“We could board with a Special Ops team. Clear any hostiles and then send in the Medical Corps to scrub it down,” Rayburn suggested.
Beckham and Horn both replied no at the same time.
“Way too risky, sir,” Beckham added. “We tried to salvage the Truxtun. It did not end well.”
Rayburn nodded once. “Alternate course of action?”
“My recommendation is to keep the ship in sight,” Beckham said. Then he remembered that his role was no longer to offer recommendations but to make decisions. When it came to the safety and security of the island, he was in charge. “If it comes closer, we’ll sink her. Chances are it’s crawling with infected. Wood wants us to waste our troops and ammo on the Monterey so we’ll be easier to kill when he comes for Plum Island. Our best move is not to play his game.”
Walker glanced over from the window. “Have you heard what he’s been saying on the Freedom Waves?”
“Yes, and it is all lies,” Beckham said firmly.
“I’ve spoken to some of my counterparts at other SZTs, and most of them agree with him about President Ringgold.”
“And what do you believe, Mayor?” Beckham asked.
“I believe Wood is a terrorist,” Walker said. “But I also believe we might have to rethink our negotiation policy. I won’t risk the lives of the innocent souls on this island for the sake of one woman in a West Virginia bunker.”
Horn crossed his tattooed arms. “Is that so?”
Rayburn cut in. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists. The only choice we have is to kill the son of a bitch.”
A tense minute passed before Beckham jerked his chin toward the war table. He walked over and put his prosthetic hand on the smooth surface, remembering all the meetings they had held here before. Jensen, Smith, Chow, Jinx, Riley…so many of his brothers had sat here with him. Now they were buried in the island’s overflowing graveyard. The pain continued to eat Beckham’s insides. His blood pressure had risen during the discussion, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.
“Boss?” Horn said.
Beckham pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. He gestured for Rayburn, Walker, and Horn to take seats with the other soldiers who were reading reports. It was the first time Beckham had sat at the helm of the war table. He looked down at the seat that had once been filled by Lieutenant Colonel Jensen. His friend had given his life to protect the island.
Now it’s my job, he thought.
“Gentleman, we’re here to discuss the safety of Plum Island,” Beckham said. He took a second to scan the faces around the table. This meeting wasn’t just about securing the island; for Beckham, it was about getting a read on the lieutenant general and mayor. He’d already decided not to trust Walker, but he wasn’t sure about Rayburn.
Beckham pointed to the USS Monterey and said, “ROT is growing stronger. We’re not just facing a group of terrorists threatening our very fragile existence. We’re talking about a civil war. The things Lieutenant Wood has been saying about President Ringgold aren’t true, but people at the SZTs are listening. Some of them have already made up their minds to side with the enemy. That cannot be allowed to continue.”
Several men exchanged glances around the table. Beckham took note of their names and then continued.
“Our primary job is to protect this island, but our duty is also to protect and support the President of the United States. Under her guidance, we have built and secured over seventy-five SZTs. She has answered the calls from our allies that are still battling the monsters overseas. Working with Vice President Johnson, she has helped eradicate the majority of the Variants here at home. Now she needs our help.”
Beckham stood and let his words sink in, scrutinizing the reactions to his speech. Walker nodded enthusiastically, as if he’d been on Beckham’s side all along. Rayburn remained stone-faced, and his soldiers kept silent.
Was it possible that Wood had a sleeper agent here on the island? Or even in this room? Beckham pushed the questions aside for now and continued.
“Expect the worst and then plan for it. That’s what I’ve always told my men. Tonight we will reassess our defenses. Not just against Variants, but against an invasion by ROT. There are still vulnerable areas of the island not covered by patrols or guard towers. Fences and cameras won’t prevent an attack. I want every available man and woman who can fight assigned to those areas,” Beckham said.
Rayburn pointed to a map. “My men have already identified all the weak points.”
“I’d like to conduct my own analysis, sir.”
Rayburn’s nostrils flared above his mustache, but he didn’t reply.
Horn shifted in the seat next to Beckham. Rayburn hadn’t formally objected to the change in chain of command, but he clearly didn’t like being questioned.
“I also want recon boats,” Beckham said, using his prosthetic to point at four locations surrounding Plum Island. “If Wood decides to use the Zumwalt in an attack, we won’t see it coming on radar. We need lookouts to warn us.”
“Sir?” Said a tentative voice.
Beckham looked across the table at a young man with short-cropped brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a Medical Corps uniform.
“Go ahead,” Beckham said.
“Sir, I’ve heard a rumor…” He trailed off, glancing uneasily at Rayburn and Walker. Beckham gestured for the young soldier to continue. “Well, sir, people are saying that Team Ghost killed Colonel Zach Wood in cold blood. Isn’t it possible his brother is specifically hunting for you and your men?”
Beckham felt Horn’s gaze, but he didn’t look to his friend. A moment of silence passed. He used it to think of Fitz, Kate, and everyone else Lieutenant Wood could connect to his brother’s murder. If it came down to it, Beckham would turn himself over to the ROT leader if it meant saving the people he loved. But he had the feeling the terrorist would happily strike the entire island with a barrage of ballistic missiles just to make his point.
“This is about more than one man’s search for revenge. If Andrew Wood is anything like his older brother, and it seems that he is,” Beckham said, “then we have to assume he wants the worst for anyone who stands opposed to his vision of the future.”
He glanced out of the large glass window overlooking the ocean. The Monterey continued to drift through the calm water, drawing ever nearer to the shores of Plum Island. The island had seen more than its share of tragedy and betrayal, but Beckham had believed they could rise from the ashes better and stronger than before. For a little while, he had thought they might be able to build something good here.
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 b
y 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.
Extinction Aftermath (Extinction Cycle Book 6) Page 23
