Tasha blushed, and Jenny let out a soft laugh.
“Don’t you get any ideas now that I’m leaving,” Horn said with a slight scowl. “I’m telling Connor to keep an eye on you.”
Connor was the Secret Service agent who had watched the kids back in Long Island. With Ringgold’s blessing, he was once again looking out for them while Kate, Beckham, and Horn went out into the field.
“Truth is, Timothy isn’t staying behind anyway,” Tasha said. “He told me he’s headed to Houston.”
Horn looked at Beckham. “He’s going with us?”
Beckham nodded. “Timothy and Sergeant Ruckley are being sent with a platoon of new recruits to help defend Houston.”
“He hasn’t even finished training,” Tasha said.
“I know, but we’re so short on men and women, and he’s one of the best.” Beckham said. “Truth be told, Ruckley also asked for him. She likes Timothy as much as we do.”
Tasha looked at her dad. “Can you look out for Timothy? Make sure he’s safe?”
“Of course,” Horn said.
“Captain, we better get moving,” a soldier called from the cab of the transport truck.
Beckham gave him a nod, then bent to one knee and pulled Javier in tight for a hug. “Listen to Connor and be good, okay?”
“I will,” Javier said.
Kate took her turn with Javier, squeezing him tightly. Saying goodbye to her young son never got any easier, no matter how many times she had to do it.
“I love you,” she said, brushing back some of his hair. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“Soon this will all be over, and we won’t have to go anywhere without each other again.”
The soldier in the cab of the truck leaned out the open window again. “Captain, sorry to interrupt, but we’re losing daylight.”
Kate gave Javier one last hug, and Horn returned from saying goodbye to his girls. Rico was already in the back of the Stryker staring off into space, indicating to Kate she was probably thinking about Fitz.
“I’m sure Fitz is fine,” Kate said.
“Yeah, for sure.”
She didn’t sound convinced.
The diesel engine chugged to life. Kate, Horn, and Beckham waved to the kids from out of the open back hatch until the warehouse was out of sight.
Beckham closed the hatch, and a few minutes later, the Stryker joined a convoy of other transport trucks and Humvees at the outer gates for the bridge leading to the mainland. Soldiers atop the wall opened the sliding metal gate, and once again, the convoy was off, driving into the wastelands.
They passed by abandoned homes lining a marina. Boats rotted in their slips, many half-sunk. Paint on the houses flaked away like the dead skin off a corpse.
As they left the coast behind, sunlight waned over the Texas horizon, falling in orange hues through the slightly open hatch on the roof and the hatch over the driver. They drove through the outer suburbs of Houston, which looked no better than the neighborhoods closer to Galveston. Charred houses were nearly buried from where they had fallen into sinkholes formed by Variant tunnels.
Kate squeezed Beckham’s hand at the shriek of a Variant.
The convoy suddenly slowed to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Ron asked.
“Got a roadblock,” the driver said. “Bunch of abandoned cars.”
Leslie cowered next to Sammy and Ron looked at Beckham.
“Captain, we can’t stay here,” Ron said.
“I know.” Beckham pushed open one of the slotted panels for a look. “Horn, get topside.”
“You got it,” Horn said, pushing out the roof hatch with his M-249.
“Hunker down and stay inside,” Beckham said, turning back to Kate and the others.
“Shit, we got contacts at our three!” the driver suddenly shouted.
Kate peered around the driver to see a glimpse out the front hatch. She saw the shadows of skeletal creatures running at their Stryker. The chatter of Horn’s M-249 came to life above, resonating inside the Stryker.
Beckham spoke to the driver and Kate tried to listen. Judging by his cursing, they were in deep trouble.
“We got to clear the path,” he said.
“Can’t we just ram whatever’s blocking the road?” Ron asked.
“There are too many cars ahead,” Beckham said. “But we got guys from the transport truck working on clearing it.” He went to the rear hatch. “Rico, on me. Rest of you stay inside, no matter what happens.”
He gave Rico a nod. Then they jumped outside. Gunfire cracked immediately from both sides of the Stryker, joining with the chainsaw bark of the M249 topside.
Screams rang out, some of panic, others yelling orders, and then a cry of pain. Not Beckham, or Rico, from what Kate could tell.
“Contacts on our six!” someone shouted.
Something slammed the back of the hatch, and Leslie screeched. Ron pulled her close, and Sammy sat trembling.
“It’s okay,” Kate said. “We’re going to—”
Small arms fire drowned out her voice.
“Timothy!” came a scream.
That was Beckham.
More gunfire cracked, followed by a chorus of Variant shrieks and howls.
“Roadblocks are clear!” the driver yelled.
The back hatch opened, and Beckham hopped inside with Rico, their ACUs painted with blood. Horn dropped down from the top hatch.
“Go, go, go!” Beckham shouted.
The convoy rolled forward, chugging along once again.
“Is Timothy okay?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, he’s the reason we’re moving again,” Beckham said. “Took a big risk, but it paid off.”
He let out a sigh and rested his back against the bulkhead.
The scientists from Kate’s team simply stared.
The rest of the ride fell into solemn silence. Kate kept expecting another roadblock or for screeching Variants to descend on them, but the ride was smooth. When they finally made it to the outskirts of Outpost Houston, the sky was turning purple and the first few bright stars were beginning to show in the descending darkness.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
Beckham nodded. “SDS crew, with me and Horn. Everyone else is moving out to the tunnels.”
Horn stood, stretching his arms, then patted his belly. “Wonder if they prepared that good old Texas barbecue for us? I’m hungry as hell.”
Beckham tossed him an energy bar. “There. That’s dinner.”
A Ford pickup pulled up toward them. Kate shielded her eyes from the beams until the truck killed its lights. Six soldiers sat in the pickup’s bed.
“That must be the welcoming party,” Horn said.
Beckham led the group out of the Stryker, and a man stepped out of the pickup to greet them. He was tall and muscular. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal arms rippling with what looked to be burn scars. When he approached, Kate saw that half of his face shone like it was plastic from more burns.
“I’m Commander Leo Jacobs,” the man said. He stretched a hand out to Beckham.
“Captain Reed Beckham.”
“I know who you are. Practically a celebrity.” Jacobs nodded toward a group of men that had jumped off the bed of his pickup. “We don’t have much left of the city, but I take pride in what little we’ve managed to cling to. My boys will get you and your team oriented with the base so you can set up that SDS equipment and consult with our defensive operations.”
“Yes, sir,” Beckham said.
The six soldiers split up to help the Canadian engineers offload the SDS equipment into the pickup.
“You better go with them,” Jacobs said to Beckham.
“Yes, sir.” Beckham turned to Kate. “I love you. Be safe.”
“You, too,” she said.
Beckham, Horn, and Rico took off in the pickup with the engineering team, disappearing into the base.
“You mus
t be Dr. Lovato.” Jacobs extended a hand to Kate. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for hosting us,” she said, shaking his hand.
He climbed into the Stryker. Kate and her team jumped into the back again. This time, six of the commander’s armed guards joined them.
Once again, they passed through a steel-paneled gate, this time taking them outside the protection of the walls. A single hospital was to their right surrounded by crumbling apartment buildings. Unlike the apartment buildings, the hospital looked mostly intact.
The soldiers hopped out of the truck first, forming a perimeter.
“All clear!” one said.
The group exited the Stryker with their computers in tow.
“Alpha Security, Jacobs here,” the commander said. “Light the place up.”
A buzz like a gigantic hive of bees coming to life grew from the hospital. Lights flickered on inside the cracked windows, glowing as the last remnants of daylight faded from the Texas sky.
“The last time the Variants hit us, they tunneled into this hospital’s parking garage,” Jacobs said.
As they walked up the sidewalk toward the hospital, Kate noticed dozens of soldiers posted in windows, silhouetted against the light. Jacobs led them down stairs in the hospital’s lobby to a cavernous underground parking garage with an entrance ramp sealed by rubble.
Banks of lights illuminated the space, and twenty soldiers surrounded the far side. There, a handful of spotlights shone into a sight that had become all too familiar. Pulsating red vines roped out of a tunnel, spreading from the dark soil and over the concrete. Kate’s stomach lurched. It wasn’t just the sight of the webbing network, but the overwhelming odor of death that came with it.
“This is the tunnel the beasts used when they nearly destroyed us,” Jacobs said. “We’ve got generators down here to keep the lights on and power your equipment. We also requisitioned a clinical laboratory upstairs you can use if needed.”
“Excellent, thank you,” Kate said. She wasn’t used to military commanders anticipating all her scientific needs like this.
“I’m heading back to base. If you need anything—more men, more computers, more generators—don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you very much, Commander,” Kate said.
The commander retreated, leaving behind the soldiers who had carried down the scientific equipment. Kate immediately began directing her team to set up near the tunnel. It took them a half-an-hour to prepare.
“All the software is ready,” Sammy reported, sitting at her station.
“I’ve got the microarrays prepped,” Leslie reported.
“Initiate the computer connections,” Kate said.
Sammy nodded, fingers typing on her keyboard as Leslie inserted the connector.
“I’ve established an active connection,” Sammy said. “We just need you to plug in.”
This was the part Kate hated. They had discovered computer communications alone with the Variant network were inadequate to sabotage the messages being sent between enemy forces. Like the difference between a computerized operator on the telephone and an actual human customer service representative, the creatures on the other end of the webbing preferred to talk with “biological” voices.
In other words, they could tell when Kate’s team was using solely the computer, which would blow their cover.
“This one’s for you.” Ron held a piece of webbing in one hand and motioned for Kate to take a seat with the other.
She did as instructed, trying to keep calm and preparing for the voices transmitting over the networks. Hundreds of them, some calling out in horror, others giving orders. Filtering through them was how they had learned the master of the New Gods they were seeking was actually called ‘the Prophet’, something she had discovered during the last time she connected.
Ron placed the webbing on the back of her neck, and she felt the familiar, sickening warmth of the tendril.
She clenched her jaw, nerves tingling. Soon her mind would be swimming in the crazed voices of monsters across the country.
And she would be the lone person infiltrating their ranks.
“Ready,” she said. “Connect me.”
***
Ringgold heard gunshots and screams, the cries of her people rising in the night. Galveston was losing to a fresh siege of Variants, and her people were dying.
Soldiers. Civilians. Women. Children.
She wanted to fight, but she had no weapon, nothing but her hands.
Two gunshots popped in the hallway outside her room. Voices called out, then a scream of pain and the crunching of bones and teeth tearing flesh.
“No,” she muttered. “God, no.”
Ringgold froze.
A long, deep scratch came on the door. Blood pooled underneath it, soiling the carpet.
She scrambled backward into the corner of the room, cowering.
The Variant outside slammed the door hard, nearly breaking one of the hinges.
She pressed her hands over her ears to block out the screams of people being torn apart. The banging on her door grew into a violent cacophony, broken only by a loud voice.
“Madam President, please open the door.”
She jolted awake, sweating where she lay in bed panting.
Get ahold of yourself, Jan.
It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.
But the truth was reality was just as much of a nightmare.
“Madam President,” the voice at the door said, followed by another knock.
“One moment,” she replied.
Ringgold splashed water on her face in the Galveston hotel room, exhausted as usual. The tasks of organizing the streams of refugees, reinforcing surviving outposts, and strategizing military actions were like throwing a jigsaw into the air and trying to put all the pieces together before they hit the ground.
The burden of all the lives lost, all the people without homes, the prisoners taken by the Variants who might still be alive out there crashed over her like a violent avalanche.
She drank a glass of water and opened the door to find it was Chief of Staff James Soprano waiting outside.
“Madam President, I’m sorry to bother you, but your call with the vice president is in a few minutes.” He held out a coffee. “I thought you might need this.”
Ringgold took the cup, savoring the aroma. “James, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Soprano said. Then he shot her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“Just trying to catch some shuteye.” Ringgold stepped out of her room, quick to change the subject. “Any word from Outpost Houston?”
“Yes, we just received a message from Commander Jacobs. The science team initiated their connection with the Variant network and are currently monitoring all communications.”
“And Captain Beckham?”
“He’s consulting with the Canadian engineering team and Commander Jacobs on how best to reinforce Outpost Houston’s defenses. They have also set up the first SDS sensors around the outpost’s walls.”
“Very good,” Ringgold said.
The hotel corridors took them through the second floor that Ringgold had turned into her latest version of the fabled West Wing. As they walked, she tried to count the times she had relocated the country’s capitol. No other president in history had moved it as many times as she had.
She and her administration had constantly been trying to stay one step ahead of the New Gods.
This time, she vowed, her administration would not be running anywhere. The truth was, they hardly had anywhere left to run.
While Lemke was setting up a new, safer Central Command in Puerto Rico, she wanted to stay with her people for as long as possible.
Soprano led them down to the first floor to the conference room where she had met with Beckham and Kate several hours ago. General Souza and Lieutenant Festa were already there, ready for their first in-person meeting since arriving from Puerto Rico
.
General Cornelius sat across from them at the otherwise empty table, his face buried in a briefing.
They all stood when Ringgold entered, and she nodded a greeting at them before taking a seat at the head of the table. Soprano placed a conference phone between the four leaders and dialed into an encrypted line.
“Lemke here,” a voice crackled over the speaker.
“This is Jan,” Ringgold said. “How are things?”
“President Ringgold, good to hear your voice. Things are moving along here. The port was a mess when we arrived, but we’ve cleaned things up enough to dock a few of the fleet’s ships. We’re transporting supplies to and from the island by tender for those ships that can’t dock.”
“Any reports of hostiles?” General Souza asked.
“Only a few Variants,” Lemke said. “Nothing’s changed dramatically since you and Festa returned to the States. We’ve taken precautions against the seaborne variety as well, but we haven’t faced anything that can’t be dealt with easily.”
“What we have seen in PR aligns with our intel,” Festa said. “It seems the New Gods activity is strictly in the Allied States for now.”
“What about human survivors?” Ringgold asked.
“There weren’t any in San Juan,” Souza replied.
“But there could be pockets of survivors we haven’t encountered yet deeper in the island,” Lemke said. “We’ve sent out a few scouts to check likely locations.”
“I see.” Even more pressing was a question that had pained Ringgold ever since she had left the First Fleet. “Have you found any collaborator infiltrators in the fleet?”
“No, Madam President. Thanks to General Souza’s help, we’ve secured the entire fleet, and I’m confident we’re free from any collaborator moles.”
Ringgold wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she knew not to be too optimistic. “Stay vigilant. We cannot take anything for granted anymore.”
“Rest assured, I haven’t taken our search for traitors lightly. How are things in the States?”
“We’re down to twenty-three outposts as of today, almost all located within the American southeast.”
The line went quiet.
“Dan, are you still there?” she asked.
“I am… it’s just… my God, only twenty-three?”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 100
