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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  It was Neilson and the rest of Spearhead with Sergeant Prince.

  “Get in!” Neilson said, motioning to the closest truck.

  They all piled into the back, hunching down against the freezing metal. Ace lowered Kamer gently onto the truck bed. The man was unconscious, but alive.

  Dohi looked out the back of the vehicle at a monstrous shape silhouetted against the fires. The general.

  The monstrous Variant stood his ground, watching as the truck took off.

  “What the hell was that thing?” Neilson asked.

  “An Alpha,” Fitz said.

  “The general,” Corrin said. “Leader of the New God armies.”

  The group fell into silence as the truck raced away for safety far from the base.

  Toussaint broke the quiet. “Is this what it’s like?”

  “What?” Ace asked.

  “The attacks, the monsters, out of nowhere?”

  Fitz nodded. “Almost always, there’s little warning.”

  “And most of the time, it’s a slaughter,” Ace added.

  “Good God,” Toussaint said.

  “I’m sorry,” Prince said. “We had no idea.”

  “No more,” Neilson said. “We’re in this fight now.”

  “Where are we headed?” Fitz asked.

  “Calgary,” Prince said. “We’ll regroup there.”

  Dohi took in a deep breath. He couldn’t help but feel Ace was right, and they were heading from one slaughter to another.

  ***

  Beckham knocked on the door to the laboratory. Through a window, he saw Kate working in an isolated chamber. She wore a blue CBRN suit. Yellow biohazard signs hung on the wall near the chamber and above a decon anteroom leading into it.

  Kate could not hear him through the double sets of windows, but her assistant Ron was working in the less-restricted BSL-2 portion and noticed him standing there. Ron nodded at Beckham, then went to an intercom connected to the interior of the isolated chamber. Kate turned and waved a gloved hand. She went through the decon process, then carefully removed her suit before finally exiting and meeting him outside the lab.

  “Sorry, I know I’m late,” Kate said. “I got wrapped up with work.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Beckham held up a paper bag. “I brought lunch.”

  “Great. I’m starving. Truth be told, I need some time away from the lab.”

  They left the hospital and met four soldiers outside who had escorted Beckham there. Together they walked under the afternoon sun back toward the outpost gate.

  “You know the hospital is only a five-minute walk from the gate,” Kate said. “I can make it there in broad daylight, especially with the men Commander Jacobs assigned to protect me.”

  “I feel better walking you in myself.”

  Kate wrapped her arm through his. “And that’s why I love you.”

  Once inside the outpost, Beckham led them to the nearest park. Trees dotted the wide, rolling lawns around a long reflection pool leading to a lake. Ducks and geese squawked as they milled about the water, their calls mixing in with the chatter of all the refugees who had recently arrived at Houston.

  Dozens of tents had been installed around the park to house the newcomers. The soldiers following Kate and Beckham watched them with suspicion.

  “So many people.” Kate’s gaze followed a pair of young boys kicking a soccer ball back and forth. “And so many families.”

  Beckham thought of Javier in Galveston with the girls, hoping they were doing okay.

  “Maybe we can try and call Connor tonight,” Beckham said as they walked. “I’m sure he’s doing a good job taking care of them, but it would be good to check in.”

  “I’d really like that.” Kate motioned toward a circle of benches under a roof of curving southern live oak tree branches near the reflection pool. “How about we sit down over there?”

  Beckham dropped into one of the benches, then spread the bag’s contents between them. Their escort of soldiers fanned out, eying the refugees.

  “PB&Js, apples, and a couple of waters,” Kate said. “Don’t tell me you made it all yourself.”

  Beckham grinned. “As a matter of fact, I did. Hope it’s up to your standards.”

  She took the first bite of her sandwich, then looked out over the reflection pool. “We started the analyses on that grenade Timothy’s team recovered.”

  “Oh?”

  Kate nodded, swallowing her food. “It appears to be a modified tear gas grenade.”

  “Really? I thought it was some—”

  “That’s not all,” she interrupted. “There wasn’t tear gas inside. I’ve already confirmed it has bacterial components, but we haven’t identified what that bacteria is yet.”

  “Good God.” Beckham found his appetite was gone.

  “I’ll know more soon.”

  Beckham forced a bite down. “Any other news from the tunnels?”

  “We’ve been monitoring all the channels, but we’re no closer to finding out where the Prophet is.”

  “No indication of any upcoming attacks?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Beckham suddenly went still. Kate’s eyes flitted to the ground, like she was recalling something horrid. He placed his hand on hers.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah…”

  “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

  “That network… every time I connect, I hear the voices of all the people attached to the webbing. I can hear the monsters communicating with each other, talking about killing people, ripping them apart. And there’s nothing I can do to save them.”

  “Everything we’re doing is to save them.” Beckham squeezed her hand. He was glad Leslie had been trained on connecting to the network too. He could see his wife desperately needed a break from the immense mental toil that integrating with the network must cost her.

  “Even if we eventually succeed, how many will die?”

  “We’ll do our best to save everyone we can,” Beckham said.

  “I know,” Kate said. “It starts here in this outpost. At least with you and Commander Jacobs on the job, the people here will be safe.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Beckham picked up his apple but stopped shy of eating it. “The first wave of new reinforcements from Canada and Mexico have helped shore a few holes in our defenses. But some of the soldiers they’ve sent are more inexperienced than the greenhorns who trained with Timothy.”

  “Then you don’t think we’ll be safe?”

  She too had stopped eating and instead stared out at the reflection pool. A few children were chasing ducks with their parents watching.

  “It’s not safe anywhere.” Beckham saw a couple of families in nearby tents looking over at him. They were too far to hear him, but he spoke in a quieter voice all the same. “The gas grenade you analyzed has me worried the enemy will try something different.”

  “You’re right,” she said, starting to stand. “Maybe taking the time for lunch was a mistake. I need to focus on finding out what kind of bacteria was in that grenade.”

  “You still need to eat.” Beckham looked up at her until she slowly sat back down.

  Again, he looked around, making sure no one was listening in.

  “I’ve been working with command to prepare rapid evacuation procedures for all the civilians at the first sign of danger,” Beckham said.

  “You want to abandon Houston?”

  “We have to consider a backup plan in case the reinforcements and defenses don’t hold.” Beckham’s fingers tightened around his water bottle. “I hate to admit it, but after the news we got about Banff, we can’t be caught with our pants down like they were. They barely got civilians out in time. And many didn’t make it.” Beckham looked his wife in the eyes. “If the enemy does come, I want you to be on the first truck out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “You’ll have to,” Beckham said. “You’re the brains
of the science operation.” He leaned closer. “Most importantly, you’re Javier’s mother. No matter what happens, he can’t lose both of us.”

  “Don’t talk like that. He’s not going to lose either of us.”

  “Kate, we have to be realistic. We have to consider everything.”

  “Of course we do, but we’re not in Canada. We have an advantage they don’t have. We’re listening to the collaborator network. We’ll know before the monsters attack.”

  Beckham started to nod, but realization stabbed through him of something he had missed. “Kate, you and your team never intercepted anything about the scouts around Houston, right?”

  She shook her head.

  “And this new grenade weapon—nothing about it?” he asked.

  “No, unfortunately.”

  “And Banff?”

  “No, but…” Kate trailed off. “That’s all the way north. Maybe they didn’t communicate about the attack on our network.”

  “Are you sure? Back in New York, you were able to intercept intel on attacks across the country. Why would that have changed now?”

  Kate arched a brow. “Maybe we’re doing something wrong. Our communication efforts might not work as well as I thought—or we’re cut off from part of their network here in Houston.”

  Two of the refugee children playing soccer looked at them, pointing at their food. They started to approach Beckham and Kate, but one of the soldiers stepped to block them.

  “It’s okay,” Kate said. The boys were skinny and dirty. She waved them over and gave them the apples she and Beckham had neglected.

  The boys ran away with the fruit, smiles spreading across their faces.

  “You and Jacobs are working on a Plan B then,” Kate said. “If the communication intercepts aren’t working as well anymore, maybe it’s time the science team makes a Plan B of our own.”

  — 8 —

  President Ringgold walked down the sidewalk next to General Cornelius and Colonel Stilwell. The president’s Secret Service agents shadowed them.

  They passed by the Galveston boardwalk. It stretched off the shore outside the fences and barricades lining the eastern side of the island. Once a popular tourist attraction filled with carnival rides, games, and restaurants, it had long since fallen into neglect. The Ferris wheel hung at a precarious angle, rusted and bent.

  Ringgold couldn’t help but see the symbolism there, comparing it to civilization. But unlike that wheel, civilization still had a chance.

  “Today is going to be a good day,” she said.

  “I have every confidence that you are right, Madam President,” Cornelius said before looking toward Stilwell. “The reinforcements from our friends in the north and south will change this war.”

  Stilwell gave a soft harrumph.

  They continued walking side-by-side toward the makeshift airfield that had once been Seawall Boulevard to meet their new comrades. Men and women in uniform hurried between buildings and large olive-green canvas tents. Some wore the standard-issue ACUs of the Allied States; others had black uniforms with the Orca patch characteristic of Cornelius’ private army.

  Ringgold twisted her wrist to see her watch. “The planes are a little late, aren’t they?”

  Stilwell shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything about delays.”

  “Hopefully, no news is good news,” Cornelius said.

  The sun was beginning to set, disappearing beyond the neighborhoods to the west.

  The distant roar of plane engines sounded to their north. Ringgold turned around and looked toward the fluffy clouds glowing orange in the last pangs of daylight. Silhouetted against them, she saw the outline of three C-130s descending toward Galveston. They flew past the city, curving in formation to make their final approach from the south.

  “Just three?” Cornelius asked, looking toward Stilwell. “That can’t be more than a few hundred troops.”

  “I thought you said all the troops were coming in tonight,” Ringgold said. “Is there another scheduled flight we don’t know about?”

  “I told you everything I know,” Stilwell said.

  Ringgold scanned the sky, looking for more planes. “You don’t think something happened to the rest of the planes, do you?”

  “We would’ve heard something on the radio,” Cornelius said. “A mayday, at the very least.”

  Ringgold picked up her pace, her heart thudding faster.

  “They must still be on their way,” Stilwell said. “Maybe they just staggered their arrivals.”

  “That makes sense,” Cornelius said. “They would want to throw off any enemy scouts.”

  Ringgold would have to take their word for it.

  The growl of the first C-130’s engines roared as the craft made its final approach. Its wheels touched down with a heavy jolt at the southern end of the airstrip.

  Ringgold, Cornelius, and Stilwell made it to the guard station at the northern end of the strip. They waited under a wide canvas tent, with its sides rolled up, so they could watch the plane taxi toward their position.

  Crew chiefs and soldiers waited around them, ready to tend to the plane and welcome the reinforcements to Galveston. The aircraft marshaller signaled for the plane to stop near the tent. Before anyone stepped off, a group of Marines boarded to ensure the aircraft’s passenger manifest was in order and to perform routine security checks.

  The other two planes started their final approach afterward. As the engines wound down on the first plane, one of the lieutenants in charge of the welcoming operations signaled to Ringgold that the coast was clear.

  Her Secret Service agents flocked around her, Stilwell, and Cornelius.

  As her footsteps clicked across the asphalt, the rear ramp of the plane lowered. Ringgold greeted the soldiers as they streamed off the craft. They looked exhausted. That much was expected. But she also saw them hanging their heads low, their shoulders slumped.

  Ringgold caught one of the soldier’s eyes. He was a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He stiffened when their gazes crossed, and he readjusted the strap of the rifle over his back.

  That fraction of a second when their eyes met was more than enough for Ringgold to see something was wrong.

  They look defeated, she thought.

  Ringgold searched the crowd for someone who could tell her what was going on. She spotted five men following the troops off. The epaulets on their shoulders and their stiff stances clearly told her they were in charge. She made a beeline for the officers with Cornelius and Stilwell on her tail.

  One of the officers turned toward her, stepping away from the group. His head was shaved bald under his green cap, and deep bags hung under sharp blue eyes lined with wrinkles.

  “President Ringgold,” he said, taking a step toward her. “General Andrew Vance.”

  Ringgold shook his hand in a tight grip. “General Vance, welcome to the Allied States. We’ll see that your men are taken care of. This is General Cornelius. He’s in charge of the base here at Galveston. And I presume you already know Colonel Stilwell.”

  “I trust he’s been serving you well,” Vance said.

  “He has,” Ringgold said.

  The other two C-130s had landed and were now taxiing toward them, preparing to unload.

  “We were preparing for all six planes this morning,” she said. “When can we expect the arrival of the other three?”

  Vance gestured toward the soldiers and Secret Service agents shadowing them as they walked back toward the tent. “I’d suggest we discuss this in a quieter, perhaps more private environment.”

  The trip back to their CIC would be at least a twenty-minute drive and Ringgold didn’t want to wait any longer than she had to. She pointed at a nearby coffeehouse that had since been requisitioned as an office for some of the air traffic personnel.

  When they entered, the Secret Service agents swept the room, ushering away the two officers working at computers on the desks. Cornelius drew the blinds, shutting out the last fingers
of light from the sunset, and the room went dark until Ringgold flipped a switch.

  Vance looked toward the four other Canadian officers. “I think it would be best if we keep this a closed meeting.”

  Ringgold nodded to her secret service agents to wait outside with the other officers and soldiers.

  “Madam President, I get the sense you don’t like to beat around the bush,” Vance started as they took seats around a small table, finally alone.

  “I don’t,” Ringgold said. “Especially because we have no time for it.”

  Vance steepled his fingers together. He looked as if he was searching for words. “There isn’t going to be another three planes.”

  “Not tonight?” Cornelius asked.

  “Not ever,” Vance said.

  “Sir, I was told—” Stilwell began.

  “Madam President, we had every intention to deliver our troops as promised, but after the attack on Banff, I’m afraid we realized that was no longer tenable,” Vance said. “We need every man and woman we can spare to defend our own country.”

  Cornelius started to turn red. “We’ve been over this. Trying to survive this onslaught by hiding behind walls isn’t working.”

  “The only way we’re defeating these monsters is with a concerted offensive strike,” Ringgold said.

  “Our Prime Minister and Armed Forces Council disagree,” Vance said.

  Ringgold clenched her jaw, trying to withhold the heat rising through her core. “You’ve been hit by one attack, and your entire country cowers.”

  “All due respect, you brought these beasts on us,” Vance said. “Now you want us to abandon our homeland to help you fight them.”

  Ringgold took a breath. As angry as she was, he was right. The Variants were a product of the United States government.

  “I understand you’ve been hit hard,” she said. “We’ve endured battle after battle, and we’ve learned more in these past weeks about the enemy that will help us defeat them. But we can only do that by striking our enemy down together, not by hiding behind walls.”

  Cornelius nodded. “The president is absolutely right. You have to tell your Council and the PM that they need to send the reinforcements they promised. Mexico is fulfilling their oath. Why can’t Canada?”