No flames chewed through Peaks Island, and Beckham didn’t see any charcoaled buildings or pillars of smoke. The island might have been spared from the fires, but Beckham knew he wasn’t returning home there anytime soon.
Radio chatter crackled from their contacts on the ground.
One of the pilots replied, “Roger that.”
“Prepare for landing,” the other pilot said over the internal channel.
Beckham returned to his seat. The bird lowered over an abandoned part of the city. Then they flew over the first line of defense: blocked off streets and a wall of razor-wire-tipped fences.
Soldiers manned machine guns in the guard towers. Other groups patrolled the FOB’s perimeter, weapons in hand. One soldier raised a hand into the air as the chopper passed over.
“Get ready, everyone,” Buck said. “We’re headed straight to the FOB for assignments.”
The Marines all finished their final preparations as the chopper descended toward the lawn of the university. It touched down with a slight jolt, and the crew chief opened the doors.
Beckham and Horn followed the Marines out and marched toward a group of soldiers holding a perimeter. Even from a distance Beckham could see the bags under their eyes and the glassy expressions of exhaustion they wore. Splotches of blood covered their fatigues.
Sergeant Candace Ruckley was one of them. She limped over with a bandage covering her right arm and another wrapped around her thigh.
“Good to see you, Sergeant,” Beckham said.
Horn looked her up and down. “Looks like you took a hell of a beating.”
“Never thought I’d see the sun again,” she said. “Also didn’t think I would see you two back here so fast.”
“We came to help and get our friends,” Horn grunted.
“Kind of late for the fighting,” Ruckley said. “A few collaborators are pinned down toward the southeastern edge of the city, but they won’t last another hour.”
She jerked her helmet, indicating for them to follow her. “I’ll take you to the information tent first. We can check on the location of your friends while our teams mop up the rest of those animals.”
“What the hell happened last night?” Beckham asked.
“The collaborators hit us from inside the outpost, sir. Not long after you took off,” Ruckley said.
She pointed to the plumes of dark smoke.
“The sons of bitches blew up the water tower, took out the power station, and tore through our checkpoints,” she said. “All right behind our backs. Someone in here was definitely coordinating with them.”
The guilt of not seeing this coming ate at him. He could stomach their failure to predict the monsters breeding and scheming beneath the cities, but this?
The collaborators had been under his nose the entire damn time.
“Do we know who yet?” Horn asked.
Ruckley shook her head. “Unless we got a good forensic analyst in town we’re not going to.”
“What do you mean?” Horn asked. “They escaped?”
“Blew themselves to bits,” Ruckley said sourly.
Beckham halted. “It was a suicide bomber?”
“The one in the power station was,” she replied. “That set everything off. The rest of the damage was from LAWs and AT-4s.”
Horn’s lip curled into a snarl. Beckham felt the same surge of anger.
“Don’t worry,” Ruckley said. “Most of the people are fine, just a bit frightened.”
Hearing that helped quell the rage a little, but most didn’t mean all. Beckham wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew that Donna, Bo, and Timothy were among the safe ones.
“I have a hard time believing someone we know could’ve helped the collaborators last night,” Horn said. “I can’t think of anyone that would do something like this.”
“What’s hard to believe is how they could have access to such powerful weapons,” Ruckley said.
“Is it though?” Beckham asked. “We thought the Variants were dying off under the cities, and seeing as how they were thriving, it makes sense the collaborators were too.”
“He’s right, and there could be a lot more of the assholes,” Horn said. “We have to start searching.”
“Already working on it,” Ruckley said. “We’ve been interviewing witnesses, tracking down anyone who is remotely suspicious, and reinforcing checkpoints to prevent more collaborators from sneaking into our borders.”
“Good,” Beckham replied. “We’ve got to focus on stomping out any final collaborators and securing the outpost before the next wave.”
Ruckley stopped in her tracks and winced as she rotated her injured body. “Next wave?”
“This looks like it’s just the beginning to me,” Horn said. “They’re trying to destroy our resources and infrastructure while they probe our defenses to prepare for the real attack.”
“Let them come.” Ruckley spat on the ground. “We’ll be ready.”
Beckham had other thoughts on the matter but kept them private for now. He wanted to evaluate the situation first.
The trio crossed the dry brown grass between the university buildings to the information tent.
A young woman with curly hair sat behind a folding table. She looked up from an open ledger.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“We’re looking for Donna and Bo Tufo, and Timothy Temper,” Beckham said.
“Going to take a bit to locate them,” she replied. “We moved a lot of people around today. Come back in twenty or thirty minutes, and we’ll have better information.”
“Thanks,” Ruckley said, then turned to Beckham. “I’ll take you to the roof of Corthell Hall. It has the best views of this area. You can see the damage from there.”
Beckham followed her with Horn through the campus. They entered the hall that was now serving as makeshift barracks for the soldiers deployed to protect the outpost.
When they made it upstairs, three snipers were camped out on the roof. Sleeping bags, MRE wrappers, and gear littered the space.
Ruckley pulled out her radio. She called her platoon officer, Lieutenant David Niven, as they walked over to the ledge. “Sir, I have Captain Beckham here if you have updates for him. We’re on top of Corthell.”
“Hold tight up there,” Niven replied. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Copy that, sir,” she replied.
Horn sidled up near one of the snipers. “Where are the collaborators?”
They all pointed toward a building across the interstate near West Bayside, not far from the hotel where Beckham had spent several days with his family after the first attack.
Ruckley handed Beckham a pair of binoculars. He took them and zoomed in on M-ATVs and Humvees surrounding the structure. A group of soldiers hugged the eastern façade, waiting to storm the building.
Beckham had wanted back in the action, but here he was again, watching from a distance. Still, there were other things he could do to help.
“Where are the checkpoints the collaborators hit?” he asked.
Ruckley pointed toward the northwestern side of the city.
“They tried to take out another checkpoint there, but we stopped them,” she said.
He centered his sights on a blackened vehicle on a road leading west. Concrete barriers blocked off the road, and a team of soldiers stood behind sandbags.
“Captain Beckham, Master Sergeant Horn,” came a voice.
Lieutenant Niven joined them at the edge of the rooftop.
“LT,” Horn said.
They exchanged formalities.
“Hell of a night. Day wasn’t much better. But we stopped them and are in the process of relocating most of our resources,” Niven said. “Still got about half of our people in West Bayside, but the area will be secured soon.”
Beckham moved the binos back to the building surrounded by armored vehicles. Soldiers were already walking out of it, carrying bodies between them.
“Who’s in charge of
the outpost now?” Beckham asked.
“That would be me,” Niven replied.
“Good. As native to this place, I’ve got some suggestions.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’d recommend moving everyone from West Bayside to the campus,” Beckham said. “We were telling Ruckley that we think the attacks on those checkpoints were just the enemy testing our defenses.”
“They cut the power, took out the water tower,” Horn said. “They’re going to be back. Maybe it’ll be tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. They’ll hit harder, and I’ll bet you dollars to donuts they come back with Variants, too.”
Niven looked out over the campus. “Pulling the non-combatants here might not be a bad idea. It would at least cut down on the real estate I need to protect. But this thing about Variants. You really think they’d come all the way out here?”
“Based off the experience of other outposts, I wouldn’t be surprised if the beasts show up sooner rather than later,” Beckham said. “How many troops are stationed here?”
“One hundred and fifty, plus the two hundred strong local militia,” Niven said.
“Sounds like a lot, but not against hundreds of Variants,” Beckham said. “Not to mention we’ve gotten reports across the Allied States that armored juveniles are joining in the assaults.”
“Then we’ve got to move fast,” Niven said. “Sergeant Ruckley, give the order.”
Ruckley started relaying the command over her radio.
Niven turned back to Horn and Beckham. “I take it you two didn’t come all the way back here just to offer a little advice. What brings you back?”
“We came to finish the fight, but it looks like things are under control,” Beckham said. “We should’ve stayed last night.”
“It’s still good to have you here now,” Niven said. “And besides, the President needs you more than I do. Your families need you, too. Time to let people like me and Ruckley do our share.”
Ruckley cracked a grin. “Everything’s taken care of. We’re going to start the evac. Permission to check on their friends, sir?”
“Go,” Niven said.
Beckham and Horn followed Ruckley back down to the campus grounds. The young woman at the information tent was still looking over the ledger when they got there.
Her eyes caught Beckham’s on their approach. “I found Donna and Bo Tufo, but Timothy Temper has left the outpost.”
“What?” Beckham said, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m still trying to figure out where the militia group he’s with went,” she said.
“Hold on. Militia?” Beckham asked, heart pounding.
“That’s got to be wrong,” Horn said. “Timothy’s no militia soldier. Check again.”
The girl looked back down and then back up again. “Timothy Temper?”
“Yeah…” Horn said.
“He went out with a group of militia soldiers.” She jabbed her finger on the ledger. “Says so right here.”
“Can you tell us where they went?” Beckham asked.
“Not exactly. All I know is they’re out west hunting a truck of those collaborators.”
“That’s Variant territory!” Horn said, face turning red.
Beckham couldn’t imagine what would have compelled the militia to head out there when the outpost was in jeopardy like this, but he did know what had compelled Timothy to go with them.
A memory surfaced of Timothy’s father, Jake, bleeding out back on Peaks Island after the raider attack—no doubt the same group affiliated with these collaborators.
Timothy wanted revenge.
“What should we do, boss?” Horn asked.
“Timothy’s not ready for this. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”
“You’re not actually considering going after them, are you?” Ruckley asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m considering,” Beckham said.
“We’re considering,” Horn corrected. “You ain’t going out there alone.”
***
Timothy thought back to the hunting trips he had taken with his dad when he was younger. In a way, this wasn’t that different, aside from the prey they were tracking.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
But deep down he knew that was a lie.
This was very different.
And the farther away they went from Portland, the more he felt like the prey.
He marched with a group of twelve militia soldiers carrying M-16s down a dirt road about twenty miles away from the outpost. Two trucks trailed them.
They had chased a Jeep Cherokee until the vehicle had run out of gas and the collaborators inside disappeared into the forest.
The militia soldiers had lost the trail and were back on the road on foot. Timothy was in the middle of the group, his father’s Remington 870 Wingmaster twelve-gauge shotgun cradled in his arms.
Several of these men had known his father, but none of them seemed to know who Timothy was. The group leader was a guy named Stephen Rhodes, a guy about as old as Timothy’s dad. Stephen was in good shape. He wore green fatigues with a baseball cap and scarf to match. He hadn’t even questioned Timothy when he claimed he was eighteen years old and wanted to join the militia right there and then.
“Get in the truck if you’re coming,” Stephen had said.
Timothy had hopped into the pickup’s bed, and they had raced out of the city. The only regret he had was not dressing a bit warmer, especially now with the late afternoon sun behind the trees.
He shifted the weight of his shotgun and scanned the forest. They were on the border of Variant territory now. Maybe even inside it for all he knew. In his mind’s eye, he could picture his dad yelling at him about how dangerous this mission was.
Beckham and Horn would have something to say about it too, but Timothy didn’t care. He didn’t want to sit back in the outpost, scared and crying. He wasn’t afraid of dying.
Without his father, he was already dead.
The dread returned, filling his chest and gut. Anger replaced it from time to time, but right now he just felt… empty.
His dad had been his world.
Stephen balled his fist, and the group halted.
The trucks behind them crunched over the dirt road before coming to a stop. Silence passed over the road. The two drivers stepped out of the trucks, joining the huddled group.
“We definitely lost the trail,” Stephen said in a gruff voice. “We can turn back or head into these woods to try and pick up a new one.”
The men around Timothy looked at each other as if gauging what their comrades wanted to do.
Timothy raised his chin, trying not to show any fear. “I say we keep going.”
“Me too,” said another.
“I won’t lie to you: the sun sets early and night will be here before we know it,” Stephen said. “We aren’t prepared to hunt in the dark and we could very well run into a pack of Variants.”
He shrugged. “On the other hand, if you’re like me, I’m guessing most everyone in this group lost someone to those bastards or you wouldn’t have volunteered. This could be our best chance of catching up to them.”
Timothy thought back to what Big Horn and Beckham had told them about the Army Rangers giving up the chase when they literally had the collaborators in sight.
“Military sure as hell ain’t going to do it,” Timothy said. “They had their chance once, and let them get away.”
“How about this,” Stephen said. “Half of us will continue on, the rest will head back to the outpost just in case we need backup.”
Six of the militia soldiers climbed into a truck with one driver, and the engine rumbled back to life. The departing truck did a U-turn and headed back. The remaining five soldiers, including Stephen, fanned out into the forest as the driver of the second truck waited in the cab for their return.
Timothy walked into the weeds along the side of the road, following the other men into the woods. He
was definitely the youngest here. Several of these guys were old dudes. Too old to join the military even with their relaxed requirements.
They set off, and Timothy scanned the hilly woods, breaking the area down into a two-dimensional canvas just like his dad had taught him. Surveying it from left to right, and then back again, looking for any sign of movement.
The beasts could easily camouflage themselves to blend in with the terrain, but they were easier to spot when they moved.
Leaves and twigs crunched under the weight of their boots as they marched deeper into the forest, the trees swallowing the group. Timothy made his way closer to Stephen, trying not to make too much noise.
“You’re a brave kid,” Stephen said quietly.
“Not a kid,” Timothy whispered back.
Stephen’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Bullshit. I knew your dad. You aren’t eighteen. I just figured if you’re anything like your old man, we could use your help.”
So he did know…
Timothy simply nodded.
They walked for the next thirty minutes into the forest, searching for any sign of buildings, tracks, or a trail. He wasn’t the best tracker, but he could have spotted human footprints had they come across any.
Stephen halted and pulled out a compass. Then he put it away and pulled out a bottle of water. He handed it to Timothy.
Timothy brought the bottle to his lips and downed a third of it. His stomach growled. They hadn’t come prepared for being out here so long. This was supposed to be quick.
“Thanks,” Timothy said, handing it back.
An older man with glasses stood and pointed. “I think I see something.”
Timothy brought up his shotgun, but he didn’t have a scope to zoom in on whatever it was this guy was pointing at.
“I don’t see shit,” Stephen said.
The older man looked away with a frown. “I’m sorry, my old eyes must be playing tricks on me.”
Stephen slowly lowered his rifle and picked the bottle of water off the ground.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said. “If we don’t—”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 36
