Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Yes, but I do have some good news,” Ringgold said. “Canada and Mexico are committing their first two-thousand troops to the cause. That puts us at nearly nine-thousand men and women fighting against the evil plaguing our country.”

  “I’m confident we’ll retake the States,” Cornelius said. “We just have to keep working together.”

  “You’re right, but in the meantime, I’m afraid we have a refugee crisis. Lieutenant Festa has been coordinating our evacuation operations, so I’ll let him continue.”

  Festa took a deep breath, his chest rising. “As more outposts fall, we’re approaching the limit on how many refugees we can fit safely in our surviving bases. Everywhere from Outpost Pensacola to Houston are bursting at the seams with incoming refugees. Unfortunately, it’s not just a space issue, but also one of resources.”

  “Organizing resupply lines is becoming almost unmanageable,” Souza said. “We’re having trouble both securing them and rerouting them as each outpost falls.”

  “Not only that, but every time we try to relocate people, we’re expending fuel, ammunition to secure them, and vehicles that would be useful on the frontlines,” Festa said. “Simply put, trying to evacuate people and find them new places that are safe is becoming a losing proposition.”

  “That’s why I need you to ensure Puerto Rico is a safe haven,” Ringgold said. “Not just for command, but also for the people of the Allied States. My hope is that we can start sending refugees down there. That way, people will not have to keep moving from outpost to outpost.”

  “I can start reallocating a few of my private military’s planes to help with the evacuation, but we’re going to need a place to land,” Cornelius said.

  “Understood,” Lemke said. “How many people are you looking at relocating down here?”

  “We have at least forty-thousand people that we’re trying to find a secure location for in the immediate future, but if we fail to take back the states…” Festa let his words trail off.

  “We won’t fail,” Ringgold said.

  “Ma’am, I hate to say it, but we’re losing the war. We need to consider the possibility of losing the country,” Souza said. “We may need to evacuate every soul.”

  The entire room was silent.

  “We’re not retreating yet,” Ringgold said. “There’s plenty of fight left in us.”

  “Indeed.” Cornelius stood. “Don’t forget where you are, General Souza. Texans don’t know how to retreat.”

  — 3 —

  Master Sergeant Joe “Fitz” Fitzpatrick crouched between two pine trees outside the town of Banff, Canada. He was cold, tired, and he missed Rico more than ever before.

  His emotions were getting the best of him today, and his prosthetic blades didn’t help. Each step, he slipped in the white fluff. He felt like he was shoveling a pile of snow with the blades. Because of the effort it took to walk, the shirts and pants under his outerwear were soaked in sweat despite the cold.

  Even the oldest member of their team, Corporal Bobby Ace, seemed to be moving faster.

  Sergeant Yas Dohi was ahead of both of them. All three men used night vision goggles and walked with their rifles at the ready. The delicate swirl of falling snow in the green hue gave the cold night a sense of quiet serenity. That peacefulness belied the reason for Team Ghost’s mission tonight. They were tracking one of the deadliest Variants of the north. A giant beast that the Canadians called a bear had been spotted lurking outside Banff.

  When the scouts who spotted the creature had lost track of it in the mountains just southwest of the Fairmont hotel serving as Banff’s command center, General Kamer recruited Team Ghost to do what they did best: track down a monster. About ten yards south and parallel to their position was a four-person squad of Canadian special forces nicknamed Team Spearhead. Fitz was glad to have them along. They had joined primarily for support and education, staying within a dozen yards in case Ghost needed backup.

  Fitz sucked in a deep breath. His ribs still ached from the injuries he had sustained in Seattle, but his muscles had recovered some. A little rest and medical attention had gone a long way for him and Ace.

  But memories of the deranged Doctor Lloyd brutalizing them haunted him every time he closed his eyes. As tortured as he was by those memories, he could not help worrying about Rico. How was she doing in Texas? And when would he get to see her again? Team Ghost felt emptier without her by his side.

  He shook those thoughts away.

  Now he needed to focus.

  Fitz flipped up his night vision goggles and peered into his scope, surveying the spindly trees ahead. “Contacts?”

  “Negative,” Dohi whispered.

  Sergeant Lucas Neilson shook his head as he led his squad closer to Ghost. “Damn thing disappeared.”

  Fitz gave Dohi the signal to advance. They followed the massive footprints left behind in the snow from the huge bear.

  As much as he disliked being cooped up in the stuffy hotel, he didn’t like leaving their prisoner, the Chimera named Corrin, back in his makeshift prison cell alone. After all they had gone through, Fitz preferred that he or someone on his team kept watch over him at all times.

  Dohi held up his fist, and Fitz paused, bringing up his rifle once more.

  “I see another set of tracks,” Dohi said. “Must be two of them.”

  “You’re sure?” Fitz asked. The thought of another massive beast made him pause.

  “Yeah,” Dohi said. “In fact, there might be more than two. But the falling snow isn’t helping. It’s covering their trail, making it difficult to tell.”

  Fitz hesitated for a few seconds. The threat to their teams just increased two-fold, but it also put the base at risk. He radioed the new information to the lead of Spearhead and then motioned to keep moving.

  Dohi stalked the trail between the trees. A freezing wind howled overhead, shaking loose snow from the branches. The resulting rattle sounded like bones knocking together.

  The further they delved into the woods, the more Fitz felt like he could feel the eyes of predators watching them. The tracks they followed were not fresh. They led down from the mountain, into a valley, heading northwest toward the Bow River. Dohi had estimated the beasts had been through likely a few hours ago, and they had a long way to go before they caught up to them. Still Fitz could not shake the feeling of anticipation coursing through him. At each turn, he expected to hear an ear-shattering roar as one or both of the monsters charged.

  The Canadians had told Fitz that the bears usually ran straight at Banff. They were attracted by the sights and sounds of human activity, all too eager to feast when the opportunity presented itself.

  Yet for some reason, the original bear they were tracking had turned away from the sounds of snowmobile and truck engines near the base. And to make matters stranger, the second beast seemed to be headed in the same direction away from Banff.

  Fitz had long since learned that whenever Variants acted outside their normal behaviors, they had to be extraordinarily cautious. Usually that meant there was something more nefarious going on, generally involving collaborators or the New Gods. Either way, Ghost needed to find the bears to find out what was happening.

  Dohi knelt next to one of the footprints large enough to fit a human skull.

  As the Navajo tracker followed the rapidly disappearing tracks, Fitz and Ace scanned their surroundings. Dohi picked up his pace, skirting quicker between the trees as they climbed an incline. The light snowfall had almost buried the tracks.

  After another twenty minutes of desperately following the dwindling footsteps, Dohi finally stopped. Fitz watched him search the snow before standing and letting out a defeated sigh.

  “We’ve lost the footprints,” Dohi said.

  “I say we keep going,” Ace growled. “Got to be another way to find them.”

  The Canadian special forces trudged through the snow toward Ghost.

  Neilson paused next to Fitz, his three team members stand
ing behind him. “We should call this off and head back. It’s going to be like trying to find a snowball in an avalanche now.”

  “No,” Dohi said, scanning the trees. “Footprints are the easiest way to follow the beasts, but they aren’t the only way. I can find their trail again.”

  Neilson looked at Fitz as if he wasn’t sure.

  “If he says he can find them, he can find them,” Fitz said. “You want to turn around, go ahead. But we’re not going back until we find those bears. Rather we find them, than they find us.”

  Neilson shrugged, and for a second, Fitz thought the Canadians would start back to Banff.

  “Well, we aren’t leaving a bunch of Americans out in the Canadian wilderness,” Neilson said. “If you stay, we stay.”

  A large, gruff Canadian named Corporal Sherman stepped up. He had a thick black beard poking out of his parka that bobbed as he talked.

  “If your man can actually find these monsters, then all the drinks you want are on me when we get back,” Sherman said.

  “Sounds like a deal,” Ace said. “You heard him, Dohi. Work your magic.”

  “It isn’t magic,” Dohi said. “And if you all are coming with, I need you to be quieter than the dead.”

  “Consider me dead,” a skinny man with bright green eyes named Corporal Daugherty said.

  The third team member, a woman with raven-black hair named Private Lauren Toussaint nodded.

  The Canadians fell in line with the Americans. Fitz signaled for Ace and Sherman to take rearguard. Neilson, Daugherty, and Toussaint watched their flanks as Dohi led the group through the snow.

  He did so with deft surety, seemingly following invisible clues. Fitz watched the man trace his gloved finger over a tree, then pause as if he was sniffing the air like a hunting wolf.

  In reality, he knew that Dohi was not preternaturally gifted. He had just honed a set of skills that others neglected. The tracker stopped and pinched a single white piece of fur between his fingers, then changed direction.

  More and more frequently, Dohi stopped to take in their surroundings. The more they slowed, the more Fitz worried they had indeed lost the trail. Maybe his confident assurance to Neilson had been foolish. Maybe the tracker had finally met his match thanks to Mother Nature.

  Then Dohi held up a fist.

  The team froze.

  Dohi looked back at Fitz, signaling to his eyes, then flashed two fingers.

  Two contacts.

  He gestured for Dohi to lead them on the invisible path he had uncovered.

  They traveled only a few hundred yards to the edge of the forest. There the snow-covered trees gave way to a steep drop-off over a frozen stream. The ice was punctuated by jagged rocks. Between the rocks, Fitz finally saw their targets.

  Just as Dohi had estimated, two massive Variants with shaggy white fur were walking on all fours across the frozen water. Judging by their slow gaits, they did not know they were being followed.

  Fitz lined up his rifle, tracking their movements. He was still too far to ensure a clean kill shot, especially with the cover of the trees below.

  Before Fitz could give the order to advance, Dohi put a hand on his shoulder. Then the tracker pointed to another clearing between the trees.

  Fitz’s stomach sunk, fear creeping through his insides. They had anticipated running into the two bears.

  But those giant beasts were nothing compared to the sight before them.

  Neilson audibly gasped.

  Fitz peered through his rifle scope, counting each of the bears in the clearing.

  Six of them. Six abominations the size of the fabled Yeti with all the strength and power of a tank. They snarled at each other with long fangs protruding from their humanoid faces. Their white fur was long and clumped-together with dirt. Dried blood stained their chests from past kills.

  One bear posed a threat to an entire team, but this many, especially if they were working as a pack was dangerous as hell. The thought sent a chill through Fitz colder than the freezing snow.

  The last time he recalled Variants working in an organized fashion, far more dangerous and evil forces had been behind them.

  “What do we do now?” Ace said, sounding uncertain.

  Dohi directed his goggles at Fitz for orders.

  “We keep our distance, stay out of sight,” Fitz whispered. “We have to figure out what they’re up to.”

  “Bears aren’t smart enough to mount a coordinated attack or anything,” Neilson said. “They are mostly just mindless beasts.”

  “Don’t look like mindless beasts to me,” Ace said.

  Dohi snorted out a puff of misty air. “It’s not the bears I’m worried about. It’s whoever or whatever has brought all of them here.”

  ***

  “Bet you thought you could get rid of me, huh, Temper?” said Sergeant Candace Ruckley.

  “Nah, after everything I’ve seen you go through, I know better than that,” Timothy said. “And honestly, I appreciate you letting me join your team. I know I didn’t exactly follow your orders in the field.”

  “Yeah, but you learned how to handle yourself and kept my ass alive.” She gave him a playful punch to the arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sitting in the back of a moving Humvee, he checked over his M4A1 rifle and pulled on its sling to ensure everything was secure. Tonight was his first official mission as an enlisted soldier in the Allied States Army. Training in Galveston had only lasted a few days, but Beckham and Horn had agreed the experience he had in the field was even better preparation.

  They are short on soldiers, he thought.

  Most everyone was dead or injured like Ruckley.

  She rubbed her healing arm. Her standard issue ACU-jacket covered the bandages wrapped around the stitches tracing up her biceps.

  “How’s that feeling?” Timothy asked.

  “Fine,” she said. “Infection is gone.”

  Timothy wondered if she should even be on a mission out here. If the outpost doctors weren’t already stretched so thin, worried about patients in worse shape than her, they might’ve even forced her to stay behind. But Timothy had learned that Ruckley, like him, wasn’t the type of soldier who sat on the sidelines. She had sweet-talked her way straight out of the hospital and while she couldn’t carry an M4, she still gripped an M9.

  “Closing in on our target, Sarge,” said Corporal Boyd. The middle-aged man with sharp features drove the Humvee with his eyes glued to the road. He had served in the defensive forces of Outpost Chattanooga before the Tennessee town had been overwhelmed by Variant forces.

  “Locked and loaded, and ready to go,” Corporal Mark Wong said. The Asian-American man was a Houston native who had volunteered to join the scouting mission given his knowledge of the area.

  “Good,” Ruckley said. “This should be routine. We go in quiet for recon.”

  “What are we looking for?” Boyd asked. “Couple of gators? Bunch of empty houses?”

  “Hopefully more of the latter and none of the former,” Ruckley said. “The SDS equipment Captain Beckham and those engineers set up haven’t detected any Variants tunneling, but Northside units reported straggler Variant activity just outside the I-610 loop.”

  “That’s a little too close to the outpost for my comfort,” Wong said.

  “Then hopefully all we see are gators,” Ruckley said. “Maybe we can make some good gator fritters if someone’s got a decent recipe.”

  Timothy looked at Wong.

  Wong laughed. “What, Temper, you think just because I’m from the south I eat gator? How about you, Boyd?”

  “Only time I touched it was when I was in New Orleans,” Boyd said, downshifting as they pulled off the empty highway and into a neighborhood. “Kinda tasted like chicken.”

  “Really?” Timothy asked.

  “Well, like really fatty chicken. Not my favorite, but not bad.”

  Boyd turned the Humvee down a suburban street lined with dar
k houses, drawing closer to their target. All the yards were covered in wild flowers and tall grass.

  “Almost there,” he reported.

  “Just remember, the beasts out here might be nothing but normal, dumb Variants, but when they’re hungry, they’re desperate, and we’re the snacks,” Ruckley said.

  Wong leaned forward in his seat and clapped Boyd on the shoulder. “Some of us are more than just snacks.”

  “Not going to let a Variant get close to me,” Boyd said, slowing the Humvee as they entered a neighborhood. “You know how fast you need to be to outrun a hungry Variant?”

  Wong rolled his eyes.

  “How about you, Private Temper?” Boyd asked.

  “Don’t have any idea. I shoot them.”

  Boyd laughed. “Good answer. But the real answer is you don’t have to be fast. You just have to run faster than your buddy. And I happen to know Wong is slow as shit.”

  The Humvee slowed in front of a house with broken windows.

  “All right, boys, get your shit together, because it’s serious from here on out,” Ruckley said. “Remember, recon only. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sarge,” Timothy said.

  Boyd and Wong each nodded.

  The humor they used to mask the fear and tension disappeared.

  Ruckley opened her door first and slipped out into the night. Boyd and Wong went next, followed by Timothy. Each flipped down their night-vision goggles.

  The humid night air brought with it a cool breeze. Not nearly as cold as it had been in the northeast, but Timothy still shivered. He tried to pretend it was just due to the wind, but he knew better.

  Ruckley signaled for Wong to take point, and Boyd fell in on rearguard. They carried their weapons at the ready as they walked down the middle of the street. Much of the road was covered in mud, splashing under their boots.

  Vegetation grew along the exteriors of the abandoned houses with mold and mildew creeping up the sides. The sight was a reminder that Houston had been built on swamps and marshland, and nature was quick to reclaim civilization.

  Wong paused at a T-intersection. He gestured for them to take a left down a street where half the houses were nothing but blackened beams and a few lone walls. Trees sprouted from what had once been living rooms, showing this fire had been years ago, likely during the first war.