He swallowed his fear and pushed on, squeezing between an overturned dumpster and a brick wall. Scattered bones lay on the other side, blackened and broken.
Once he got to the end of the alley, he knelt behind the bumper of a car that had slammed into a nearby wall. Inside the front seat sat a picked-over skeleton.
All around him came the scrapes and scratches of other beasts searching the picked-through graveyard. Most of the creatures were starving and desperate, which made them even more dangerous.
Rico pointed at a rusted Humvee. It took him a moment to spot the Variant. It crouched nearby, angling a wart-covered nose in the air.
Dohi rotated so he had the creature in his sights. A suppressed shot now would rupture the silence of the night unless it was timed with a howl. If not, it would draw every Variant within the neighboring blocks on his position.
He waited, hoping that it would simply go on wandering listlessly into the night.
But he had no such luck. The creature seemed to catch a whiff of something and dropped to all fours. He moved his finger to the trigger, waiting for a shriek or howl to mask his shot.
The creature bounded across and he prepared to squeeze the trigger, but the Variant seemed to drop through the street.
Dohi eased off the trigger.
It took a moment for him to realize what had happened.
There was an open manhole in the middle of the street. From there, an animalistic cry exploded. The clicking of joints grew louder, and other cries from Variants responded.
The starving, filthy beasts began to pour out of shops and skittered down the sides of buildings. Others leapt from broken windows.
They rocked into each other as they stormed toward the open manhole. One by one, they squeezed into the hole, vanishing into the darkness.
All Dohi and Rico could do was press themselves against the wall, shrinking behind the car while the stampede rattled the ground. It might have only lasted a minute, but to Dohi it felt like an eternity.
Eventually the last of the beasts made it into the underground hell.
Dohi made a mental note of their position. Once he made sure their path ahead was clear, he led Rico away.
They began winding their way over the sidewalk, avoiding other corpses and ducking between crashed vehicles. The area had been hit hard, most of the buildings were nothing but husks or crushed piles of debris.
But there was still one building standing. US Bank Stadium towered over the block in the distance, standing between them and Mendez. Jagged panes of black, grime-covered glass stood around the top of the once enclosed stadium.
The roof had been entirely blown away, and chunks of melted scaffolding jutted down from the opening. A low moan seemed to radiate out of the stadium like the building was groaning in pain.
Dohi balled his fist and listened.
The sounds definitely seemed to be coming from inside the stadium.
“Sounds like people,” Rico said quietly.
Images of the tunnels in Outpost Turkey River surfaced in his mind.
These sounds were all too familiar. One din of countless voices blended together in a macabre soup. The cries from people who were in so much pain, they would beg for death.
Rico set off toward the rusted cars, buses, and military trucks in the parking lot. The moaning grew louder, almost as if they were approaching a waterfall in the jungle.
On the other side of the abandoned vehicles was a quarantine and evacuation checkpoint. Decaying fabric still flapped from huge collapsed tent poles. The canvas on the rusted cots in the lot had mostly rotted away, and boxes of military first aid supplies lay on their sides, their contents long since raided.
Dohi snuck through the area until he reached one of the wide-open gates of the stadium. Rico joined him, roving her rifle back and forth for contacts.
Once inside, they crept between piles of debris littering the corridors. Dohi imagined what it had once looked like with vendors selling cold beers and hotdogs in the wide hall. He could almost smell the popcorn and peanuts in the air and hear the cheerful chatter of throngs heading for a Vikings game.
Now the place was anything but celebratory.
Gloom filled the dark passages. Long dark stains painted the walls. Everywhere Dohi looked was another sign that the civilization he had grown up in no longer existed.
The groans and moaning became louder.
Rico motioned for Dohi to hurry up.
They prowled up stairs that would take them to the seats overlooking the arena floor. Near the top, a sudden clink of talons against concrete sent them both ducking into the shadows.
Pale flesh from a Variant streaked past.
Dohi slipped into a stairwell and took it to the entrance of a seating area marked 211. He stopped in the open corridor, the moaning echoing off the walls.
Rico took point and crouched at the end. Dohi followed her, heart flipping when he got a view of the field.
Much of the roof had caved in, dumping bent scaffolding onto the football field. Holes leading to underground tunnels littered the space like oversized ant colonies and flowing from the black lips of earth were dozens of Variants.
They used the scaffolding that had fallen from the roof into the center of the stadium as a ladder to move around the stadium.
Red webbing covered the metal platforms. Those pulsating vines stretched out of the network of tunnels and straight up to the scaffolding. Humans consumed by the growths hung from the spider web of metal.
Dohi zoomed in with his rifle at webbing growing from eye sockets, open mouths, and virtually every orifice of their bodies. Most of the people appeared to be utterly desiccated, looking like browned and leathery mummies.
But others retained some color to their skin. They were still breathing and writhing ever so slightly.
Alphas like the one he’d seen in the tunnels climbed up the network, their tendrils dragging along the organic cables. They pawed at the humans, opening up new wounds. Red webbing extended from the wounds of the weaker-looking prisoners.
Dohi swallowed the bile climbing in his throat and knelt behind the seats, trying not to throw up. This was Outpost Turkey River all over again, only worse. The nightmarish tableau had him wanting to hide.
A tap on his shoulder brought him back to attention. Rico pointed to the top of his helmet, and he nodded back.
They stood to capture the scene with their cameras. Dohi raked his back and forth to get a sweeping view of the place before they retreated to the outer corridors.
The hallway around the stadium’s perimeter took them to the north side where they would continue on to find Mendez. As much as Dohi knew he needed to focus on the path ahead, he couldn’t get the sounds or images out of his mind. They were like tattoos seared in his thoughts.
We will save them, Dohi thought, trying to reassure himself.
But in his heart, he knew most of those people were beyond saving. Bombing the stadium would have been more merciful than unhooking them from the network of red webbing.
He finally managed to get his wits and made it to the north side of the stadium without encountering any of the beasts. Only a block or so separated them from the condo building Mendez was waiting inside.
Thinking of his brother did help Dohi refocus from what he had just seen, but with every step away from the stadium, he felt like a magnet was tugging on his bones.
There was no denying the connection he felt to this place. While it was probably just in his mind, he couldn’t help but feel like he was a prisoner to the nightmarish webbing just like the people in the stadium.
Rico suddenly yanked on his arm and pulled him behind a car. As soon as they ducked down, Dohi saw why.
An army of monsters were huddled down on the next block, surrounding what had to be a fresh kill. He zoomed in with his rifle, his heart thumping at the possibility it was Mendez. The bodies of several humans came into view through the mass of diseased flesh.
From what little
clothing these people still had on, he could tell they weren’t soldiers. Probably more of the prisoners that these Variants had plucked from the webbing. He was surprised he hadn’t seen more of this.
The Variants swarmed, fighting over the scraps, and tore the three humans apart frantically. Screeches sounded over the squawking beasts, but they weren’t coming from down the street.
Dohi glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbled.
Rico turned to see what had him spooked.
Hundreds of Variants flooded out of the stadium and around the quarantine area. Their numbers were so great, the ground rumbled beneath them, their clawed hands pounding the cracked concrete.
“We have to find cover,” Rico whispered.
Dohi nodded and followed her toward the closest building. They ducked inside, and moved behind the booth of an old pub. The stampede grew louder, and he poked his head up for a glimpse of the beasts, freezing when he saw their armored flesh.
The sight of these monsters sparked a memory. These were no ordinary Variants…these were juveniles, a new generation of monsters.
But how was that possible?
There had been no reports or sightings of more than a few juveniles over the years.
“Hell…” he whispered.
Rico pulled on him and keeping low, they bolted for a bathroom while the ground vibrated from the heavy armored feet of juvenile Variants.
“What did you see?” she whispered.
Dohi shook his head. This nightmare kept getting worse. Seeing the offspring of the monsters meant the beasts were doing something no one believed they were still capable of doing.
Breeding on a mass scale.
“Dohi,” Rico whispered.
“Juveniles,” he said. “Those were all juveniles.”
Rico’s jaw hung open. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “Should we break radio silence and tell Fitz?”
“He probably already knows,” Rico said. She pulled the gum off her helmet and plopped it in her mouth, chewing as the tiles rumbled under their boots.
“Mendez isn’t the only one that needs rescuing now,” she whispered. “We’re screwed, too.”
***
President Ringgold changed her mind about their destination as she boarded Marine 1 from Boston to the Greenbrier.
“Take us to Peaks Island instead,” she ordered.
COS Soprano gave her a confused look, but he knew better than to argue after almost eight years of service. The Secret Service agents, however, protested the change, saying it would be too difficult to secure the area in time.
“I think we’re good,” Beckham said. “We have Lieutenant Niven and the Iron Hogs on the ground. They’ll make sure the LZ is secured.”
The lead Secret Service agent approved the plan after Ringgold agreed to call in a second team of Marines, and the VH-60N White Hawk helicopter took off for the island.
After the events in Boston, Ringgold wanted to see some friendly faces and learn more about the work being done in the lab there. If anyone could figure out what kind of strange biological phenomena were taking place in those tunnels, it was Kate Lovato.
Ringgold tried to relax on the flight, but her mind and heart were with the men and women on dangerous missions across the country. In six major cities, teams had deployed to gather intel and, if history repeated itself, many of them would not come back.
She prayed for their safe return. All of the men and women had the skills and experience to accomplish their goals, but she couldn’t shake the worry that she’d sent them on a suicide mission.
The pilots received the all clear at a few minutes past eleven in the evening. They’d been hovering off the shore at Peaks Island, and now Marine 1 lowered from the sky.
A few minutes later, they touched down in an open field. Ringgold looked outside to see the silhouetted Marines had formed a perimeter. There were probably more prone in the weeds and in the tree line, their sniper rifles ready to fire on any threats.
Beckham hopped out first, and then offered his prosthetic hand to her. She took it and, keeping low, followed him and the rest of her team across the grassy field.
Several Humvees waited for them. Ringgold climbed in one with Beckham and three Secret Service agents. The convoy tore down a dirt road toward the healthcare center that doubled as a bunker and a lab. If she recalled correctly, this was where the raiders had concentrated their attack.
“The facilities survived?” Ringgold asked.
“Mostly,” Beckham replied. “All the supplies we lost were replaced. But we can’t replace the lives we lost. Jake Temper died trying to protect people there.”
“I’m sorry, Reed,” Ringgold said.
She had met the New York Police officer and his son Timothy a handful of times. Her heart hurt just thinking about all the deaths in the past week. In the past, heartbreak had proved to be good motivation, but her aging heart couldn’t shatter much more without giving out entirely.
“This is it,” said the driver. He parked the vehicle outside the health center, and a group of Marines fanned out to form a new perimeter.
Once it was secure, a Secret Service agent opened her door and led her toward the building. Another agent moved next to her, his eyes roving at all times. Beckham joined them, moving fast.
At the side door to the building, a large man stood with a machine gun resting on his shoulder and a cigarette in his mouth.
“Guess your first political rally didn’t go so well huh, boss?” he said to Beckham.
“It could have been worse,” Beckham replied.
The man tipped his baseball cap up at Ringgold. “Madam President, very nice to see you tonight.”
It was then she saw the face of Master Sergeant Parker Horn.
“Good to see you, too, Master Sergeant,” she said with a faint smile as they strode past.
Horn patted Beckham on the back, but stayed outside, smoking his cigarette and watching the surrounding darkness for threats.
The two Secret Service agents continued into the building, leading Ringgold and Beckham into a well-lit hallway. The top floor was being used as a command post for the Iron Hog team of Army Rangers. Crates and boxes were stacked neatly in the hallway.
She passed a room they had turned into an operations center.
Backtracking, she stopped in the doorway. The former office was full of radio and surveillance equipment. Screens glowed blue over the faces of soldiers sitting there. They were so intent on their work that it took a moment before one of the officers noticed her and shot up at attention. The others all burst up from their seats and stood stiff as boards.
“At ease, everyone,” she said. “I wanted to thank you. I really appreciate you working overtime tonight to make sure the island is secure.”
“Thank you, Madam President,” replied a sergeant.
“How’s it going, Ruckley?” Beckham asked the woman.
“Island’s locked down, Captain,” she said. “No one is getting past our defenses.”
Ringgold was accustomed to the tired looks of warriors, but there was clearly some resentment in a few gazes tonight. Not that she blamed them. What was happening across the country was too reminiscent of the final nightmarish stages of the Great War of Extinction.
Almost as startling, half of the Rangers in this room were in their early twenties, which meant they were hardly even teenagers during that first war.
First war, she thought.
She backed out of the room. Soprano and one of the agents went inside the office, but she followed Beckham and the rest of the security detail down the stairs to the lab.
Until Boston, she hadn’t really thought about the possibility of another full-fledged war again.
Considering this new reality made her heart thump.
She had to find out what was going on, and stop it before it was too late.
“This way, Madam President,” Beckham said. He gestured through an open st
eel door to the bunker and a living area. They crossed the space and moved into a passage. At the end, glass walls provided a glimpse into a full lab.
Kate was working behind the protective glass with Carr and the technicians. But Ringgold’s eyes gravitated instantly to a clear fish tank full of what looked like a living hunk of meat in a pink bath of liquid.
The red, squirming tissue looked like the heart of a monster.
“What in God’s name is that?” she asked.
“Good question,” Beckham said. “Kate tried to explain it to me, and I still don’t think I understand.”
He hit a button on the wall, buzzing the lab.
Everyone inside turned around toward the glass walls. Kate smiled behind her visor and raised a finger to indicate they should wait one moment.
Ringgold continued scanning the room. Technicians worked at all kinds of equipment, their faces buried in what they were doing. She recognized the microscopes but was less familiar with the contraptions that had hoses sticking out of them or the large racks of devices with blinking lights that seemed to be humming.
Atop a cart in a corner of the lab, a woman sliced into the exposed muscle of a monstrous limb from an Alpha. The technician then took a chunk of what looked like muscle and deposited it into a glass jar.
Footsteps sounded back in the bunker hallway and Ringgold turned to see Soprano speed walking through the hallway.
“Madam President,” he said, panting. “I’ve got news about that collaborator we took into custody at the rally.”
“What is it?”
“He gave us the potential location of other collaborators.”
“Where?” Beckham turned to join in the conversation.
“Luray Caverns in Virginia,” Soprano said. “SOCOM is already putting together a strike team to check it out.”
Beckham looked at Ringgold. “I want on that team. That bastard called me out by name. If this is something personal, I need to be there to stop it.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Ringgold replied. “Chances are this is a trap. Those caverns could be filled with Variants or who knows what else.”
Beckham stood straighter and drew in a breath.
“Madam President, you asked me to run for Senate to protect my country,” he said. “I can’t do that without knowing who these collaborators are.”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 23
