

  “How?” Fitz asked.

  “I don’t know,” Cedric said, starting to rock. “I ran. I ran, and I didn’t look back. Escaped with one other guy. But the beasts found us, too. Took him… and… and…”

  He bit his bottom lip and started to shake. “I forced myself to come back the next day and that’s when I saw them.”

  “Saw who?” Ace asked.

  “The townspeople,” Cedric whispered.

  Fitz looked at Lincoln and Ace in turn.

  “Are they alive?” Lincoln said.

  Reaching forward, Fitz put a hand on Cedric’s shoulder, but the man flinched and pulled away like he had been burned.

  “It’s okay,” Fitz said. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to tell us what you saw. We need to know where everyone went.”

  Cedric’s remaining eye glassed over as if reliving some horrifying memory.

  “They were alive when I saw them,” he choked. “But I think they had wished they weren’t.”