“Open fire!” Massey yelled.
The concerted boom of rifle and machine gunfire exploded across the block. Tracer rounds cut from the machine gun nests in the neighboring buildings. Even as the first wave of monsters perished under the onslaught, others squirmed between the dead bodies of their brethren, climbing onto the street.
Grenades sailed toward them. Blasts sent chunks of singed meat smacking against asphalt and clouds of smoke blooming from new fires.
The M1 fired with a deafening boom. A geyser of asphalt and dirt burst from the hole with a resonating boom. The beasts’ bodies were thrown into the air, then came down in a gruesome rain of mangled body parts. A wave of dust billowed from the impact site.
“They’re still coming!” Chase said.
Fischer moved past Meyer and aimed out the open window of the truck. He sighted up one Variant galloping out of the rolling cloud of dust and debris.
With the butt of his shotgun tight against his shoulder, he squeezed his trigger. The blast tore through the monster’s chest, sending it tumbling over itself.
“Shit, sir. Shit!” Meyer said. “We’ve got more activity under the park.”
Fischer turned back to the screen. “Under us?”
“Yes! The beasts are digging a new tunnel.”
Screams echoed outside as a Variant lunged at a soldier, tearing into him with claws and teeth. Another man went down as juveniles piled on top of him, ripping him apart like a pack of dogs.
Fischer held up his radio. “Commander, the Variants are attacking from Elk and Chambers!”
“That’s near the M1,” she replied.
The tank fired another round that decimated the entrance of the tunnel. A group of beasts disappeared in a violent inferno.
Fischer expected that to be the end of them, but more monsters squeezed out from the cracked slabs of asphalt and rubble, bloody and burned.
Sniper rifles cracked from above, like angels of war, protecting the men on the ground from the creatures getting too close.
“They have stopped right below us,” Meyer said.
“Get out of here,” Fischer said. “Retreat to the main defenses and stay there.”
“But sir…”
“Do it,” Fischer said. “We can’t hold this position.”
Another pair of Variants made a break from the broken entrance of the tunnel. They rushed at the vibroseis truck. Fischer hopped beside Tran and Chase while Meyer ran.
They brought down the first monster, but the second ran low, ducking behind the bodies of its comrades. It coiled and jumped, soaring toward Fischer. He clenched up, watching in what seemed like slow motion as the beast descended on him, claws extended.
Suddenly the beast’s mouth disappeared in a blast of pink tissue and bone spreading. Tran kept his rifle aimed at the creature when it crashed to the ground, finishing it with a shot to the back of the head. Blood pooled away from the beast to Fischer’s boots.
He tried to control his breathing.
“Fischer, where are those monsters on Elk?” Massey called over the radio. “I can’t spare my men there if they aren’t actually coming.”
“They’re beneath the street,” Fischer replied.
Suddenly part of Chambers street cracked. The monsters had stopped climbing out of the hole on Centre. A loud roar carried up out of the fissures across Chambers.
But this was not the cry of a monster. It sounded like rushing water.
The heavy weight of horror plunged through his insides at the implications.
“Massey, pull your men off the streets!” Fischer yelled over the radio. “Get them away from the buildings and move that tank back to the park! NOW!”
Dirty brown water exploded out of the cracks in Chambers, pouring through the streets. Soldiers backed away from it like it was poison. It wasn’t the water itself Fischer was afraid of. It was what that rushing water meant.
The tank growled as it rotated and then powered down Chambers toward the park. The asphalt buckled under its tracks, crumbling away in an instant. A massive hole ripped down the road, swallowing men and vehicles.
The tank crashed through the collapsing earth, followed by the second vibroseis truck. It took Fischer a second to realize what had happened. New York City’s famous water system was fed by gravity, meaning the huge tunnels that had once transported tap water to buildings throughout the city were still filled with stagnant water.
“The Variants burst a water main!” Fischer shouted. “We all have to fall back!”
Variant shrieks echoed up from the splashing untreated water filling the tunnel they had dug. Human screams followed, giving Fischer no illusion of what was happening in this freshly formed canyon. He looked back into his vibroseis truck and saw more seismic activity on the screen.
Another sinkhole formed under a building where machine gunners and snipers were roosted. One of the Apaches was stationed atop it. The building started to quiver, cracks tracing up its side. The Apaches blades started spinning, but it was too late. The building collapsed inward, and a huge cloud of dust rolled over the park.
Panicked voices exploded over the radio.
“We’re pulling back from Pumphouse Park!” someone yelled over the radio.
So it’s not just here, Fischer thought.
His mind thundered with questions on how this could be happening. The Variants had pulled a tactical maneuver, distracting the defensive forces and striking in a way no one could’ve predicted.
A second building collapsed into the growing sinkhole. Water flooded the streets, and a debris cloud rolled over the defensive forces. Soon the gray and brown haze was too much. Fischer could only see shadows moving in the dust.
Screams and the sound of gunfire split the air.
Tran and Chase pressed up against the back of the truck, fighting off monsters emerging out of the haze. The truck’s geophone monitor burst with more activity as sinkholes sucked in men and spat out more Variants.
There was no way he could hold the truck with just Tran and Chase. This station was already lost. There was nothing they could do but retreat.
Cracks formed in the ground around them, the earth trembling.
“Massey!” Fischer yelled into his radio. “We’re abandoning the vibroseis truck and headed your way!”
“Alpha!” Tran yelled.
His rifle burst to life as a creature barreled through the fog toward them. The monster let out an ear-splitting shriek, muscles rippling under its fur.
Bullets plunged into its flesh, blood spraying from the wounds. But the monster kept coming with a tide of Variants following in its wake.
“Move!” Fischer yelled.
Tran and Chase led the way, stopping every few strides to lay down covering fire.
The Alpha slammed into the vibroseis truck behind them, pushing it over. Variants scaled the toppled vehicle, jumping over it and chasing after Fischer and his men.
Fischer slowed when he saw a monster feasting on a body ahead. He fired a buckshot into the ugly creature, knocking it off the victim. A second passed before he realized the shredded body was Meyer.
Most of the engineer’s face had been mauled off, and Fischer only recognized him by the Fischer Fields logo emblazoned on his coveralls.
“Goddammit!” Fischer shouted.
Gunfire cracked behind him as Tran and Chase back peddled while firing at the Alpha still hunting them.
“Run!” Chase yelled.
Fischer pumped another shell into his shotgun and brought the weapon up to blast a Variant in their path. Tran and Chase took measured shots at the other creatures, cutting down the Alpha’s forces. They hit the bigger beast with periodic bursts and it finally started to slow.
“Reloading!” Fischer said as he plucked new cartridges from his vest.
Tran’s rifle bolt clicked back. “Me too!”
The Alpha seemed to sense their momentary weakness and barreled forward, knocking aside smaller Variants. Chase fired, but th
e beast was too fast. It grabbed Tran, then yanked him backward, disappearing back into the dust cloud.
“Tran!” Fischer shouted. He pumped his shotgun and ran after the beast.
“Wait!” Chase yelled.
Fischer strode out into the dust cloud with Chase by his side.
“Tran!” they both yelled.
More explosions burst behind them, screams piercing the crack of increasingly sporadic gunfire. Fischer saw almost nothing through the rising dust cloud as other buildings collapsed.
He continued yelling for Tran, but the man was gone, taken underground where he would suffer a worse fate than being torn apart up here.
“Sir, we have to go,” Chase said.
The roar of a diesel engine sounded in the distance, and Fischer followed Chase toward the noise. They broke through the dust to find a black four-by-four pickup with a group of soldiers in the bed, and another climbing up.
“Get in!” Massey yelled from the driver’s window.
Fischer looked back toward the dust cloud one last time, praying Tran wouldn’t suffer long.
A hand grabbed Fischer by the arm. Chase helped him up into the bed of the truck as they abandoned their friend to the monsters.
***
In the troop hold of the C-130, Beckham stared out one of the small windows. The first molten rays of the sun climbed above California. The pilots had said they were only about ten minutes out from Team Ghost’s evac site. The morning light washed through the aircraft as the crew and a handful of soldiers in the jump seats made their final preparations for landing.
None knew what to expect.
This was enemy territory.
Horn clicked a drum into his M249 SAW. Then he reached inside his vest and pulled out a black bandana emblazoned with a skull, an old memento of his time on Team Ghost. He tied it around his neck.
Nathan Brooks, the Army Ranger who had lost his glasses, had offered to help, but like the other injured Ranger who had survived the crash in Cleveland, he couldn’t do much. The kid was practically blind without his glasses, and the other Ranger had broken an ankle after jumping out of the Black Hawk.
“Once we land, everyone who can will hold security,” he said. “This area is going to be hot, and we know there are hostiles, both human and Variant. But we want to go in and out quick and quiet. Do not shoot unless you’re given the order. Got it?”
Nods all around.
The plane dipped lower and Beckham started toward the rear door when a message hissed in his earpiece.
“Captain Beckham, we just got a message about Ghost,” said the primary pilot. “We need you up here.”
Beckham hurried to the cockpit.
One of the pilots turned to him. “Command just pinged us. Ghost called them on the sat phone a while ago. They’re surrounded by Variants about a mile from the rendezvous coordinates.”
Beckham clenched his jaw.
“How do you want us to proceed?” asked the pilot.
With only moments to decide, Beckham scanned the sky for aircraft and the freeway below for contacts.
He didn’t see any hostiles yet. “Take us down. Horn and I will go in on foot to clear their escape.”
Beckham made his way back to Horn.
“Trouble?” Horn asked.
“Plenty.”
“You know I’m always ready for trouble, but what does plenty mean?”
“Ghost is pinned down by Variants. We’ll need to extract them.”
Horn pulled his skull mask up. “Then that’s just what we’ll do.”
“Prepare for landing,” said the primary pilot.
A few moments later the plane touched down on the interstate, wind rushing over the spoilers as the engines applied reverse thrust, and they decelerated hard into a stop.
A crew chief pushed a button on the bulkhead, opening the rear ramp.
“Back into the fray,” Horn grumbled.
He strode down the ramp with his SAW shouldered. Beckham raised his M4 and loaded a grenade into the barrel-mounted M203 launcher. He followed Big Horn into the morning sunshine.
“Good luck,” came a voice.
Beckham glanced over his shoulder. Brooks raised a hand from the troop hold.
All but two of the thirteen soldiers and the crew streamed down the ramp past Brooks to hold security.
Beckham jogged toward the coordinates where Ghost was supposed to be waiting. Maybe after their sat phone batteries had drained, they had actually made it there on their own, escaping the monsters.
But Ghost and the injured Wolfhounds were nowhere between the trees and grass where they were supposed to be. They might not have escaped the position where the Variants had first surrounded them.
The team’s last known location was only a mile away. Beckham started running, Horn following. They could make it in under eight minutes if they ran hard with their gear. Maybe less, but they weren’t the same men they were back when they had been on Ghost.
They got through an open field in a few minutes but slowed on approach to the tree-covered hills. The terrain provided cover, which also meant shelter for a hostile ambush.
Horn held up a fist.
The chatter of small arms fire echoed over the hills.
“Sounds like one, maybe two guns at most,” he said.
Beckham didn’t like what that might mean and started running again. He didn’t stop until he got to the crest of a hill. Navigating through the trees, he took a knee on an overlook of an RV park.
These were the coordinates where Ghost had reported they were being surrounded.
Corpses lay scattered across the grass. The ground was so soaked with blood that the dirt had turned to mud in some spots. But the bodies weren’t human—they were naked beasts, flesh riddled with bullet holes, spread around a camper trailer.
Beckham zoomed in on the open door. The echoing pop of a gunshot pulled his gaze away from the scope.
Horn pointed to the edge of the forest.
Beckham led the way cautiously down the hill and across the corpse-strewn park.
One Variant was still alive. Partially buried in a crater of dirt from a grenade. The upper torso was still connected to the bottom by thick strings of gristle, somehow keeping it alive.
It reached up and took weak passes at them with a claw.
Beckham didn’t waste a bullet or slow to pull his knife.
The beast wasn’t going anywhere and wasn’t long for this world anyway.
Shrieks sounded from the forest as they approached, and another gunshot answered. Then three more pops.
Beckham and Horn bolted toward the sounds. A trail of corpses took them through the forest and along a road.
Streaks of blood painted the asphalt. Empty bullet casings and shotgun shells lay scattered across the cracked street that traced up another hill.
Horn caught up to Beckham, breathing heavily, and they approached the top side by side.
They heard snarling and cracking, then a sickening crunch followed by a shout.
“You want more, puta?”
The familiar voice had to be Mendez.
Another voice, this one female, came next.
“Keep them back!” yelled Rico.
Beckham and Horn neared the top of the hill. Sweat drenched their fatigues.
About two hundred feet away, a group of ten Variants prowled around Team Ghost, circling and waiting to pounce.
Ace had a metal garbage lid that must’ve been from the RV park with claw marks across it in one hand, and the butt of his shotgun in the other. Dohi tossed his hatchet at the closest Variant, scoring a hit to the neck, then he jabbed another creature with his knife.
Rico and Fitz used their blades to parry and strike a beast lunging at them.
Mendez slammed the butt of his rifle against a Variant’s face. Cartilage and bone cracked at the impact, blood sloshing out of its slitted nostrils.
Team Ghost had formed a ring around two injured soldiers wrapped in bandages.
They must be the surviving Wolfhounds. A third Wolfhound stood beside Ghost, fighting alongside them.
Beckham raised his rifle, centering it on the first target. “Ghost!”
Fitz glanced his way, then signaled for the team to close in around the injured as Beckham and Horn fired on the surrounding creatures. Blood gushed from monsters’ new wounds, and wails of pain filled the morning. Three beasts made it out of the gunfire and started up the hill toward Beckham.
“I got this!” he yelled as he palmed in a new magazine.
Beckham cut the three creatures down with calculated bursts. Their bodies rolled back down the hill. Before anyone could celebrate the narrow victory, shrieks of more creatures rose in the distance.
Covered in dirt and blood, Team Ghost and the Wolfhounds looked like they had been through hell and back.
The group of battle-fatigued soldiers marched up the hill with Rico at the lead. She reached out like she was going to give Horn a hug, but then fingered at his vest.
“We need magazines,” she said. “For the way back.”
Horn and Beckham distributed ammo.
“Damn good to see you, Captain,” Fitz said as he graciously accepted a magazine. “Wasn’t sure we were going to make it out of here.”
“We’re not out yet, brother,” Beckham said.
“What the fuck took you guys so long?” said one of the Wolfhound soldiers, a guy with a bloody nametape that read Martin.
“Give it a fucking rest,” Mendez said.
“They’re here, aren’t they?” said another Wolfhound. The guy’s nametape said Lawrence. He helped another injured Wolfhound who only had one foot.
“We need to move,” Beckham said. “Keep close, and tight.”
He took point through the forest, scanning for any camouflaged Variants lying in wait.
The pace back to the C-130 was agonizingly slow because of the wounded Wolfhounds that needed help walking. Dohi came up next to Beckham and they exchange a nod.
Shrieks of hunting Variants followed the group. Beckham checked their six. Horn signaled to him he’d spotted three hostiles. Variant scouts shadowing their retreat.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 78
