“Which contractors?” Kate asked.
“All the usual suspects. Leidon, Blackwell, and BAH. But ignore those.” He jabbed his index finger at a single name on the paper. “Here’s the rub. This company, OrgoProct, was the only contractor I didn’t recognize.”
Kate narrowed her eyes, studying the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. “Where did you find all this stuff?”
“A mixture of public records and old DARPA archives.”
“What do we know about OrgoProct?”
Ron flipped to a page with a map. On it, he had circled various locations, including Seattle and Denver, that had names written next to them. “You remember Dr. Simon Wong from the University of Florida? Well, we already know he was involved in computer-neural interface research that took place in the California Bay area and Seattle.”
He moved his finger to Denver. “There was another research group here led by Dr. Jennifer Yeatts. They specialized in communication networks, mostly digital, cybersecurity-type stuff.”
Next he circled Portland, Oregon. “Dr. Bhushan Reddi had an academic group that focused on genetic engineering of viral agents here.”
“Is that our guy?” Sammy asked.
“I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think so,” Ron said. He continued, pointing to various locations around the former United States and listing names associated with projects investigating technologies that might’ve been related to the Chimeras, webbing network, masterminds, and more.
“All these people were doing DARPA-funded research?” Kate asked.
“Many, but not all.”
“Then how are they connected?”
Ron had never looked so confident and self-assured. “It all goes back to OrgoProct. Each of these people served as a scientific adviser for the organization at one time or another.”
Everything suddenly clicked together for Kate. “Good lord, if it wasn’t someone in DARPA, if it wasn’t some government scientist, their connection is through OrgoProct,” she said.
“Exactly,” Ron said. He rubbed his hands together. “This is what really tipped me off. Several of those unknown compounds we found in the Chimera’s tissues were residuals from the gene delivery system of the modified VX-99 administered to the Chimera. I found an exact match from that same viral vector delivery system in OrgoProct’s research reports that they submitted to the Department of Defense.”
“And what was that delivery system supposed to be for?” Kate asked.
“It was supposed to deliver a set of genes targeting specific human cells,” Ron said.
“Hold up,” Sammy said. “What kind of genes are we talking about?”
“The genes were made to reverse the effects of VX-99 and X9H9.”
“Oh, my God,” Kate muttered. Then she recalled where she had heard of the company before. “I remember OrgoProct’s reports years ago during the Great War. They were one of the many labs that tried to find a cure for X9H9 back when I was also searching for it. The government was enlisting every lab, every scientist they possibly could. But obviously OrgoProct didn’t succeed, did they?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The last report was sent two days before you developed the bioweapon called VariantX9H9.”
Kate winced at the name of the bioweapon, guilt eating at her for what she had created. It was meant to destroy the monsters that X9H9 had created. It worked, killing most. But it also had unintended consequences, turning those that survived into the Variants that plagued the world today.
All of that seemed like a lifetime ago, but now it was more relevant than ever.
“Can I see that last report?” Kate asked.
She took the paper from Ron, skimming through the lengthy graphs and tables of data until she reached the final summary.
We’re losing time. Most of our staff has succumbed to X9H9, including myself. I don’t have the luxury to prepare for human trials, so instead I will try our cure on myself. I can already feel the fever settling in and the nausea. If this is the last transmission from us, you will know we failed. OrgoProct’s efforts to reverse the genetic effects caused by X9H9 will have failed. The angel of death will have swept through the final survivors in Los Alamos National Labs.
I only wish we could have had more time.
-Charles Morgan, OrgoProct Chief Scientific Officer
“Los Alamos?” Kate asked.
Ron nodded. “Like many research companies, they were frequent users of Los Alamos National Laboratories. Much of their early research creating computational models of X9H9 and VX-99 took place there.”
“I see,” Kate said. “So this Charles Morgan? Is he our guy?”
“Sounds like he might’ve died after he administered his own drug, huh?” Sammy said.
Ron shrugged. “There’s no way to confirm it.”
“But if he was trying to reverse the genetic effects of X9H9 at the same time we deployed VariantX9H9 across the nation, what if there was some kind of genetic interference?” Kate asked. “What if our bioweapon negatively interacted with the effects of his?”
Ron nearly stumbled. “You’re saying…”
Even Sammy followed their train of logic now. “Chimeras. His engineered drugs reversed some of the genetic changes as intended, but your VariantX9H9 made other changes.”
“It’s just a theory,” Kate said. “It might be entirely wrong.”
“But it fits, I think you might be onto something.” Ron looked at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “Maybe I can run some simulations, see if this theory holds any merit.”
“Okay,” Kate said.
Ron started to head toward the stairs.
Something else bothered Kate. Thanks to Ron’s list, they were able to explain the various hives of New God and mastermind activity they had discovered throughout the Allied States. But there was one city name that she hadn’t heard.
“Ron, wait,” she called out. “Was OrgoProct located in Vegas? Is that why there’s so much Variant activity there?”
Ron looked at his notebook. “No, OrgoProct was in Santa Fe, close to Los Alamos.”
“Were any of those research groups you mentioned in Vegas?”
“Not a single one.”
“Then why are the New Gods there, especially if OrgoProct was in New Mexico?”
“I don’t know,” Ron said.
Kate wanted to be satisfied with the revelations he had uncovered, but the fact they had found no connections between the New Gods, Vegas, and any of these researchers and their respective research groups nagged at her.
They were missing something, and there was almost no time to find out what.
“We’ve got to tell Ringgold,” Kate said. “I don’t know if this Charles Morgan is our guy or if OrgoProct somehow became the epicenter of the New Gods in Los Alamos, but soldiers are dying in Las Vegas and if the Prophet isn’t actually there, it’s all for nothing.”
— 13 —
Timothy crouched in the darkness. Gunfire sounded from nearly every direction. The flash of tracer fire coursed through the black night, and beasts howled and roared.
So far, the attacks had come in random intervals from packs of three or four.
Timothy glanced at the Wynn hotel though his NVGs. While the name was still visible, most of the front glass façade had shattered. Only sporadic panes of glass remained. Each of the dark rooms was a potential sniper position for collaborators or Scions.
Every step felt like it could be his last, his nerves tight from the potential of a sniper bullet.
While Wong was on point and Boyd watched their back on rearguard, Ruckley remained closer to him, watching the windows and rooftops.
Ahead he saw another hotel that had fallen into utter disrepair. The letters on the building’s side said “SURE ISLAND”.
Wong paused next to a military truck with deflated, rotten tires. Claw marks scarred the paint. He pointed to his eyes, then toward their right to what looked like
the entrance to a mall nearly forty yards away.
Webbing stretched from the broken glass doors and windows, curling over the concrete. There was no mistaking the shadows moving within the structure. Pale creatures crawled over the tangled vines.
Ruckley pulled out her infrared binoculars and scanned the neighboring buildings. Then she gestured toward a sight that Timothy recognized from his briefings: The Grand Canal Shoppes at the Venetian.
That was their target.
Ruckley handed the binos to Timothy.
Another squad of soldiers was hunched down across the street. She exchanged hand signals with the other team lead.
Dozens of Variants crawled over the Grand Canal Shoppes. On the roof and in the darkened windows, he saw other moving shapes. It was difficult to tell if they were human or Chimera, but he could clearly see that they carried rifles.
“Looks like a hive,” Timothy whispered. “Just like the science team said.”
“We can’t go straight at the building,” Boyd said. “They’d cut us down before we got there.”
“You got that right.” Ruckley pointed to a panel of grating on the sidewalk that led to a storm drain. “That’s why we’re going underground.”
Another rash of gunfire echoed somewhere to the south. Probably TF Bravo caught in another firefight.
Timothy felt the smooth wooden beads of his bracelet. He found strength in the simple touch as he watched Ruckley exchange more hand signals with the other squad leaders. The teams both got up and started to move into position to provide a distraction.
As soon as the first gunshot rang out and the other squads were pounding the Variants roaming around the Grand Canal Shoppes, Ruckley gave the order to advance.
Keeping low, Timothy hurried across the street, again bracing himself for incoming rounds and dodging between debris for shelter. He made it across the street a minute later with the rest of the team.
Boyd and Wong lifted the grate from the sidewalk, heaving it to the side. It let out a jarring scrape against the concrete, and Timothy crouched instinctively, scanning their surroundings with his rifle.
All the beasts and collaborators were too distracted by the incoming gunfire from the other squads to notice. The distraction was working.
Ruckley signaled Wong down first. Timothy followed, then came Boyd and Ruckley.
The stench of the place slammed into Timothy like he had run straight into a wall. He pulled a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Goosebumps prickled across his skin.
Without any light deeper in the tunnel, they were forced to flip up their NVGs and turn on their tac lights. Slowly they navigated through the massive concrete tunnel. Webbing covered every surface, throbbing red in the pale wash of their flashlights.
Between the echoing fire aboveground, he listened for the scrape of claws down here, waiting for an ambush.
Keep moving Timothy, just keep moving.
Like his father had always told him, no matter what you did in life, you kept pushing forward.
He kept close to Ruckley, making their way past the rotting bodies of humans and animals stuck to the walls. Fissures in the concrete let through columns of shifting dirt and dust with each walloping boom of an exploding grenade above.
So far, it seemed the attack was working. The monsters were focused on the main assault force. Teams like his, Recon Sigma, and the others could move into position within the Venetian and set explosives.
Then once Beckham and Horn or Team Ghost confirmed they had caught the Prophet, they would bring this whole damn hive down.
The storm drain dragged on. Another heavy thudding explosion caused a violent crack in the ceiling. Small chunks of concrete fell over their heads.
As the blast settled, Timothy heard a loud thump.
Wong held up a fist, and they all dropped into kneeling positions, lights aimed down the tunnel. Something huge burst into an intersection about fifty yards ahead, white flesh with massive limbs and batlike ears.
The beast turned their direction, letting out a shrill series of clicks, its ears twitching.
Timothy sucked in a breath at the sight of the monster.
It was an Alpha.
Ruckley gave the signal, and they opened fire.
The beast ducked into their gunfire, bullets riddling its flesh and sparking against the concrete around it. It barreled ahead on all fours, letting out a guttural roar.
Other hellish voices echoed behind the monster. Another five Variants galloped behind the brute, stringy muscles rippling beneath their skin.
As rounds lanced into the Alpha, it shuddered, absorbing the impacts and slowing.
Timothy heard another series of shrieks coming from behind.
He twisted, his flashlight illuminating the tunnel they had already traveled through. A group of ten juvenile Variants with armored flesh chased after them.
“Ruckley, our six!” Timothy shouted.
She was probably doing the math like he was.
Those beasts were too close, too many of them. They couldn’t sustain a firefight without solid cover. Especially not against the armored juveniles.
Ruckley grabbed a grenade from her vest, motioning for Timothy to do the same.
Beckham had taught him that a concussive blast in a confined place like this was risky. The force would be concentrated by the walls, tearing them apart if they threw the grenades too close to their positions.
If the blasts didn’t destroy their organs, then it might bring the roof down on top of them.
From the front, the Alpha let out an angry yell, stumbling toward them, one of its legs limp. The other five creatures behind it rushed past. One fell in the gunfire. Another was shredded.
The ten juveniles were closing in from behind, too, jaws snapping, lips smacking together.
“Fire in the hole!” Ruckley said.
She threw her grenade like a major league pitcher. Timothy followed her lead.
The two grenades sailed toward the juveniles.
But the beasts were too fast. They surged past the grenades.
Timothy swung his rifle up, right when the first grenade detonated. The tunnel shook. Flames danced behind the monsters, swallowing part of the tunnel. Several juveniles were knocked off their feet. Then the second grenade exploded.
This time, the fissures in the ceiling spread with the expanding fire. More of the creatures stumbled. Timothy was knocked off his feet by the blast. He hit the ground hard, his ears ringing, head pounding.
Ruckley grimaced next to him, blinking away the pain.
More concrete chunks fell from the ceiling. Like an avalanche, the tunnel began collapsing behind them, swallowing the entrance they had come through with a monstrous roar.
Pieces rained from the ceiling on the dazed juveniles. They tried to stand and scramble away but falling concrete crushed their bodies.
The ceiling didn’t stop collapsing after the beasts were swallowed in the rubble. The tide of destruction came toward Timothy and Ruckley.
“Move!” Ruckley yelled. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Timothy, pulling him into a run.
Boyd and Wong were in the process of changing their magazines while two injured Variants and the hobbled Alpha stumbled toward them.
Timothy tried to keep his rifle steady, but he was too shaky and didn’t have a clear field of fire.
“Out of the way!” Ruckley shouted.
She stepped between Wong and Boyd and drained her magazine into the two beasts, then Boyd and Wong finished off the Alpha with bullets to its milky blind eyes.
The giant finally slumped forward, dead.
A cloud of gray dust and debris flooded around them as they rushed past the dead creatures.
Timothy tried to breath, but choked on the dust, coughing.
There was no going back the way they had come. There was only one direction to go now, just like his father had said.
Forward.
Covered in dust, Wong led them to a short ladder th
at took them to a loading dock for the Venetian.
A pair of Variants hunched near the entrance, on alert from the noise that had erupted from the tunnels. Ruckley and Timothy fired a few suppressed shots that killed the beasts, then hurried past the fresh corpses.
They followed the loading bay to the maintenance corridors that ran behind the shops and guest rooms. Wong took them through another door that opened into a wide space with a faux sky and false façades that made Timothy think he had stepped straight into Europe. Canals ran alongside the shops. The water had long since drained from them, and a pair of long gondolas lay sideways on the bottom.
Red webbing smothered everything, throbbing and squirming. More bodies hung from the walls and the ceiling, like a spider’s web filled with fresh prey.
Ruckley pointed at Wong and Boyd. They prepared the fuses and detonation charges for a pair of C-4 explosives and set them into the corners of the wide atrium, then started to move to the next space.
Before they climbed a short bridge over the dried-out canal, a rumble shook through the hotel. They froze as another quake shook the walls.
A low explosion sounded in the distance.
Had one of the other teams detonated their explosives early? Or had Recon Sigma missed the mark and set their explosions late?
Ruckley looked between them frantically and broke radio silence. “Command, Recon Sigma One. We heard explosions. What’s going on?”
“Recon Sigma, other units are reporting blasts from unknown sources.”
Another explosion boomed through the walls, this one sounding closer to the Venetian. Cracks formed in the ceiling and chunks of plaster rained down.
Somewhere deeper in the hotel, another blast went off. This one was nearly deafening, and the whole building quivered as if it might fall.
Timothy stared at the empty corridors, realizing suddenly why the only resistance they had faced was outside.
“Guys, what are those drums doing down there?” Boyd asked. He shone his flashlight over a cluster of barrels with wires coming away from them.
“Those aren’t ours,” Wong said.
“Run!” Ruckley shouted. “Go!”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 112
