One of the men hopped off and aimed his harpoon gun. He fired straight into its neck. The creature let out a monstrous roar damn near loud enough to cause an avalanche.
“Ugly bastard was trying to sneak up on us,” Prince said.
“Man, I really, really do not like it here…no offense,” Horn said, shivering.
“None taken.”
“Didn’t you say there were two?” Ace asked.
“Yeah, so that’s another reason to get moving, eh?” Prince said.
Fitz and Rico had parted, and she walked over to Beckham and Horn.
“Ready to board?” she asked.
Beckham finally said goodbye to Dohi and Ace before they departed. Fitz followed the two larger men to the C-130, looking back over his shoulder, his eyes glued on Rico.
“See ya’ soon,” Fitz called out.
Beckham watched what was left of Team Ghost split to take separate paths. For the second time that day, he prayed they would all see each other again.
— 15 —
The roar of the engines rumbled through Dohi.
Once again, Ghost was about to be dropped into enemy territory. The team was smaller than ever with the devastating loss of Mendez, and Rico taking off on another leg of the mission with Beckham and Horn.
Dohi felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, especially poignant in the huge empty belly of the C-130 even with Fitz and Ace nearby.
Fitz rested his chin against his chest as he tried to grab a few moments of sleep. Ace had his arms folded, head back against the bulkhead. His eyes were closed, and Dohi could hear him snoring over the engines.
Besides the crew chiefs, it was just the three operators. The huge airplane seemed like overkill for the small group, when so many people were still needing evac back at the outposts.
In the center of the plane was a rigid-hulled inflatable buoyancy (RIB) boat that the Canadian forces had lent them for their incursion into Seattle. Kamer had seemed proud to offer it to them, but to Dohi, it was just another reminder of the minimal support their neighbors in the north were offering.
This was supposed to be a stealth mission, perfectly suited for Dohi’s unique abilities. He was anxious to find the Center for Engineering Complex Organs, assuming it still existed.
If it did, then their mission would morph into one of intel grabbing. They would scout out the premises and identify any leaders involved with the attacks on the Allied States, determining if the enigmatic Master called this place home.
To Dohi, the plan was like shooting an arrow in the dark and hoping it hit something. But with no other leads, this was the only shot they could take.
Fitz looked up, blinking away his sleep.
Dohi saw the worry in his eyes now that Rico had gone off with Beckham and Horn. He tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t come up with any reassuring words that seemed appropriate.
All he could manage was, “How are you doing, brother?”
“I’m okay,” Fitz said. “You?”
“Ready for whatever comes next. You think this could really lead to something, though?”
“If we can find evidence of CECO’s involvement with the Chimeras and all these recent attacks, yeah, I do,” Fitz said. “We bring that kind of intel back, and I have a feeling the Canadians will join this fight.”
“Kamer already knows about the collaborators and the losses we’ve taken. Why would this mission change his mind?”
“All they’ve seen are the normal hordes of Variants and those ‘bears’. This war must seem like another world to them, and they probably don’t believe it’s as bad or organized as we say it is.”
“They’ll think differently when the Chimeras are in their backyard with an army of Variants, too.”
“By then, it’ll be too late.” Fitz paused. “For all of us.”
One of the crew chiefs near the rear ramp spoke over the open comms.
“We’re approaching the drop zone!” he said. “Get ready!”
Ace woke with a start, grumbling and checking over his suppressed M4A1. He stood and checked the straps on his chute. Dohi and Fitz made their final preparations.
“Five minutes,” said the crew chief. He hit a button, activating a sling that dragged the RIB on its drop platform toward the rear ramp.
Dohi slipped on his chute. Using the handholds hanging overhead, he waddled toward the rear of the plane with Fitz and Ace, each holding their gear.
“Back into the belly of the beast,” Ace said.
The crew chief hit the lever to lower the rear ramp. Howling wind filled the fuselage. Cold air tugged at Dohi despite the thermal underwear and ACUs he wore under his dry suit.
Leaning forward slightly, he peered over the open ramp.
Beneath them lay a thick carpet of gray. By now, they should be somewhere over the Puget Sound, but he couldn’t see the water nor the islands dotting the vast body of water through the fog. Their ultimate destination was Seattle. Toward the southeast, it was also concealed by haze.
“We’re almost over Marrowstone Island,” said the crew chief. “That’s going to be your drop zone and your rendezvous point. Remember, this is low-altitude, so pull those chutes right away!”
Fitz dipped his helmet.
A few pangs of sunlight shone behind the fog, making it grow a slightly lighter shade. Team Ghost didn’t usually execute missions in the daylight, but this fog provided better cover than even the dark of night.
The normally nocturnal Variants would be lying low, and any Chimeras, collaborators, or other hostile contacts would suffer from the low visibility that even NVGs or thermal imaging couldn’t pierce.
“Deploy the drogue!” shouted the crew chief at the rear ramp.
Two other crew chiefs pushed the RIB and its platform onto the rear ramp. The olive-green drogue parachute burst from the back of the platform and caught in the wind. It dragged behind the plane, pulling the RIB to the end of the rear ramp.
“As soon as the boat drops, you boys are next!” the crew chief said. “Wait for my signal!”
Dohi felt the tingle of electricity coursing through his nerves. With all the fog, he could barely see thirty feet around the plane, much less the ground and water below. He had to trust the pilots, their instruments, and his own wrist-mounted altimeter that they were being dropped at the right place.
Father Sky, look out for us, he prayed. And Mendez, if you’re watching, this one’s for you, brother.
“RIB, out!” the crew chief said, hitting another button.
The drogue chute yanked the RIB and platform out into the fog. A second later, the set of five parachutes secured on the RIB exploded outward, big canvas domes catching in the wind. The launching platform separated from the boat and plummeted, its drogue parachute twirling away into the fog.
“Go, go, go!” the crew chief shouted.
Ace hurtled out of the plane, followed by Fitz. The gray fog swallowed them and the RIB. Dohi flipped down his night vision goggles and leapt into the abyss. He spread his arms and legs out to control his descent, letting the air batter his body for a few seconds while he maintained an arch position.
Twisting his wrist, he checked his altimeter, then he pulled the strap on his chute. It burst open, his body whipped forward by momentum.
As the canopy lowered him, he tracked his descent with the altimeter. The NVGs couldn’t see through the fog at what awaited him below, but they did let him see the white glowing blink of the infrared tags on Fitz and Ace’s NVGs refracting through the mist.
It took him a few seconds to locate them drifting beneath his location. Another couple hundred feet beneath the operators was the RIB with its own IR tags flashing around its gunwale.
Dohi toggled over, following the others, just a few dozen feet above them. A loud splash sounded over his rippling chute. He presumed it belonged to the boat hitting the water.
Another few seconds later and he hit the cold water.
Dohi cut off his chute and paddled toward
the IR signature from the RIB.
Silver waves crashed over him as he swam, finding the gaps around his neck in the dry suit. By the time he drew close enough to see the RIB, Ace and Fitz were already aboard and had the motor started.
Fitz reached down to help Dohi climb into the craft. Ace cruised away, plowing through the fog at half-throttle to reduce their noise.
The nearly two-hour long trip was spent in relative silence. Ace occasionally glanced at a handheld GPS to navigate.
As they continued their journey, the fog lifted enough that they no longer relied purely on the device. Dohi flipped up his NVGs to the gray-green of the rising bulk of islands. To the southeast, the looming shapes of Seattle started to coalesce.
“Almost there,” Fitz said. “Dohi, keep an eye out for a good place to pull in.”
“I think—”
He never completed the sentence.
A monstrous creature burst from the stormy water’s surface and landed in the boat. Water sluiced off a Variant with webbed feet and hands. The beast roared and slashed at Ace. The big operator fell back against the gunwale.
Dohi reached for his hatchet, ready to cleave off the creature’s grotesque face. But it lunged first, slamming into his chest. He tumbled over the gunwale and into the water.
The freezing cold stung his face as he tried to see through the murk, panic swelling through his chest. He clawed his way back up to the surface, but before he could gasp for breath, something sharp tightened on his ankle, yanking his foot down.
He twisted his neck enough to see a sinewy arm stretch from the darkness. The Variant’s claws had wrapped around his boot.
Dohi struggled, the weight of his gear and the monster’s strength pulling him deeper. With gills, it didn’t need to kill him with claws. All it had to do was hold him under until he stopped breathing. Then it would tear him apart and feed.
But the beast didn’t seem patient enough for that.
Instead, it maneuvered around him using its webbed hands to shoot through the water. Even with the silt obscuring his vision, Dohi saw a mouthful of jagged teeth.
His muscles started to burn, desperate for oxygen.
The monster bit at his face, and Dohi did all he could to try and keep away from the maw. Over and over it snapped as it pulled him down.
Through his panicked brain, he tried to free himself from the strong grip. He and the monster became a tangled mess of limbs and claws.
He reached for his knife, finally slipping the blade out of its sheath. With the weapon in hand, he stabbed at the ribs of the monster. Dark clouds of blood punched out of the wounds.
But the lack of oxygen had taken its toll. Dohi’s muscles began to lock.
Another stab, and the creature pulled back, bubbles streaming from its mouth as it let out a muffled roar. More blood mixed with the silt as the Variant thrashed.
The glint of metal flashed through the water, cutting across the beast’s gills. Letting out a gurgle, the creature went listless, sinking.
Dohi’s consciousness started to fade just as hands grabbed him, pulling him again. This time, toward the surface.
He broke through a moment later, sucking in the frigid air. Fitz surfaced next to him, also gasping.
Ace reached over the gunwale of the RIB and dragged them both on board.
Then he returned to the motor and sped away. Faster this time in case more Variants were skimming underwater after them.
Dohi lay on his back, still heaving. His muscles were tingling, but his head no longer pulsed from oxygen deprivation.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. “Thank you for saving me.”
Fitz patted him on the shoulder and turned as Ace took them closer to shore. They would have more cover there and could find somewhere to stash the boat while they continued on foot.
Ace finally found shelter for the boat near Smith Cove Park, just north of downtown Seattle. As they pulled in, the sun emerged, providing a clear view of the city.
“Holy shit,” Ace bellowed.
Dohi lifted his binos to his eyes, taking a minute to soak it all in.
Piles of rubble along the harbor where abandoned ships and boats had rammed together formed a monstrous island of flotsam.
Farther inland, half the skyscrapers were nothing but blackened husks, burned out from past fires. The iconic Space Needle reached like a finger toward the gray sky, half its saucer-shaped observation deck gone.
But it wasn’t the destruction of the city’s skyline that had caused Ace’s reaction.
Vines hung from the tip of the Space Needle down to the park around it and other neighboring buildings. Dohi saw specks moving on those vines, which he assumed were Variants.
Dohi passed the binoculars off to Fitz.
“If we don’t find the real Master here, then God help us,” he said.
Dohi recalled his original fear going on this mission. They might have shot an arrow in the dark, but the arrow had hit a target. The question now was whether they could handle what they discovered in this new hell.
***
President Ringgold entered the lab at the Long Island bunker with a backpack over her shoulder. The four Secret Service agents shadowing her waited outside with her chief of staff, James Soprano. None of them were happy with her decision, but she wasn’t out to make them happy.
Inside the laboratory, she found Kate and Sammy helping their assistants, Ron and Leslie, load the rest of their gear.
“Are you all ready to head out?” Ringgold asked.
Sammy turned in her direction, wincing in pain.
“Are you good?” Ringgold said.
“Yes, we’ve integrated all of the unprocessed natural language signals we derived from the Variants’ communications and—” Sammy started to explain.
“I mean, do you feel okay?” Ringgold asked.
“Oh,” Sammy said, embarrassed.
“Yes, I’m okay.”
Kate smiled. “We’re ready, Madam President.”
The doctor’s tone was confident and helped reassure Ringgold.
“Good, the helicopter is waiting for us,” she said.
“What do you mean ‘us’?” Kate asked, confused.
“I’m coming with.”
“Is it safe?” Ron asked, timidly.
“If it’s safe enough for all of you, it’s safe enough for me,” Ringgold said.
“Ma’am, the people there are going to go nuts when they see you,” Sammy said.
“She means that in a good way,” Leslie clarified.
“I guess we’ll find out soon,” Ringgold said.
As they exited the lab together, the agents and Soprano surrounded their small group and escorted them outside the bunker. The cold afternoon wind greeted them on the walk to the helipad. Marine One waited, engines already fired up, and Marines had already formed a perimeter around the bird.
Ringgold saluted the Marine guarding the chopper. She climbed into the cabin with Soprano taking a seat next to her. The science team and her four Secret Service agents all piled in next.
The crew chief closed the door to seal out the cold, and Ringgold relaxed in the leather seat as the cabin filled with warm air. The pilots wasted no time getting them airborne.
Ringgold spent the ride to Lower Manhattan discussing Kate and Sammy’s plans for the tunnels, along with the unfolding implications of the sites in Seattle and Denver that Team Ghost was investigating.
She knew the country’s situation was dire, but now they had a real lead on who their enemy was and where that enemy was likely hiding. Before it seemed like they had been shipwrecked, flailing to stay afloat in rough seas, but now she saw the shoreline on the horizon.
A pilot’s voice interrupted their conversations. “We’re approaching Lower Manhattan, prepare for landing.”
Long columns of dark smoke snaked up across the city from the battle that had gone through the night. Embers smoldered where towers had collapsed, and dark, oily water flooded the s
treets around the crumbling remains of City Hall.
Never in her long tenure of public service had she expected the horror that had gripped her people like it had over these past few weeks.
The only sight that gave her hope was the Statue of Liberty, still intact, the eternal flame burning on her torch. She took a mental photograph of that image, stashing it into her memory. The statue represented the ideals they were fighting for—the ideals she knew they would realize again.
“Beginning our descent now,” the pilot said over the intercom.
The chopper swooped between the skyscrapers, avoiding the remnants of scaffolding and frames that stuck out like busted bones breaking through flesh. They lowered to the LZ and hit the ground with a soft thud.
A cold breeze swam through the cabin after the crew chief opened the door. The four Secret Service agents hopped out first. One ducked and beckoned for Ringgold and Soprano.
“It’s clear!” he said.
Ringgold let the science team exit first, then followed behind them, Soprano following her. She took the first steps out of the chopper, the rotor wash from the winding down blades kicking up her hair. With one hand, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun as her pupils adjusted.
After she brought her hand back down, she was greeted with a welcoming party led by a woman with red hair. She had the straight poise of a seasoned commanding officer. A handful of other military officers in uniform stood alongside her.
The female commander snapped into a brisk salute. “Madam President, welcome to Outpost Lower Manhattan.”
Ringgold saluted back. “Thank you,” she said. “Good to be with you.”
“I’m Commander Amber Massey, and…well, it’s an honor to meet you.” She broke from formalities and extended her hand.
Ringgold exchanged greetings with Massey and the other military officers, and the civilians who had come to introduce themselves to her as well. She was prepared to be bombarded with demanding questions and perhaps angry words, but the faces around her seemed grateful.
“Thank you all for the warm welcome,” Ringgold said. “I want to talk more with each of you to see how we can help, but first Dr. Lovato and her team need to get to the tunnels to begin their work.”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 83
