Fitz turned back to him. “So, tell me everything I’ve missed.”
Beckham summarized the events over the past few days. The longer Fitz listened, the more he wondered what a path to victory even looked like.
Nuclear bombs had decimated cities. More outposts and bases had fallen. Each night was a battle to survive. The war had cost the Allied States territory, resources, and most importantly, tens of thousands of lives.
“Kate and her team have been trying to use the webbing network to track down where all the messages to coordinate the attacks are coming from,” Beckham said. “There’s someone, or something pulling the strings.”
Fitz wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure if science could save them this time, if he was being honest, but he kept that to himself.
The news was far worse than he had thought. For the next few hours he sat next to Beckham in silence. Rico put her head against his shoulder. He tried to sleep but couldn’t keep his eyes closed.
Every time he shut them, he kept replaying everything that had happened out there. All of his moves, all of his mistakes, and all of the soldiers who hadn’t come home.
Turbulence snapped him from his thoughts. The plane shuddered, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom.
“We’re beginning our descent,” he said. “The winds are a little choppy, so hold on.”
The medics each grabbed the handholds on Hopkins’ and Lawrence’s stretchers, bracing them when another patch of turbulence rattled the C-130.
Rico leaned against Fitz as they dropped past the mountain tops, snow and ice blowing over the plane. Through the gray and white shroud, Fitz spotted the aquamarine glimmer of the national park’s famous lakes and rivers. Between the mountains, he saw the town itself, surrounded by walls made of timber.
At the center of the outpost stood a tall building that looked like a castle. All the vehicles traveling around the outpost seemed to be going to and from that building.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Banff,” Rico said. “It’s beautiful.”
This place was once a symbol of humanity’s close connection to nature. Now it was a handhold for mankind’s survival against the worst Mother Nature had to offer.
“Brace for landing,” the pilot said.
A moment later the plane landed hard on a strip of the Trans-Canada Highway. The engines roared as they applied reverse thrust, slowing them to a stop outside Banff.
“Get ready to move out!” a crew chief said. He stood at the control panel near the plane’s tail and started lowering the ramp.
Blustering cold wind whipped inside, blasting Fitz. He grabbed Rico’s hand as they stood against the fierce, freezing gusts. The team gathered their weapons and packs full of scavenged equipment from the National Accelerator Laboratory.
“This way!” the crew chief yelled.
Snow swirled past as Beckham led the group to the asphalt. Already more white snow encroached on the cleared improvised runway.
Four armored personnel carriers waited with the rear passenger doors open. Canadian soldiers waved at them to hop inside. Team Ghost piled into the first APC with Beckham and Horn. The Rangers and Wolfhounds were loaded into another.
A Canadian soldier with a mottled gray uniform and the red-and-white Canadian flag on his shoulder closed the door, shutting out the snowstorm.
“Welcome to Canada,” he said, reaching out to shake their hands. “I’m Sergeant Carter Prince.”
“Thanks for hosting us,” Beckham said.
Fitz also gave his thanks. He had worked with foreign soldiers before over the years. More often than not, non-Americans showed resentment for the monsters the United States military had created almost a decade earlier.
Not this guy. Prince seemed sincere.
“Bet you’re not used to the cold,” he said.
“No, Sergeant,” Rico said. “Not like this.”
“Mendez never did like the cold,” Ace murmured. He wiped at his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Fitz had seen the big guy cry, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Eh, it’ll get colder,” Prince said. “But don’t worry. Where you’re going, you’ll have a chance to get some warm drinks and chow.”
The APC’s tires crunched over piles of snow as they entered Banff. Fitz looked out one of the ballistic glass windows. Besides the natural protection the rugged mountains provided, the Canadians had constructed walls around the town topped with barbed wire and guard towers. Men in white parkas guarded each station.
Prince saw Fitz surveying the defenses. “The cold season slows the Variants down. The ones that aren’t adapted, that is. It also means there isn’t a lot of food out there, so a lot of them have starved off, but there are still creatures that show up from time to time.”
“The cold might slow the Variants down, but the beasts hitting us to the south will come this way eventually,” Fitz said. “And I promise you, the cold isn’t going to stop them.”
The APC skidded to a stop outside the front of a towering castle-like hotel. An old sign read, Fairmont Banff Springs.
Spotlights shone from various locations in the parking lot, illuminating machine gun nests poking out of the balconies, and snipers on the rooftops. The former luxury hotel had been turned into a modern-day fortress.
“Welcome to Western Canada Defensive Forces’ HQ,” Prince said. “Or what they used to call, ‘The Castle in the Rockies’.”
He opened the back door and led the others through the biting cold. While they unloaded their equipment, a group of four medics ran to another APC and took the Wolfhounds with them.
“Where are they going?” Fitz asked.
“We’ve set up another building as our infirmary,” Prince said. “I can guarantee you those men will be well taken care of.”
Fitz watched them race away, hoping Prince was right as the sergeant led Ghost and the others into a lobby with crackling fireplaces. Tables and chairs furnished the timber plank floors carpeted partially with furs.
Canadian soldiers and civilians were stationed at computers or circled around maps, immersed in conversation.
“Those are the engineers we scrambled to examine that equipment you brought from California,” Prince said. “They’ll start working immediately.”
“Thank you,” Fitz said.
Prince gestured toward a hall and opened a door to a conference room.
“This is where I leave you,” he said. “Nice to meet all of you.”
“Appreciated,” Horn said.
The rest of the team gave their thanks and filed into a room.
Long tables had already been set out with food and hot cups of tea. A bald man with a tawny face, chiseled and sharp, stood at the end of the table.
“I’m General Kamer,” he said. “Please, have a seat and start eating. We’ve got a lot to go over, and I’m sure you’re all hungry.”
Fitz was happy to accept the invitation after making their own introductions. He found a seat next to Rico and dug into the still-steaming mashed potatoes and roast beef. Eating the warm food filled him with more than much needed nutrition. It also filled him with the guilt for those who weren’t here to enjoy the meal, and his appetite started to wane.
“We don’t get a lot of visitors during the winter,” Kamer said. “I’ve gathered a few officers to listen in. I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
“That sounds good, sir,” Beckham said. “I’m not sure how much the president already told you, but I can bring you up to speed.”
Kamer took a sip of tea. “I think I know everything that’s happened up until right before you landed. The most important matter at hand isn’t what we’ve done, but what we’ll be doing to move forward.”
“You spoke to President Ringgold?” Beckham asked.
“Yes,” Kamer said. He put his cup down. “I was moved by her resolve to fight back, and the Western Canadian Prime Minister feels similarly. We’ve also been in contact with the Mexican president to
discuss the events plaguing the Allied States.”
Fitz was thrilled to hear the other countries were finally talking, but he hoped it meant action and not just words.
“We’re all in agreement,” Kamer said. “This is not just a domestic matter for the Allied States. This a conflict with the potential to devastate North America, and the rest of the world for that matter.”
“I wish Europe felt the same way,” Beckham said.
“They should, but they were more devastated than we were here in Canada,” Kamer said. “My impression is their struggle was worse than ours.”
Flashbacks of the war in Europe surfaced in his mind, but Fitz suppressed them.
“Canada and the Federation of Mexican States, stand with you… We’re in this fight together now,” Kamer said.
“Thank you, sir, it’s great to hear you say that,” Beckham said. “How exactly will you be helping us?”
Kamer broke out a business smile. To Fitz, it looked almost like the patronizing grin of a politician. He didn’t like that.
“Supporting your next mission and repairing that SDS technology to start,” Kamer said. “We’re also shipping ammunition and medical supplies to the Allied States.”
“We’re going to need more than that,” Fitz said, unable to contain himself. “We’re talking about threats unlike any the world has seen. We need men, aircraft, and weapons.”
Beckham’s face was red with frustration too. “Please, sir, as you said, we’re in this tragedy together. But the only way we win together is if we actually fight together.
Kamer held up a hand to stay their protests. “At this point we are not able to commit soldiers. We’ve lost too many of our own.”
Fitz and Beckham exchanged a glance.
“You hear about them Chimeras yet, General?” Horn asked.
Kamer looked uncertain. “I have a hard time believing such beasts exist. Variants with the brains of soldiers?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t take your word about this without more concrete proof. As you know, the stress of battle can cause some intense visual phenomena that aren’t necessarily real.”
Horn clenched his jaw, which Fitz knew meant he was about to blow a gasket. Beckham noticed too and put a hand on the big man’s shoulder.
“I know what I saw,” Rico said. “And I saw monsters carrying rifles.”
Kamer looked at her but didn’t reply.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Beckham said. “All due respect, sir.”
“I’d suggest you focus on your next mission, Captain,” Kamer said. “Since you only have the one plane, we’ll be lending support for these missions.”
Fitz perked up, anxious to hear what came next, despite his frustration with Kamer.
“Team Ghost will be headed to Seattle to investigate a research site formerly known as the Center for Engineering Complex Organs, or CECO,” said the general. “Captain Beckham, Master Sergeant Horn, you will be leading another team to investigate a site in Denver called HumoSource. I am told that Sergeant First Class Jenny Rico will be joining you.”
Rico grabbed Fitz’s hand under the table and squeezed. It was tough enough going into the field with her, knowing she was in danger. And now, she would be out of sight, far from him, venturing straight back into enemy territory.
“We will provide aircraft for both missions, but due to a shortage and ability of able planes, I’m afraid we can only take Captain Beckham and his team as far as Wyoming,” Kamer said. “There you’ll be met by another Allied States team and will board a helicopter better fitted for the conditions in Denver.”
“Understood,” Beckham said.
“Before we go anywhere, I want to make sure the injured Wolfhounds are taken care of,” Fitz said.
“Rest assured, they will be,” Kamer replied.
“I’d like to see to that personally,” Fitz said. “I was responsible for getting them back here, and I want to make sure they make it home safe.”
“Not a problem.” Kamer passed out briefing folders so they could study their upcoming mission. “In regard to the business at hand, I was also informed a science team tracked down the Variant-based communication signals originating to these points. Your teams are to infiltrate both locations and identify any potential targets. The objective is to find this Master the Variants and their collaborators are taking their orders from.”
Fitz looked over at Beckham and Horn. They didn’t seem shocked by the mission, but they did seem surprised to be joining it. While he was glad to have them back with Team Ghost, Fitz knew this was bad news.
It meant the Allied States was running out of soldiers. And with every passing hour, they were losing more. Men like Mendez and Lincoln. Canada didn’t seem willing to step up as much as Fitz had hoped.
Before the war was over, there would be more devastating losses.
Fitz just hoped it would all be worth it—that they would be victorious. But from the sounds of it, he wasn’t sure victory was possible.
— 13 —
Timothy was out of water and food. The only thing he had left was ammunition, but there wasn’t much of that left between him and Ruckley.
For the past day, they had trekked across southern Maine into New Hampshire, trying to find refuge. Ruckley had pushed on all the way to Newburyport. They had hoped to find an old military depot the Allied States had used to store ammunition and equipment outside the city, but they never made it. Her injuries and their exhaustion had gotten the better of them. They were so close, but Ruckley simply couldn’t take another step.
Timothy had discovered an abandoned United States Postal Service building to serve as their temporary refuge. The windows and doors were still barricaded by plywood from the first war, but he found a way in through the service garage with two mail trucks.
Evidence of the last war still remained in the dusty space. Broken ventilation vents showed where Variants had dropped inside. The twisted skeleton of a Variant and scattered bones from a human lay strewn across the floor.
Timothy stood outside the open doors of one of the mail trucks. Ruckley slept inside the vehicle on a sleeping bag Timothy had found deeper in the facility.
Removing the arrow had damaged her muscle, and she had lost a lot of blood. Timothy had cleaned it up the best he could to keep the scent from the Variants.
Still, he knew they were out there. He kept his rifle close, and his eyes on the bay windows of the garage.
It wasn’t just the beasts he had to watch out for now. Collaborators and other dangerous groups like the cult that had burned Neeland alive would kill Ruckley and Timothy without a moment’s hesitation.
He checked on her again. This time she was shaking, pallor in her face. He examined her bandage. The skin around it was tender and red, definitely inflamed and probably infected.
That wasn’t a surprise. They had lost their field kit when they fled the farmhouse. That would’ve made stitching her up and cleaning the injury easier, but they had to rely on cloths and sewing needles he had scavenged.
None of that would save her. They needed real medicine, water, and a radio.
“Sergeant,” Timothy said, nudging her gently.
She groaned, then swung the pistol still gripped in her hand at his face.
“Easy, easy!” Timothy said.
Realization passed over her eyes, and she lowered the gun.
“What?” she muttered, sweat dripping over her forehead. “Someone coming?”
“No, no, I just… You’ve got a fever. Seems like it’s getting worse.”
She sat up and drew her back against the inner wall of the truck. She started unwrapping her bandage.
“Christ,” she grumbled. “Of all the injuries, I never thought a stupid arrow would be the one to take me down.”
“You’re not down yet.”
Timothy leaned closer for a better look. The flesh around the wound had festered fast.
“We need to get you antibiotics,” he said.
“And where do you think you’ll find those?”
“Maybe they have some at the depot. I can go look while you rest.”
“You’re not going alone.” She swung her legs out of the back of the truck. “I’ll go with you.”
She stepped out, wobbled, and then reached out for Timothy. He helped her sit back down.
“You were saying…” he said quietly.
Ruckley put a hand on her head. “I… I’m dizzy.” She sighed. “You’re right.”
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ll do a supply run. It’s our only shot of getting to Boston alive.”
She reached for her water bottle, and he helped her drink what was left. Then he helped her lay down in the truck and then closed one of the doors.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Timothy grabbed a map they had found and his gear. Rifle in hand, he crossed through the garage and then peered out the window of a side door to check the parking lot for hostiles. Finding it clear, he went outside, the cold afternoon wind numbing his exposed face.
He scanned the buildings and houses down the street, but nothing in the ghost town stirred.
According to the map, the depot was three miles away. Three miles wasn’t a terribly long distance, but Timothy’s feet were already swollen and sore. He was exhausted from the hours they had already been hiking.
Plenty of large million-dollar houses lined the streets but searching them would be futile. All the broken windows and busted doors told him any useful supplies were already long gone.
Rifle at the ready, he started down a road toward a bridge over the Merrimack River. Moving during daylight was risky if there were collaborators out here, but night wasn’t that much better with Variants hunting in the dark.
Besides, Ruckley might not have until nightfall.
He spotted a bicycle on the side of the road, but the tires were flat.
So much for luck today.
When he reached the bridge, he scoped the other side. Seeing nothing, he ran across as fast as he could. A few damaged boats were still in slips at the harbor, and there was a sailboat that looked in pretty good shape.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 80
