Coughing, he stumbled into a hall, ducking under a fallen ceiling beam still smoldering. The choppers were strafing the building, sending in gouts of random gunfire. He might’ve escaped their sight, but he wasn’t safe yet.
Fitz finally made it to the main hallway.
“Fitz!” Rico said.
To his surprise, she now had Hopkins on her back in a fireman’s carry. Martin was beside her, chest heaving. Ace had his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Soot covered their fatigues and flesh.
Fitz joined them and took point.
They jogged down the hall, all coughing through the smoke. Behind them, something crashed through the ceiling. Blackened ceiling beams and ash poured through a hole, along with furniture and dry wall still aflame.
“Go, go, go!” Fitz yelled to be heard over the inferno.
They made it to an exit that butted up against a street. Charred cars lined the road. Papers, still burning, fluttered over the asphalt.
Fitz cautiously stepped outside. He spied one Black Hawk patrolling on the southern edge of the building. The other bird sounded like it was on the opposite side of the office building, but he couldn’t see with the smoke blocking his view.
The third chopper hadn’t yet returned.
He signaled for the others to follow. With Rico now lugging Hopkins on her back, they moved faster, straight toward the building across the street.
The growl of helicopter engines suddenly grew louder. Dark smoke parted with a wave of rotor wash. The first Black Hawk appeared above, spotlights probing the ground.
“Move!” Fitz yelled.
They made it across and into the other building before the helicopter opened fire. Rounds pounded into the doorway, kicking up bits of floor tiles and breaking windows.
Fitz didn’t stop until they got to the opposite exit. Through the windows he saw cars parked in front of the warehouses where the SDS equipment should be. The Humvees Dohi had mentioned were farther down the road, but he didn’t see Dohi or Mendez.
“Master Sergeant!” a voice shouted.
Fitz turned to his right. Through a doorway leading off the hallway, he saw one of the Wolfhounds.
“In here!” Fitz called to the others as he jogged toward the injured man.
The Wolfhound was propped up behind a desk, his eyes glazed over. Next to him was his comrade, passed out from the agony of his severed legs. The rest of the room was covered in heavy desks and tipped over chairs.
“Dohi… and Mendez ran to the Humvees,” the conscious Wolfhound said. “They told me… they told me to tell you they’d be ready when you got here.”
Fitz squeezed the Wolfhound’s shoulder, kneeling in front of him. “Thanks. You hold tight, and we’ll get you guys out of here soon.”
Rico lugged Hopkins into the office. She was breathing heavily when she laid him down behind another desk. Martin settled in beside his brothers, and Fitz crouched next to a fallen cabinet.
Ace aimed his rifle out a window.
The helicopters lowered toward the street, spotlights searching the office windows, lighting up the hallways. They were low enough now Fitz could clearly see the forms of the door gunners and the soldiers working the spotlights.
The choppers hovered down the road, passing in front of the warehouses and vehicles, hunting like beasts. But they were hunting in the wrong place.
Down the road, Fitz saw Dohi and Mendez emerge in the turrets of the Humvees. They grabbed the mounted machine guns and fired on the choppers.
Bullets sprayed through the open side doors and into the door gunners. One tumbled out, falling to the street.
The spotlights sparked and burst with incoming gunfire, going dark. Chunks of the glass in the cockpit gave way, fracturing and exploding. The Black Hawk tilted sideways, the pilot dead. The rotor blades broke against the ground, kicking up a wave of sparks as they fractured.
The bird erupted into flames, grinding across asphalt until it slammed against the side of the building. Smoke wafted from inside the other helicopter as it lifted away.
Dohi and Mendez swiveled their M240s and caught it in their stream of tracer rounds. The bird made it out over the trees past the warehouses before it suddenly dropped, disappearing beneath the canopy. An explosion burst from the woods.
Fitz motioned for the team to move out. Rico, Martin, and Ace helped pick up the Wolfhounds. They hurried past the wreckage of the first chopper. Judging by the mangled debris, Fitz doubted anyone had survived, but he kept his rifle up anyway.
Dohi waved from atop his Humvee. Mendez was propped up at the gun of the other. They were about twenty yards from the entrance to the office. Past where those Humvees were parked were the warehouses where Team Ghost would find the SDS equipment. Finally, they could finish their mission and go home.
Then a familiar sound boomed over the horizon.
The sound of another helicopter.
“Oh, shit,” Martin said, halting.
Fitz tugged Rico down against the ground. The rest of the team took cover next to them.
“Dohi, Mendez, get the hell out of there!” Fitz yelled.
The third Black Hawk raced over the burning woods, launching a volley of Hydra rockets that streaked through the smoke, and slammed into the warehouses.
Heat crashed into Fitz, and the concussive force from the exploding rockets swept over the group in a scorching wave.
Moments filled with thuds and explosions passed by in what felt like slow motion. Fitz couldn’t do anything but crouch down and pray.
Once the bird had expended everything it had, it tore away again.
As the smoke cleared, Fitz got up. It wasn’t just the warehouses destroyed. Both the Humvees were nothing but scrap metal.
Fitz’s ears rang as he tried to call out to the others. But he saw nothing except rolling smoke.
Their mission had ended, swept away by a deadly inferno. And now, Dohi and Mendez had vanished in the flames. There was nothing left but the smoldering remains of failure.
***
Beckham hated sitting in the comfy leather seat in the private jet while others were dying on the ground.
Fischer had the same guilty look in his eye, and so did Horn. They watched as Kate and a medic tended to Sammy, who had passed out from the pain.
In a separate closed-off section of the plane, Javier, Tasha, Jenny, and the dogs were resting—or were supposed to be. Beckham heard nervous chatter coming from the area.
He peered out of the window as they flew away from Outpost Manchester. The landscape was consumed in darkness except for the orange flashes of gunfire and flames now far in the distance.
After getting the rest of the technicians into another aircraft, Beckham had gladly taken Fischer’s offer to take the private plane. But he couldn’t help feeling like he was abandoning the people still down there. Just like when he’d been forced to leave Portland.
On another day, he would have considered staying, but Presley didn’t want to listen to reason or advice. The colonel wanted to do things his own way, and Beckham could see where that was leading now.
He would be surprised if there was anything left of Outpost Manchester by the time the sun rose again.
Tasha peeked out of the doorway in the back half of the plane. “Are we headed home?”
“Not right now,” Horn said. “Can you please go watch Jenny, Javier, and the dogs?”
Tasha looked like she was about to refuse.
“Please, Tasha,” Horn said softly. “I need your help.”
“Okay.” Tasha disappeared into the back of the plane again.
Horn looked at Fischer expectantly. “So, do you know where we’re going?”
The grizzled older man merely shrugged. “We still haven’t received the exact coordinates. Ringgold’s security forces won’t give them to us until the last minute to be sure no collaborators intercept our comms.”
“We have absolutely no idea?” Beckham asked.
“I’ve
got a trajectory,” Fischer said. “Headed south toward Long Island until we’re told otherwise.”
Horn folded his muscular arms over his chest.
“Ringgold’s right to be cautious,” Beckham said. “We just saw what happens when we underestimate the traitors in our midst.”
The pilot’s voice broke over the intercom. “Mr. Fischer, we’ve got an incoming satellite video call.”
“Patch it through,” Fischer replied.
A screen on the front bulkhead of the passenger cabin sizzled to life. The picture was grainy and the sound filled with the bite of static. To Beckham, that meant the incoming call was being heavily encrypted to prevent prying ears and eyes.
When the image settled, President Ringgold appeared. The wrinkles around her eyes looked especially pronounced, shadowed by dark half-circles.
Beckham had never seen her more exhausted.
“I’m glad to see you…” she started to say. “Where’s Dr. Carr and the kids?”
Kate bowed her head. “Carr didn’t make it, but the kids are safe.”
Ringgold lowered her eyes a moment.
“We completed our work,” Kate said. “We now have everything we need to tap into the collaborator and Variant network.”
“I’m happy to hear some good news,” Ringgold replied. “I just hope that after the night is over, things aren’t worse than we predicted.”
Beckham felt dread pooling in his stomach.
Ringgold’s voice sounded shaky when she spoke again. “I’m afraid Outpost Manchester wasn’t the only place that has been hit hard. Just as we’ve suspected, our enemy’s initial attacks were only testing our defenses. Combined with the collaborator attacks from the inside, we’re losing everything.”
She used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. Beckham could see a layer of tears forming.
“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Outpost Portland is gone. Lieutenant Niven called in an airstrike to take out the collaborators, and a small army of Variants that surrounded the outpost earlier tonight. That was pretty much the end of it, but they had no choice.”
“God, no,” Horn said, bowing his head.
“Timothy…” came a voice.
Horn looked over his shoulder at Tasha who stood cupping her mouth. He got up and hurried over to her. Beckham felt a tear of his own forming.
“How many outposts are left?” Kate asked.
“General Souza believes we will lose half by morning,” Ringgold said.
Beckham wiped at his eye, and kept it together, knowing despair would get him nowhere.
“What about Team Ghost?” he asked. “If they got the SDS technology from Project Rolling Stone, we could hold out, right?”
Ringgold’s pause told him all he needed to know.
“What?” he asked “Did something—”
“We lost all radio communications with Team Ghost and the Wolfhounds,” Ringgold said.
“How the hell did we lose contact?”
“There seems to be something interfering with radio signals around the lab campus, and we lost contact with the C-130 and the remaining group of the Wolfhounds guarding it about an hour ago.”
“They’re all dead?” Beckham’s insides twisted.
“We’re not sure,” Ringgold replied.
Beckham slammed his fist against one of the armrests.
Raised voices came from the back of the plane where the kids were with Horn. Beckham should have been back there to console them, but he remained seated to finish the call with Ringgold.
“Without the Rolling Stone technology, the Variants will destroy what’s left of civilization wherever they can tunnel,” Fischer said.
“There are other threats than tunneling Variants now,” she replied. “We’re getting reports of animals the collaborators have infected with VX-99. Dogs, the bats… it’s a horror show. My advisors are telling me they must have been working on this for years.”
“How?” Kate whispered incredulously.
No one had an answer for Kate. It was something Beckham desperately wished he could answer. Trying to figure out how they had missed all this would not help them bring back the outposts or all the thousands that had died.
For now, all they could do was focus on moving forward.
“From what we saw, from everything you’re telling us, we need to do something quick, but I’m not sure that tapping into the Variant network will give us the upper hand,” Beckham said. “We need something bigger.”
“I agree, even if we somehow deployed the SDS equipment soon, there won’t be much left for us to defend,” Fischer said.
“You’re both right,” Ringgold said. “That’s why we’re ordering a mass retreat to concentrate our remaining assets. Air strikes around the country haven’t stopped them. Recent intel suggests we may have a better ID on some of their bases, but ultimately, according to our estimates, it won’t be enough.”
“Won’t be enough?” Fischer asked. “Then what in Sam Hill are we going to do?”
“General Souza and I have been in close contact with Cornelius. We’ve also tried to recruit more foreign aid, but we’re not getting much. Even France is calling back the consultants they offered.”
“So we’re alone,” Fischer said.
“It seems that way,” Ringgold said. “We’ve evaluated options, and there is only one that we keep coming back to. One that may be our Hail Mary, and up until now, one that I disagreed with.”
Beckham was afraid to ask what the President had in mind, although he sensed where this was going, especially if Cornelius was involved.
His gut was right.
“I agree with Cornelius now,” Ringgold said, lacing her fingers together. “As hard as this is for me to say, we need to deploy what’s left of our active nuclear arsenal to hammer the Variants where they are the strongest. Targets will include all major cities where hives are suspected and collaborator locations have been identified.”
Fischer tugged on his mustache, but didn’t say a word.
“I don’t harbor any illusions about what this great country of ours will look like if we survive,” Ringgold said. “We’ll be turning our cities into radioactive festering ruins, but there’s no taking them back from what’s there now.”
“All due respect, but we’re not just talking about radioactive craters,” Beckham said. “Don’t forget what happened in Europe when the Variants were exposed to radiation.”
“That was mostly due to fallout from nuclear power plants,” Kate said. “Nuking the bastards will kill them before they can mutate further.”
Initially Beckham was surprised at his wife’s tone. But after all they’d been through, he realized he shouldn’t have been.
“There are communities of people out there, living on their own,” Beckham said. “Not to mention refugees. The collaborators have taken our people captive, too. All of them will be condemned to die.”
Ringgold’s face fizzled in and out of existence. “Yes, I’m all too aware of the sacrifices that will be made if we choose this course of action, but we have given the stranded outside of our outposts every opportunity to join us in this fight.”
“You said this is the best option, but what are the others?” Beckham asked.
“One is to stay the course.”
“We already know where that one leads,” Beckham said, picturing the beasts swarming Outpost Portland and Manchester. “What else?”
“We try to evacuate whoever we can. Escape across the ocean.”
“Maybe,” Kate said. “But then we’re giving North America to these monsters. They’ll continue to propagate and grow in strength. Eventually they’ll make the journey, too.”
“It doesn’t sound like our so-called allies are willing to help us now, either,” Fischer said. “So why would they take us in, especially if there’s a risk we’re bringing along collaborators?”
“There is no guarantee,” Ringgold said. “That’s why I’m leaning toward the nuclear option.
”
Beckham hated the idea of launching nukes on their soil and cities. The home he had fought for, that he had sacrificed so much for. The place where he had raised a family, where he had done everything in his power to protect his friends and rebuild a better and free civilization.
For eight years they had accomplished that. Creating outposts where citizens could live in peace after a lifetime of violence.
But as soon as they launched those nukes, the country as he knew it would permanently be gone. The United States and now the Allied States would be just a memory.
“If we do this,” Beckham said finally. “Everything we know will be left in ashes.”
There had to be a better way.
He took a moment to think.
“What if we attack the major hubs, but hold back most of our nukes?” Beckham asked. “Maybe we give Team Ghost a chance to complete the mission, pull everyone back to the safest and most defendable outposts. Then, if Ghost fails, we launch everything we’ve got at those animals?”
“What do you think, Kate?” Ringgold asked.
She managed a nod and then reached out for Beckham’s hand.
“Okay,” Ringgold said. “By the time you reach our secured location, the nuclear weapons will be deployed on select targets.”
“And then we’re back to where we started nearly a decade ago,” Fischer said. “Back underground, hiding from the monsters.”
Ringgold grimaced as she turned her eyes downward. When she raised them, Beckham saw a new wave of confidence.
“No,” Ringgold said. “We’re not launching these weapons just to hide.”
She unfolded her fingers and sat up straighter, staring at the camera with raw determination.
“We’re launching them to fight back. Once the smoke clears, and the ashes settle, we return to the battlefield and throw every last man, woman, and bullet at the beasts to save what’s left of our country.”
o—o—o
EXTINCTION ASHES
They sent forth men to battle,
But no such men return;
And home, to claim their welcome,
Come ashes in an urn.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 65
