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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  She recognized Ron with his buzzed head and bandages covering wounds from Manchester. Leslie was here too, her long blond hair tied in a ponytail. Between them walked someone Kate hadn’t expected.

  “Sammy!” she yelled.

  The computer engineer limped, one tattooed arm clamped over her abdomen. Kate ran to her.

  “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting,” Kate said.

  “We tried to tell her that,” Leslie said.

  “She doesn’t listen,” Ron added.

  Sammy cracked a pained smile. “You think I trust a bunch of biologists with my computer program?”

  “Seriously though, are you sure you’re up for this?” Kate asked.

  “Look, we need to infiltrate the Variant network as fast as possible,” Sammy said. “I developed the software, and I don’t think anyone here understands communication networks as well as I do.”

  Kate sighed. She wasn’t going to argue with Sammy, because as much as she hated to admit it, the engineer was right. They absolutely needed her.

  “Can we get some help with this stuff?” Ron asked, pointing to a few crates that the soldiers had helped carry from their chopper.

  “What is all this?” Beckham asked.

  “Splash suits and masks,” Leslie said. “We’re going underground. There might be contaminants, airborne and otherwise. This will help protect us.”

  “Understood.” Beckham directed a few soldiers to open the supply crates.

  “Wait, we’re going down there?” Ron asked, peering down into the pit.

  Leslie stepped up for a look.

  “We’ve got plenty of soldiers to protect us,” Kate said. “And my husband is taking the lead.”

  “Good enough for me,” Sammy said.

  Beckham gave orders to the other guards. There were twelve in total, all armed with rifles and decked out in body armor.

  Kate looked to Ron. “Do you have everything we need?”

  He shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and opened it to reveal its contents. “Two laptops—one spare—and a handful of flexible microelectric arrays.”

  “Good,” Kate said. “Let’s suit up.”

  Ron and Leslie helped the soldiers into splash suit coveralls. They taped their boots and gloves and fitted each with a full facemask respirator. Sammy gave Beckham a wrist monitor that reported oxygen and temperature levels to help gauge the tunnel’s environmental compatibility.

  Once the soldiers were outfitted, the science team donned their protective gear, each strapping on wrist monitors of their own. Kate took in a breath, smelling the slight plastic odor of the rebreather system.

  “After you, Captain,” Kate said.

  Beckham led the way down the metal stairs into the old sewer line. Hot air emanated from inside like they were entering the throat of a giant beast.

  “What’s with the heat?” Ron asked.

  Kate threw up a finger at the technician. She wasn’t a soldier, but she knew the value of quiet when infiltrating unknown territory, even if you had been told it was likely safe. From all her time with Beckham, she had soaked in a few lessons. It was the only way to survive as long as they had.

  Once they hit the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel curved into a relatively flat floor. Their boots slurped over fragments of the red webbing that had been destroyed by the demolition team prior to Kate and her team’s arrival.

  A demolitions team had rigged C4 charges throughout the tunnels with lines snaking away to the detonators. Seeing the explosive charges didn’t bother Kate, but the rising temperature did. It was a good fifteen degrees hotter already.

  Beckham flipped on his tactical light as they left the reach of the sun. Beams of white light with target designators speared the darkness from a dozen rifles.

  Leslie gasped.

  “Holy shit,” Ron said.

  Hunks of Variant body parts littered the area beyond an iron gate that the outpost engineers had installed earlier that day.

  Beckham and the other soldiers shone their lights through the bars. They raked the beams back and forth before unlocking the gate.

  The passage was only about ten yards wide and another six tall, but it was one of the largest Kate had heard about. This old sewer line was a major artery of transport and communication for the Variants.

  Exactly the kind of place they needed to tap into.

  Much of the webbing on the walls had burned to a crisp. In other areas, crimson ropes hung loose as if they had been torn by claws and bullets. Tangles of the webbing farther down still pulsed on their own, tendrils squirming like worms cut in half.

  While segmented chunks of webbing lined the walls and floor, Kate couldn’t be sure that they were connected with the main network. With the damage in this part of the tunnel, she had a hard time figuring out if any piece of webbing connected to the masterminds and other Variants miles from their location.

  For their efforts to succeed, they needed an intact section, untouched by the demolition team. One that led to the larger network of tunnels and webbing that connected the masterminds. That was the only way to truly tap into the Variant and collaborator communications.

  And that meant they had to go deeper.

  Kate explained and Beckham took in a deep breath.

  “Okay, follow me,” he said.

  The further they traveled, the worse the stench grew. Somewhere in the distance water dripped from the ceiling.

  Beckham stopped a handful of times, and Kate listened for the popping of joints or growls of the beasts. All she heard was the constant drip and trickle of water.

  They pushed onward. Another gust of warm wind traveled through the passage a few minutes later. Kate shivered from a sound that came with that wind.

  A slight rustling mixed with ghostly moans.

  “I got movement,” said one of the soldiers.

  Beckham signaled for two soldiers to follow him and investigate as the others held positions around the science team.

  Kate froze and watched her husband move into the darkness.

  The lights bobbed, chasing away the shadows as their guns swept across the tunnel. Beckham’s light landed on a long crimson tendril that strained and quivered slightly.

  “Just the webbing,” said the other soldier. He pulled out a knife and touched it with the blade. As soon as he did, something dropped from the ceiling.

  He nearly tripped, stumbling backward as he brought up his rifle.

  “Hold your fire,” Beckham said. He trained his light on a cocoon of red that had dropped from the snapped webbing.

  Kate took a few steps forward.

  “My God,” Beckham said.

  The soldier with the knife knelt next to the cocoon. Beckham bent down and took out his blade, too. They carefully cut at the fibers. The scarlet vines fell away to reveal a shriveled, skinny man with gaping wounds in his side. Teeth and claw marks covered his body, and he let out a long, agonized moan.

  “Jesus,” said the soldier with Beckham.

  The other guards advanced around them to hold security, and Kate moved over to help. She looked down the tunnel as the beams penetrated the inky darkness.

  All along the ceiling and walls were other cocoons strung up in the webbing. People squirmed in a few of them. Others were completely still, the occupants unconscious or long-since dead.

  Beckham pulled out his radio. “Command, Alpha One. We found some of your missing people. Requesting additional support. Medical included.”

  The transmission didn’t go through, and he turned, giving orders for one of the soldiers to go back and get help.

  Then he sent two of the other guards to clear more of the tunnel and free as many survivors as they could while they waited for backup.

  Kate steeled herself as she heard the slurp of prisoners being let loose from the webbing. Beckham walked back over to her.

  “Is this place good enough to tap into the network?” he asked.

  Kate looked to Sammy.
“What do you think?”

  “This is as good as it gets in terms of network density,” Sammy said.

  “Let’s try it,” Kate said, trying to keep it together. She tried to take her gaze from the human prisoners with their horrifying wounds, but it was almost impossible, and she pictured her friends and family strung up in tunnels just like this.

  Of all the places she had worked in the past, this was the worst. But her team had no choice. If they wanted to ensure the future of the Allied States didn’t end up like this, they had to tap into the Variant network.

  — 5 —

  Dohi perched amid the windswept trees and bushes on a cliff overlooking the wreckage of the C-130. Past it, waves crashed over the shore. He watched three Chimeras sift through the ruins of the plane.

  Outside the wreckage, two of the half-breed beasts fed on the corpses of the Wolfhounds scattered across the sand and rocks.

  Mendez lay prone beside Dohi, surveying the macabre scene with his binos. Deeper in the woods behind them, the rest of Team Ghost monitored Hopkins, Lawrence, and Jackson. The injured trio continued to decline. Jackson was still unconscious, both of his injured legs looking worse.

  While Hopkins could manage to stand on one leg, there was no way he could walk unassisted with his missing foot. He continued to beg Team Ghost to go on without the three of them, insisting they were nothing but a burden.

  Even Lawrence with only an injured arm now looked pale as a sheet. His eyes had turned glassy, and he seemed in a constant state of shock. The trio needed antibiotics and better medical attention than Ghost could provide with their already depleted field kits.

  “Looks like those things might be packing up,” Mendez said.

  “Go tell Fitz,” Dohi whispered back.

  Mendez nodded, then disappeared into the shroud of leaves and branches behind them.

  Dohi watched over the beach. He still struggled to understand how these half-man monsters were even possible. When the Variants bred, they spawned armored juveniles.

  But he’d never seen a juvenile that looked so human. These were something else—something more intelligent that could use a rifle and operate vehicles.

  A terrifying abomination that the VX-99 had been designed for back in Vietnam.

  Fitz crawled up beside Dohi.

  “Where the hell did they come from anyway with that kind of firepower?” he asked.

  “I noticed their ACUs had the California National Guard emblem on them,” Dohi replied.

  Mendez got down next to them. “You think these things were guardsmen?”

  Dohi shook his head. “No, but I think they ransacked the National Guard armories and bases around the bay.”

  “Makes sense,” Fitz said. “We’ve neglected the West Coast for years. They must have been stockpiling supplies we abandoned out here.”

  “If they were out here so long, why did they leave the cannibals alone until now?” Mendez asked.

  “Because the cannibals weren’t the real threat,” Dohi said. “We are.”

  Dohi brought his rifle up and peered through the scope. One of the Chimeras tied up a large canvas bag near the Zodiac, then heaved it on the boat.

  “What did he take?” Fitz whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Dohi said.

  They watched for another few minutes until the answer became clear. A second beast emerged from the wrecked plane with another large bag and dropped it into the boat.

  The third was crouched near a crater in the sand. He clawed through the mangled body parts, then picked up a charred leg. After sniffing it, he stuffed it into his bag.

  “Dinner,” Mendez said. He crossed his chest.

  Dohi felt a bout of nausea well up in his stomach.

  “Act like soldiers, look like beasts, and eat like them,” Mendez said. “Worse than Variants, because they seem as smart as humans.”

  “Someone must have still been developing VX-99,” Fitz said. “We’ve got to tell Doctor Lovato. This is more important than the SDS tech.”

  Fitz was right. The creatures in front of them combined the worst of both nature and man in one biological package.

  The beasts hoisted a couple more packs over their shoulders and then dragged their Zodiac back into the surf. Two hopped in while the third kept pushing the boat into the waves.

  “Get ready to move,” Fitz said. “Mendez, stay on watch. Signal us if something’s wrong. Dohi, you and I will search the C-130 for a radio and medical supplies.”

  Dohi led at Fitz’s command, and they crept down the trail until they reached the beach. Their boots crunched over the sand as they approached the aftermath of the carnage. Only a few Wolfhound bodies had been left behind, and they were already stripped of meat.

  The wind had swept sand over a boot with half a leg sticking out. A helmet protruded out of a sand mound, the soldier’s mangled face partially exposed.

  Dohi crept up to the fuselage of the C-130. Metal panels peeled off the side of the plane like a giant had slammed an axe into the hull.

  Fitz gestured for Dohi to lead.

  He entered the plane at a crouch, hit by the acrid scent of burned plastic that made his eyes water. The stench of carrion came next.

  Dohi stepped over the melted jump seats and broken ammo crates. He kept his rifle shouldered, peering down the length of the C-130. When he was sure it was clear, he motioned to Fitz.

  “See if you can find some antibiotics, I’ll check the radio,” Fitz said. He navigated the wreckage to reach the cockpit, pushing past a few tumbled crates.

  Dohi stepped over a dead man lying in a puddle of dried blood. Chunks of flesh and muscle were missing from his neck, teeth marks scarring the bits of skin left under the shredded remains of his clothes.

  The smell only grew worse as Dohi pushed aside a few half-eaten corpses in his way. He reached the tail of the plane. A metal crate was marked with a white cross over red paint. He unlatched the crate and opened the lid. There were a few rolls of gauze and bandages, but that was it.

  No blister packs with pills. No antibiotic sprays.

  “What the hell?” Dohi asked, examining the crate. Then he noticed the scratches in the paint. They looked like claw marks.

  He started back up toward the cockpit, checking the ammo crates on the way.

  They were empty, too.

  The Chimeras had scavenged all these supplies. The only thing they seemed to have left were a couple self-inflating emergency life rafts. Probably had no use for them given they were motoring around in that Zodiac.

  He reached the cockpit, where Fitz was trying the controls of the radio.

  “Everything’s broke-dick,” Fitz said.

  Dohi examined the radio. It was warped and melted. Bullet holes showed where the Variant soldiers had fired into it for good measure.

  “No ride out of here, and no way to contact anybody back east,” Fitz said. “Did you find anything useful back there?”

  “They took everything. Ammunition, extra weapons, medical supplies.”

  Fitz cursed, hanging his head low. Then he glanced out the cracked window of the cockpit.

  Dohi followed his gaze to the ship on the horizon.

  “They may have taken everything, but they haven’t left yet,” Fitz said. “If we can find a way to get out there, then maybe we can steal what we need and get away without being noticed.”

  “Maybe.”

  Dohi knew it was a long shot, but they had no other choice.

  “We have to warn Command about the Chimeras,” Fitz said. “They have to know.”

  “It’s going to be a huge risk, even if we do find a way to get out there before they sail away.”

  “We better get moving then,” Fitz said. “We have no time to waste.”

  ***

  Fischer waited inside a large garage with Tran and Chase. Ten outpost soldiers milled around them, ready to head out with them into the city. The clank of tools and voices of mechanics working on two MATVs, a Humvee, and a
pickup truck echoed throughout the cold space.

  There were other vehicles, including a snowplow. The edges of the blade were covered in paint that looked like it had been scraped off other cars.

  As soon as the vehicles were fueled and ready, they would head out to scout locations for the vibroseis trucks already en route from El Paso. The oil and gas exploration vehicles weren’t the sophisticated seismic detection equipment from Project Rolling Stone that General Cornelius had wanted, but it would have to do for now.

  While Fischer waited, he loaded shells into his new tactical shotgun. Then he counted the bullets for his .357 magnum. He had only twenty left. There were only a few surviving outposts that manufactured ammunition, including Outpost Galveston under the command of General Cornelius. Even so, bullets were becoming rarer every day, especially with the threat of those outposts being lost as the enemy advanced.

  That’s what scared him so much about the collaborators.

  They seemed to have access to fuel, weapons, ammunition, and vehicles. There were rumors now they even had helicopters. If that were true, the traitorous bastards were in better shape than what was left of the Allied States.

  Tran and Chase finished loading up extra magazines for their M4 rifles. There was still plenty of the 5.56 mm and 7.62 mm ammo left for now, but their stock would be gone in a few days if they didn’t get a resupply and the Variants pressed their attack.

  If the outpost survives that long…

  That’s exactly what Fischer and his men were here for—to make sure the outpost didn’t fall while Kate and her team tapped into the Variant network. As soon as they figured out where the real mastermind was, it would be the beginning of the end for the monsters.

  “Good to go!” shouted a husky man with a long brown beard. “Let’s mount up!”

  The vehicles growled to life inside the open garage, the noise rumbling like dragons waking from slumber.

  “Wait up!” yelled a female voice.

  Commander Amber Massey jogged over in fatigues. A duty belt holding a pistol, extra magazines, and a radio hung from her waist. She also carried an MP5 submachine gun.

  As the other soldiers loaded up, the large man with the beard walked over to her.