The security Beckham felt slipped away at the sight of a strike team speeding to the location where his wife was working.
It reminded him that the biggest threat from an enemy wasn’t always from the outside; sometimes it came from within.
— 17 —
Team Ghost had slept on the C-130H flight to Palo Alto, California, refueling their energy reserves after their successful mission to New Orleans. Eight hours ago, Dohi and the team had changed aircraft at an FOB in Alabama.
Now Dohi sat in one of the mesh jumper seats against the plane’s sand-colored fuselage beside Ace, who was still snoring on his left with his arms folded over his chest and belly. Mendez was another seat down, clutching a rosary. Rico and Fitz were on his right, talking quietly amongst themselves.
She smiled, dimples forming at something he said.
Dohi usually envied them, but not today—today he needed the silence.
He surveyed the Orca soldiers across the tracks and bolts of the deck. The Wolfhounds, a platoon-sized group of twenty soldiers led by Lieutenant Singh were all seated along the opposite bulkhead.
The team was a hodgepodge of former mercenaries and militia who had joined General Cornelius’s private army. Another group of soldiers with Orca badges sat near the cockpit, but they would be staying back to guard the plane during the mission.
Dohi had listened to them talk on the long trip across the country. From what he gathered, the Wolfhounds had spent most of the past eight years working in the field on missions hunting collaborators and Variants outside of Galveston.
But this mission had pushed them out of their element, and Lieutenant Singh had made it clear Fitz was in charge. Their rank meant nothing because the Orca soldiers weren’t part of the Allied States army. And so long as they were out in Variant territory, the Wolfhounds would defer to Team Ghost.
Dohi just hoped their new friends lived up to their namesake, but he wasn’t impressed. The nervous tap of boots echoed in the aircraft while the soldiers looked out the windows.
They were beginning their descent over the coast of California. A low-lying fog blanketed most of the landscape. A few skeletal skyscrapers pierced the gray like broken bones through flesh, some of their upper levels sheared off.
“It’s a graveyard down there,” said one Singh’s men.
Ace stirred awake, pulling his folded arms away from his chest.
“Is that… is that San Jose we just passed?” asked one of the Wolfhounds.
“Yeah, I think so,” answered the first soldier.
“We haven’t seen anything yet,” said a Wolfhound soldier with a spider neck tattoo. “The shit at the ground level is the really bad stuff. I heard there are mutant animals out here with the Variants.”
“Martin, what did I tell you about sharing conspiracy shit?” Singh asked.
“LT, it ain’t conspiracy shit,” Martin replied. He toyed with a gold chain that had a gold AK-47 pendant on it.
The young man was another example of a former merc turned soldier.
A man with a scraggly beard and deep-set green eyes chuckled. His name-tape read Hopkins. “You got to learn the difference between reality and your damn nightmares.”
“Shit is real, brah,” Martin added. “I heard ’bout a guy that saw some dogs that looked half-zombie. That VX-99 stuff can make animals crazy.”
“That was just a rabid dog,” Hopkins said. “Not VX-99. You do know the difference, don’t you? The shit doesn’t work on animals.”
“You sure about that?” Martin asked, one eyebrow raised.
Ace leaned over to Dohi and whispered, “These guys are like puppies at a fireworks show. Nervous as hell.”
Dohi gave a half nod.
Truth was, the Wolfhounds weren’t the only nervous ones.
The difference between Ghost and these guys was that Dohi and his teammates knew how to control the fear. Countless missions behind enemy lines had taught them to handle their fear and use it to their advantage.
Newbies like Martin and Hopkins didn’t.
And that’s what made Dohi really nervous.
“Mios dios, if this is Cornelius’ best, we’re fucked,” Mendez said quietly. He slipped his rosary back in his chest pocket.
Rico narrowed her eyes, leaning in so the Wolfhounds wouldn’t overhear. “Come on, amigo. You don’t remember your first drop into uncharted territory?”
Ace chuckled again. “I heard you pissed yourself.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Mendez said. “Stepped into a creek. Sure smelled like piss though.”
“Whatever you say, man,” Rico said.
Fitz shook his head. “Guys, come on.”
San Jose disappeared into the distance, and Dohi turned back to the troop hold as the plane descended toward the coastline. Dark waves lapped over a wide, pebbly beach beneath sheer cliffs.
“All right, listen up,” Fitz said. “Our mission is to infiltrate the National Accelerator Laboratories and retrieve all the SDS equipment and available intel on Project Rolling Stone…”
He paused a moment. “We’ll move in two units, with members of Team Ghost leading both. Lieutenant Singh has command of the Wolfhounds, but for the purposes of this mission, I’m top dog. We get in, find the material we need, bring it back to the plane, and we’re out of here. If you listen to orders, stay frosty, and keep your eyes open, we’ll all go home. Understood?”
Most of the soldiers nodded. It was clear they looked up to Team Ghost, which was good, because that hopefully meant they would listen to them in the field. But there were a few that didn’t seem to appreciate the ad hoc rank structure.
“What about enemies?” Martin asked. “You going to tell us what to expect down there?”
“SOCOM doesn’t have much intel on this area,” Fitz said.
“What’s that mean?” Hopkins asked. “They have to know something.”
Rico plucked a piece of chewed gum from her helmet.
“There could be collaborators. Could be Variants. Could even be some invaders from another country looking to take some land when we’re not looking,” Fitz said. “We’re prepared to face any threat. Anything with a weapon should be considered hostile, but you do not engage unless fired upon. Stealth is our primary weapon here.”
“I heard all the collaborators moved east,” Martin said. “Same with the Variants. After all, that’s where all the food is.”
“Martin, shut your trap and listen,” Singh said.
“For all we know, Variants have been camping out here underground for the past eight years just like they were back east,” Fitz said. “Maybe breeding too.”
Dohi was prepared mentally for anything. After all, the one thing he had learned in the apocalypse was that unpreparedness was the worst enemy.
“Once we reach the freeway outside the National Accelerator Campus, we split up to cover more ground,” Fitz said. “Lieutenant, you and ten men are with me, Rico and Ace. Dohi and Mendez, you take the other ten.”
Fitz finished his orders as the plane dipped. There were no other questions, just solemn looks, and whispered prayers.
One of the Wolfhounds leaned down, and Dohi thought he was going to puke, but he managed to keep all of the food in his gut.
“Get ready!” Fitz yelled.
The big airplane touched down, the troop hold rattling. When it eased to a stop, the crew chief lowered the rear ramp.
“Go, go, go!” Fitz yelled.
Dohi immediately took point at Fitz’s signal, spearheading the group as they charged out into the sand, rifles at the ready to set up a perimeter.
As soon as the last soldier was out, Dohi took point. He found the remnants of a trail that had once been a hiking path marked with rusted signs. It was now overgrown with weeds and brambles, but it would be no problem for him to find his way through, even with the fog.
It took an hour of hiking in silence through the muck and tall grass shadowed by trees before Dohi paused at the crest of a wooded
hill. The higher ground, too, was suffocated by the ominous fog.
He was unable to see more than the trees clawing through the gray a few dozen yards in front of him. The other members of Team Ghost gathered beside him to figure out their next move. Several of the Wolfhounds trailed behind them, all organized into combat intervals.
The chirp of birds was reassuring. It meant there probably weren’t Variants in the area. For now, Dohi would take this as a good omen. But he didn’t like the fog.
Fitz didn’t either. “We’re only a few miles out from our target, but we could be walking into an ambush set by anything or anyone that saw the plane,” he said.
“You want to hold here a bit and see if the fog clears?” Singh asked.
Fitz thought on it, shooting Dohi a glance first.
“We need to keep moving,” Fitz said. “Dohi will make sure we don’t wander into a trap. Tell your men to keep frosty and report anything suspicious.”
“You got it,” Singh said, before turning back to his platoon.
Fitz signaled to move out.
A cold wind blowing in from the west sent chills up Dohi’s flesh. He kept his ears perked for the singing birds, letting them know that they were safe.
But he knew they weren’t safe by any means—they were in Variant country now. The deepest anyone had been in years, and the question wasn’t if they would encounter the beasts. It was when.
Coyote is always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry.
More words from his grandfather haunted his thoughts.
The soldiers speared through the fog behind Dohi, and he guided them deeper into a field blackened by fire. Skeletal trees twisted out of the ash covered dirt.
The birds had stopped chirping, but he saw no tracks from animals, Variants, or humans. Nothing living at all.
Fitz gestured for Dohi to keep pushing forward, and Dohi brought his rifle back up to his shoulder, scanning the haze for hostiles. His boots crunched over branches that fell away into dust.
Somewhere a crow cawed.
A breeze rustled over the crisped plants. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight.
From the tendrils of gray fog emerged a cluster of living trees. Not much grass grew along the ground, but leaves covered it as densely as the fog choked the landscape.
Something about those leaves looked wrong to Dohi. Kind of like he was looking at a forged one-hundred-dollar bill.
He stopped and thrust his fist in the air, trusting his gut.
“What’s up?” Fitz whispered.
Dohi jerked his chin toward the leaves.
Fitz gave him a cockeyed gaze at first, seeming to be confused. Then realization dawned over him, too.
The leaves only rustled a little when the wind blew over them, but never flew away. They were too perfectly dispersed along the ground. Dohi knelt and peeled back some that were stuck to the ground.
Instead of coming up separately, they came up in one big carpet, exposing a pit nearly six-feet deep. Punji spikes jutted up from the dark soil at the bottom. The chamber spread along to the north and south, bordering the burned down woods, nearly twenty feet in length.
A rotten odor drifted up from the freshly revealed booby trap; they hadn’t been the first to discover it. But those that came before had seen it when it was too late.
Dohi crouched for a better look at the bodies impaled by the spikes. Two of them had grown leathery and dry. A fresher corpse was covered in white maggots crawling out of a misshapen skull.
It took him a moment to realize they weren’t humans.
The corpses were Variants.
Someone had set a trap for the monsters.
Dohi rose to his feet.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, he thought. Maybe the adage would prove true. But something told him these people, whoever they were, could be just as big of a threat as the monsters.
***
Two guards wearing black fatigues with the Raven logo stood outside another entrance to the laboratory. A line of armored vehicles and Humvees were parked in a semi-circle in the parking lot, providing a second line of defense around the building housing the mastermind.
Fischer and his guards had waited outside with Beckham for over an hour, trying to figure out what was going on. But even after telling them who they were, the heavily armed guards would not grant them access to the lab.
Every minute that passed, Beckham grew angrier. Fischer had a feeling things were about to get heated.
“This is such fucking bullshit,” Beckham said.
Tran and Chase looked at Fischer, but he shook his head to keep them from getting involved.
“Screw this,” Beckham said. He set off for the vehicles.
The soldier in the closest turret shouted, “This is authorized access only!”
“My wife is inside!” Beckham yelled. He marched toward the line of armored vehicles; gun barrels rotated toward him.
“Stop, sir!” yelled the same soldier in the turret.
“Ah, horse shit,” Fischer said. He walked after Beckham despite protests from Tran and Chase.
“I said halt!” the soldier yelled.
“You’re going to have to shoot me!” Beckham shouted back.
Fischer twisted toward the sound of squealing tires. A Humvee came to an abrupt stop in front of the parked M-ATVs and other armored vehicles forming a barrier in front of the lab facility.
The soldiers in turrets pushed their barrels up as the passenger side door opened. Colonel Presley got out and hurried over to the entrance.
“What the hell is going on?” Beckham asked. “If my wife is in danger, I…”
“She’s not,” Presley said. “My men are just following strict orders to keep this place secure. Your wife is safer in there than out here, Captain. I need you to come with me.”
Fischer wasn’t sure what in the Sam Hill was happening now.
The sun was already going down on the horizon. Soon darkness would swallow them, bringing with it the evil monstrosities it concealed. His fingers caressed the handle of his holstered pistol.
Tran and Chase picked up on his worry, shifting their rifles up out of relaxed mode.
“Captain, let’s go with the colonel,” Fischer suggested. “Assuming, that is, my men and I may also join. I have enough manners to bow out of a dinner party I’m not invited to.”
“Of course.” Presley nodded. “You’re free to come with us, Mr. Fischer, as are your men.”
Beckham looked back at the lab entrance and then reluctantly walked over to the Humvee with Fischer and his guards.
“You need to promise me the lab is safe,” Beckham said.
“Safest place here with all this security,” Presley said gesturing. “Now, you coming with me or not?” He hopped into the front passenger seat, not waiting for an answer.
Fischer got in the back with Beckham and his men.
“Our scouts spotted packs of juveniles on the outskirts of the outpost,” Presley said as the truck pulled away. “About two clicks out from the main wall. They’re small packs, the equivalent of a recon unit.”
“How many of these packs have you spotted in the past?” Beckham asked.
“None. This is the first time we’ve seen Variants so close.”
“They know the mastermind is here, don’t they?” Fischer asked, cold realization hitting him like an unexpected blizzard in Texas.
Beckham cursed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“I’m hoping that’s not the case, but either way I’m not taking any chances and don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do,” Presley said. “I’ve got all hands on deck, and we’re moving civilians into the shelters for the night.”
“My family,” Beckham said. “That apartment had glass windows, if we’re hit with bats—”
“The building has a shelter in the basement,” Presley reassured him. “There are guards on the roof; the street is completely blocked off; and our aerial defenses are
locked, cocked, and ready for any threat.”
Fischer could tell Beckham wasn’t convinced.
“Sir, all due respect, but are you sure you don’t have any collaborators in your midst?” Beckham asked. “How else could the Variants know about the mastermind?”
Presley didn’t hesitate even a second in his answer. “Captain, I told you that we do not have a collaborator problem here.”
“That’s what we thought in Portland.” Beckham ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back. “We underestimated them… I underestimated them, and I’ve lost a lot of friends and my home because of it.”
“I’m sorry for your losses, but this isn’t Outpost Portland,” Presley said.
Fischer turned to look out the windows on the drive. They sped through empty streets in silence, the fiery glow of a sunset retreating on the horizon. He re-positioned his holstered .357 Magnum, fearing that the silence was about to be shattered by the screech of monsters.
He had listened quietly back at the command building while Presley explained how safe this place was to Beckham, and all of the things they had done to ensure it never fell.
And while Fischer wanted to believe the defenses were as good as Presley kept saying, he remembered Cornelius’s ominous warning about not trusting anyone.
The driver steered the Humvee toward a cluster of tents at the far reaches of the walls. Soldiers hurried back and forth, carrying equipment from a stack of crates being unloaded from the back of a flatbed.
Others worked at tables under a camouflage tent that shielded computers and electronic equipment from view and rain. Swollen clouds rolled in from the west across the purple skyline, threatening storms.
“This is it,” Presley said. “Won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
Fischer put on his hat and stepped out of the vehicle. He followed Beckham and Presley into a tent furnished with metal tables with computer monitors. A young female officer with short hair and blue eyes stood to attention, then backed away to give them all room.
“Colonel, this is live footage from our scouts,” she said.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 53
