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

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “That beast wasn’t the Prophet, was he?” Fitz managed his voice still shaking.

  “No,” Corrin said. “He’s one of the members of the Prophet’s Council… but he’s not the Prophet.”

  The primary pilot’s voice crackled over their headsets. “Master Sergeant Fitz, I’m Liam Tremblay, an old friend of Beckham’s.”

  “Thanks for risking your neck for us,” Fitz said. He tried to hold himself together for whatever came next. The name, Tremblay, sparked a distant memory. “You’re the one who flew Beckham down to Colorado.”

  “That’s right,” Liam said. “Beckham told me you all could use my help. I’m just sorry I couldn’t make it here sooner.”

  Fitz wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It came away with a mixture of sweat and blood. “Where are we headed?”

  “To Beckham’s location.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The Venetian.”

  Fitz looked out from the window in the side door to see pillars of massive flames ravaging the city. Black pillars of smoke blocked out the stars.

  Amid it all, Fitz spotted the main strip, illuminated by flames and gunfire.

  They had just escaped one hell, and now they were headed straight into another, missing another member of Team Ghost.

  — 16 —

  Smoke poured around Beckham and seeped into his lungs. The shemagh scarf he had used to cover his nose and mouth hardly helped. He coughed with each struggling breath, searching through the ember-filled atmosphere with his rifle pressed against his shoulder. His night-vision goggles were worthless in the screen of black and gray, and he had resorted to using his barrel-mounted light.

  With his M249 SAW strapped over his back, Horn carried Ruckley in his arms. She cried out in pain as he navigated the rubble, but she still managed to hold her pistol with her good arm, too stubborn to keep it holstered.

  The crack of gunfire burst through the roar of the flames devouring the destroyed hotels and casinos along the Las Vegas strip. Howls shrieked through the darkness like angry banshees, and the public channels on the radios were filled with desperate calls.

  “Taking fire!”

  “Recon Bravo, Eagle Four, we need to leave now. Hostiles—”

  More static, more voices lost to explosions and the cacophony of the ongoing battle.

  Beckham knew they didn’t have much time before the last of the helos took off. He could only hope that Tremblay would hold out and still be able to give them a ride.

  By all counts, the mission had failed, but there was one objective Beckham would not give up on. One reason he had not yet run to one of the evacuation sites transmitted to them by Command.

  I can’t leave Timothy.

  They stopped at an intersection. Somewhere past the smoke, he heard the clatter of claws against asphalt.

  Beckham looked over his shoulder, stifling a cough. His lungs were burning, and he had to duck low, gasping for what little oxygen remained in the scorching air.

  Horn was hunched low, still holding Ruckley. Sweat carved through the ash on his face.

  The crack of gunfire sounded to their left. Could that be Timothy?

  A sudden growl cut through the air to their right, and Beckham dropped low. Horn reached for his sidearm, gently lowering Ruckley in case he needed to fight.

  They remained frozen as the smacking and pop of Variant lips sounded from behind the dark fog. Claws scratched over concrete as a pack of beasts sprinted past.

  The only benefit of the burning city was that the smoke and fire masked scents.

  Horn tugged on Beckham’s sleeve, gesturing toward Ruckley.

  “We have to get her out of here,” Horn said. “She’s not doing so hot.”

  She wasn’t going to last much longer in the smoke. And truth be told, neither would the two operators.

  “We can’t leave Timothy,” Beckham replied.

  He had made a promise. And if he left Timothy behind, he knew that choice would haunt him like a terrible cancer eating at his mind, sending it to the dark places he had worked so hard to get past with the help of Kate and friends like Big Horn.

  Now he needed to be that friend to Timothy.

  “You go with Ruckley and get to an evac site,” Beckham said. “I’ll keep searching.”

  “Hell no,” Ruckley said. “I ain’t leaving the kid either.”

  Horn smirked. “I’ll do whatever she says, boss.”

  Wasting no time, Beckham pushed onward through the rubble of the Venetian.

  Horn picked Ruckley up and followed through a cloud of smoke. On the other side, forms of construction equipment appeared like monstrous creatures. Small cranes and aerial work platforms were tangled in a jumbled mess outside a loading bay with semi-trucks and trailers. Part of the concrete ceiling of the bay had collapsed and crushed two of the trucks.

  Beckham took the long way around the docking bay. Congealed or not, the fuel inside those trucks could act as a bomb if the fire got too close.

  He had nearly passed the loading dock completely when he heard the pop of gunfire from inside, followed by an angry shriek. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out movement deeper within the bay. Everything was covered in a layer of gray smoke and shadows.

  “I’m going in,” he said to Horn. “Keep watch with Ruckley.”

  “Careful, brother.” Horn set Ruckley down and shouldered his M249.

  Beckham advanced, eyes flitting from the ceiling to the shadows of the bay. Fires burned throughout the place, chewing through debris.

  A sudden groan and crack sounded overhead. He dodged as chunks of the ceiling gave way, spilling rubble. Some of it hit his prosthetic hand, the embers melting the plastic where they touched, and sizzling through his ACU.

  He hurried forward, listening for Variants. Any hope of smelling their putrid stench was masked by the odor of melting plastic and fuel.

  Another cough tore through Beckham, this time making him double over. He tried to catch his breath, knowing the noise could also get him killed.

  A second hole in the ceiling formed, spilling more burning detritus.

  He lunged to the side, scraping his flesh-and-blood arm across the concrete floor. Concrete and pipes crashed to the ground behind him, cratering the floor.

  Then he heard the tap of claws. He braced himself, swinging his rifle up, ready for an attack.

  But the beasts those claws belonged to weren’t headed toward him. They were going deeper into the smoke-filled dock.

  Straight after prey, he guessed.

  More gunfire burst in the space, echoing.

  The tormented shrieks of injured Variants followed.

  Beckham rushed forward. Behind him another semi-truck went up in flames, fire swelling toward the ceiling. Heat washed over him.

  He heard voices ahead.

  Human voices.

  Beckham’s heart leapt, pulse racing.

  “Timothy!” he yelled. The sheer effort caused another coughing fit to wrack his lungs, but he pushed forward against the pain and heat.

  “Help! We’re in here!” someone shouted.

  The ceiling had caved in, but Beckham could see movement behind a few chunks of marred concrete. A few scattered, bleeding Variant bodies lay nearby, some of them burned so badly they couldn’t move.

  “Horn, I found Timothy,” Beckham said over the radio. He scrambled over the piles of scree on all fours like one of the monsters.

  “Hell yes, that’s great news, but you better get your asses out here before the place goes up in flames!”

  “Copy,” Beckham said. He hunched and directed his tac light into the cavity beneath the debris, illuminating an ash-covered face.

  Relief flooded Beckham, temporarily assuaging his burning lungs.

  “Timothy, are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I’m trapped.”

  Beckham roved the light to reveal a few pipes had pinned his legs. Behind him another man had an arm and shoulder trapped under
a block of concrete. A grimace painted his face, blood dripping from lacerations in his scalp.

  “Boyd needs our help, too,” Timothy said.

  “Hang on!”

  Beckham used one of the pipes as a lever to push a pair of smaller concrete slabs away. They toppled away from the debris and cracked against the floor.

  Behind him another explosion burst. The heat seared over his back, and the odor of burning fuel grew stronger over the smoky air.

  He used the pipe to lever up another concrete chunk from Timothy’s leg and a few of the other pipes trapping Timothy rolled away. The young soldier pulled his foot free with a pained grunt. Beckham held out a hand, helping Timothy stand.

  Another crash of falling concrete sounded nearby.

  “Let’s help Boyd,” Timothy said.

  He limped to his downed teammate. The man looked like he was barely clinging to consciousness, no doubt enduring endless waves of pain. Together, Beckham and Timothy tugged at the concrete holding Boyd in place. The man yelled in pain when they lifted it off his arm, and he reeled on the ground from the pain.

  Timothy lugged the bigger soldier off the ground, wrapping Boyd’s good arm around his shoulder.

  “Hold on, brother,” Timothy said. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  They hobbled back through the smoke and growling flames. Halfway to the exit, a blinding flash of light cut through the smoke, followed by a concussive wave that threw Beckham forward. Pieces of metal and concrete shrapnel tore through the air. His helmet thudded against the concrete, the side of his face scraping on the ground.

  His ears rang from the blast, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He pushed himself up, rising to a knee. Timothy was already helping Boyd back up to his feet.

  Beckham lurched forward, dizzy from the blast. His ribs ached, head pounding, ears ringing. He pushed forward until he reached Timothy, and together they stumbled toward the exit.

  More of the ceiling and roof gave way behind them, clouds of dust rolling after them like an avalanche, fanning the flames and plumes of smoke.

  “Go, go, go!” Beckham tried to say. He couldn’t even hear his own voice, but he saw their exit ahead.

  Horn was waving at them, and Ruckley had managed to get back on her feet. The sight filled Beckham with the energy he needed to guide Timothy and Boyd out of the blazing bay.

  The world still sounded muddled when they made it out into the street. Beckham thought he heard voices on the comms. Horn was yelling something, but he couldn’t make that out either.

  A wave of smoke and dust blasted out of the loading bay, forcing the team down. Beckham coughed, trying to block Timothy with his own body as grit pelted them.

  When the dust settled, he saw Horn pointing at something on their six. Beckham turned, looking past the dumpster Ruckley was hiding behind.

  Dark silhouettes moved amid the smoke and dust.

  At first, Beckham couldn’t tell if they were enemies or soldiers.

  His hearing started to return, the persistent ringing beginning to die down. He knelt behind the cover of a burned-out forklift, Horn steadying his machine gun nearby.

  A high-pitched clicking and shrieking dispelled any notion that these might be allies.

  Hot wind blew through the street, clearing the smoke momentarily.

  An Alpha strode toward them, its batlike ears twitching. Fire cast its body in shadows that highlighted the bulging muscles beneath its gray flesh. Behind it came a pack of juveniles and Variants.

  Timothy leveled his pistol at the beast.

  Beckham tried to bring up his rifle, but the weight was almost too much to keep steady. He turned to look for an exit route, but there was nowhere to run.

  “On me!” Horn said.

  He stepped in front of the group, his M249 centered on the pack of misshapen, diseased, beasts.

  “You want some of this, you motherfuckers?” he shouted. “Come and get it!”

  ***

  From the helicopter, the flash of gunfire below looked like lightning cutting through dark storm clouds. Dohi leaned out the side door as Tremblay brought the Black Hawk toward Krueger Drive, on the south side of the Venetian.

  For a while, they had been unable to reach Beckham, Timothy, or Ruckley. Dohi had worried it might be too late to save them and after Ace’s death, he could not deal with another devastating loss.

  When Horn had finally answered on the comms, Dohi had let out a breath of relief.

  The rotor wash of the chopper kicked up the pillars of smoke, dispelling the dark clouds enough for Dohi to see the Alpha and its monstrous brethren rushing toward a small group of soldiers pinned up against a burning loading dock.

  The creatures had fanned out, some taking to nearby walls, others darting for cover.

  “Take us down between the Variants and Beckham!” Fitz yelled over the comm.

  “Too much debris near Beckham,” Tremblay called back. “But I’ve got a patch of street fifty yards to their east that should work. We can still block the Alpha from Beckham that way.”

  “Do it,” Fitz replied. “Ghost, Spearhead, form a perimeter and cover Beckham and the bird as they get the injured aboard.”

  The crew chief on the door-mounted gun began to spray rounds into any creature that made the mistake of leaving cover.

  Rounds suddenly pelted the helo, forcing the pilot to bank hard to the right.

  “We got hostiles across the street!” yelled the primary pilot.

  More bullets rattled against the side of the chopper. A round caught the crew chief in the chin, taking off part of it. He slumped, falling out of the chopper to the road below.

  “Get us down!” Fitz shouted.

  The chopper lowered to the ground as more rounds slammed into the helo, some punching through the metal.

  Dohi spotted one of the Chimeras. The half-man hid behind a slab of asphalt. He aimed at the creature as they approached the ground.

  The wheels hit the street, putting the bird between where Beckham was toward their west, closer to the main strip, and the Alpha and Chimeras charging in from the east.

  The first Chimera’s head popped up, and Dohi pulled the trigger. A burst of rounds took the top of the skull off.

  That’s for Ace, you asshole.

  The second Scion went down from a headshot from Fitz.

  “Let’s move!” he screamed.

  Dohi hopped out with Rico, Fitz, and Corrin. They fanned out to make a perimeter as Neilson and Toussaint laid down covering fire, one of them jumping to the M240.

  “We got more coming from the west!” Horn called over the comms.

  Dohi turned to see that beyond the helo, well past Beckham’s position, beasts flooded in from the main strip, forcing Beckham and Horn to open fire while Timothy ran toward the helicopter with Ruckley in his arms. Another man from Recon Sigma limped after them.

  They were still a good thirty, forty yards away.

  The Alpha and its brethren barreled toward the chopper from the east, racing toward the bird. At this pace, they would be there before Timothy made it with the injured soldier and Ruckley, even with Beckham and Horn trying to hold off the second pack of twisted creatures.

  The Alpha pushed past a few of the dead monsters, smashing them as it ran over their bodies. A few bullets caught the monster, tearing through its muscle. But it didn’t let the rounds stop it.

  “Use the M240!” Dohi yelled into the comm.

  Toussaint turned the weapon on the beast. A few rounds lanced out from the machine gun, but the weapon jammed.

  Dohi cursed and aimed for the head of the Alpha. It ducked away, vanishing in a cloud of drifting smoke. He let his rifle fall on its strap, whipping out his hatchet in one hand and his knife in the other.

  Images of Ace’s beheaded body smacking against the rooftop flashed through his mind. He let out a primal war cry to match the Alpha’s.

  Corrin followed, gripping his cutlass in both clawed hands. A Variant burst through
the smoke, and he took off its head with a swift stroke like he was swinging for a homerun.

  Dohi sliced at another thrall that burst from the smoke, maw snapping at his blade. He hit it in the skull with the back end of his hatchet, cracking open its head like an egg.

  The Alpha kept to the barrier of smoke. It fell to all fours, waiting to strike.

  As Corrin distracted the smaller Variants, Dohi ran at the Alpha with his blades up over his head. The creature burst out to meet him, striking at his chest. He dodged the attack and cleaved a patch of thick muscle from the beast’s shoulder. The Alpha swung again, hitting Dohi in the chest and knocking him back.

  Gunfire slashed out around them, piercing the flanks of the other Variants.

  The Alpha reared back, rising to its full height like a grizzly bear. Dohi dodged under another series of blows, striking out with his weapons, cutting at the barreled leg muscles.

  Smoke stung his nostrils, making his eyes water. He blinked past it, desperate to keep his focus on the gigantic abomination. Every other sound seeming to fade away except for the growls and roars of the Alpha.

  Thoughts of Ace, Lincoln, Mendez, and all the lives torn apart by the monsters fueled him.

  Attack after attack, he dodged, then parried and counterstriked.

  Dohi hunched beneath slicing claws, and lashed out at the beast’s ankle, cutting deep into the tendon. The monster crumpled to one knee, letting out a cry of agony.

  Its milky white eyes flitted up, as if it was trying to see as its batlike ears crinkled. Another series of clicks escaped its mouth as he prepared for the finishing blow.

  But as he brought his hatchet up, the monster surged forward, slamming into his body. He flew backward, crashing violently into a charcoaled car.

  Pain throbbed through his body, but he ignored it, propelled by the mental pain of his lost brothers and sisters. He moved as the creature got up on both legs again, grunting in agony.

  It sliced at him, but he was much faster this time. He bolted away, and then circled, lashing out with his knife and hatchet to cut the creature across its side and back.

  Spinning toward him, he seized on the perfect opportunity, jabbing his knife into an eye. The orb popped so loud he could hear it over the gunfire. He brought the hatchet down with all his strength on the skull, splitting the bone.