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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Timothy tried to think of a plan to stop the madness, but the faster they raced into the outpost, the more muddled his mind became. If the attack continued at this rate, Timothy wouldn’t have anyone to tell about the base.

  “It’s almost over,” Pete said with a crooked grin. “Soon we’ll own this outpost, and our thralls will feast.”

  The truck stopped at the next intersection with a destroyed checkpoint.

  Timothy could see the campus now.

  “This is the spot,” Pete said. “The others should be here soon.”

  Fiery blasts and gunfire cut through the night while they waited. It wasn’t long until the trucks with the dogs arrived. The guards let the dogs out of their cages, and the abominations took off down the main road into campus.

  Alfred opened the truck’s door, gesturing for Timothy to get out. Agonized screams wailed between the staccato sound of gunshots and the chorus of mutant hounds.

  They set off toward the battle with six other armed collaborators.

  Two pickup trucks followed the group as they made their way toward the dormitories.

  More shrieks split the air.

  As they got closer, Timothy wanted to close his eyes when he saw the scattered bodies. The collaborators were proud of the macabre scene. They watched in silence, their features stoic.

  Timothy held back the bile in his throat.

  Variants and mutated dogs fed on people who had been caught during their retreat.

  An Alpha tore one of the bodies in half and sucked at the corpse’s insides. Nearly a dozen people fled in that direction from a side road, oblivious to threats waiting.

  He wanted to scream and warn them, but it wouldn’t matter.

  In the distance, Timothy spotted more people climbing out of windows to escape Variants that had made it into the shelters. A woman jumped from the second floor, only to be torn apart by a pack of prowling beasts outside the building.

  A man with a pistol fired at four Variants surrounding him and two women in the parking lot. They backed toward a parked car. A monstrous dog leaped around the bumper and tackled the man. Its teeth tore into his neck, pulling out sinew as the two women screamed in terror.

  Pete held a walkie-talkie up to his ear.

  Sniper rifles cracked in the distance. The heads of several Variants burst in sprays of bloody mist. One of the Alphas turned in the direction of the gunfire. Bullets plunged through its body, but still it advanced, roaring and gathering a cadre of smaller monsters.

  The Rangers were still in this fight.

  There might yet be hope to turn the slaughter around.

  “They’re retreating to the command post.” Pete pointed the remote at Timothy. “You’re up. The faster you do this, the faster we call off the beasts.”

  Timothy nodded and set off down the road, doing his best to ignore the mangled and shredded bodies littering his path. He turned into a parking lot. If he remembered correctly, this one led to another where more dormitories were. Command was located between those buildings.

  Several Variants and hounds sprinted toward the increasingly sporadic sounds of gunfire. Two diseased dogs ripped apart dead bodies, spilling the organs of carcasses across the asphalt. A few gaunt Variants fought for scraps nearby, shoveling mangled flesh into their mouths.

  Why weren’t they attacking him?

  A bony beast straddling a dead man glanced up at Timothy as he neared the tree line separating the parking lots. Intestines hung from its maw like noodles. But it didn’t seem interested in him. Nor did the other creatures.

  They simply looked at him and then looked away. He didn’t hear the pop of the creature’s collar zapping him. No way the beast knew that he was one of their allies yet, right?

  It struck him then. The chip that Nick had implanted in his neck. That had to be it. These beasts probably had them too, and they were all connected somehow.

  Timothy started searching for a weapon as he walked. Several soldiers had fallen in the trees. He spotted a rifle and ran over, fully expecting a zap from his collar.

  But none came.

  He was out of sight from the collaborators now. They would catch up to him again soon, but for now, he was free.

  He picked up the rifle and grabbed another magazine off the vest of a dead soldier. Then he took a knife and slipped it in his waistband. With the blade, he could excise the chip.

  That also probably meant the creatures would turn on him if he no longer had it implanted in himself. He stood, armed for the first time since his captivity, conflicted.

  Part of him wanted to go back and mow down Nick, Pete, and Alfred. But he also knew there was something more important at stake than revenge. The intel he had about Mount Katahdin, if true, could save other outposts from Portland’s fate.

  That was his mission now.

  He took off for the command post, keeping low until he spotted the building.

  Several Army Rangers fired rifles from the rooftop at the monsters surrounding it. He spotted more guns in the windows.

  He slunk past the Variants closing in on the building, coming so close to the monsters he could smell their sour flesh and sweat.

  They continued to ignore him, and Timothy made his way to a clearing. He thought about calling up to the Rangers, telling them who he was. They probably wouldn’t be able to hear him and that might only get him shot in all the chaos.

  Two Variants threw themselves at the reinforced door ahead. Another began scaling the wall toward the roof.

  Gritting his teeth, Timothy took aim and fired. Bullets stitched up the side of the climbing beast. The other two at the door turned toward Timothy.

  They too jerked and collapsed as he unloaded the rest of his first magazine into their bony bodies. Then he rushed between their corpses and started pounding on the door.

  “Please, let me in!” he yelled.

  He looked over his shoulder for the collaborators. If they were watching now, maybe they would think this was all part of his ploy to get them into the command post.

  But even if the collaborators were convinced, six Variants prowling along the edges of the clearing didn’t seem to be.

  One took a step forward, dropping to all fours.

  “Please, help! I’m Timothy Temper! Jake Temper’s son!”

  He slammed his fist against the door.

  The pack of Variants moved in closer. More gunfire rang out from the rooftops. Screams erupted from the parking lot where the monsters feasted.

  Timothy levered his hand back, ready to pound again. One Variants twitched its head as it looked between him and the dead monsters at his feet. It looked as if it was figuring out whether he was an ally or traitor.

  Then the door flung open.

  “Get in, kid!” someone said, grabbing his shoulder.

  The door slammed shut behind him, and he was suddenly assaulted with a chaotic din. Down the halls people ran shouting orders. He saw one soldier covered in blood, gashes along both of his cheeks. Somehow the man was standing, but there were many others slumped against the walls. Several looked dead, with bullet wounds or terrible lacerations from Variants covering their bodies.

  People in civilian clothes were among the dead and dying. Their wails and pleas for help echoed in the hall.

  Timothy staggered forward, trying to look for someone in charge. Lieutenant Niven or Sergeant Ruckley. Someone who he could tell about Mount Katahdin.

  He rounded a corner, the tile slick with blood. The trail led up a stairwell to the higher levels where the boom of gunfire echoed against the walls. A door suddenly opened behind him and screaming echoed deeper in the building.

  Turning, he saw two soldiers carrying wounded inside. People pushed and shoved their way into the passage. A female and male soldier came inside last, both carrying children.

  He recognized the woman. “Sergeant Ruck—”

  A zap from his collar made him drop his rifle.

  Another shock burned into his neck. He gritted h
is teeth, gripping the collar. The new group of Rangers and civilians made their way toward him. He reached up toward them, but they all passed him by.

  “Ruckley!” Timothy wailed.

  She suddenly stopped, handing the child off to another soldier. Then she made her way over to him. A soiled bandage was wrapped around her right arm and blood streaked down her chest.

  “Sergeant,” he said. “I have information that…”

  A third shock dropped him to the ground.

  Timothy’s eyes teared up as he battled the pain. The collaborators wanted him to open the door, let them in. This was their reminder.

  “Mount… Mount Katahdin,” he managed.

  “Slow down, kid, where are you hurt?” She reached down and saw his collar, rearing back at the sight.

  She screamed for back up while pulling out her pistol and aiming it at his head. Several soldiers ran over, rifles pointed down at him.

  Outside, the creatures’ howls came in during the respite of gunfire.

  Another electric shock coursed through Timothy’s body. Ruckley bent over him with her pistol.

  “Mount Katahdin,” Timothy mumbled. “That’s where the collaborators are… that’s where their base is.”

  “Hey, isn’t that Jake Temper’s son,” someone said.

  Ruckley looked over her shoulder, then back to Timothy. She moved her gun away from his head.

  “Jets are inbound, Sergeant!” shouted a deep voice. “Everyone, find cover!”

  “Get him in the shelter,” Ruckley said.

  Timothy felt people lifting him up. They carried him down the hall, and then down into a basement filled with frightened civilians. He was put up against a wall as another shock coursed through his body.

  His vision blurred.

  “Timothy, you still with me?” Ruckley asked.

  He tried to nod but his muscles were locked rigid, and the pain was too much. Tears streamed over his eyes.

  “Incoming!” shouted a voice.

  Timothy thought he heard jet engines. He definitely heard the explosions and then felt the floor rumbling from impacts.

  Cries. Maybe triumphant. Maybe out of pain.

  The electric shocks came again.

  Over his own agony, he suddenly focused on one thing—the image of Pete, Nick, Alfred and the other collaborators burning on the ground with their thralls.

  Dust rained from the ceiling and the lights winked off, casting darkness over the shelter. The screams that followed were far from triumphant. These were pained wails of agony.

  They faded away, but he heard one last thing before he passed out—the shriek of a monster.

  — 26 —

  Fitz crouched inside the shipping container with Team Ghost and the injured Wolfhounds that had nearly been butchered alive. The gunfire around the National Accelerator Laboratory had grown more sporadic.

  But like vultures hovering over carrion, Black Hawks circled the base, their rotors beating the air with a vicious growl. From Fitz’s observations, he noticed the birds rotate out, presumably to stay fueled while maintaining eyes in the sky over the base.

  It made no sense to Fitz.

  Black Hawks were rare for the military, and how the hell did they have fuel?

  The collaborators and Variants must have been more organized than command had realized out here.

  He shook those concerns aside to focus. Those questions would have to be answered later. For now, he had to keep his team alive.

  If he had kept track of the choppers accurately, there were only two now. The third had departed a few minutes earlier. That meant whoever these people were, they had a place to refuel in range.

  Fitz risked peering out the cracked-open door. Using his night vision goggles, he spotted a chopper circling nearby, machine guns trained on the ground. He turned back to Rico and Ace who were crouched next to Martin. The Wolfhound still seethed in anger from the massacre he’d witnessed, his jaw clenched.

  Mendez and Dohi were in the back of the container taking care of Hopkins and the other two injured Wolfhounds. The man with the missing legs had woken and groaned in pain. Dohi bent down to keep him quiet.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Rico said. “What’s the plan, Fitz?”

  Fitz knew when she used his real name she was worried.

  He was too.

  The radios were jammed, they didn’t have the Rolling Stone tech, and with the Wolfhounds mostly dead and a new enemy out there, he wasn’t sure what the right move was.

  “Your last plan got all my brothers killed,” Martin muttered.

  “This ain’t our fault, amigo, and you’re starting to really piss me off,” Mendez said.

  “Cool it,” Fitz said to Mendez. Then he looked at Martin. “You want to blame us, fine, but if you want to survive, you got to work with us.”

  “So what’s your brilliant plan then?” Martin asked.

  “Shoot those choppers down,” Mendez said. “I could plug ’em with a couple good shots.”

  “Don’t think so,” Ace said. “Unless you got something more than that M4.”

  “Look we still don’t even know who they are,” Rico said. “We don’t know what they’ve got in store for us.”

  A chopper boomed overhead, flying in low as its spotlights traced over the ground. The light flashed inside the shipping container door.

  “My guess is collaborators,” Dohi said. “Someone compromised our mission.”

  “I have a bad feeling you’re right,” Fitz said.

  Rico shook her head, like she didn’t believe it. “You ever seen collaborators with Black Hawks? Not me… Hell, the Allied States is low on those birds.”

  Fitz started to reply, but then he heard the crash of metal.

  The cannibals they had imprisoned in another shipping container had escaped.

  He pushed open the door a little wider and saw the cannibals streaming toward a thicket of trees to the southeast.

  The two Black Hawks trained their spotlights on the people and flew over to intercept them.

  We might not get a better chance, Fitz thought.

  He rose on his blades and looked at Hopkins. The man’s eyes were barely staying open.

  “Martin, grab Hopkins,” Fitz said.

  Martin looked ready to protest, but then grabbed his comrade under an arm.

  “Mendez and Dohi, you carry those two,” Fitz said. “Rico, rearguard. Ace, on me. We’re moving. Now.”

  Mendez hoisted the Wolfhound missing his legs into a fireman’s carry, and Dohi gave the other soldier his shoulder, helping the man stand.

  Fitz slipped out of the container, hesitating outside. The two Black Hawks soared above the trees where the cannibals had run.

  Using the distraction, Fitz led the team away from the containers. Dohi and Mendez managed to keep up, but Martin lagged slightly behind as he helped Hopkins. Rico reached out to assist.

  All around the campus, fires raged through the buildings from the attack. Oily smoke covered the stars and moon.

  Fitz signaled to an office building blazing with flames. If his memory served him correctly, going inside and out the back would take them to the warehouses with the Project Rolling Stone tech. With every other route vulnerable to an attack from the choppers, he hoped the structure and the smoke would provide some cover. They would have to cross a wide-open space to get there first.

  Dohi jogged next to him, practically carrying the injured Wolfhound. “I saw some Humvees earlier that had M240s behind those warehouses. If I can get to them, I might be able to take out those choppers…”

  “Do it,” Fitz said. “You too, Mendez. Take those two Wolfhounds with you and get them secured.”

  Dohi and Mendez took off.

  A sudden blast of gunfire made Fitz twist. One of the choppers unleashed a storm of rounds into the trees. Screams sounded, but were quickly silenced.

  The other Black Hawk peeled off from the woods and started toward Team Ghost and their injured com
rades. Its spotlight raked over the ground, just a few dozen yards from lighting up Martin, Rico, and Hopkins. Those three would be the first to be smeared across the pavement.

  The last sputters of the second chopper’s machine guns dissipated.

  Fire churned through the top of the building ahead. Bricks and chunks of the walls from the crumbling upper floors littered the ground outside the office. Ace was the first there, and crouched with his rifle up. Fitz arrived a moment later and knelt behind a pile of bricks adjacent to Ace.

  Dohi and Mendez had already disappeared through the blazing building with the other two Wolfhounds, but Rico, Martin, and Hopkins were still running to catch up.

  They weren’t going to make it.

  Rotor wash blew dust and cinder around the hapless trio.

  In mere seconds, they would be dead.

  Fitz brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired a burst at the cockpit of the Black Hawk. The bullets sparked off the metal and glass. The 5.56 mm M4 rounds couldn’t bring down a chopper. If he was lucky, the best he could do was score a shot that brought down a door gunner.

  None of that was the goal, though.

  The chopper swerved hard to its right, spotlight sweeping away from Rico and the others. Fitz ran before the light could hit him, using the smoke and scree for cover. Sweat poured down his face as he unleashed another salvo of frantic fire.

  Bullets painted the office building in response, trailing after him. He rolled away from the spray, got up, and kept running. Ash and embers lifted into the air above when gunfire raked into the building again.

  The second chopper soared far ahead, looking to cut him off. Caught in a pincer movement, he had nowhere else to go but into the building. He lunged sideways, throwing himself through one of the busted windows on the ground floor.

  Jagged fragments of glass tore into his flesh like the teeth of hungry Variants. He slammed against a desk, then scrambled over broken glass with his gloved hands and knee pads.

  Bullets punched holes into the floor and drywall. Some lanced dangerously past him, close enough he could hear them whooshing past. Dust sprayed from their impact, kicking up a foggy screen.

  Fitz scrambled to stand on his blades. Smoke drifted along the ceiling, and he heard the sizzle of burning fire chewing through the building.