Extinction Horizon (The Extinction Cycle Book 1)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  And none of this explained the transformation these people were going through. What was causing the virus to transform hosts into violent monsters?

  Taking a gulp of coffee, Kate stood and stretched. In a few hours she would know. And hopefully she would have some idea of how to create a cure.

  Beckham grunted, hoisting the boy farther onto his shoulders. They’d had a stroke of luck since leaving the back exit of the warehouse building. None of the creatures had spotted them, and none followed them. Clinging to the shadows, Beckham guided the team through the city streets silently and without detection.

  Pausing at the edge of Grand Street, he scanned both sides of the road. Besides a few dusty vehicles, the path was empty. The only movement was from the gusts of wind that carried trash across the concrete.

  With his hands supporting his cargo, he was forced to give a verbal command. “Move,” he said, chinning his comm.

  Footfalls pounded the concrete behind him and he pushed harder. The muscles in his legs groaned, burning with every motion.

  His plan was simple. They were headed for the same beach where the pilot had dropped them. The chopper was supposed to be hovering over the ocean, waiting for them there, but they were still a block away from the extraction point.

  Looking toward the skyline, Beckham caught a glimpse of the morning sun. He’d never been so excited to see the beautiful crimson rays.

  The feeling didn’t last. The quiet streets were unnerving. There wasn’t even the faint thump of helicopter blades.

  Groaning, Beckham checked his watch, knowing they were close to their extraction time. If he didn’t hurry they were going to be late.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled. If Gibson left them out here another day he was going to personally pay the man a visit as soon as he got back. And this time he wasn’t going to hold his tongue, or his fists.

  The thought gave him an extra boost of energy and he rounded Smith Avenue anxious to see the shoreline beyond. A semi-truck blocked the view, the trailer stretching across the street. Above the glistening metal he finally saw the rotating blades from a chopper.

  Our ride.

  “Thank God,” he mumbled, hoisting the boy onto his shoulders again.

  Moving around the front of the truck, Beckham used his last bit of strength to run toward Main Street. He could see the railroad tracks now and the white sand beyond. The waves crashing across the shoreline filled his helmet with a soothing sound.

  They were almost there.

  Almost safe.

  When he was halfway down the street he heard a deep croaking so loud he nearly dropped his infected cargo on the concrete.

  He twisted his frame, looking for the source of the noise. Beckham strained to see through his filthy visor. Strands of saliva hung from the inside where he’d coughed and spit during the firefight inside the staircase. There was no way to clean it without taking it off, and he was forced to try and look around the smears.

  “What the fuck is that?” Horn asked.

  Beckham swept his gaze over the road in front of him the best he could, stopping on empty cars and then moving to a cluster of trees lining the road.

  Nothing.

  Riley spun a few feet away, his shotgun searching for a target. “Where is it coming from?”

  Beckham shook his head. Lowering the boy to the ground, he reached for his MP5, cursing when he remembered the magazine was dry.

  “Shit! One o’clock!” Riley shouted.

  Beckham looked up and saw a man perched on the rooftop of a three-story building. He held a severed limb in his right hand and tore chunks of flesh away in between howls.

  The sight sent a violent chill down Beckham’s back. He twisted his head to the side and chinned his comm. Fighting to stay calm, he said, “Don’t engage. Get to the LZ.”

  The faint whoosh of the Blackhawk’s blades reminded Beckham how close they were to salvation. He caught a quick glimpse of sand as he reached down to grab the sick boy under his armpit. “Got to move,” he whispered in a voice so low only he could hear.

  The team crossed Main Street and then carefully navigated the railroad tracks. Risking a glance behind them, Beckham saw the single infected man toss the limb off the building. Then, on all fours, the man scaled the exterior surface.

  “Jesus,” Beckham muttered. He found himself wondering again how that was even possible. When the man got to the street, several other infected came flying through the bottom door, deafening and angry screeches pouring from their mouths.

  Beckham could hardly hear the sound of the pilot’s voice as it crackled into his earpiece.

  “Ghost, this is Echo 1, en route to LZ.”

  The voice cut out and Beckham watched the chopper jerk right.

  “LZ is hot! Repeat. LZ is hot!” the pilot suddenly yelled.

  No fucking shit, Beckham thought.

  The Blackhawk banked hard to the side and then hovered. In the open doorway, a crew chief grabbed the compartment gun and fired. Red-hot rounds tore through the air, whistling like mini missiles.

  Adrenaline gave Beckham a final boost of energy to get him across the wet sand. Still, he struggled to move, the boy weighing down on him. When he was under the chopper he dropped the kid and waited for the rest of the team.

  Riley and Horn arrived a second later, taking up position a few feet away. Then came Wolfe, panting heavily.

  The crew chief continued to spew rounds from the compartment gun over their heads. Infected creatures dropped to hands and feet in an attempt to bolt around the spray, but the gunner was precise. He compensated quickly. The bullets cut them down one by one, splattering the beach red. The infected soldier from the roof was the last to fall. He crumpled to the ground thirty meters from the chopper, his hands reaching up toward the craft.

  Beckham flinched when the man’s head exploded. He harbored no anger toward the creature like he had so many other enemies. The soldier was sick, just like Tenor had been. He had not asked for this. The virus wasn’t some suicide jacket or sniper rifle that Beckham’s enemies used to kill American soldiers. The real enemy was the microscopic virus inside the poor bastard’s bloodstream.

  Beckham looked for the unconscious boy. He lay curled up on the sand a few feet away, and Beckham couldn’t help but wonder what his role would be in finding a cure. A hand extended down above him. He looked up to see the crew chief.

  “Let's go! Hoist the boy up!” the man yelled.

  Nodding, Beckham reached down and grabbed the kid under his armpits. With a grunt, he lifted the child into the air. Horn helped and together they pushed the child toward the chopper.

  Beckham climbed in next and collapsed with his back to the metal floor. Closing his eyes, he took in a slow breath. Filtered air had never tasted so good. His chest swelled with pride when he felt the chopper pull away. Somehow they had survived and had managed to complete their mission.

  His thoughts drifted from all those who had died and finally to Dr. Kate Lovato. Something in his thoughts naturally brought her to mind. She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She didn’t need saving. She had handled herself in Atlanta like a soldier would. And even though he didn’t know the doctor well, his gut told him that if anyone could stop this nightmare, she could.

  -19-

  Kate rushed through the cafeteria line. She hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and felt like she was about to fall over. Her stomach growled, but she had no appetite.

  Grabbing a deli sandwich, yogurt, and milk that she suspected was expired, she hurried down the line. The mess hall was nearly empty now, only a few Marines talking in hushed voices a few tables away.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw it was only one p.m. She still had a few hours to wait for the toxicology results to come back.

  As she walked toward the exit, the double doors to the facility cracked open. Three men stumbled inside.

  Kate froze when she saw the lead man stare at her.

  Beckham.

  “You made it,�
� she said.

  The man acknowledged her with a solemn nod. Not exactly the response she was looking for.

  “Didn’t think we were going to,” Beckham said. He ran a hand through his hair and wiped his nose with a sleeve. “Go get some grub, guys,” he said to Riley and Horn. They didn’t hesitate.

  “That bad?” Kate asked.

  He nodded again and changed the subject. “How’s the research going?”

  “Slow, but we are making progress.” She lifted a curious brow. “What’s it like out there?”

  “Hell on earth. We got you a live sample though. The specimen’s just a kid. Probably only eight or nine years old. He attacked us with another group of infected when we were trapped inside a stairwell. Compared to some of the others, the kid’s in decent shape.”

  Kate tried to imagine what they had faced, especially during the night. The few hours she'd been trapped in the lab at the CDC headquarters in Atlanta were bad enough, but an entire night? She shivered.

  “You look tired,” Beckham said.

  “You do, too,” she said.

  “I am. And I’m starving.” He glanced over at the buffet line.

  “Where’s the boy?” Kate asked.

  “Gibson’s men took him into one of the buildings as soon as we landed. They’re probably cutting him right now.” His jaw moved, but he refrained from his next comment.

  Kate blinked. The boy was infected, but he was still just a kid. The thought of Gibson’s team tearing into him was horrifying.

  Beckham looked at the food line again and then hesitated, glancing back at her. “You doing okay?”

  Their eyes connected, briefly. There was a kindness and strength there. She felt the same reassuring sense of safety every time she was with him. With a short nod, she managed to say, “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Beckham stepped aside as the doors swung open. Ellis came rushing into the mess hall, out of breath.

  “Kate, the toxicology reports came back early. You have to see these!” He panted and in between breaths said, “I know...why the virus is...changing people into...monsters.”

  An involuntary spasm shook Kate. She felt cold again, but this wasn’t from the chilled air-conditioned room. This was from something else.

  “I need to go,” she whispered.

  “Good luck,” Beckham replied, his lips twisting to the side as if he was unsure of what else to say. With a nod, she followed Ellis out of the building, terrified at what the results were going to show.

  Kate skimmed the notes as quickly as possible when they got back to the lab. She was nervous, but this was a different type of nervous—this was the nervous she always experienced right before a major discovery.

  And Toxicology had made a major discovery. The tissue screenings revealed traces of the VX-99. The technicians had used detergents and a variety of chemicals to digest the tissue samples. Then they used mass spectrometry and nuclear magnetic resonance to identify the chemical compounds of VX-99 present in the structure. Electron microscopy then revealed what Kate and Ellis had missed. Tiny nanostructures of VX-99 had attached to the Ebola virus strands.

  But something was still off—something that didn’t make sense. The chemicals weren’t just solubilized in the tissues and absorbed in the cells.

  Ellis nodded as she read. “The VX-99 exists in a hybrid nanostructure form.”

  “So we know how Doctor Medford modified the virus, but this still doesn’t explain the mutations and transformation of the victim. The violent behavior, the physiology changes,” Kate said. “Unless…”

  “Keep reading,” Cindy said. She sat next to Ellis, her hand cupped over her mouth.

  Kate nodded and scrolled down to the next section titled Epigenetic Changes.

  The two words made her pause. What the hell did they have to do with the Hemorrhage virus?

  She read on, digesting the information slowly.

  “The VX-99 chemicals disrupt the normal cell to cell signaling that regulates what genes are turned on and off within cells.”

  Ellis stood and pulled back a clump of hair that had flopped over his forehead and exhaled. “Holy shit,” he said enthusiastically. He broke into a rapid speech. “There are twenty to twenty-five thousand human protein coding genes. Only about ninety-eight percent of those are actually active. Some of them are remnants, dating back to the primordial ooze stage of evolution. The sucker lips are reminiscent of early multicellular organisms and some more complex parasites. The vertical pupils with the double membrane could link to a number of species. And the flexible joints could relate—”

  Kate held up a hand in disbelief, cutting Ellis off. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. “So, Doctor Medford used VX-99 to turn on genes that harken back to the lineage of evolution.”

  “It’s insane,” Cindy said.

  “But it makes sense,” Kate replied, ashamed she hadn’t thought of this before. When she opened her eyes everything was crystal clear. How could she have missed the signs? The chemicals from VX-99 reactivated the protein-coded genes that separated humans from wild animals. Ellis was right. Some of them might even date back millennia. Simply put, the chemicals turned the infected host into a predatory animal. That’s what had made the weapon so deadly back in Vietnam.

  Hunching over the screen, Kate read the final paragraph out loud. “Endocrine cell signaling is causing an increase in the stem cell population with dermal and bone marrow tissues.”

  Cindy nodded rapidly. “Fascinating. It’s like their body is telling them they are constantly injured, which in turn produces a constant supply of hormones that tell stem cells to proliferate and circulate in the bloodstream.”

  “So their glands have likely been altered as a result of VX-99 as well,” Kate stated.

  Ellis nodded. “Exactly, the specimens are producing more and more stem cells, which also explains their fast metabolisms.”

  “And,” Kate said, her voice softening as she spoke. “It explains why they are hungry as hell for raw meat. It’s the quickest and most digestible source for the proteins they need to keep making stem cells.”

  “Maybe zombies aren’t science fiction after all,” Ellis said. There was a hint of shock in his voice. The enthusiasm from before had vanished.

  “These aren’t zombies,” Kate said sternly.

  She reread the three paragraphs just to reinforce what she already knew. When she finally looked away, the room was silent, and both of her colleagues sat staring at her. Their eyes pleaded for reassurance, begging her to offer a different opinion than the one they had already formed. But the facts were right in front of them. Shaking, Kate said, “Doctor Medford was never working on a cure for Ebola. He was working on a bioweapon.”

  “But what about the endothelial cells?” Ellis said, his voice low like he already knew the answer. “Maybe he was really working on a cure…”

  “No,” Kate said. “He was working on a weapon—a contagious, deadly, and untraceable weapon. That’s why we never saw the nanoparticles. They were already filtering out of the body. If it weren’t for the liver sample, Rod would never have even known.”

  “A weapon killed Javier and Michael,” Kate whispered, almost to herself. “A weapon is killing the entire world.” Her voice grew louder. “The Hemorrhage virus is manmade!”

  Cindy and Ellis stood, but neither said a single word.

  An abrupt surge of anger washed through Kate. With her thoughts spinning in all directions, she directed that anger toward Gibson. The colonel was the engineer of more than Plum Island. He was the engineer of the Hemorrhage virus. The outbreak may very well have been an accident, but the creation of the virus itself wasn’t.

  Kate reached for her forehead, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and lightheaded. “Cindy, do you have access to any of Doctor Medford’s research?”

  The technician shook her head.

  “But you work for USAMRIID,” Ellis said. “You’re telling us you don’t
have access to their files?”

  “There are no files,” Cindy replied firmly. “There never were.” She shot Kate a frightened look. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

  The words spoke louder than anything Kate had seen. She knew then with certainty that Medford had engineered the Hemorrhage virus under orders from above. He’d covered his tracks to make it look like it was actually a cure for the Ebola outbreak in Guinea. But the secret weapon had never left Building 8 inside a secure case—it had left Building 8 by accident in human form.

  The chain of events no longer mattered. All that mattered was that the Hemorrhage virus wasn’t from some jungle in Africa. It was engineered in a lab on U.S. soil. Which meant it would be even more difficult to cure. And behind all of it was…

  Gibson.

  A man Michael had trusted. Taking in long, deep breaths, Kate whisked away from the monitors. Overwhelmed by anger, she walked briskly for the exit. Her mind was clear and focused now. She knew exactly what she was going to do next.

  “Where are you going, Kate?” Ellis yelled after her.

  “If you want to know, follow me,” she replied.

  Colonel Gibson walked across the small lab to peer through a thick glass panel separating the room from a holding chamber. A bank of bright oval lights hung from the ceiling on the other side, illuminating a trio of technicians strapping the limp body of a young boy to a metal gurney. They were the same type of lights they used to study the sole survivor of Operation Burn Bright so many years ago. They brought back flashbacks of Lieutenant Brett’s frail body as he twisted in the chains that bound him in the tiny cell they had kept him in for the better part of a decade.

  He reminded himself why he’d reactivated the bioweapon program, as if justifying it might somehow make things seem less horrific. VX-99 was supposed to have transformed the lieutenant into a super soldier, but instead it had wiped away his humanity. Gibson's vision for the weapon had changed over the years. He’d abandoned the idea of creating a super soldier and instead had ordered Doctor Medford to create a bioweapon. VX-99 was supposed to replace the need for boots on the ground. His vision was for VX-99 to save the lives of thousands of American soldiers. Men like his son, who had died from the cowardly IEDs that insurgents used to turn young soldiers into ground beef. And best of all, the weapon would have been mostly untraceable.