Extinction Aftermath (Extinction Cycle Book 6)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The mouse was scared of the light. Not that Piero blamed him. They couldn’t hide in the sunlight. But he had made up his mind. He wasn’t returning to the tunnels. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

  Piero unlocked the door leading into St. Peter’s Basilica and eased it open. The staircase led out into one of the many chapels. Light from the windows circling the central dome revealed a layer of dried blood covering the marble floor like a red carpet.

  Piero shouldered his rifle and walked out into the Chapel of the Presentation of the Virgin. He took a step toward one of the pews and slowly raked the muzzle across the other chapels in a clockwise motion. Skeletons littered the Choir Chapel and the Clementine Chapel. He could not begin to count how many dead there were. All picked clean of flesh.

  Another step forward. Something crunched under his boot.

  He closed his eyes and cringed as the sound echoed through the basilica.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Piero forced his eyes open, expecting a Varianti to jump from the shadows and gallop toward him. But nothing moved. He looked down and saw not a bone, as he had feared, but a crumpled clear plastic cup. There were more cups fallen beneath the pews or dropped onto the aisles.

  He held the cup to his nose and sniffed. Piero couldn’t be certain, but he thought he smelled wine. Something else too, bitter like rancid almonds.

  Piero understood now what had happened here. This hadn’t been communion. These people had come here for a different purpose.

  Suicides.

  All of them.

  The church was where people flocked when things got bad. People came to the opulent basilica to pray. And, it seemed, to die. Catholics didn’t believe in suicide, but he had no doubt that whoever had overseen these final moments had forgiven their sins. He looked around again, recalling that the massive space could hold sixty thousand people.

  Piero wandered through the other chapels. Mangled bodies littered the marble floors. He roved his gun from left to right, overwhelmed by what he saw. The basilica was meant to be a place of wonder and awe, created by the finest artists like Michelangelo as a testament to God’s glory, but now it was a charnel house.

  It was when Piero made his way toward the central dome that he realized the true feat accomplished by man. Crepuscular rays shot through the windows. The golden sunlight rained down around him like the light of heaven itself.

  Surrounded by something he never thought he would see again, Piero wept.

  Lifting his hand to shield his blurred eyes, he squinted into the light. There was something else up there, some sort of black chandeliers hanging from the curved ceiling. He didn’t remember those from the tour with his family over twenty years ago.

  An object fell and clanked on the marble floor to his right.

  “What the hell?” Piero whispered. The thing came to a stop at the foot of a nearby pew. He slowly walked over to check it out.

  It was a bone, stripped of all flesh.

  Black tar plummeted from the dome and splattered the floor, more of the white bones sticking out of the pile.

  The ceiling wasn’t raining bones.

  This was the excrement of something above him.

  Piero watched in horror as one of the monsters woke up and spread its wings. The others moved restlessly. They were supposed to sleep during the day. They didn’t like the light.

  Ringo buried himself in his pocket as Piero limped away. He moved as fast as he could while still making as little noise as possible. Up ahead, five portals led out of the basilica to the piazza beyond. The largest of them, a massive bronze gateway, stood ajar.

  He ran the last few yards, heedless of the noise he was making or the pain in his leg.

  A brilliant sun blinded him as he half-fell onto the landing overlooking the piazza. His vision cleared to show him a battlefield. Tanks and armored vehicles filled the central courtyard. There were bones here, too, bleached white by the sun. He wasn’t sure if he knew anyone in the units that had been deployed to defend the Vatican, but it didn’t matter now. They were dead now, like everyone else in the cursed world.

  He looked out over the city he had loved deeply. To the east, a bridge stretched across the Tiber River. An ancient castle rose to the north. Everywhere he looked, he saw visions of the best and worst of humanity.

  And somehow, he was the last human standing.

  The thought took the air from his chest, forcing him to take raspy breaths. A wave of nausea passed over him. He might have thrown up if he’d had anything in his stomach. Instead, he sat on the stairs listening to the screech of the beasts swooping through the basilica. He was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to push on. The mouse jumped onto his shoulder and looked out with him over the ruins of Rome.

  For a moment they rested there together, a man and his mouse. Piero scanned the battlefield, looking for bodies that he might recognize. But all he saw were bones. There was a rucksack a few steps away. There could be food or supplies inside, but he was too fatigued to care.

  What did it matter?

  Part of him had still believed there would be people out here. Piero had hoped he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. He let out a long sigh, his weary heart pushing blood through his veins. Another screech from inside reminded him the clock was ticking.

  “I’m sorry, Ringo. I...I can’t go on. But at least we got to see the sun again.”

  Piero grabbed his rifle and positioned the muzzle under his chin. He squinted at the sun, basking in the rays one last time. Then he put his finger on the trigger and grabbed the mouse in his other hand.

  “It’s okay. It will be fast,” Piero whispered to his friend. He tightened his grip around the mouse. He could feel its fragile ribs against his sweaty palm. It chirped and scratched at his fingers. Tiny black eyes centered on Piero, pleading for him to stop.

  “It’s okay, Ringo. We don’t have to suffer anymore.”

  The creature bit his finger.

  Ringo didn’t want to die.

  “Fuck,” Piero said, loosening his grip.

  He couldn’t bring himself to kill his friend, even if it was out of mercy. Ringo jumped back to his shoulder and squeaked as if to say, You asshole!

  It continued to talk in its high-pitched voice. Piero looked at the small creature, but the mouse was no longer looking at him. He followed Ringo’s gaze toward the sky overhead.

  The winged monsters were flapping away from the basilica.

  Piero furrowed his eyebrows and slowly rose to his feet.

  They were definitely retreating, but what could frighten things like that?

  He turned as a deep rumble sounded in the distance. On the horizon, a trio of black dots emerged in a V formation.

  “It…it can’t be,” Piero whispered. His voice grew louder as he jumped into the air, pointing at the incoming planes. “They came for me! Look, Ringo, we’re not alone!”

  A smile split Piero’s face. He felt like dancing.

  “Down here! We’re down here!”

  He waved his hands as Ringo clung to his shoulder. The jets burst through clouds and shot over the western side of the city. At the foot of the steps, the radio inside one of the tanks squawked to life. Piero ran toward it just in time to hear the transmission repeat.

  “Broadcasting on revolving frequencies. If you can hear this message, get underground now. Operation Reach is underway.”

  Piero grabbed the radio, but the voice on the other end of the comms was nothing more than a pre-recorded message.

  He’d never heard of Operation Reach. He looked to the sky again, and his face fell when he saw the bombs dropping from the bellies of the jets.

  “No,” he whispered.

  The planes weren’t looking for survivors. They were here to kill the monsters—and him, if he didn’t move his ass.

  Explosions b
loomed in the distance, toxic flames bursting on the edge of the city as the bombs connected with their targets. The planes changed course. They were headed right in his direction.

  Piero grabbed the rucksack on the stairs and stopped to pluck several magazines from the vest of a dead soldier. Then he turned and ran up the steps to the basilica, retreating back into the darkness, the sound of the jets growing ever louder.

  Davis crawled through the mud with her M4 held across her arms. Salt water stung her eyes as the tide crashed against her body. She moved under the cover of the embankment on the west side of Fort Pickens. Black was on point, his Mohawk plastered to his skull like seaweed by the spray. Behind them came Diaz, Robbie, and Sanders. They had been moving like snails for an hour to get around the peninsula undetected. The second hardest part—swimming out to sea and then back again—was over, but the hardest part was still ahead. They still had to board the GW.

  A wave hit the beach and slurped up under Davis. She closed her mouth and eyes as the water broke against the rocks around her. She pushed on. The routine was simple: wiggle, crawl a few feet, wiggle again, and keep crawling. It was painstakingly slow, but it gave her time to collect her thoughts.

  The bloodlust from killing the ROT soldiers had faded. The anger hadn’t gone away, but it hadn’t gotten any worse, either. Mostly, she just felt numb.

  Another wave crashed against her, pushing her over the sand and into a sharp rock. She winced but kept moving. They were almost to the other side of the peninsula. Davis was going to have a lot of bruises, but the aches were worth it when she saw her ship.

  A transmission crackled on the headset she had pulled off one of the dead ROT soldiers. “Tiger 3, Tiger 4, do you copy, over?”

  Static.

  “Tiger 15, get your boys out there and look for Tiger 3 and Tiger 4. They were supposed to report back in over an hour ago. And hurry the hell up, we’re moving out in thirty minutes. Over.”

  ROT would never find their two missing men. Davis had made sure of that. Hopefully that would help delay the departure of the ship.

  Black stopped ahead to scope the ship through the torpedo grass. Davis used her gun to fight through the thick grass and crawl up to Black. Her body sank in the mud, and she had to push herself up with the butt of her M4 to see.

  “What have you got, Black?”

  “I don’t know. They could be preparing to fire again. Who do you think they’re targeting?”

  “SZTs still loyal to President Ringgold,” Davis whispered back. “Wood is going to hit them all.”

  Davis raised her M4 and zoomed in. Black was right. The ATACMS delivery launch vehicles had been moved to the starboard side of the aircraft carrier. There was motion on the deck, and she moved her crosshairs toward a crew of ROT soldiers loading missiles onto the helicopters and jets. An entire team was helping unload another crate.

  Any further conflict in her mind about sinking her own ship vanished. She had to stop them. She couldn’t let this go any further. Even if some of her crew was still alive, they had to be sacrificed for the greater good. Davis was ready to give hers for the same cause.

  The clank of metal sounded as the anchor began to retract.

  “Black, I need your eyes up there. See how many soldiers are left at Pickens.”

  He nodded and ran into the darkness. Within moments he was gone, vanishing over the hill. Davis waited in tense silence, her muscles aching as she held herself perfectly still. Black returned a few minutes later, breathing heavily.

  “Looks like all but one squad have boarded the ship, Commander. There’s just one Zodiac and five men left on shore.”

  “Perfect. We’re going to kill those ROT soldiers, take their boat, and board the ship, pretending to be them. Black will plant the C4 on the 140s with Robbie and Sanders. Diaz and I will take a batch to scuttle the ship.”

  Robbie and Sanders exchanged a glance, but Black and Diaz nodded back.

  “Does anyone have a problem with that plan?” Davis asked.

  Sanders slowly raised his hand.

  “Let me make something clear,” Davis said. “You are either with us or against us on this mission. Are you with us, Sanders?”

  “Ah hell. If I’m going to die, might as well get blown up. Nearly did it to myself when I was a boy playing around with my daddy’s fireworks.”

  He cracked a yellow grin. Davis didn’t return it. This was no time for jokes.

  “We have two suppressed M9s, so we make this quiet and quick. Black, you’re with me. Diaz, secure our ride and hold onto the C4 for us.”

  “Commander, please let me come with you,” Diaz said.

  “We can swap,” Black said. “I’ll make sure that C4 gets to the ship if you don’t come back.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Davis nodded. Black handed Diaz his M9.

  She and Diaz trudged up the slope. They pushed their NVGs into position and fanned out across the field near the fort.

  “High and low, keep quiet from here on out,” Davis ordered.

  Diaz was already scanning battlements of the fort and the weeds around them with her pistol. They followed the wildly swinging flashlight beams straight to the ROT soldiers. These guys weren’t professionals. Davis was banking on most of the men on the ship being amateurs. She still held on to a sliver of hope that they might retake the ship instead of scuttling her.

  A flash of motion froze Davis. Diaz dropped to a knee and pointed across the open field. The ROT squad was about three hundred feet away. Davis moved toward the cover of a retaining wall. They put their backs against the brick, and Davis raised her M9, waiting as the soldiers approached.

  “You take the two on the right. I’ll take the left,” Davis whispered. “We can shoot the middle one together.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  “Wonder what the fuck happened to Belt and Herc,” one of the ROT men said. “Think they got nabbed by some juveniles while they were taking a piss?”

  There was a snort as someone hocked up a wad of phlegm. “That, or they abandoned their post. If they deserted, I’d string ‘em up and skin ‘em like them stupid Marines.”

  Several laughs followed.

  Davis bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She sucked in a breath, then looked at Diaz and nodded. They jumped around the wall at the same time.

  In the moonlight, Davis saw the expression of shock and fear on the first man’s face—right before she blew it off. She moved onto the next bastard, firing two suppressed bullets before he could even raise his weapon. Diaz took hers down with ease, and they came together to kill the fifth man with well-aimed shots to the chest. He dropped like a statue being tipped over, slowly and with a thud.

  “Nice shooting,” Davis said, lowering her weapon. She hurried over to the bodies and fired a bullet into each of their skulls, then stripped them of the Velcro name tags on their vests. When she was finished, she disarmed them and slung a pair of SCARs over her shoulder. She picked up a third while Diaz grabbed the other two.

  “Okay, let’s move,” Davis said.

  Diaz hesitated as she stared at the corpses.

  “I…I can’t…”

  “It’ll pass,” Davis replied. Two months ago she would have had the same reaction after ambushing these men. But these soldiers weren’t just following orders. They were monsters, like Wood.

  “Let’s go, Diaz.”

  She dipped her chin and cradled her SCAR across her chest. They ran back to the shoreline side by side.

  Black stepped out from behind a tree when they approached. Sanders and Robbie emerged from a broken brick wall. She handed them the SCARs and the name tags.

  “Put these on. We’re going to try to sneak aboard.”

  “Billy?” Black said skeptically, looking at the name tag.

  “Not sure I’ll pass for a Colin,” Diaz said.


  Davis looked at her brown shoulder-length hair. The younger woman would never pass for a man, not even at a casual glance.

  “Hold still,” Davis said. She pulled her knife. Diaz reared back at the sight of the blade.

  “Come on, we don’t have time for this,” Davis said. She grabbed her own ponytail and sheared it off with the blade, sawing until the last of the strands parted. She gestured at Diaz impatiently. Diaz squeezed her eyes shut and turned around.

  Three minutes later, Davis and Diaz had haircuts that made them look like high school boys. Five minutes after that they were all in the Zodiac, coasting over the waves toward the GW.

  Davis kept her SCAR at the ready.

  On the deck, the silhouettes of three ROT soldiers waited for them.

  “Tiger 15, you copy, over?”

  Black looked to Davis and she nodded to give her approval.

  “Copy, we’re on our way back. Didn’t find all of Tiger 3 or 4, but we did find part of a leg. Juveniles must have got ‘em.”

  “Roger that. Get your asses aboard, boys. It’s time to go.”

  Davis swallowed hard. Everything she had been through in the past seven months had led up to this moment. If she failed, America would fall.

  -24-

  “Where are they?” Kate said. She paced back and forth on the edge of the forest nearest the Animal Disease Center buildings. She’d been pacing since they arrived over an hour ago.

  Horn was as still as a statue, his rifle aimed out over the field and road that led to the buildings just over the hill. The Black Hawk that President Ringgold had arrived in was nearby, covered with a camouflage tarp. Two Marine pilots awaited their orders. Somehow, they’d managed to keep the helicopter hidden from Rayburn and Walker and everyone else on the island.

  Kate looked at her watch. It had now been an hour and a half since Reed took Ellis to the radio tower.

  “They should be back by now. Something’s happened. We have to find them, Horn.” When the big man gestured for her to be quiet, she said, “Damn it, give me the keys. I’ll go myself.”