“What?” Fitz said.
“I am a soldier. A good soldier…”
Lincoln and Ace shot each other wary glances.
“You were posted here?” Fitz asked, flipping up his NVGs. “Were you defending the outpost against the attack?”
Now the wheels seemed to be turning in the old man’s head again, he lifted his head slightly at Fitz’s shoulder where the Team Ghost patch was: a skull next to pistols emblazoned against black fabric.
“We never saw it coming,” the man muttered.
Then he lifted his head fully to meet Fitz’s gaze, one eye blinking through the mask of grit. It was then Fitz saw the mud covering half his face wasn’t masking a second eye—the soldier only had one eye.
“I’m Cedric Long,” he said. “I know Captain Beckham.”
“Well, goddamn, ain’t that something,” Ace said.
Fitz vaguely remembered meeting the one-eyed soldier at the White House years ago, but this was not the man he remembered.
“I’m sorry,” Cedric mumbled. “They came out of nowhere. They were just…there. All at once.”
“How?” Fitz asked.
“I don’t know,” Cedric said, starting to rock. “I ran. I ran, and I didn’t look back. Escaped with one other guy. But the beasts found us, too. Took him… and… and…”
He bit his bottom lip and started to shake. “I forced myself to come back the next day and that’s when I saw them.”
“Saw who?” Ace asked.
“The townspeople,” Cedric whispered.
Fitz looked at Lincoln and Ace in turn.
“Are they alive?” Lincoln said.
Reaching forward, Fitz put a hand on Cedric’s shoulder, but the man flinched and pulled away like he had been burned.
“It’s okay,” Fitz said. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to tell us what you saw. We need to know where everyone went.”
Cedric’s remaining eye glassed over as if reliving some horrifying memory.
“They were alive when I saw them,” he choked. “But I think they had wished they weren’t.”
— 7 —
The CH-47 Chinook hit turbulence on the final stretch of sky to Portland, Maine. The vibrations through the bulkheads and howling wind didn’t distract Beckham from his thoughts. He sat strapped in a seat next to Horn who seemed to be shouting every ten minutes over the comms.
“Do we have a SITREP?” Beckham had asked.
Each time the pilots would come back with a negative.
The grid at the outpost was down. No one was answering from the bunker where their families should have been. And even though the first transmissions reported raiders, the lack of communication since made Beckham fear it was a Variant attack, coordinated just like the others.
He pushed aside those morbid thoughts.
Kate and the others were alive, and they were safe in the bunker. They had to be. He could feel it in his bones.
His concern for his family occupied his thoughts, but he couldn’t shake the soldier instincts in him. He continued to wonder if there was a coordinated human collaboration effort going on with the Variant forces outside of the safe zones. And whether it had something to do with the election.
Brutal memories flooded his mind of the Great War of Extinction, when Lieutenant Andrew Wood, the former Commander of ROT, had made a deal with the devil by infecting several SZTs with the Hemorrhage Virus.
But Beckham couldn’t bring himself to believe General Cornelius would stoop so low to join forces with the Variants to win the presidency.
Cornelius wasn’t Wood. Not even close. Beckham had met the man multiple times, and he loved his country. He just had a very different idea on how to protect it.
“ETA thirty mikes,” reported one of the pilots.
Beckham and Horn watched the assault team as they made their final preparations. Ringgold had sent some of her best—a twelve-strong team of Army Rangers from the 75th Ranger Regiment who had been reassigned from Fort Benning and now posted near the White House. The men and women joining Beckham and Horn came from First Battalion, Alpha Company. They called themselves the Iron Hogs. From the stories Beckham had heard about them, they had more than earned that moniker, and he was glad to have them along.
Armed with suppressed M4A1s and equipped with night vision goggles (NVGs) they would have no problem taking down whoever or whatever was responsible for this attack.
Especially with the help of Captain Beckham and Master Sergeant Horn.
The retired Delta Force Operators were doing something they hadn’t done in over a year—heading into battle.
The Rangers didn’t glare at his prosthetics like he had experienced in the past with some greenhorns. They all knew who he was and how he had lost an arm and leg.
“Good to have you with us, Captain,” said Lieutenant David Niven.
“Damn honor,” the team Sergeant, a woman named Candace Ruckley, agreed.
“Honor’s mine,” Beckham said. “And let’s be clear: this is your mission. Your team, your orders. Horn and I are just glad to have you all along, especially since our families are down there.”
“We’ll do our best to keep them safe, Captain,” Niven said.
Horn grumbled as he tried to loosen his vest. “Fucking thing doesn’t fit.”
“Too many beers,” Beckham said, trying to cut the tension.
It worked for a split second and Horn grinned.
All trace of jocularity vanished as they made their final preps on approach to the island and outpost.
“We got multiple fires ahead,” said Lieutenant Niven over the comms. “Still no contact with anyone on the ground. Making two passes to ensure we got a clear LZ.”
“Check your gear, and check your buddy’s gear,” Ruckley said. “We’re going in hot.”
The Chinook sailed over the border of Outpost Portland. Two major fires raged in the heart of the historic downtown. Peaks Island, however, appeared dark on the horizon. No fires, or lights for that matter.
Horn palmed a box into his M249 and opened the feed tray cover to lay the belt in. Beckham loaded his M4A1 carbine. Then he checked his Sig Sauer.
“What’s the OPORD, Lieutenant?” Beckham asked.
“I’m splitting us into two teams,” Niven said. “I’ll take Alpha Team to Portland. Sergeant Ruckley will take Bravo to Peaks Island.”
Beckham nodded and clapped a hand on Horn’s shoulder. The man was holding it together, but Beckham could tell worry was eating at him. Horn had suffered the loss of his wife at the beginning of the outbreak eight years ago, and now Beckham knew that same fear.
The chopper lowered over a park at the outpost and Niven hit the button for the rear loading ramp. The ramp hissed open, revealing the orange glow of distant fires. Alpha Team filed out into the night.
As soon as they were clear, the pilots pulled away.
Horn and Beckham stepped up to the open door on their final leg to the LZ on Peaks Island. He spotted the school where Kate taught classes below.
The Chinook headed for the eastern side of the island, between the forested area and the city. They set down in a field north of Brackett Ave with a slight jolt.
Beckham flipped his night vision goggles over his eyes, charged his M4, and was the first out of the troop hold. A wind swept into him, carrying the scent of smoke, but he didn’t detect the sour smell of Variants.
The team fanned out across the field and most of them went prone while the chopper pulled away into the black sky. Beckham and Horn crouched down, scanning for hostiles. The wind died down, but the overgrown grass swayed in the breeze.
An eerie silence claimed the night, interrupted only by the sound of chirping bugs and a creaking of tree branches. There were no air raid sirens like he’d expected. They must have been cut. Their absence sent another chill of fear through him.
Ruckley flashed hand signals and the team moved out, hurrying down the side of the road to the bunker at the healthcare cente
r in the middle of the island. She had studied the map well on the ride and knew exactly where she was going thanks to Beckham’s guidance.
A transmission broke over the comms, and Beckham slowed his pace.
“Bravo 1, this is Alpha 1, we’ve got mass casualties here,” Niven reported. “Looks like a bomb went off. Over.”
That explains the fires, Beckham thought. He looked toward the mainland where the flames continued licking the night.
“No sign of hostiles,” Niven added.
“Copy that, Alpha 1,” said Ruckley. “Negative on hostiles here, too. Over.”
The team pushed on, moving into the outskirts of the residential area and deeper toward the more populated area. A cat darted across the road and into the brush, but the team didn’t even flinch.
Ruckley cut through a backyard to Upper A Street, continuing diagonally toward Hermann Avenue. The group of Rangers moved across a dirt field and approached a broken-down abandoned house that the teenagers often used to drink and smoke cigarettes.
Horn had found Tasha here a few days ago with Timothy. A few weeks before, they had been caught doing the same thing at a rundown park maintenance building, forcing Horn to have a stern conversation with Jake Temper about their two kids.
Ruckley balled her fist. The team moved to cover and hunched down. Beckham did as ordered, but he was itching to move, and Horn was no different. The man stayed in a half crouch, ready to leap.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Horn whispered.
Beckham remained silent. Hopefully the answer was inside the bunker, which could fit the entire town’s population of sixty-two. But in the seconds that passed, he started to worry they weren’t going to find anyone—that Peaks Island had suffered the same fate as Turkey River.
They waited another few beats to look for hostiles, and seeing none, Ruckley gave the signal to advance on the Healthcare Center.
Beckham and Horn ran along the shoulder of the road near the center of the pack of Rangers. They moved to the back entrance, finding it wide open, and the windows shattered.
Bullet holes marked the door and frame.
Ruckley again balled her first.
Horn didn’t heed the command and went right in before she could stop him. Beckham followed his friend into the open door and moved into a hallway, checking his corner and running the wall behind Horn.
They cleared the entrance hall, and then moved to the stairwell that led to the basement where Kate’s lab and the bunker had been built inside an old Cold War fallout shelter.
His heartbeat accelerated.
They took up position on either side of the doorway and exchanged a nod. Beckham saw Ruckley stalking down the hall with her rifle shouldered. He couldn’t see her features, but knew she had to be pissed.
Horn had put the team at risk by charging forward.
But it was too late to back up now.
Beckham gave Horn a nod and moved into the stairwell.
A body lay at the bottom landing.
Horn directed his rifle at the man and moved slowly down the concrete steps. Beckham followed him down, his prosthetic blade clicking on a step.
“Jake?” Horn said, lowering his rifle.
He hurried down to the landing and bent down next to Jake Temper. The man sat with his back to the wall, hand gripping his gut, head slumped against his chest.
Beckham moved past them to check the next corner, his blade and boot nearly sliding in the puddle of blood. But it wasn’t just the blood that made his heart skip. The blast door was blown open.
“I tried to stop them,” Jake mumbled, his voice so low it sounded like a whisper. “Flanked them from behind…”
Beckham moved back to the fallen officer.
“Stop who?” he asked.
“They had masks.” Jake shook his head. “I don’t know who they were, but they were trained…” He let out a moan and winced. “I hit two of ’em, but they had armor.”
“Take it easy,” Beckham said.
“Where are my girls?” Horn asked.
“They’re gone…” Jake whispered, blood drooling down his chin.
Horn shot up.
Beckham also stood and looked up at Ruckley, “We need a medic.”
She nodded, and Beckham put a hand on Jake.
“Hang on man, we’re going to get you help,” he said.
Jake managed a nod. “I’m sorry…” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t.”
“You did all you could, Jake.” Beckham stayed with the officer until the medic came, and then he followed Horn into the bunker.
Bloody footprints led down the stairs and into an interior living space furnished with couches and two tables. The red tracks moved into the hallway past the other communal areas, a storage room, a kitchen, and the bedrooms.
Beckham moved faster, fearing that their families had been kidnapped or worse. They cleared two more rooms and stopped at the glass walls of the secured lab.
The open spaces were clear.
Not a person in sight, or a sign of a fight.
“No one’s here,” Horn whispered.
Beckham moved back to the storage room and opened the door. He had helped with the retrofitting of the fallout shelter and was one of a few people that knew there was a second exit here, just in case the occupants needed to escape.
The large room was full of shelving units supporting canned goods, water, and medical supplies. He navigated through the aisles to the back where the escape door was normally hidden behind a shelf. His blade again slopped through a puddle, but this time it wasn’t blood—it was peaches and tomato sauce. The broken bottles and dented cans were scattered on the floor.
Someone had moved the shelf, and in a hurry. The hatch was still open.
“They must have escaped while Jake ambushed the raiders in the passage, before they blew the door open,” Beckham said. He jerked his chin and Horn followed him back the way they had come.
When they reached the landing, Ruckley’s medic was trying to resuscitate Jake.
“Oh no.” Beckham hurried over and bent down.
“Jesus,” Horn said putting a hand on Beckham’s shoulder as Beckham watched the medic work on his friend of over ten years.
Beckham wanted to scream.
The police officer had survived the virus and monsters only to be killed by some raiders. But instead of screaming, Beckham said a prayer, and made a promise to the fallen officer.
I’ll find Timothy and I’ll take care of your boy.
Giving Beckham a moment, Horn waited impatiently at the top of the stairs. Several of the Rangers stood sentry in the hallway as Ruckley spoke to Niven over the comm channel.
The report made Beckham’s blood freeze.
“Multiple causalities at town hall, including children,” Niven reported.
Horn didn’t waste time with words and started off for the exit. Beckham moved to follow, but paused and looked to Ruckley.
“Come on, Sergeant” he said. “We have to find our families.”
***
Kate squeezed Javier’s hand as she pulled him along through the woods. In her other hand she held the strap tight for the AR15 hanging over her back.
“Don’t look back,” she told him.
They led the other twenty escapees away from the bunker. The other half of their group had already scattered to hide in the darkness, but Kate had decided not to go back to the town. She wanted to put as much distance as she could between them and the raiders.
Ginger and Spark led her deeper into the forest, away from civilization. Leaves and sticks whipped past her face as she stumbled through the dark.
“Ouch,” Jenny said.
“Keep moving,” Tasha whispered.
Trying to keep track of the kids, while simultaneously navigating her way through the forest was almost impossible, especially with only moonlight to guide her.
The dense canopy of autumn leaves allowed only faint beams to pass through. All around her the sil
houettes of others faded in and out of the shadows.
These people were not trained military professionals, and they were all frightened, which made the journey slower and noisier.
Every breaking branch, every crunch of fallen leaves made her think the raiders had caught up to them. In her head, she could still hear the shots from Jake’s gun and the return fire as she led the group away from the bunker.
If they hadn’t had that door, and if Jake hadn’t sacrificed himself, she feared they would’ve all been dead by now.
“My dad, we have to go back for my dad,” Timothy said, his voice louder than before. The teen was a wreck. He had to have known what those echoing gunshots outside the bunker meant.
“We’ve got to keep moving,” Kate said. “That’s what your dad told us to do, and we’ve got to listen to him, okay?”
It was everything Kate could do to keep her own mind on track.
Someone yelped to her right and hit the ground. Kate ran over to them to see Donna pushing herself up. Bo reached down, but she cried out in pain when he tried to help her.
“It’s my ankle,” she cried.
“Come on, mom,” Bo said. He finally helped her up with the aid of a neighbor, and the group continued moving, making far too much noise.
“Please, everyone, you need to be quiet,” Kate said, loud enough for them all to hear, but hopefully quiet enough that none of the raiders could.
She might as well have been telling the ocean to stop sending waves to the shore. All she could do was pray that the couple of people with guns at the back of the group were ready if the raiders caught up to them.
Without the constant threat of Variants on Peaks Island, people had started to take their security for granted, despite the work Jake, Beckham, and Horn did to train these people. But the last thing they had expected were raiders with training and weapons to match.
She hoped someone would respond to the SOS, but it had gone out hours ago, and still nothing. Beckham was at the Greenbrier, and she had no idea what the situation was in Portland.
Kate pushed forward, heading for shelter. She remembered a three-story building out here where Tasha and Timothy had been caught smoking cigarettes.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 9
