“And the Zumwalt? Do you have any idea where it is yet?”
Johnson rubbed his wrinkled forehead. “No.”
“When did you last hear from Commander Davis?”
Johnson kept rubbing the same spot. “A few hours ago. She’s trailing the GW in a Zodiac. She’s with a small team of Marines, all dressed in uniforms they stole from dead ROT terrorists.”
“But we haven’t heard from her for two hours?”
“Afraid not,” Johnson said. “I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s probably trying to keep out of sight.”
Ringgold had to believe Davis was still out there, fighting to take back the ship, but how could she possibly expect to take on an aircraft carrier with a rubber raft and a handful of Marines?
“We need to find the Zumwalt and destroy it,” she said. “Not tomorrow, not the next day. Right now! Every second that passes is another second closer to an attack on the SZTs. You’re in charge of the military, George, and I respect your opinion and experience. But this is not a request. You will find the Zumwalt, and you will destroy her—and the George Washington.”
Johnson dipped his head slightly. “A private word?”
He directed her away from the others to the nearby fountain. The soothing sound of the water helped calm her nerves, but she was still seething with anger. She hadn’t just lost Emilia—she had lost her peace of mind. The country was falling apart again on her watch.
“Madame President, we’re dealing with terrorists that have proven they will stop at nothing until they get what they want. On top of that, Wood isn’t just a professional liar, he is a con artist. He is on the Freedom Air Waves saying horrible things and convincing SZTs to turn against us.”
“What things?” Ringgold asked.
“It doesn’t matter. They aren’t true, Madame President… Listen, I have every available asset looking for the Zumwalt, and we are watching the situation on the GW. The SZTs still loyal are all on the highest alert, but we have to be cautious about what we do next. In some ways, this situation with ROT is more dangerous than the juveniles. If Wood fires his missiles on our SZTs before we neutralize him, he could destroy everything we have worked to build.” Johnson paused. “They could kill everyone.”
The words chilled Ringgold to her core. She couldn’t speak; she could hardly breathe.
“They waited until just the right moment,” Johnson said, shaking his head. “They knew we were weak. And now I’ve been backed into a corner. I think we should think about delaying Operation Reach and recalling some of our troops from Europe. After the catastrophic failure of Beachhead, no one would blame you.”
Ringgold considered the proposal for a single moment before shaking her head. “No. We have a duty to humanity. We started this. Our military will end it. General Nixon needs to focus on Operation Reach. We have the forces here at home to track down and destroy these terrorists. I don’t believe for a second we won’t be able to find them.”
“Damn straight we will. But what about the damage they do in the meantime?”
“I will not recall our forces from the war in Europe, George. We will solve this problem on our own with the resources we have.”
Ringgold looked back to Nelson, who was speaking rapidly into the satellite phone.
“Come with me,” she said to Johnson. He followed her back to Nelson and Soprano. “Do you have Captain Beckham on the line?”
Nelson cupped his hand over the receiver. “No, but Beckham is in the room.”
Ringgold reached out for the phone. “This is President Ringgold, I’d like to speak to Captain Beckham.”
“Hello, Madame President, this is Mayor Antoine Walker. I’ve been wanting to speak with you about—”
“Now, please.”
White noised crackled in her ear, and then she heard Beckham’s voice.
“How’s West Virginia treating you, ma’am?”
“I can’t complain. How are you recovering?”
“Good, ma’am. How about you? Is your shoulder healing?” His voice was calm, but cautious. It was the tone of a man who was about to be the father of a child in a world at war.
“Still got a shard of bullet inside me, but I’ll live.” She thought of Beckham’s injuries and quickly changed the subject. He had lost far more than she had. “How’s Kate?”
There was a pause, followed by, “We’re having a baby boy.”
“That’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you both.” There was so much more she wanted to say, but they didn’t have time for any more small talk.
Beckham must have realized that too. “Thank you, Madame President. As great as it is to catch up with you, why are you really calling?”
Ringgold closed her eyes. She was the President of the United States of America. Her country needed her now more than ever, and she needed the best operative left on the planet.
“I’m sorry, but we have a situation. I’m recalling you for active duty, Captain Beckham.”
Beckham held the receiver in his sweaty left hand. All he had planned to do today was work the fields and come home to dinner with Kate, Horn, and the girls. But maybe he wasn’t made for a simpler life. Maybe there was no escaping the fight after all.
“We have a situation and I need your help,” Ringgold repeated. “The USS Zumwalt is on the loose, and the George Washington is heading toward Louisiana. On top of that I have safe zones declaring sovereignty and swearing allegiance to ROT. Wood’s been on the comms slandering me to anyone who will listen—and it seems quite a few people are listening. This could escalate into a civil war if we don’t quash this thing quickly.”
Beckham wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but he respected President Ringgold too much to lie. If ROT had commandeered a stealth warship, they could be anywhere right now. And the weapons on board could wreak havoc. They were already on the cusp of extinction; a civil war would tip them over the edge.
“In my experience fighting against terrorists, whatever you do has to be fast and fierce,” Beckham said.
“That’s why I’m talking to you. I’m surrounded by dozens of advisors and generals, all telling me different things. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
Beckham felt the burden of that question settle on his shoulders. He was supposed to be just a civilian now. Questions like this were meant for soldiers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Horn leaning against the wall of Mayor Walker’s office. His tattooed arms were crossed, and he was chewing on a toothpick. He raised his eyebrows at Beckham as if to say, “Well, boss, what you gonna do?”
“Captain?” she said.
“I would give Davis a chance to take back the GW, and I would direct all my resources to finding the Zumwalt. If Lieutenant Wood is half as bad as his brother, we can’t afford any mistakes.”
Another pause on the line. “What if I stepped down? I could end all this.”
“Absolutely not,” Beckham replied. “I seriously hope you aren’t considering that, ma’am.”
“Not for a second, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of my staff are,” she said quietly. “We have been at war too long now. We have lost so much.”
Beckham thought of the graves on the shoreline of Plum Island. The sacrifices his friends had made would not be for nothing. Without meaning to do it, he stiffened his back and stood a little straighter.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked.
There was no hesitation in Ringgold’s voice this time. “I know you and Master Sergeant Horn are retired. You have your families to think about. But I need you both now more than ever. Take control of security at Plum Island. The United States can’t afford to lose it.”
Beckham fingered Sheila’s ring and glanced over at his best friend. Next he studied Walker and Rayburn. Both men were watching him, their expressions giving nothing away. Could he trust them t
o have the President’s back?
“Can I count on you, Captain?”
“Yes, Madame President. You can always count on me.”
-13-
“Open fire!” Fitz yelled again.
The 240 whined to life from the hatch of the MATV, and a stream of rounds sped toward the monsters.
Fitz opened his window and stuck the muzzle of his MK11 outside.
“Get us on the ground!” he ordered the King Stallion pilots.
Instead of descending, the pilots pulled up. The MATV swayed, the cords above tightening. The MATV moved up and down like a carnival ride. Rico screamed and Apollo howled. Fitz tried to steady himself and pointed the rifle at a Reaver. A spiked tail whipped back and forth as the beast cut through the air. He locked his crosshairs onto the abomination. Oval yellow eyes blinked at him, and a sucker mouth the size of a basketball popped open, revealing strings of saliva and a maw full of needle-sharp teeth. The creature brought its legs up like a bird of prey preparing to scoop a fish from the water.
Fitz held in a breath and fired a shot that punched a gaping hole in the monster’s right wing. It whirled away, tail slashing through the air. Another quickly took its place. The beast let out a piercing roar that Fitz could hear even over the thunderous sound of the rotors.
“Dohi!” he shouted. “Three o’clock!”
The 240 opened up on the monster before it could get close to their MATV. The rounds punched through the wings and chipped away at thick armor, but the creature stayed aloft.
Fitz lined up a headshot that finally stopped the beast. It smashed into the windshield of their vehicle, sucker lips clamping onto the glass. Blood gushed from a golf ball-sized hole where its right eye had been. Dozens of jagged teeth gnashed together so hard the tips broke off.
Stevenson let out a high-pitched yelp and turned the windshield wipers on. The blades hit the creature’s armored cheek repeatedly, back and forth. If Fitz hadn’t been scared shitless, he might have laughed.
The King Stallion pulled up again, making the MATV sway wildly. The Reaver’s lips popped off the glass. It slid down the hood of the truck and plummeted to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Stevenson said. “Holy. Fucking. Shit!”
Through the blood-streaked windshield, the sky was alive with the monsters. The remaining Apache released a salvo of missiles that blew several of them to pieces. In the streets, the Variants closed in on the downed chopper. Everywhere Fitz looked he saw the diseased beasts: On the top of burned-out vehicles, perched on rooftops, and climbing from the sewers. It reminded him of the first days of Operation Liberty.
Fitz went to move his rifle when he saw movement in Black 1. He zoomed in on one of the pilots, who was still alive. The wave of pale flesh quickly consumed the Apache and he saw there was nothing he could do to save him. Fitz aimed the crosshairs on the pilot just as a scrawny beast with a mane of thin hair pulled him from the cockpit.
All it takes is all you got, Marine, Fitz thought. Garcia’s words gave him the courage to end the man’s suffering. It took him two shots to kill the man. The first clipped his shoulder, and Fitz silently apologized. The second hit the pilot in the visor.
Fitz quickly moved his gun back to the sky, unable to watch the Variants tear the corpse to shreds. In the back seat, Rico and Tanaka were firing their M4s on semi-auto. The crack crack echoed inside the armored vehicle. Stevenson kept his hands on the steering wheel, prepared to drive the moment they hit the ground.
“Get us down there!” Fitz shouted.
“You crazy?” one of the pilots yelled back.
“YES!”
The King Stallion jerked to the right, sending their MATV swinging through the air. The big gun overhead went quiet for a moment.
“Dohi!” Fitz yelled, looking up at the turret.
The 240 roared back to life as Dohi unloaded another barrage at a pair of Reavers swooping toward the MATV. Variants on the streets swiped at the air, talons raised and saliva dripping from their sucker lips. Hundreds of yellow eyes followed Team Ghost’s progress.
The six of them against an army of monsters. It was just like old times.
“Focus on your zones!” Fitz shouted. “Keep the Reavers away from the King Stallion!”
He fired off shot after shot, wondering how the Ombres could have survived out here. Had the EUF sent Team Ghost into a trap? Or maybe this is why the Ombres had gone silent. Maybe they were dead.
He thought the second option was the most likely, but they wouldn’t know for sure until they hit the ground. He squeezed off a round that hit a Reaver in the back of the skull.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The explosions commanded his attention. Black 2 fired another torrent of missiles that hit rooftops and sent more of the creatures cartwheeling through the sky. Despite the hellfire being rained upon them, the monsters still came, fearless and enraged.
The comm channel was full of panicked voices.
“We have to get out of here,” said Delta 1.
“Black 2, you got bandits on your six!” yelled Delta 2.
Three Reavers were trailing the Apache, and two more took off from rooftops as the bird passed overhead. If Fitz hadn’t been looking through his scope, he would never have seen the acid hit the side of the chopper.
A scream sounded over the comms, and Fitz held in a breath as the bird suddenly plummeted toward the town center. It hit the ground belly first before exploding into a fireball.
Fitz was too shocked to move.
“What do we do?” Rico asked. When he didn’t answer, she said more urgently, “Fitzie, what are we supposed to do?”
Fitz stared out the window at a city consumed once more by flames. The Variants clambered over the bones scattered in the streets. It looked like hell on earth.
If the Ombres were out there, they weren’t going to show up now.
The Reavers turned their attention to the King Stallion. There were still at least twenty of them, and Fitz didn’t see any way Dohi and the rest of Team Ghost could hold them off.
What would Beckham do?
While the pilot brought them around, Fitz used the moment to think. They were surrounded, and there was no way they could fight through the hordes below.
Forced into a decision, Fitz gave his order, “Get us the hell out of here!”
The reply was a jerk of the MATV as the King Stallion pulled them skyward. Apollo looked up from the floor, amber eyes searching Fitz for reassurance. They had been in some sticky spots, from hiding under a pile of dead Variants in the New York City Public Library to the sewers beneath Manhattan. Now they were a hundred feet in the air over a city infested with adult Variants. He should have left the dog with Beckham.
Anger, guilt, and helplessness washed over Fitz as the King Stallion pulled them away from the basilica. He’d failed Team Ghost. He couldn’t even handle a recon mission.
A Reaver shot out of nowhere, claws slashing through the air and cutting through one of the straps holding the MATV. It snapped from the front bumper.
“SHIT!” Stevenson shouted.
Fitz’s guts knotted as the vehicle dropped toward the ground. The MATV jerked again as it hung by the cables still attached to the back bumper and the roof. Apollo crashed against the windshield and yelped in pain. Fighting his seatbelt, Fitz grabbed the dog and pulled him back onto the seat. Dohi cried out as he slipped, hanging halfway out of the turret.
“Help Dohi!” Fitz shouted over his shoulder.
Rico and Tanaka were already pulling him back. When Dohi was safely inside, he reached up and locked the hatch.
“Get us lower!” Fitz yelled into the comm. If they couldn’t go up, their only choice was to go down. They were already dropping, the pilots having realized the exact same thing.
The King Stallion rolled left and then right to avoid a swarm
of Reavers. Fitz gritted his teeth and watched the rooftops below. Variants tilted their heads to look at the swaying MATV. It was like dangling meat in front of a pack of hungry wolves.
Fitz couldn’t fire without letting go of Apollo. All he could do was pray. Then something streaked past the windshield and angled into the sky. An explosion sounded, and a piercing screech that Fitz could hardly hear followed.
His mind raced, but it wasn’t until he saw several human figures standing on rooftops below that he understood. Fitz heard more missiles arc into the sky. How the hell did those kids get RPG launchers? Helpless, he hung from his seatbelt and watched as the Ombres emerged from their hiding spots.
A winged beast dove toward one of the buildings, plucking a figure off the roof and carrying it away upside down.
“Get us lower. Now!” Fitz yelled.
“I’m working on it,” one of the pilots snapped.
Their MATV slowly inched toward a street full of rusting vehicles and skeletons.
“Cut us loose when I tell you, Stevenson,” Fitz said.
The big man nodded, his eyes wide.
Variants were galloping toward them, jumping onto cars, picking up bones and tossing them at the MATV like crazed animals.
Fitz held his breath, his fingers buried in Apollo’s furry coat.
“Fire her up, and as soon as we hit the ground, floor it!” Fitz yelled.
Stevenson nodded again. He cranked the MATV, and it roared to life.
They were close enough to the road that Fitz could see the slitted eyes of the Variants. The monsters squawked and slashed at one another, their starving bellies sending them into a ravenous frenzy.
“Faster, Delta 1!” Fitz said. The King Stallion increased its speed, swinging the MATV forward ever so slightly.
“Now, Stevenson!” Fitz ordered.
Stevenson pulled the manual override, and the MATV snapped loose from the two remaining restraints. The front tires hit the ground with a violent jolt. The bumper clipped the back of a car, sending it crashing into a building.
Extinction Aftermath (Extinction Cycle Book 6) Page 18
