Variants exploded from the park, their voices raised in a demonic chorus. The tap of claws against asphalt clattered down the street.
Fitz and Ace pressed their backs against the dumpster, trying to remain hidden. They heard the clatter of galloping monsters careening toward their position, joints clicking.
Then another pack flanked them from the south of the street, forcing the men around the side of the dumpster to hide.
Soon the meager shelter they had found would be worthless when the monsters stormed over their position.
“We got to move,” Fitz whispered to Ace.
He ran to the fire escape and scaled the ladder, his prosthetics clanging on the iron rungs. Ace followed him up.
The monsters barreled down the street beneath them, heading in the direction of the whistling. Fitz couldn’t tell who was calling the Variants, but they had the monsters trained like disciplined hunting hounds.
A loud shriek burst from the street. One of the Variants froze amid the flow of the others. The diseased face turned up toward Fitz, and it wasted no time letting out an ear-shattering screech.
The rest of the pack paused.
The first time they had managed to evade the beasts, but not now.
“Faster,” Fitz said.
He kept climbing as the Variants jumped to the side of the building, ascending like spiders on the brick and using the webbing as a ladder. Dozens of jaws snapped and lips popped.
One of the beasts jumped to the fire escape and leapt at Ace. He kicked its snarling face with a crack that knocked the beast backward.
Fitz looked back up. They were almost to the top, but if there wasn’t an escape door on the roof, they would be forced to engage the monsters.
Maybe it didn’t matter. By now, whoever controlled the beasts would have noticed them chasing after fresh prey.
A chilling message hissed into his ear.
“Ghost One, hostiles on the roof,” Dohi said over the comms.
Fitz got to the top of the roof to find four Variants lingering between the thick vines of red webbing. He slid over the lip of the roof and fired a suppressed burst into the closest creature, then a second, and third. Another shot, and the fourth was dead.
He turned back to the stairs as Ace reached up. The sight below filled Fitz with cold terror.
The entire side of the building was covered in crawling monsters. Fitz helped pull Ace over the side and then started to back up looking for an escape. He saw a rooftop door, but another pack of Variants had emerged behind it.
Heads exploded in sprays of mist as Dohi picked them off.
Fitz turned back to Ace and gave the order to open fire.
The Variants poured up around all sides of the roof, surrounding them. They fired calculated burst after burst, knocking the creatures backward.
But they kept coming, like always, they surged forward. Driven by hunger and the desire to kill.
The bolt on Fitz’s rifle locked back. He ejected the magazine, grabbed a new one, and jammed it into place.
Before he fired again, another shrill whistle sounded.
The Variants froze, nearly two dozen of them forming a circle around Fitz and Ace. The rooftop door burst open, and a Chimera strode out, leading a squadron of ugly half-beast soldiers with faces covered in crooked scars. Evidence of brutal surgeries to construct their frightening visages.
Their reptilian eyes radiated a cold hatred, and their thin, gray lips peeled back to reveal teeth that looked eerily similar to a normal Variant’s. Most had stubby claws at the end of their fingers, and their noses were squashed, nothing more than a pair of snake-like slits.
They growled and spoke in gravelly voices commanding Fitz and Ace to get down.
The two operators came back to back.
“Boss, what do we do?” Ace asked.
Fitz’s heart sank, fear wrapping its chilling fingers around his insides.
Fighting would get them killed. Surrendering might, too. It was either die now, or take their chances, and hope Dohi got away.
“Drop your weapon,” Fitz said.
He lowered his rifle, and Ace did too.
As soon as they did, the Chimeras descended on them.
***
The air reeked of melted plastic and burning oak. Ash fell over the outpost like snow as the last remnants of daylight faded over Lower Manhattan. The few surviving firemen struggled to put out the flames smoldering on what was left of the canvas tents and buildings.
Fischer waited outside the 9/11 museum that served as the infirmary. With the command tent burned down, it now housed the temporary CIC. He took a deep breath, then removed his cowboy hat and shook some of the ash off the brim.
He had stepped out of the museum for a breath of fresh air before his next strategy meeting. But like one of those brutal dog days of Texas summer, there was no cool fresh air to be had.
A glass of whiskey to take the edge off sounded like heaven right now. His old body wasn’t used to the sheer volume of adrenaline that had been rushing through his blood vessels this past week.
He checked his watch. It was time for his next meeting.
Carrying his hat, he walked back into the museum toward the offices that had become the center of defensive operations.
The groans of the injured filled the long makeshift hospital. Precious little medicine remained for those people. Fischer had heard that they would run out of the antibiotics and painkillers before the next morning.
Seeing the suffering and knowing another Variant attack would come sooner than later hit him harder than an angry bronc. But like trying to tame a wild stallion, the only way to beat past those thoughts was jumping back in the saddle.
He stepped aside to let a pair of medics past. They hurried down the rows of patients suffering gruesome burns.
God help their souls, Fischer prayed.
Seeing the injured reminded him of his wife’s worst days when she’d been ill. How she had moaned and writhed, and how he had desperately wished he could change places with her to ease her suffering.
There was nothing he could do for her then and nothing he could do for these people now besides prepare to defend them from the next attack.
The sound of raised voices echoed out of the offices. Fischer left the medical ward and went to the temporary CIC for the imminent meeting. Officers sat around communications gear and computers.
At one conference table, President Ringgold sat with Commander Massey. Chase and Chief of Staff James Soprano were busy helping a few officers set up new equipment.
Fischer sat, placing his hat in his lap.
“Madam President,” he said politely.
A deep sadness filled her eyes, but it passed and she turned to Commander Massey.
“Let’s get started,” Ringgold said.
“I’ll start with some good news,” Massey said. “Thanks to the president, we have a resupply coming.”
“Resupply?” Fischer asked.
“General Cornelius is sending air support and vehicles to assist with evac,” Ringgold said. “It’ll take some time to organize but should be here tomorrow.”
“Good,” Fischer said. “That means he can get the president to safety, too, right? Or do we have another chopper on its way from command?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ringgold said.
“Pardon me?” Fischer said, trying to conceal his shock.
“I’m not abandoning the outpost,” Ringgold said. “Even if I wanted to, it’s too dangerous. There might still be bats out there to take out air support.”
“Cornelius is sending advanced thermal detection systems complete with automated turrets, kind of like what the Navy uses in their automated Phalanx CIWIZ systems,” Massey said. “With a little work, we can modify them to fire shotgun shells. Might be our only chance at preventing those suckers from tearing us apart again.”
“That takes care of our threat in the air, but we still have to worry about those on the ground,”
Soprano said. He looked to Ringgold. “Souza and Festa said they could send a boat, but…”
“No choppers, no boats,” Ringgold said.
Massey took a deep breath. “Now for the bad news. After last night, we only have about two-thirds of our remaining forces in combat ready condition.”
Fischer had thought it was worse than that.
“That’s where you come in,” Massey said, turning to Fischer.
“We need that early warning system back in place. I’ve got to organize the defenses here, but I trust you to find a good spot for the vibroseis truck. I’ll send out a group of my best with you, and we’ll reinforce whatever position you choose with everything we can spare.”
Fischer stood. “You can count on me, ma’am.”
Massey waved over a group of soldiers led by a stocky, bearded man who had a thick head of dark black hair. “Sergeant Dwyer, Fischer’s ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dwyer said. “Follow me, sir.”
“Good luck,” Ringgold said.
He tipped his hat at her, then waved at Chase. They tailed Dwyer out of the museum. A concrete pathway covered in ash led them between blackened trees.
The vibroseis truck waited for them in the next street behind a Humvee and a repurposed Marine MRTV. The big Marine transport truck was already loaded with crates of weapons and materials for barricades to reinforce defensive positions.
Two Bradleys idled behind the other three vehicles, and twenty soldiers stood around them carrying weapons. Some wore military ACUs, but others looked like civilians. Some of those civilians appeared too old or too young to fight.
Dwyer gestured to the forces. “We’re ready to defend that truck with our lives.”
“Me too,” Fischer said.
The sky had turned a shade of purple, darkness on the horizon. Deep in his mind, Fischer heard his wife’s voice telling him to leave, to escape while he still could.
It’s too late for that, he thought.
He wasn’t going to cut and run now. Tran had given his life for this place, and Fischer planned on doing the same if it meant saving the people hunkered down here.
Chase split off and hopped into the cab of the vibroseis truck. Fischer followed Dwyer to the lead Humvee and stepped into the front passenger seat.
“Where to?” Dwyer asked.
“Start driving north.”
Fischer pulled a map from his vest. He tugged his overgrown mustache as he studied candidate locations he had considered earlier.
Guards opened the gate ahead. The convoy drove out, once again, into enemy territory. Now getting closer and closer to the memorial.
Fischer studied the past locations he had used. Bogardus Garden and City Hall Park were perfect locations, but the sinkholes and rubble of the previous attacks had ruined them.
“We should pick a spot close to the outpost in case they need our help or we need to retreat,” Fischer said. “A relatively open space would be best. Somewhere that doesn’t have a jungle of waterlines running under it if we want to prevent another sinkhole disaster.”
“How about Battery Park?” Dwyer asked. “Specifically, the ballfields.”
Fischer looked at the map, pressing his finger on the spot. “Not a bad idea.”
The caravan navigated between the burned-out vehicles and debris littering the streets. Heading farther away from the memorial.
“Always liked baseball,” Dwyer said. “How about you, sir?”
Fischer smiled. He appreciated the sergeant shooting the shit with him.
“Good American sport,” he replied. “I loved the Astros.”
“I worked out of Quantico for a long time before the Great War. Loved my Nats.”
“Maybe someday we’ll see a game again,” Fischer said.
“Never count us New Yorkers out.”
Fischer had been so focused on getting through the next couple of hours and mourning the death of Tran, he hadn’t considered what might happen after the war.
Hope was important. Even if it was just a couple of men making idle chatter.
As dusk settled over the city, any hope of a bright future seemed less and less likely.
They arrived at the fields as the sun dipped behind the skyrises. The last rays of light cut between the buildings and retreated over the muddy, overgrown fields that had once been two baseball diamonds.
The land was flat enough for the vibroseis truck, and the towers around it would be perfect for sniper positions. And with the open ballfields, there was plenty of room for evacuation routes and space for all their other vehicles.
“Good suggestion, Sergeant,” Fischer said. “This will do.”
“I’ll start the barricades.”
Dwyer relayed orders on the radio.
The vibroseis truck was parked between the two unkempt baseball diamonds, and the other vehicles circled around it for protection.
Soldiers piled out and started setting up defensive positions. Others set off into the neighboring buildings to help the snipers find the best vantages.
Fischer walked over to the vibroseis truck as Chase stepped out.
“You ready for this, son?” he asked.
Chase sighed. “There are a lot worse places to die than on a baseball field, sir.”
— 19 —
Dohi perched at the edge of an apartment balcony. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, and shadows cloaked Seattle.
He peered through his binos at the Variants crawling over CECO like ants, using the webbing covering the building as scaffolding.
On the ground, a group of Chimeras held a tight perimeter.
An hour had passed since the bastards captured Ace and Fitz. Dohi’s pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. He couldn’t have saved them without being made.
Right? he thought.
He had constantly second-guessed himself, wondering if there was something he could have done differently. A shot he could’ve taken or an opportunity he had missed to distract the Chimeras and their monsters.
You can still save them.
Dohi retreated into the rooms covered in dust and mold. He considered his options again in the apartment. Trying to gun down the guards to get into CECO wouldn’t work.
He did not even have the ammunition to wage a one-man war against the forces he’d seen. Sneaking in through the roof would be a terrible decision too, given that’s where the enemy had captured Fitz and Ace.
If going above ground wouldn’t work, that left one option.
Dohi gathered his pack along with a few useful items he’d scavenged from the apartment building, stuffing them into his pack. He thought about the surrounding city block as he crept down the stairwell, boots smashing the layers of dust and mildew as he made his way to street-level.
The webbing draping off the CECO building didn’t spread past the surrounding block. For the facility to connect with the Variant’s communication network, the webbing had to go somewhere.
The obvious answer was underground.
Dohi navigated around the human bones and skulls littering the lobby. He stopped when an idea formed in his mind.
Bending down, he carefully grabbed a few long bones and a couple smaller ones, stuffing them into his pack before pushing open the back door to the alley.
From the alley, he couldn’t see the CECO building, but he listened for the calls of the Chimeras and the Variant packs.
When it was all clear, he maneuvered past a dumpster. Then he set out along the cracked asphalt until he reached a manhole. He pried it open as quietly as possible.
The sour scent of rotting fruit escaped the tunnel.
He flipped his NVGs down, then slowly lowered himself inside.
The dark subterranean world came alive in a flood of green, white, and black. A current of fetid water flowed a couple inches deep in the middle of the tunnel.
Webbing stretched over the concrete walls of the tunnel. A net of vines bridged over the surface of the water.
Memorie
s of being trapped in a tunnel like this surfaced in his mind.
The webbing crawling over him, probing at him, worming its way around him as if it were trying to pierce his flesh.
With a deep breath, he descended into the darkness, counting the steps and intersections to estimate his position under the apartment building. He headed toward where he presumed the CECO building would be.
The echoing chatter of a pair of Chimeras in the tunnel told him he was on the right path.
He stopped as the webbing suddenly pulsed, throbbing as if it was pumping blood through a giant creature. If he made a misstep now, it wouldn’t just be him strung up in this webbing. Fitz and Ace would share a fate worse than death as permanent captives of these Chimeras.
The chatter grew louder. It seemed to be coming from a lit up T-intersection.
Next to the corner of the intersection, Dohi flipped up his NVGs. He snuck a glance around the corner. Two Chimeras stood at the end of a twenty-yard stretch of tunnel in front of a steel door. Their reptilian eyes shimmered in the glow of lights hanging from the cracked ceiling.
Webbing protruded through ports in the wall around the door. The door appeared to be secured by a keycard slot next to the handle.
Dohi knew he couldn’t sneak up on the two guards.
Shooting them was an option, but even a suppressed shot would resound noisily in this enclosed space. Whoever was on the other side of that door might hear and lockdown the facility, spoiling his plans.
The only easy way in, Dohi figured, was drawing them away from their position and into his clutches.
He had come prepared and retreated deeper into the dark corridor off the T-intersection. From his pack, he drew a small penlight and a length of long black ethernet cable. He recalled the words of his grandfather as he set up the trap.
Distraction is your enemy on the hunt. But it is also your best tool. If you cannot catch your quarry unaware, catch them confused.
He used the ethernet cable to create a snare, placing the loop under the slow-moving water. Then he stuck the longer bones from the building into the netting.
Next to them, he flicked on the penlight and directed the small light over the bones.
The Chimeras’ eyes would be drawn to the penlight when they rounded the intersection, blinding them. Then he could take them out silently.
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 87
