A violent storm of fire and noise bloomed from above the cathedral.
“Second bird down!” the Chinook pilot said.
Frantic cries surged over the channels, about Variants invading the cathedral.
Dohi tuned them out, focusing only on the world directly in front of him.
Laughing came across the rooftop patio.
The sounds fueled Dohi’s anger. Thoughts of the people buried in tunnels, of Lincoln dying in the chopper, of all the children now orphaned because of these bastards.
Rico, Mendez, Fitz, and Ace all fell into line, their chests heaving with the rushed charge they had made to get here. With a hand signal, Fitz gestured forward.
Dohi went first, keeping low as he moved between chairs and tables. Then he hurdled over a bar covered in black mold.
Six collaborators were positioned on the other side of the roof, stabilizing their LAW rockets on the railing. Three handled the launchers as the other three prepped the next set of weapons.
One of the collaborators looked over his shoulder with a mangy beard dangling from his mud-covered face. Dohi halted and aimed his rifle as the man reached for a sidearm.
A squeeze of the trigger dropped the man with a round punching between his widening eyes. Dohi kept moving, firing as he did.
The others started to turn, scrambling for weapons. More shots lanced into their flesh. Only the sixth collaborator managed to let loose a final rocket. It was a Hail Mary that punched wide through the air, slamming harmlessly into the cathedral, sending bricks tumbling from a cloud of gray.
Dohi let his rifle sag and threw his hatchet. It found purchase in the man’s back, sinking deep. He screamed in pain, dropping the launcher, and reaching behind him to try and grab the blade. Then he fell to his knees, still screeching.
“Falcon 1, Ghost 1, collaborators are down,” Fitz reported on the comm.
“Copy, Ghost, good work out there,” the Chinook pilot said.
The big bird with the sling-loader lifted into the air with the red, listless form of the huge mastermind dangling in its nets. The second Chinook flew into position, the rear ramp still open. The crew chiefs had exchanged the fast-ropes for rope ladders to load the Marines back inside.
Hundreds of Variants swarmed the streets below, shrieking in a desperate din that chilled Dohi to the core.
The M240 and M60s from the lead Chinook rattled, beating back the crowd that finally scattered in defeat.
Rotor wash blasted Team Ghost as the second Chinook came to a hover above them. Fitz got Rico up first, and then the rest of the team climbed to the safety of the troop hold. Only then did Dohi collapse against the bulkhead of the aircraft, sweat pouring down his forehead.
“We did it,” Mendez huffed. “We actually pulled that loco shit off, man.”
Ace clapped his shoulder, slumping beside him. “Nice work, amigo.”
“Gracias, hombre.”
Dohi surveyed the Marines around them.
Many hadn’t made it back, including the man with crushed legs that Dohi had pulled to safety. He walked over to the skinny Marine who trembled. He balled his fists as Dohi approached, trying to hide his fear, or perhaps, his anger.
“Good job, kid,” Dohi said. He took a seat next to him, resting his back on the bulkhead. The Marine Sergeant walked through the troop hold, checking his remaining men.
Fitz went over to the man, wiping blood from his face.
“I’m sorry about your losses, Sergeant,” Fitz said. “Their sacrifices might have changed the direction of the war in our favor.”
— 15 —
The conference room in the packed quarters aboard the USS George Johnson broke into applause as soon as General Souza finished speaking.
“The mastermind is secure and en route to Outpost Manchester,” he said.
President Ringgold nodded, but didn’t allow herself to celebrate.
“That was the easy part,” she said. “Now the real mission begins.”
“Indeed,” Souza replied.
He continued debriefing, and when it finished, she marched straight to the lab. There she found the science team busy working behind glass windows on what looked like a lump of bulbous brain matter inside a clear plastic drum the scientists had called a bioreactor.
She jabbed the intercom, letting it buzz, and the scientists all looked up.
Kate hurried over, pressing a button to return the call.
“Is everything okay? Are Reed and Parker back?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled behind her clear face mask.
“They’re fine and should be here soon,” she replied.
Kate deflated, the anxiety draining from her.
“Would you like to join me on the deck for some fresh air while we wait?” Ringgold asked. “I do have some good news.”
“Fresh air sounds great, and so does good news, just give me a second.”
After Kate changed, she met the president in the narrow passage outside the lab. Several sailors walked past, so Ringgold stayed quiet, not wanting a single word of the classified information to find itself in prying ears.
At this point, leaked classified information spread like wildfire across the ship and it was imperative for morale to keep some things as tight as an airlock.
“Madam President, you have my curiosity piqued, what’s the news?” Kate asked.
Ringgold looked up and down the passage as they strolled on. “I just want to make sure we’re alone first.”
They halted outside an exit hatch to the small flight deck. Two Marines standing sentry saluted, and Ringgold returned the gesture.
“It’s a little cold out there today, Madam President.” One of the Marines motioned toward the general use parkas kept by the exit.
“Thank you.” Ringgold took one, slipping it on. “Let my agents know I’m about to go above deck. I have feeling they wouldn’t be happy if I met the incoming chopper without them.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” one of the Marines said, before picking up a handset for intraship comms.
Her security escort team arrived a few minutes later. The group of Secret Service agents and Marines accompanied the two women onto the sternward deck.
Gusting wind beat against them outside, chilling Ringgold despite her layers of clothing. Bulky clouds rolled across the darkening horizon.
A scan of the vast sea dotted with white caps confirmed they were alone.
Marines and Secret Service agents fanned out across the deck nonetheless, prepared to defend her against any unforeseen enemies.
While the men spread out, she and Kate waited anxiously for the first view of the helicopter carrying the heroes that had helped save them during the last war.
Both women were worried for different reasons.
For Ringgold, she waited to hear more about the strange bat attack that had claimed the lives of so many in Outpost Portland, fearing this was yet another weapon that they weren’t prepared to fight.
For Kate, she likely knew the reunion after days of being apart from her husband would be short-lived.
She would be right.
The same chopper would be taking Kate away from the stealth warship on a new mission, very soon.
Now that Ringgold was alone with Kate and out of earshot from the security team, she broke the news.
“The good news is that Team Ghost secured the mastermind in New Orleans, and it’s on its way to Outpost Manchester,” Ringgold said.
“Is everyone okay?”
Her response was typical Kate, always concerned about the men and women of the mission.
“Everyone on Team Ghost survived, but there were multiple casualties,” Ringgold said. “Their sacrifices won’t be in vain, and I know you’re going to make sure of that.”
Kate narrowed her blue eyes. “I take it that means I’m going to Manchester right now, too.”
“I’m sorry, I know you’re just about to see Reed—”
Kate drew in a breath and looked back to the ocean
, determined. “I have to finish what we started. The future of the Allied States and, for that matter, the entire world might depend on our work.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Ringgold. Once again, the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of Kate Lovato and a handful of scientists.
“We’re taking every precaution to keep your work and Outpost Manchester secure, but General Souza warned the Variants might try to recapture their leader,” Ringgold said.
“We better work quickly then.”
Ringgold had a feeling Beckham wouldn’t want Kate to go to Manchester alone. She didn’t plan on standing in their way, either.
“An advance team arrived at the facility earlier today and will be preparing the lab for your research,” Ringgold said.
“Great. With the team we’ve got, I’m sure we’ll crack the webbing’s code in no time.”
“Incoming!” shouted a Marine.
The man pointed at a black aircraft lowering through the cloud cover.
Another Marine with a handset confirmed the incoming Bell UH-1Y Venom was cleared to land. From what Ringgold had been told it was one of only four the military had left.
She backed away with Kate from the flight deck until they were safely against the bulkhead. The pilots put down in the center of the helipad, and the side door slid open.
Horn jumped out first, followed by Beckham, who held a hand to a bandage on his head. Even from a distance Ringgold could tell they were exhausted.
Rotor wash whipped their blood-soiled fatigues as they trundled over.
Kate ran to Beckham, and they embraced while Horn stood watching. He glanced at Ringgold almost with a rueful gaze.
As the rotors slowed to a stop, Kate pulled away and Ringgold joined them.
Beckham nodded at Ringgold. “Madam President.”
“Good to see you both,” she said.
Horn offered a brief, but pained smile.
Kate looked back at the helicopter.
“Where are Donna and Bo?” she asked. “I thought you were bringing them…”
Her words trailed off when she saw the troop hold was empty save for a crew chief. Beckham didn’t respond right away, and when Kate looked to Horn, his eyes glazed with tears.
Their friends weren’t coming home, Ringgold realized.
“Timothy?” Kate asked.
Beckham shook his head. Kate covered her mouth with a palm to hold back a gasp. She took a step back, and he reached out to her.
“The collaborators killed them,” Beckham said. “They destroyed our home last night, too.”
Ringgold stepped forward, unsure if she had heard the last part right.
“The collaborators used some kind of explosives on Peaks Island before the attack on the outpost,” he continued. “Might’ve been the bats there, too, for all we know.”
“Hit my house too,” Horn said. “From everything we heard, they’ve infiltrated Outpost Portland.”
“I don’t understand,” Kate said. She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it, and Beckham wrapped her up in another hug.
Ringgold was equally dismayed. She had underestimated the Variant enemy. Everyone had. But it was the collaborators that the military had really underestimated.
The underground group was far more organized than she could have fathomed. In some ways, they were worse than the mutated monsters.
“Let’s go inside,” Ringgold suggested.
They went back into a passage, and she told the security detail to wait at the exit hatch. Then she took the others deeper into the passage where they could speak alone. She explained what she had told Kate about the mastermind being transferred to Manchester.
“And Team Ghost?” Beckham asked. “What are their new orders?”
“They’re going to assist in finding some technology in California that can better protect our outposts,” Ringgold said.
“What?” Horn blurted.
“The frontier?” Beckham said, sounding equally as shocked. “That’s no-man’s land.”
“Worse,” Horn said. “It’s Variant land.”
“We have no choice,” Ringgold said.
Beckham and Horn exchanged a look, and Beckham shook his head.
“We’ve got so much to talk about with everything going on, and I want to see the kids,” he said.
“We don’t have much time,” Kate said. “My team is heading to Manchester ASAP to begin studying the mastermind.”
Ringgold wished she could let them take their time, but time, as always, was not on their side. Every minute they waited was another minute that the enemy drove humanity closer to extinction.
“No need to say goodbye,” Beckham said after a brief hesitation. “We bring Javier and the girls with.”
“You sure about that, boss?” Horn asked.
“I sure as hell ain’t letting my wife go out there alone,” Beckham said. “If you’d prefer to stay—”
“I go where you go, boss.”
Beckham checked with Ringgold for her approval.
“Of course, you have my blessing.”
She knew them all well enough to know there was no debating this. And deep down, she agreed it was best if they were all together. She just wished she could join them. These people were the closest thing to a family she had left in this world.
***
Timothy had spent the past twenty-four hours watching, listening, and learning. Those three words were all things his dad had taught him when he was growing up to survive in a world of monsters.
The collaborators had confined him to a small holding cell with a sink, toilet, and bed. It was disgusting and claustrophobic, but it beat being plastered to a wall.
He wasn’t the only one here.
This wing of the makeshift prison held other people. Women mostly, at least he thought so. They all looked haggard and moved like they were drugged.
A young woman occupied the cell across from him. Since he’d noticed her, she hadn’t moved from her position, lying face-down on the concrete floor. He guessed she was in her thirties, but it was hard to tell with the deep bags under her eyes and the way her nearly translucent skin clung to her bones.
He wanted to ask one of the other prisoners what in the hell was going on, but he didn’t want to piss off the guards stationed nearby.
So he simply listened and waited.
As time wore on, he tried to distract himself with hopeful thoughts. Daydreams that would transport him from this misery.
He recalled afternoons hiking with his dad, and stories about his mother. Days at the beach with Tasha, throwing sticks into the rolling tides for Ginger and Spark to fetch.
He longed for those moments again, and he hated the collaborators for taking them from him.
They were talking again and he pushed his thoughts away to listen.
The guards discussed payback on Outpost Portland for the death of their comrades and the loss of so many ‘thrall’ Variants.
None of what they said helped much. Timothy still didn’t know where the compound was, nor how many collaborators and Variants it held.
The guards had said something earlier that sounded important—something about a secret weapon that Pete had been saving. They had decided to use it early after so many of the Variants and the raider demolition parties had been killed.
Timothy prayed that secret weapon hadn’t hurt any of his friends. Donna and Bo were still at the outpost.
At some point, Timothy finally succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep in his cell. He awoke to the sounds of a key jingling against the iron bars.
A man stood in the hallway outside, with his back to Timothy. He opened the door to the woman’s cell across from him. Her eyes opened slightly, and she tried to squirm away. She raised a trembling hand and moaned when the man bent down with a syringe in his hand.
He made a cooing sound, like he was trying to get a child to relax. But the woman resisted, struggling sluggishly as he poked a needle into her arm.
“No,” she mumbled. “No…”
“It’s okay,” he said, reassuringly.
The man remained crouched while her body relaxed. Moments later, her head slumped back to the floor and drool slid down her chin.
When the man turned, Timothy saw the Red Sox baseball cap and the dirty smirk of Nick, the collaborator his friends called Whiskey. He slipped the dirty needle back in a pocket of his black vest. Then he put his hand on the grip of a holstered pistol and turned.
“What did you do to her?” Timothy asked.
“She’s one of the special ones,” Nick said. “Pete likes to keep them quiet until they’re ready for the great awakening. The New Gods will want them to help us propagate our lands.”
He shut the gate, locked it, and then crossed over to Timothy. For a moment he just stood there stroking his beard.
Then he reached down to his vest. Timothy feared it was for another needle, but instead, he held out a plastic bag.
“Better eat somethin’. You’ll need your energy for later.” Nick ripped open the bag and handed it through the bars. Timothy reached out for what smelled like beef smothered in gravy, but then Nick held it back.
“That was quite the performance last night in front of Pete,” he said. “You got Vin killed, and while I was no fan of that douche, he deserved better than getting a new pair of gills like a stupid perch.”
“Then he shouldn’t have…” Timothy let his words trail off.
“Shouldn’t have what?” Nick pulled the bag containing a still warm meal away from the bars. “Finish what you want to say.”
Timothy considered his words carefully, reminding himself that his goal was to get these men to trust him. His opportunity for vengeance would come only then.
“Vin would have thrown you under the bus next,” Timothy said. “I heard what he was saying about pinning whatever happened on that Pete guy. You can’t trust a guy like that.”
Nick furrowed his bushy black eyebrows.
“I did you a favor, man,” Timothy said.
“Favor.” Nick chuckled while scratching his beard. “A favor is giving me a bottle of aged whiskey.”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 50
