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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “What the fuck!” Vin yelled, his voice echoing.

  He ran over, clearly caught off guard. Before he could get to Timothy, Pete stuck out his arm to hold Vin back.

  “He’s lying, Pete,” Vin said. He spat on Timothy. “He’ just a lyin’ little rat.”

  Pete pressed his arm harder against Vin’s chest.

  “Get back,” Pete growled. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “He was going to throw you under the bus for whatever is happening out there,” Timothy said.

  “That’s a fucking lie,” Vin protested in a nasally voice.

  Timothy would have shrugged if he could have. “Just ask the other two guys if you don’t believe me.”

  Pete looked over at Red Sox and Stocking Cap. “Well, boys? Kid telling the truth?”

  Neither made a move.

  “I find out you are lying to me too, all three of you are being fed to our fanged friends. So again, the kid telling the truth?”

  They both nodded, nearly cowering as they did.

  Vin looked at them both, and then turned back to Pete who had drawn a knife. Before he could so much as mutter a word of protest, Pete sliced Vin’s neck from ear to ear.

  Blood gushed from the wound. Vin reached up to stop the flow, mouth opening like a fish on land, and dropped to his knees, eyes pinned on Timothy.

  Timothy smirked at the dying collaborator, hoping he suffered as he crumpled to the floor. Blood spread around him like a broken shadow as he writhed.

  Pete leaned in close to Timothy.

  “So you are part of the militia at Portland?” he asked.

  A nod.

  “You were part of it,” Pete corrected. “You’re the type of dumb kid thinks he’s invincible, aren’t you?”

  Timothy didn’t reply.

  “That’s why the military has always had an age limit and recruits from high schools. I know. I was one of them kids…” Pete snorted. “Somehow you got lucky to survive this far… Or, maybe not, maybe you can fight and know how to stay alive.”

  Timothy raised his chin slightly. He didn’t want this guy’s compliments. He wanted to kill the fucker. But if sucking up gave him an opportunity to do just that, he’d take it.

  “I respect that, but I don’t like rats,” Pete said. “Still, some rats are bigger than others. Especially the kind that try to stab you in the back.”

  He again looked at Vin. The man was twitching, his face bleach white as the final seconds of life faded away.

  “Guess our team has a new opening.” Pete returned his gaze to Timothy. “You might be lucky enough to join our army if you play your cards right.”

  The guy with the Red Sox hat took it off. “The most powerful in all of history—the army that the military only dreamed of when they created VX-99.”

  “An army of super soldiers and genetically superior beings,” said Pete. “Come over here, Alfred.”

  The man with the stocking cap joined Pete. He took it off, exposing a balding head with long thin hair. He pushed the cap to his chest, and reached out with his other hand to Timothy’s forehead like a priest might during a blessing.

  “You’ve been saved to help with the great reckoning,” Alfred said in an almost soothing voice. “To help fight for the Land of the New Gods.”

  He let his hand fall away from Timothy’s forehead but held his gaze for several long beats before stepping away.

  “Get him down from there, Whiskey,” Pete said.

  The man with the Red Sox hat put it back on and moved over with a knife. He used the blade to start cutting Timothy out of the glue prison.

  “My name’s Nick,” he said. “They call me Whiskey sometimes.”

  The man’s breath sure smelled like his nickname.

  When Timothy was free, his numb body fell forward. He crashed to the ground in front of Vin’s corpse, the man’s dead eyes staring up at him.

  In time, Timothy knew all the collaborators would be doing the exact same thing. This was his chance to get in his enemy’s head. He would have his revenge, and he would become the soldier his father would be proud of.

  The men surrounded him and dragged him up to his feet. He staggered but kept his balance as his vision cleared. Nick pulled out a water bottle and handed it over.

  Timothy didn’t want their charity, but he needed it to survive. He snatched the bottle and gulped it down until he choked. When he finished coughing, he took another sip, this time slower.

  “Easy, kid,” Nick mumbled in a deep voice.

  Wiping droplets off his chin, Timothy handed the bottle back.

  “Let’s go,” Pete said.

  The dreadlocked man led them from the chamber.

  Timothy stumbled several times, his muscles weak from neglect and his legs numb, but he managed to keep going. As he passed the crushed and mangled prisoners, he kept his eyes forward.

  The circular room emptied into a long passage way. Candle wax bled from sconces along the concrete walls and pooled on the floor.

  Pete led the way with Alfred and Nick following Timothy.

  They passed multiple steel doors, all of them rusty. Several were open, and Timothy glimpsed living quarters, pantries, and supply rooms.

  Finally, they came to the entrance of another chamber, sealed off with mesh wire. Pete flipped on a flashlight. The beam penetrated the inky black beyond the wiring and hit a concrete wall covered in dark stains.

  “Come here,” Pete said, jerking his chin.

  Timothy stepped up to look into the chamber. This one was deeper, like a silo that plunged so far into the Earth he couldn’t see the bottom, even with the light angled downward. Pete pulled out a remote that looked like the one the men had used to control the Variant that had nearly eaten Timothy’s face.

  A rustling sounded, followed by what sounded like gusting wind. A shiver coursed through Timothy’s flesh. He wanted to back away but a hand on his back kept him in front of the mesh wire.

  Pete clicked a button on the remote.

  A shriek exploded up the silo, echoing loudly. It faded away, replaced by the rustling that quickly grew to a strong din like a tornado rising up through the chamber.

  Timothy couldn’t remember ever hearing anything like it.

  All at once, hundreds of birds surged upward, flocking around the exterior of the mesh, some of them flapping into the wire.

  Timothy flinched, but the collaborator’s hand kept him where he was. Pete tilted the flashlight to illuminate the creatures. The glow revealed these weren’t birds.

  They were bats.

  Both Nick and Pete laughed, but Alfred remained silent.

  “This… this is your army?” Timothy asked.

  “Not exactly,” Pete said.

  He pushed Timothy against the wire.

  “Have a good look, kid,” he said.

  Bats screeched in his face, their wings beating the air.

  “Cross me, and I promise I won’t slit your neck like Vin,” Pete said.

  Pete removed his hand from Timothy’s back. Timothy staggered back a few feet to put distance between him and the wire, watching the colony of twisted creatures rattling the mesh wall.

  “Ever seen hundreds of starving bats infected with VX-99 swarm a human?” Nick asked.

  Timothy shook his head.

  “Cross me, and you’ll find yourself on the other side of this wire, kid,” Pete said. He turned away and nodded at Nick.

  “Get our rabid little friends ready, Whiskey, it’s time for round two,” Pete said.

  ***

  Beckham and Horn sat in lawn chairs outside of Corthell Hall at the University of Southern Maine. At four in the morning, they were both exhausted, but Beckham couldn’t manage a wink of sleep. His head pounded from his injury, making it all the more difficult.

  Knowing Timothy was still out there, or more likely dead, dragged heavily on his mind. He had failed in his promise to Jake that he would look after his son. He had failed Timothy.

 
Those thoughts haunted him. When he had made a call to the USS George Johnson, he was almost glad that Kate had been in the middle of an experiment. As much as he wanted to talk to her, he didn’t want to admit he had let Timothy down. Instead, he’d just made sure that someone would tell her that he and Horn were okay.

  “His sacrifice helped protect the city, at least,” Horn had said earlier. “If it weren’t for us going after him, those Variants might have made it to the outpost.”

  Horn was right, but that didn’t make Beckham feel better.

  He massaged the knot on his scalp and looked at the tents spread out across the campus lawn. Somewhere in one of those tents, Bo and Donna were sleeping.

  While Beckham couldn’t see them, there were snipers on every rooftop watching over these people like angels in the night—angels with M107A1 fifty caliber rifles and a few M72 LAW rockets.

  Snoring that sounded like chainsaws chewing wood distracted him from his thoughts, ensuring he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. He glanced over at Horn. The big man had finally managed to drift off.

  It wasn’t surprising. Big Horn could sleep through a firefight.

  Beckham closed his eyes, hoping for some sleep too, but it simply wouldn’t come. Besides the snoring, he was too worried about things outside of his control, including Kate. He worried about what he would say to her when he returned and what their next steps would be.

  He got up from his chair, deciding to head back up to the rooftop of Corthell Hall. That’s where he would find Ruckley.

  When he got there, she was standing near the edge of the roof with a pair of FLIR BN-10 thermal binoculars scanning the city. One of the snipers glanced back at him as he approached, but then turned back to his scope.

  “How’s it look out there?” Beckham asked.

  He approached Ruckley as she lowered the binos.

  “So far no sign of another attack,” she replied. “We’re lucky. Sounds like outposts are still being hit hard.”

  Another voice came behind Beckham.

  “You trying to sneak away from me, boss,” Horn grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” Beckham said.

  Horn shrugged and walked over to the edge with him.

  “At least it’s quiet now,” Beckham said.

  “I’d say we got lucky for tonight being quiet,” Ruckley said, “but luck has nothing to do with it. That was all thanks to you two.”

  “Wish Lieutenant Niven would have sent scouts out to look for the collaborators after those airstrikes,” Beckham said. “Now is the perfect time to hunt those assholes and look for their rat nests.”

  Ruckley frowned. “Look, I want to find the collaborators as much as you guys do, but we’re on defense right now. We simply don’t have enough people to risk missions without better intel.”

  She was right, and while Beckham knew that, he also remembered the risks they took during the first war against the Variants. Some were stupid, but others paid off. Tonight was stupid and had paid off.

  Ruckley sighed. “Glad you guys came up here, because I got some news.”

  “Good, I hope,” Horn said.

  “Afraid not,” Ruckley replied.

  Beckham braced himself.

  “Scott AFB fell a few hours ago,” she said. “The Variants hit them hard and fast, overwhelming the command building in less than an hour.”

  “What about Team Ghost?” Beckham stammered.

  “They made it out. They were launching a new mission when the attack came.”

  Hearing Fitz and the remaining team members were alive was a relief, but finding out they were being tossed into the fray again was another gut punch.

  “Where?” Horn asked.

  Ruckley shrugged. “Not sure. It’s classified.”

  Horn cursed and muttered under his breath.

  “I’m sorry…” Ruckley said.

  With everything going on tonight, the chances of Team Ghost surviving this new war weren’t good.

  Then again, the chances of the Allied States surviving weren’t good either.

  “I hope wherever they’re going will help put an end to all of this,” Ruckley said. “Someone far above my paygrade better have a plan, because sitting here waiting for the bastards to attack again feels like we’re waiting for a bomb to drop on us.”

  Beckham knew all too well that part of the plan would include Team Ghost, but he didn’t reply.

  “So what’s your plan?” Ruckley asked. “I sure hope it doesn’t include pulling any more stunts like tonight.”

  “No more stunts,” Beckham agreed. “I think we’ll get Bo and Donna back to command tomorrow, and then figure out how we can help with the war effort.”

  “What are your orders?” Horn asked Ruckley.

  She looked out over the city. “For now, the Iron Hogs are digging in and holding this outpost. Portland has been designated one of the safer zones. We’re supposed to get refugees from places that were hit harder than us. Like Kansas City, maybe Houston.”

  The sniper Beckham had noticed earlier got up and walked over. “Sorry to interrupt, Sergeant,” he said in a timid voice. “But I overheard you say something about Kansas City. My sister is there. Do you know how they’re holding out?”

  The sniper was young, probably only nineteen or twenty, with a baby face and scared blue eyes. He reminded Beckham of Alex Riley.

  “Things aren’t good, Johnson,” Ruckley replied. “I’m sorry but last I heard their defenses had fallen and people were being evacuated into the nearby caverns for shelter.”

  Johnson’s eyes dropped in despair.

  “We’ve been written off a lot of times, brother,” Horn said. “And we’ve made it back each time.”

  “You just got to have a little faith,” Beckham added.

  “Damn straight,” Ruckley said. “Hell, I thought you were both dead tonight, and you ended up taking on a horde of Variants one hundred strong. Alone.”

  Johnson let out a light huff. “Yeah, but you guys are legends.”

  “Nah, we’re just normal guys that don’t give up when shit hits the fan,” Horn said. “Try not to worry too much, and focus on taking each day one at a time.”

  “Thanks,” Johnson said. He returned to his post not looking convinced.

  An eerie quiet hung over them for a few minutes. If Beckham closed his eyes and forgot about the past several hours, he could almost be at peace, listening to the chirp of a few nocturnal animals and feeling the gentle caress of the breeze.

  But even if he tried to forget it all, the world seemed intent on reminding him this was no time for letting down his guard.

  The handset radio crackled on Ruckley’s vest.

  “Iron Hog 2, go ahead, over,” she said.

  “Iron Hog 2, Raptor Eye 3, we’re picking up movement on the north edge of—”

  A blinding explosion suddenly erupted in the distance.

  It had come from Peaks Island.

  The Raptor recon team was camped out there to watch for collaborators, and something had just blown them to pieces.

  Horn readied his rifle.

  “Raptor Eye 3, do you copy?” Ruckley said.

  She tried again and again, receiving only static.

  Another flash lit up the island. One by one, blasts rocked the terrain, geysers of smoke and fire gushing up from the impacts.

  “Is that artillery?” Horn said.

  A siren wailed, and people emerged from the tents, dazed, and groggy. Soldiers ran out to escort them into the buildings, but chaos quickly broke out, people tripping and falling in the darkness. Frightened screams carried through the makeshift campgrounds as people stampeded for shelter.

  “What the hell is that?” Johnson said. The sniper lowered his rifle from the skyline and pointed.

  Ruckley brought up her thermal binos.

  “Looks like birds,” she said. “The blasts must have scared them.”

  “Let me see,” Beckham sa
id. Ruckley handed him the binos. He used his good eye to focus on the red dots flocking across the view. There were hundreds of the creatures, a dark undulating cloud traversing over the horizon.

  But they weren’t scattering like Beckham would’ve expected a flock of frightened birds to do. They were heading right for the campus.

  He lowered the binos to look at the fires now dancing across Peaks Island.

  These weren’t just birds.

  When strange things like this happened, Beckham didn’t believe in coincidences. Something about those birds hurtling toward them set his nerves on fire.

  “We have to get everyone inside now!” he yelled.

  Then he pointed to the unmanned spotlight on the rooftop next to Johnson.

  “Get that light on those birds!” he commanded.

  Johnson did as ordered.

  Ruckley brought her radio to her lips. “Turn all spotlights to the sky. Target those birds.”

  The spotlights on the other roofs turned skyward to the formation of black. The creatures didn’t soar, but zigzagged and swooped through the sky, their wings moving in a blur.

  “Ho-ly shit,” Horn said, drawing out the syllables. “Those aren’t birds. They’re bats, and they’re coming straight at us!”

  “Shoot them!” Beckham yelled. He didn’t know why the little flying mammals would be coming at them, but he knew it wasn’t for anything good.

  He raised his rifle and flicked off the safety.

  Muzzle flashes came from the other rooftops as the order passed over the comm channels. The bats dipped lower, some diving and flapping through the rounds. They were nearly impossible to hit, flickering through the gunfire. An explosion rocked the first building across the campus, sending soldiers cartwheeling away from the roof.

  Beckham changed his magazine and watched in horror as the creatures dove for the tents and the fleeing innocents. Something detonated, spitting up fire so bright he had to shield his eyes from the glow. Even from the rooftop, he could feel the heat.

  More bats crashed into the ground and surrounding buildings, blowing up upon impact. Beckham might have brought down a couple, but he could quickly see they weren’t going to stop this destructive force of suicidal creatures.

  A formation broke off and flew toward their location.

  “Run!” Ruckley shouted.