Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  The Osprey curved through the sky, providing a closer view of the outpost. Thick concrete walls traced the perimeter. Guard towers crested multiple positions, giving sweeping views over the water and the rest of the island.

  On the eastern shore, walls overlooked beaches of razor wire. Fischer had once heard of Variants that had evolved gills and were capable of amphibious assaults. Cornelius clearly had seen the intel and was not taking any chances with his defenses.

  Another group of soldiers piled corpses on a pier at the end of the beach past a ruined Ferris wheel.

  The only way to the island by foot was via the heavily garrisoned port or the long bridge connecting Galveston to the mainland. Concrete barriers and mounds of sandbags were set in various locations to slow attackers, providing ample opportunity for the machine gun nests to riddle hostiles with bullets.

  Heavily armed patrols and armored vehicles were posted along the docks. Another set of gates there would thwart any waterborne invaders mistakenly looking for an easy entry.

  “Impressive,” Fischer said.

  “Yeah, but I see a big problem, sir,” Chase said.

  “What would you have added?” Fischer asked.

  “I would have left a small section of beach for laying out, but with all that razor wire, it doesn’t look like soaking in the sun with any babes is in the cards.”

  “Galveston’s fun in the sun days are over for now,” said one of the soldiers across the seats.

  The guy sitting next to him joined in and said, “There used to be an Ironman triathlon here. I finished it once, but the only swimming, biking, and running people are doing here now is to get away from the monsters. Not exactly the kind of stuff that makes you want to lounge around.”

  “Man, you’re killing me,” Chase said. “Can I at least find a place that serves cerveza?”

  The Osprey’s engines roared as the tiltrotors turned vertical. They descended toward a makeshift heliport on a large parking lot abutting the wall overlooking the beach.

  A jolt shuddered through the aircraft when the wheels touched asphalt. The crew chief lowered the rear ramp, and Sharp led the group out into the salty breeze that also carried the acrid scent of petroleum. Vacation homes on stilts and restaurants surrounded the parking lot.

  Most of the homes had been transformed into barracks or offices now, but the restaurants appeared active—or at least the kitchens were. Lines of soldiers and civilians stretched out the front of a few seafood joints that had busy patios.

  Across the parking lot, two Black Hawks had set down. These didn’t look like the military craft Fischer had seen at other outposts. Graffiti covered the hulls with call signs.

  The troops milling around the choppers all wore blue armbands with the Orca insignia that Dees had worn. Flapping in the wind high above the parking lot was a flag with the same logo.

  “Welcome to Outpost Galveston,” said the triathlete soldier. “We got a limo waiting. Follow me.”

  Fischer let out a low chuckle when he saw a Humvee parked nearby.

  The ride took them through a residential area with a view of the beach. Most of the people out here were soldiers. He saw very few civilians.

  From their hurried actions and constant arrival and departure of aircraft, Fischer got the feeling that this place operated like a well-oiled machine. There was no hemming and hawing, politicking or bickering.

  There was a singular mission here, and everyone on Galveston shared in it: defend the outpost from the monsters.

  But it hadn’t always been this way. Fischer had heard Outpost Galveston was a slum four years before General Cornelius arrived.

  “Cornelius built all this?” Fischer asked the driver.

  “Yes, sir. He brought this place back to life and managed the construction of the fortifications himself. If it weren’t for him, no one here would have survived.”

  “I see,” Fischer said, fidgeting with his mustache.

  He was beginning to respect Cornelius more and more.

  The streets passed by in a blur of motion. Everyone had a job ranging from putting up fresh razor wire to cleaning weapons.

  It struck Fischer then.

  This was the future of the Allied States.

  The Humvee ground to a halt in front of what once had been a fancy hotel neighboring the port. A pair of guards opened the door to the Humvee and gestured for Fischer and his men to follow. Sharp went with them into the lobby of the hotel.

  Desks had been set up around the ornate space. Chandeliers cast white light over men and women carrying on trenchant conversations at scattered tables.

  “This way,” said a guard. He led them to the back of the room where two double doors were shut.

  Tran and Chase stepped up, but the guard shook his head. “Only Mr. Fischer is allowed inside.”

  Fischer exchanged a glance with his men and then nodded.

  “I’m with Mr. Fischer,” Sharp said.

  Fischer took off his ten-gallon hat.

  The guard nodded and let them into the room.

  General Cornelius sat behind the table talking with two officers. As soon as the doors opened, he rose from his seat and walked briskly from behind the table.

  “Mr. Fischer, so glad to have you join us,” Cornelius said, clasping his hand. “I appreciate you making the journey.”

  “And I appreciate you saving my oil fields,” Fischer replied. “You got quite an operation set up here.”

  “All the better to prepare for the next stage of war.” Cornelius glanced over to Sharp. “And you are?”

  “Sergeant Ken Sharp, United States Army, sir,” Sharp said, snapping to attention.

  “He’s with me,” Fischer said. “Sharp gave a lot to protect my fields before your men showed up. Lost all but one of his own, too.”

  “Thank you for your service, Sergeant,” Cornelius said. “Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

  Fischer and Sharp sat down as the general went to the other side of the table.

  “I take it you didn’t bring me here just to convince me to support you for the election,” Fischer said.

  Cornelius smirked. “No, Mr. Fischer. If we don’t act soon, we won’t have a country left. And without a country, I see no point in having an election.”

  “No thanks to President Ringgold,” Sharp muttered.

  Cornelius didn’t respond to the comment.

  Realization hit Fischer. He got the sense Sharp hadn’t come here to help; he had come here to switch sides.

  “I’ve asked you here for your support, but not the political kind,” Cornelius said. “Earlier, in fact, I got off a call with Vice President Lemke. We’ve come to an agreement that we’ll work together for the better good of the country. The election is on hold.”

  Fischer wasn’t completely shocked to hear that, but the agreement did take him by surprise. He guessed there was some intense negotiations going on to get a guy like Cornelius to team up with the president and vice president.

  “You saw our defenses,” Cornelius said.

  Fischer nodded.

  “All have been effective against the Variants until now… monsters that tunnel underground and appear beneath and behind walls that have kept them out for eight years have changed the game.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Our scouts can’t find them. Even our choppers and drones can’t spot them before they hit us.”

  “Right, and that makes this outpost a damn fine choice,” Fischer said. “The Gulf on one side and bay on the other will ensure this place is hard to hit. The sandy soil on the neighboring mainland makes it hard for beasts to maintain the tunnels’ structural integrity, too.”

  “Exactly. I figured you would notice. Any man worth his salt in the oil and gas industry has at least a basic understanding of geology.”

  “More than just a basic one.”

  “You and your engineers are some of the best petroleum producers in this country and we need you for mo
re than that now.”

  Fischer braced himself.

  “I could use someone like you for a special project that could change the tide of this new war,” Cornelius said. “Someone with your experience with all the gizmos and gadgets used to find oil deposits to help us identify Variant tunnels on a large-scale basis.”

  Fischer stroked his mustache, listening.

  “We’ve reached somewhat of an impasse. Our R2TD systems work well at identifying Variant tunnels. But their range is extremely limited, and they can’t cover much area effectively.”

  “You’re looking for something more efficient,” Fischer said. “Something that can defend a whole outpost. You’re talking about seismic vibrations, aren’t you?”

  “Precisely, and here’s the deal. We’ve located a few vibroseis trucks from some defunct oil and gas companies outside Houston. They’ve already been moved out to El Paso. But what I really need are men that know how to work this equipment. Men like yours.”

  Fischer’s mind swam back to the destruction of his fields and the casualties he endured. Before he’d been swept away to Galveston, his staff was still tallying up the dead and missing.

  “How many you reckon you’ll need?” he asked.

  “Just one team to start. Maybe eight or nine engineers.”

  “Last count I made, we might only have twenty left. That’s barely enough to run and repair the oil fields.”

  “I have a feeling you’re a man who knows how to make limited resources work. Can you spare even a handful?”

  “For this project, I’ll find a way to make it happen,” Fischer replied.

  “Well then if you agree, I’ll call in an airlift to move your engineers from Fischer Fields to El Paso right now. They can be there before you arrive tonight.”

  Fischer wasn’t sure he had a choice in the matter.

  “We need to prove that this tunnel identifying technology works,” Cornelius said. “I’m counting on you and your team to make that happen.”

  “Point of clarification, sir.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When you talk about the entire Allied States, I do want to be clear that my handful of engineers and whatever equipment you’ve moved to El Paso isn’t going to be enough to take care of a hundred other outposts.”

  “Of course not. I’ve got a plan for that, Mr. Fischer. One that involves some technology that we’ve neglected for far too many years. But you don’t need to worry about that for now. Think of El Paso as a trial run. An experiment to show this strategy is worth pursuing. If all goes well, we will change the tide, like I said earlier.”

  An end to those vile beasts that had taken so much from him and his men was an opportunity Fischer simply would never pass up. He stood and reached across the table to shake Cornelius’s hand.

  “Sir, you’ve got yourself a deal. Fischer Fields is up for the challenge.”

  “Glad to hear you say that, because this work in El Paso isn’t exactly going to be safe.” Cornelius sat back down in his chair. “You will be well protected, but you might have to get up close and personal with the Variants for this to be a success.”

  — 6 —

  The exodus into the University of Southern Maine was well underway by late afternoon, and Timothy still wasn’t back. Beckham and Horn stood in the back of a parked pickup truck outside the campus.

  People streamed by on their way to the garrisoned campus in preparation for what Lieutenant Niven and Beckham believed could be an imminent Variant attack. Beckham couldn’t help but wonder if any of these people were collaborators.

  Paranoia set in as they passed. Some glanced up, but most kept their gaze downward, trudging along like so many refugees Beckham had seen in war-torn countries trying to escape bloodshed. They carried suitcases, backpacks, and rolled up sleeping bags.

  He didn’t see collaborators here—he saw innocents looking for refuge.

  For now, all he could do was trust Ruckley and Niven had the situation under control and find his friends.

  He searched the slow-moving group of hundreds for Donna and Bo. Horn nursed his last cigarette. For the first time in a while, Beckham felt like taking a drag. He needed something to take the edge off. He was trying not to worry about Timothy. That proved difficult considering the kid had taken off after the collaborators straight into Variant territory.

  For now, there wasn’t anything Beckham and Horn could do but wait. They’d asked Lieutenant Niven for help, but Niven wouldn’t commit any forces to going out into the field.

  Frankly, Beckham didn’t blame him for not wanting to send out any spare men. In truth, there weren’t any spare men. They needed every person that could hold a weapon to stay stationed at the campus for whenever the collaborators and Variants struck next.

  If the monsters’ behavior in the past was any indication, the beasts would send everything they had in the next attack and it would come soon.

  Come nightfall, Beckham worried they would face an army no one even knew existed until recently—an army that had hidden in the shadows, biding its time as it grew to horrific numbers.

  “Hurry up, folks,” a Ranger said.

  “Almost there. Keep moving,” said another.

  Sergeant Ruckley and her twelve-person team of Rangers from the Iron Hogs helped keep the mess of people moving. They patrolled the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the masses and encouraging them to keep going forward.

  Beckham scanned the dreary faces again, but still didn’t see Donna and Bo. All he knew was that they had hunkered down at a hotel with the other survivors of Peaks Island the night before.

  The plan was to get them back to the USS George Johnson, and this time Beckham vowed not to leave them behind. He figured he and Horn could stay in the field to help for at least a few more hours. No way they were going to abandon the outpost this time, especially without knowing Timothy’s fate.

  “Yo, boss,” Horn suddenly said.

  Beckham glanced over. “Do you see Donna and Bo?”

  “Nah, but I was thinking… You know what the good news is about the world falling apart again?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you giving some silly ass campaign speech.”

  Beckham couldn’t help but smirk. “True. You know what else is good news?”

  Horn blew smoke skyward and shrugged.

  “I don’t have to see your donkey ass try and squeeze into a suit.”

  “Donkey ass?” Horn spat onto the pavement. “You haven’t called me that for a really long time.”

  “That’s what Panda used to call you, isn’t it?”

  “Man, I miss that big son of a bitch.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And the kid.”

  Beckham thought of Alex Riley, the Delta Force Operator that had become wheelchair bound after breaking both legs in New York City. He had later lost his life to the Bone Collector Alpha on Plum Island. It was one of the deaths that had sent Beckham close to the edge.

  If it weren’t for Kate and Horn, he would have lost it back then and probably gotten himself killed. But people like them and Fitz had kept him sane. They had motivated him to keep his head on his shoulders instead of doing something rash. Something like what Beckham feared Timothy was doing.

  “There they are,” Horn said, pointing with his smoldering cigarette.

  Donna winced with each step as she leaned on her son. Both had their eyes on the road.

  “Come on,” Horn said.

  He hopped out of the pickup bed to the street. Beckham wasn’t as agile with his prosthetic leg. He sat down on the liftgate and slid down.

  “Reed!” came a voice.

  Bo worked his way through the throng, helping his mom. She hobbled on a bandaged ankle, but her eyes brightened when she saw them.

  “You came back,” she said.

  “We shouldn’t have left without you,” Beckham said. “I’m sorry. It was chaos last night.”

/>   “You had no choice,” Bo said. “But I almost punched one of those soldiers holding me back.”

  “Good thing you didn’t or we’d be bailing you out of the stockade,” Horn said.

  “Have you guys seen Timothy?” Donna asked. “He took off after the helicopters left, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  “We heard he went out with the militia,” Horn said. “We’ve been waiting for him to come back, but…”

  Beckham glanced at his watch, and then looked at the skyline.

  They only had a couple of hours of light left. If Timothy didn’t come back before then, the chances of him coming back at all would be close to zero.

  “Hey, you found your friends?” came a voice.

  Ruckley made her way over the sidewalk and stopped near the pickup.

  “This is Bo and Donna Tufo,” Beckham said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Ruckley said. “Hate to break this up, but you really should get moving so we can assign you a room or a tent…” She eyed Bo. “You should have a weapon.”

  “Aren’t we leaving with you?” Donna asked Beckham.

  “Soon enough, but we might stay the night yet,” Beckham said. “I wanted to wait and see if—”

  “I say we stay here and fight,” Bo interrupted.

  Donna looked at her son. “What?”

  “I don’t want to run,” Bo said. “We did that eight years ago, and look where that got us. The monsters are back. It’s time to fight, Mom.”

  “We’re survivors, not fighters. Your dad tried to fight and died as a result. So many other people did too. I can’t lose you now Bo.”

  “She’s right, kid,” Horn said. “You don’t have any combat training.”

  “I’ll learn,” Bo said.

  “You sound like Timothy,” Donna said, her face growing red. “Where do you think he is now?”

  The words silenced all of them.

  Even Ruckley looked at the ground until her radio buzzed and she held up a hand, excusing herself. She walked away for some privacy.

  “Bo, I’m begging you, please don’t do this right now,” Donna said. “Let’s just get to the campus for now. We can talk more later.”