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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Two more soldiers in black fatigues waited outside.

  “These men will take you to the lab,” said her guard escort.

  “Thank you,” Kate replied. She showed her identification to the soldiers standing at attention.

  One of them looked it over, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized it. He then used a keycard to open the front door.

  “This way, Doctor Lovato,” he said.

  The halls inside were nearly empty with only a few laboratory techs milling about the place. Overhead fluorescent lights lent the place a sterile, bureaucratic feel with plain white walls and laminate floors that creaked when she walked. Smaller offices furnished with desks lined the passage.

  The accompanying soldier took her to the manufacturing room once used in the nascent fabrication of artificial organs made from live cells. It was hard to believe the space had gone from being used to create life-saving medical treatments to housing a creature designed to help eradicate the human race.

  The soldier used his keycard to open a door to the large chamber. He gestured for her to enter but she hesitated, a breath held in her lungs at the monstrosity inside.

  Giant squid-sized eyes closed as nostrils flared with each huffing breath. Wrinkled pink flesh covered muscular limbs, and tendrils of red webbing hung off its bulbous shape.

  The enormous beast was secured by chains to iron columns erected specifically to keep it imprisoned. They stretched from the grated stainless-steel flooring all the way up to the high ceiling where air ducts and filtration systems wormed through the air.

  Despite the expensive system, she was still struck by a stench like an unearthed landfill and the sour rot of lemons.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor,” the guard said. “That thing isn’t going anywhere.”

  A dozen other soldiers with automatic weapons patrolled the area. But she still didn’t feel safe. The monster was well over four times the size of a man, and its bulk looked like it could take plenty of damage.

  She set off into the vast space cautiously, guided by the hanging banks of fluorescent lights. In the white glow, the monster’s gigantic chest rose and fell in deep heaves. It was still fast asleep.

  Kate searched for Carr among the technicians preparing an arsenal of equipment to run the analyses they would perform. Huge silver bioreactors lined both sides of the chamber behind the laboratory benches.

  She spotted Carr supervising a pair of lab techs hooking IV lines the size of garden hoses into the creature’s arm.

  “Don’t worry. It doesn’t bite,” someone called out.

  Sammy walked over in a white bunny suit.

  “How are things going?” Kate asked.

  “Good so far… did you get your family settled?”

  “Yes, and I’m ready to get to work.”

  “Follow me,” Sammy said. She crossed the room toward a lab bench on the other side of the mastermind. Kate stopped about ten feet away, still struck with awe by the monster.

  “It’s okay,” Sammy said. “We have it completely sedated.”

  They walked in a wide arc around the creature to lab benches where Carr worked quietly.

  “Good to see you, Dr. Lovato,” he said. “Are you ready to get started on this beauty?”

  “Absolutely,” Kate said, trying to disguise her trepidation.

  Another lab technician stepped up next to Carr, his hands behind his back. It was Sean, but Kate almost didn’t recognize him at first. He was so thin, he looked like a broom wearing a tarp in his bunny suit.

  Sean welcomed her and then gestured to a clear, aquarium-like chamber that had a mess of red webbing growing in it. Wires and a microelectrode array connected the webbing to a nearby computer on one end.

  “This is our setup,” Sean said, excitedly. “Exactly what our team requested.”

  At the other end of the bioreactor chamber, tendrils of webbing still attached to the mastermind stretched from the monster and were secured by clamps to the tissue within the chamber.

  “Looks good,” Kate said.

  She grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves from a box beside the computer. She slipped them snugly over her hands, then walked toward the behemoth, determined now that she had buried her fear.

  “All right you ugly son of a bitch, time to figure out how you work,” she said.

  ***

  The four-story command building was a former library retrofitted into a modern-day fortress. Two guards stood at the white pillars of the colonial brick building. On the roof, machine gun barrels and even flamethrowers protruded out.

  Beckham stood in the sunshine observing the defenses on the other rooftops.

  So far, not a single clawed foot or hand had touched this place.

  But that didn’t guarantee the base would remain safe. Beckham had lived through attacks where the Variants managed to get into top-secret and well-guarded facilities deep underground. He had also seen how the collaborators could infiltrate safe zones and if they had sleeper cells in Manchester, then it could already be too late.

  Eventually an attack would happen.

  The enemy proved they were adaptable and smarter than Beckham could have ever predicted. His only hope was that they didn’t know the mastermind had been taken here. If they did, he had no doubt the Variants would send an army to rescue the beast, especially if it was as important as Kate and Dr. Carr insisted.

  The doors behind the pillars of the command building finally opened. The two guards came to attention as an officer in black fatigues walked out. He wore a Raven symbol and a colonel’s rank insignia. The dark-skinned man had a neatly trimmed mustache and salt and pepper hair.

  “Captain Reed Beckham,” he said in a deep voice.

  The man instantly reminded him of Lieutenant Colonel Ray Jensen, one of the best men he had ever known. A man who had sacrificed himself for his country. Beckham had carried the lieutenant colonel’s pistol, a gift, for many years before regretfully losing it on a mission that had nearly claimed his life.

  “I’m Colonel Presley,” the officer said. “Honored to have you at Outpost Manchester, Captain. Last time I saw you was during Operation Liberty.”

  Beckham paused for a moment, not remembering the man at all.

  “Sorry, sir, but you were in New York?”

  “Yes, Captain, I was one of the few that made it out before the bombing began. I’ll never forget you staying behind.”

  More painful memories surfaced, but Beckham pushed them aside.

  He shook the colonel’s hand. “Looks like you learned from the mistakes we made since. You’ve done a great job securing this place, sir.”

  “We’ve certainly done our best,” Presley said. He gestured for Beckham to follow him through the open front doors. The click of boots from officers and staff down the tiled floor echoed through the hallway.

  Presley led them to a stairwell that took them to a second floor of open space. The bookshelves had all been removed, replaced with tables and storage for equipment along with a few cots.

  Another stairwell took them to a hall of offices. Presley’s was the last one on the left. Two men in black fatigues stood guard outside. They looked oddly familiar, but Beckham couldn’t figure out where he had seen them before. Neither wore a Raven badge or an Orca badge, making it difficult for Beckham to guess where their allegiance lay.

  He walked through the open door of the office. A man sat in a chair in front of his desk, holding a cowboy hat. He turned to reveal a bushy-mustached face and grinned.

  “Ah, Captain Beckham, we meet again,” the man said in a southern drawl, standing.

  Beckham recognized S.M. Fischer, the oil tycoon he had met at the White House. The men in the hallway must be his bodyguards.

  “You’re a long way from Texas,” Beckham said.

  “A lot has changed since we last met,” he said. “Fischer Fields’ operations have expanded more than I expected.”

  Presley gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. Beckham took a seat an
d Fischer sat back in his, placing his ten-gallon hat on a crossed leg.

  “When I was told you were coming here, I kept thinking about how small the world really is,” Fischer said. “But then I realized it’s not as small as we think.”

  “How do you mean?” Beckham asked.

  “We were just talking about Team Ghost,” Fischer said.

  Presley leaned forward on his desk.

  “You must already know that Ghost is headed to California to locate equipment from Project Rolling Stone,” he said.

  “Our world is expanding even as our country is shrinking,” Fischer explained. “It’s been a long time since anyone dared venture west again.”

  “The trek will be worth it,” Presley said. “Mr. Fischer and his men are going to set that equipment up once it’s retrieved to help protect outposts and refugees while buying time for SOCOM to mount an offensive.”

  Fischer gave a short briefing on Project Rolling Stone and how the SDS equipment would locate Variant tunnels that the military could then destroy before the beasts surfaced. This, he argued, would protect the base from all underground attacks.

  It sounded great, but none of that addressed a key problem.

  “Those machines won’t do shit against attacks like the one I lived through last night,” Beckham said. “The collaborators aren’t just using the Variants now. They’re using bats, rigged with explosives. God only knows what they’ll roll out next.”

  “We’re well aware, and we’re preparing for aerial attacks,” Presley said.

  “With flamethrowers?” Beckham asked.

  Presley stood and walked to the window, hands behind his back as he scanned the rooftops for a few seconds.

  “You can’t see the other defenses, but the flamethrowers are just part of our overall strategy,” he said, returning to his desk. “You might have seen the snipers from the street earlier. We also have scouts with FLIR MilSight T90 thermal scopes to watch for anything in the air miles out. Not only will we know if bats or other airborne threats are coming, we have M134 Miniguns on the rooftops to eliminate them before they get close.”

  Beckham hadn’t seen all of those defenses on his way in, and if someone of his experience hadn’t seen them, it was a good sign. The Variants and collaborators wouldn’t see them either.

  “Part of what makes this place easy to defend is the terrain,” Presley said. “We have bedrock called granodiorite not too far below the topsoil. That has prevented the Variants from tunneling deep into the safe zone.”

  “Outpost Manchester is situated with a river on one side, and a lake on the other,” Fischer added.

  “The beasts aren’t tunneling under the water or through the rock, I promise you that,” Presley said.

  “All due respect, I already know that,” Beckham said. “It’s not just the monsters I’m worried about getting in, sir.”

  “You’re worried about collaborators?”

  “Worried?” Beckham with a snort. “Sir, I’m more than worried after what I’ve seen in the past few weeks. We might have an underground network of collaborators working to destroy the Allied States. For all we know, we could have a mole or an entire network of moles in our midst, and I’m afraid we’ve just seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to these lunatics.”

  Presley opened his mouth to speak but Beckham kept going.

  “They have attacked our outposts, tried to kill President Ringgold and Vice President Lemke, and are working with the monsters in a way I don’t think anyone has fully realized yet,” Beckham added. “So yeah, I’m damn worried about the collaborators.”

  “We don’t have any collaborator problems here. Trust me.” Presley stood again. “I want you to see something.”

  He got up and motioned for Fischer and Beckham to follow him out of the office.

  “Stay here,” Fischer instructed his guards. Tran and Chase remained outside the office while Presley took Beckham and Fischer down the hall to a stairwell that led to the rooftop.

  Snipers and soldiers manned positions across the vantage point.

  Presley went to a wall that overlooked a parking lot lined with black M-ATVs and other armored vehicles.

  “We have a dozen hunter killer teams like that one strategically located across the outpost. They’ll respond to any collaborator attack, and while you can’t see it, we also have two Apache helicopters and some damn fine pilots,” Presley said. “If the collaborators do try some shit here, they will find themselves up against some of the best trained and best equipped soldiers the Allied States has left.”

  The group crossed the roof to a railing overlooking a lake in the distance.

  “We have mines in the water and on the shores,” Presley said. “If the Variants or collaborators make it through that, then they have thousands of rounds of ammunition in their way before they can get close to our fences.”

  “This is all to buy us time,” Fischer said. “Once Team Ghost finds that equipment, we’ll expand our borders, bringing in more refugees to protect while General Souza will be free to go after whoever or whatever is behind this.”

  Beckham took in the sights, impressed.

  “You run a tight ship here, sir,” he said. “But if the monsters and collaborators find out what Team Ghost dropped off to the science team, we can expect more than some rogue attacks.”

  “We’re ready for a full-scale assault,” Presley said.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to show me,” Beckham said. “But how do you know you don’t have a problem with collaborators that might have already infiltrated Manchester?”

  “We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that isn’t possible,” Presley said. “Besides, if we did, don’t you think we would have had an attack by now?”

  Beckham raised a brow. In war, sometimes silence wasn’t a good thing. Sometimes it meant the enemy was scheming, like the Variants and their human allies had done for the past eight years.

  “Captain, you aren’t a guest here. You’re a partner,” Presley said. “If you have anything else on your mind, just let me know. I’ll be as transparent as possible.”

  Beckham smiled kindly at that. He liked this man already, and not just because he reminded him of Lieutenant Colonel Jensen. Presley was truly an intelligent leader.

  “You mentioned scouts earlier. Do you have any outside the walls right now?” Beckham asked.

  “Drones in the sky and my best men on the ground at all times,” Presley replied.

  “Good, that’s the one thing we really failed at back in Portland, but resources were also a lot tighter.” Beckham stepped to the side of the rooftop. “If the Variants do come, we need plenty of warning to get people into shelters.”

  “Agreed,” Presley said. “I’ll see if we can widen our scouts’ range.”

  Beckham nodded again. For the first time in weeks, he felt like his family was relatively safe. Even with the mastermind here.

  “If you’ll accept a compliment from a company grade officer, this is good work, sir,” Beckham said. Presley clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

  “Anything else, Captain?”

  Beckham glanced at his watch. It was already late afternoon. “If you’d excuse me, sir, I’d like to go see how my wife and the science team are doing.”

  “Let me know if there is anything we can do for your family while you’re here,” Presley said.

  “Likewise, sir,” Beckham said. “I’m here to help.”

  He gave a nod to Fischer, but Fischer followed him away from the railing.

  “Mind if I join you, Captain?” Fischer asked. “I want another look at that ugly bastard.”

  Beckham didn’t really want company, but he also didn’t want to disrespect a person so crucial to the war effort.

  “Sure,” he replied.

  They went to the street and walked to the lab building, accompanied by the two guards that Fischer had brought with them, Tran and Chase. Neither of the men spoke other than to say hello to Beckham.
They scanned the streets and people for threats, clearly taking their job protecting Fischer very seriously.

  “Your family is here?” Fischer asked.

  “Yes, we decided to bring them along. I worry less when they’re close, and President Ringgold assured me this is one of the safest outposts.”

  Fischer put on his cowboy hat. “General Cornelius did a good job making Outpost Galveston pretty damn secure, too. I was there not long ago.”

  “That’s good to hear, and especially since he’s working with President Ringgold, even though he’s retired—”

  “He’s not retired. General Cornelius is doing more to save the Allied States than you might know.”

  “I’m aware of his commitments—”

  “I need to be honest with you,” Fischer interrupted again. “A war hero like you probably has a better perspective on this than me, but I was always taught to back the best horse in a race, and that is, without a doubt, the general.”

  Beckham halted and faced Fischer. The two guards moved away to give them some space.

  “The only race right now is the one for survival, Mr. Fischer,” Beckham said. “I’m not interested in talking politics or who to support now that the election is on hold. I’m interested in saving our country, so that maybe someday we can have that conversation.”

  “Fair enough, but I urge you to make some time to talk with General Cornelius. Your talents might be better spent keeping a closer dialogue going with him than you’d expect.”

  “I work for the president.”

  “Of course. I mean no disrespect.”

  Beckham kept walking, slightly frustrated. Fischer kept up and his guards closed back in around them. The sound of diesel engines provided a welcome distraction to the awkward silence that passed between them on the rest of the journey to the lab.

  People walking on the street moved to the side as a convoy of armored vehicles turned down the road and raced past Beckham and Fischer. Soldiers gripped machine guns in the turrets of Humvees.

  Beckham looked toward where they were heading, and a dark pit formed in his stomach. The first Humvee had already stopped right in front of the lab, and soldiers had piled out.

  Tran and Chase both cradled their rifles, looking around, clearly nervous by the commotion. They weren’t the only ones caught off guard.