Donna gave him a worried look. “What kind of a trip?”
Kate pulled her aside to explain while Beckham followed Horn into the bedrooms. Their gear was already packed and ready to go. They grabbed the bug-out bags, along with some extra weapons, and hurried back into the living room.
Beckham dropped his bag and pulled his .45 at the sound of a rap on the front door. He gestured for everyone to get back. Horn herded the kids into the hallway with Kate, Ellis, and Donna. Then he grabbed his SAW and took up position in the family room.
They exchanged a glance, and Horn slowly walked up to the door to check the peephole.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, stepping backward.
Beckham raised the gun, ready to open fire, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his chest.
“Get up here, boss.”
Beckham pulled the hammer back and joined Horn at the door. He looked through the peephole. On the front step was a woman dressed in a rumpled suit. Two men were waiting at the end of the walk, watching the street. An American flag pin gleamed on the woman’s lapel, but she had a shawl wrapped around her head like a hood, hiding her face.
Despite the hood, Beckham had a pretty good idea who she was. He just had no idea what she was doing on his doorstep. He opened the door and stood aside. The woman let her hood fall, revealing a face Beckham hadn’t been sure he would ever see again.
“Jan?” Kate’s disbelieving voice called from the hallway. She rushed forward and embraced President Ringgold.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, patting Kate’s back, then holding her out at arm’s length to take a look at her. “When are you due?”
“Another three months,” Kate said.
Ringgold smiled, but she looked exhausted. She turned and called to the men who had followed her to the door. “Barnes, you stay outside. Soprano, Nelson, come with me.”
The man she’d addressed as Barnes nodded and stepped back outside, while the two men in suits followed Ringgold inside.
“I wish this was just a social call,” Ringgold said, “but we have a situation. No, that’s an understatement. We have a catastrophe. I assume you’ve already heard about New Orleans?”
They nodded, and Ringgold wasted no time in briefing them on the full situation. The missile attack on SZT 61 wasn’t the only one Wood had launched.
Beckham looked over at the fearful faces of Donna and the children, who were watching them from the hallway. He jerked his chin at Horn, who shepherded them to the master bedroom. Horn joined Beckham, Kate, Ellis, and Ringgold a minute later. Beckham gestured for them all to take a seat in the living room.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“We almost didn’t. I…I ordered these men to accompany me and left Vice President Johnson in charge of the PEOC. We got out just in time, just as the missile came in. Almost everybody made it below ground, but there was a patrol…”
She trailed off, her voice breaking on the last word. Beckham felt her pain. He’d been forced to make hard choices on missions. He’d never intentionally left anyone behind, but sometimes there was no other choice. The president wasn’t a Delta Operator. She couldn’t be expected to behave like a combat veteran, especially not with the threat of Hemorrhage raining down on her.
“You did what you had to do, Madame President. But what I meant was, how did you land on the island without being spotted? We have checkpoints and patrols everywhere.”
“Stealth helicopter. We landed not far from the abandoned Animal Disease Center buildings.” Ringgold took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Captain Beckham, you are the only man I can entrust with my safety. I’ve already asked you to protect this island, and now I am here to ask you to shelter me until Lieutenant Wood is stopped.”
He held the president’s gaze and said, “Ma’am, I wish to God I didn’t have to tell you this, but Plum Island isn’t safe anymore.”
-20-
Commander Davis sat in the passenger seat of the pickup while Diaz drove. She checked and rechecked her weapons. It was the only thing that seemed to calm her down.
She felt like a rabid animal on a chain—a chain that was about to snap.
Diaz stomped the pedal as they passed the juvenile-infested marsh. The beasts were back to crouching in the muck. Davis watched them curiously as they passed. One of the creatures glanced up, but then went back to fishing for prey in the swamp. For once Davis directed her anger at something other than the monsters. ROT was a much bigger threat than the Variants now.
“Still can’t get anyone at the PEOC?” Diaz asked.
Davis shook her head and put the satellite phone back in her vest. “They’ve gone dark.”
“How about Marks?”
Davis shook her head again, trying not to think the worst about the silence on both ends.
Diaz tightened her grip on the steering wheel, like she was holding in another question.
“What?” Davis asked.
Diaz jerked her chin toward the back. “You think the White House is gone and Marks is dead, don’t you?”
Davis took in a breath of the cool night air.
“I don’t know, Diaz.”
“What about Sanders and Robbie? Do you trust these guys?”
“I don’t know,” Davis repeated, trying not to snap at Diaz’s barrage of questions.
Sergeant Sanders and PFC Robbie were sitting in the bed of the truck, weapons cradled across their chests. Neither of the men wore CBRN suits, but they did have NVGs. They both appeared exhausted, and judging by their wild shooting back at OP119, they weren’t going to be much help. They had come through with the C4, though. Davis had enough to effectively scuttle the GW and destroy the 140s if charges were placed in the right spots.
But she was too late to prevent the first of the attacks, and she wouldn’t forgive herself for that. She could still picture the twin exhaust trails as the missiles launched. Their trajectories were tattooed on her mind’s eye. Davis couldn’t be certain of their targets, but she would make damn sure Wood didn’t get the chance to launch any more missiles from her ship.
“I’m surprised Black didn’t beat the shit out of them,” Diaz said, jerking her chin at the rearview mirror. “The bastards shot him.”
In the back of the truck, Sanders pulled off his Dolphins hat and ran a hand over his head, then put the cap back on and bent the bill. Robbie raised his rifle to scope the side of the road.
“Black is lucky to be alive. He realizes that, and he also realizes we need Sanders and Robbie’s help.”
Diaz just nodded, her NVGs wobbling over her eyes. They were way too big for her. She still hadn’t asked Davis what her plan was. That was good, because Davis wasn’t exactly sure herself. First they had to find Marks and his men, assuming they were even still alive. Then they would figure out how to board the GW—assuming the ship was even there.
Davis stroked her M4 and concentrated on taking deep breaths. She could almost feel her blood quickening in her veins as they got closer to Fort Pickens.
“Where should I pull off?” Diaz asked.
“How far out are we?”
“We just passed the intersection where we got this ride.”
Davis looked out of the broken passenger window and cursed. She hadn’t been paying attention. She was losing her edge.
“Pull over by that sign over there.” She pointed at a billboard advertising deep-sea fishing excursions.
A salty breeze filled the truck as Diaz drove onto the shoulder and rolled to a stop. Davis jumped out and made her way to the bed. Sanders and Robbie were already sweeping the terrain for contacts. Black grabbed the bags of C4 and threw them over his shoulders.
“Black, you’re on rear guard.” She didn’t need to tell him to keep an eye on the two new unofficial members of Team Scorpion. “Ev
eryone else, on me.”
The team followed her into the woods. The canopy of tropical trees swayed in the wind. Davis had to dodge branches as she worked her way through the jungle. She used the muzzle of her M4 to knock some out of the way while Diaz held others up so they could both pass.
The lance corporal raised her M4 and swept it over the foliage from nine o’clock to twelve o’clock, while Davis covered twelve to three o’clock. There were several blind spots, and it was difficult to hear over the buzzing chorus of insects.
The rally point she had given Marks was a quarter-mile away. She pushed on, moving faster despite the ache of her injuries and the ever-present fear that a juvenile would leap on her at any second.
Fort Pickens loomed like a shadow beyond the trees up ahead. She was working her way around a tree choked vines when the all-too-familiar scent of rotting fruit made her freeze. She balled her right hand into a fist, her feet sinking in the mud with a gurgle when she stopped moving. A nickel-sized spider crawled up her arm. Davis fucking hated spiders, but she didn’t dare move.
Once you had smelled a Variant, you never forgot that stench.
Sweat dripped down her forehead as she listened for the monsters. The stink of moldy lemons faded away, and she shook the spider off. Another sweep for contacts revealed nothing but more bushes and tropical plants.
Davis flashed an advance signal and continued on. Sanders and Robbie moved quietly in the middle of their group, and Black kept a few paces behind them as they moved through the woods.
The slap of waves grew louder as they approached the rally point. Davis scoped a clearing ahead, cautiously moved into the center of the small break in the trees, and centered her crosshairs on the walls of Fort Pickens.
Nothing moved.
No one was here.
Davis searched the trees for any sign of Marks and his men. But she already knew, deep down, that they wouldn’t be making the rendezvous.
“Isn’t this the rally point?” Davis whispered, just to be sure.
Diaz nodded grimly.
Davis pointed at Sanders and Robbie. “Stay out of sight for now. Diaz, you stay here with them. Black, leave the C4 here and follow me.”
Diaz opened her mouth to protest, but Davis shook her head. She trusted her bodyguard to keep an eye on the men from the outpost—and frankly she wasn’t sure Black could resist throwing a punch if she left him alone with them.
“Let’s go.” Davis jogged toward the clearing. Black gave Diaz the C4 and then ran to catch up. He kept his SAW at eye level with the muzzle sweeping back and forth.
They stopped at the edge of the foliage to push their gas masks into position before exchanging a nod. Beyond the trees rose a grassy embankment. On the other side stood the brick walls of Fort Pickens. Her heartbeat climbed up toward her throat when she saw the GW was still in the harbor.
Ringgold hadn’t sunk the ship, which meant Davis still had a chance to make things right. She flattened her body against the dirt and zoomed in on a ROT soldier moving on top of one of the fort walls. The crosshairs covered his torso. She moved them to his head as her finger tightened on the trigger.
Almost, Rachel. You’ll get your chance.
She lowered her rifle and moved in a stealth crouch up the embankment. Every muscle in her body screamed at her. Black followed, and they hit the ground on the other side of the embankment together just as beams from a flashlight shot overhead. She heard footsteps in the dirt and the rustling of the tall grass on the hill as someone walked past.
Davis rolled to her back and angled her rifle up. Black held up two fingers toward her to signal two ROT soldiers. Taking them down would be easy, but she didn’t want to draw attention to their position if they could avoid it.
The crunch of boots drew closer.
Shit…
She had to act.
Davis made sure her mask covered her face. Then she turned to Black and held her finger up to her lips. He shook his head in protest when she reached for her knife.
“Watch my six,” Davis whispered.
She sprang up from the knee-high grass like a jack-in-the-box. The ROT men reared back in shock, then centered their SCARs on her.
“Woah, woah, friendly,” Davis said. She scrutinized the men she was about to kill. The one on the right was middle-aged without any remarkable features. His partner, however, reminded her of Big Horn. He had the build of an athlete and the cauliflower ears of a wrestler.
“Hey man, what you doin’ out here?” said the larger of the two men.
“Taking a shit…” Davis said, trailing off as something caught her eye farther along the beach. Three posts had been driven into the ground, and hanging from them was a trio of corpses. Their skin had been ripped away, leaving nothing but muscles and tendons.
The big man followed her gaze. “Those assholes thought they could take us with just three guys. I mean, what’s the point? We already killed that black bitch who claimed she was the president. The fight’s already over, man.” He shook his head. “Idiots.”
Davis let out a weak laugh, but her heart rate was racing as anger-fueled adrenaline dumped into her veins. “Yeah, idiots.”
The smaller man was looking at her now—no, he was looking at her M4.
Shit. She had forgotten the ROT soldiers all carried SCARS.
Davis took a step toward the smaller man, keeping her center of gravity low, the blade of her knife reversed along her arm.
“Hey man,” the other one said again.
She reached up and pulled off her helmet and gas mask, then shook her hair so it fell to her shoulders.
“I’m not a man,” Davis said.
Both of the soldiers exchanged a laugh and the wrestler licked his lips.
“We’re going to have some fun,” the other man said.
She thrust the hidden knife into the soft spot under the smaller soldier’s chin with a crunch as he reached out for her. A flash of motion came in her peripheral as Black tackled the larger ROT soldier into the dirt.
Davis yanked on her blade. It caught on his jawbone, and he stumbled forward, his mouth opening and closing. She lost her footing and fell on her back. The soldier crashed on top of her, but he was light and she easily rolled him off.
He lay there choking, his fingers grasping at the blade lodged into the bottom of his skull. Davis kicked him in the side of the head, then hurried over to Black. He was rolling in the grass with the other soldier, both of them grunting like wild animals.
The big guy had twenty or thirty pounds of muscle on Black. This ROT soldier wasn’t going to be easy to kill. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. She went back to the other one, who had finally fallen still, to retrieve her knife. She put her left boot on his shoulder and her right on his face, then plucked the blade free, stumbling backward in the process.
She walked back over to Black, who was kneeling on top of the ROT soldier. He had his hands around the bigger man’s thick neck. Davis crouched down beside them. The solder’s eyes flitted from Black to Davis.
“Please,” he choked. “Please.”
Davis looked at the bodies on the beach, then back down at the ROT soldier.
“You stole my ship, executed my men, and launched a terrorist attack on the United States of America,” she said. “Black, take your hands off him.”
“Commander, what…?”
“That’s an order, Black.”
He let go and backed off, staring at Davis like she’d gone crazy.
“Thank you,” the soldier wheezed. He started to sit up, but Davis pushed him back down and planted a knee in his groin. She pressed with her entire bodyweight, and the man cried out in pain.
She leaned down over the soldier and said softly, “I’m in a hurry, so I’ll have to make this quick.”
Clamping one hand over the man�
�s mouth, she used the other to plunge the knife into his right eye. She felt a slight resistance and then a pop as the blade went in. He bucked and screamed, but the noise was muffled by her gloved palm.
“That’s for Humphrey,” she said. Davis didn’t recognize her own voice. It was low and cold, completely devoid of mercy.
She yanked the knife free, then blinded his other eye.
“And that’s for Marks and his men.”
Waves of blood-red anger rolled across her vision. She had never felt like this before, not when she’d taken the bullet for President Ringgold during Kramer’s mutiny. Not even when she’d found out that her husband and nephew had died during the outbreak. She’d kept the pain and fear bottled up inside for so long.
Commander Rachel Davis had reached her breaking point. She was sick of living in a world where the evil just kept coming no matter how many times you beat it down. She was done playing by the rules. If she had to destroy her own goddamn ship to stop Wood from dropping the Hemorrhage Virus on more innocents, then that’s what she’d do.
And if she had to become a monster to save the world, then that was okay too.
The ROT soldier was still trying to scream as she slit his throat.
She looked down at her handiwork and felt…nothing. It was an easier death than he’d deserved.
When Davis looked up, Team Scorpion was gathered around, staring at her. Diaz looked like she might throw up, but Black wore an expression of grim satisfaction. Sanders and Robbie just looked terrified.
“Got you some uniforms, boys,” she said to the newcomers. “Put them on. We’re moving out.”
Three candles burned on the altar in the crypt under the Basilica of St. Thérèse. The putrid scent of body odor hung in the stagnant air. Team Ghost waited by the barricaded door with Michel. The other children huddled around Mira in the center of the room. The weak glow of the candlelight illuminated their frightened gazes.
“Don’t worry,” Michel whispered to Fitz. “They don’t look so tough now, but the Ombres will fight when the time comes. How do you think we survived so long against the monsters?”
Extinction Aftermath (Extinction Cycle Book 6) Page 27
