Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Hold tight up there,” Niven replied. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Copy that, sir,” she replied.

  Horn sidled up near one of the snipers. “Where are the collaborators?”

  They all pointed toward a building across the interstate near West Bayside, not far from the hotel where Beckham had spent several days with his family after the first attack.

  Ruckley handed Beckham a pair of binoculars. He took them and zoomed in on M-ATVs and Humvees surrounding the structure. A group of soldiers hugged the eastern façade, waiting to storm the building.

  Beckham had wanted back in the action, but here he was again, watching from a distance. Still, there were other things he could do to help.

  “Where are the checkpoints the collaborators hit?” he asked.

  Ruckley pointed toward the northwestern side of the city.

  “They tried to take out another checkpoint there, but we stopped them,” she said.

  He centered his sights on a blackened vehicle on a road leading west. Concrete barriers blocked off the road, and a team of soldiers stood behind sandbags.

  “Captain Beckham, Master Sergeant Horn,” came a voice.

  Lieutenant Niven joined them at the edge of the rooftop.

  “LT,” Horn said.

  They exchanged formalities.

  “Hell of a night. Day wasn’t much better. But we stopped them and are in the process of relocating most of our resources,” Niven said. “Still got about half of our people in West Bayside, but the area will be secured soon.”

  Beckham moved the binos back to the building surrounded by armored vehicles. Soldiers were already walking out of it, carrying bodies between them.

  “Who’s in charge of the outpost now?” Beckham asked.

  “That would be me,” Niven replied.

  “Good. As native to this place, I’ve got some suggestions.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I’d recommend moving everyone from West Bayside to the campus,” Beckham said. “We were telling Ruckley that we think the attacks on those checkpoints were just the enemy testing our defenses.”

  “They cut the power, took out the water tower,” Horn said. “They’re going to be back. Maybe it’ll be tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. They’ll hit harder, and I’ll bet you dollars to donuts they come back with Variants, too.”

  Niven looked out over the campus. “Pulling the non-combatants here might not be a bad idea. It would at least cut down on the real estate I need to protect. But this thing about Variants. You really think they’d come all the way out here?”

  “Based off the experience of other outposts, I wouldn’t be surprised if the beasts show up sooner rather than later,” Beckham said. “How many troops are stationed here?”

  “One hundred and fifty, plus the two hundred strong local militia,” Niven said.

  “Sounds like a lot, but not against hundreds of Variants,” Beckham said. “Not to mention we’ve gotten reports across the Allied States that armored juveniles are joining in the assaults.”

  “Then we’ve got to move fast,” Niven said. “Sergeant Ruckley, give the order.”

  Ruckley started relaying the command over her radio.

  Niven turned back to Horn and Beckham. “I take it you two didn’t come all the way back here just to offer a little advice. What brings you back?”

  “We came to finish the fight, but it looks like things are under control,” Beckham said. “We should’ve stayed last night.”

  “It’s still good to have you here now,” Niven said. “And besides, the President needs you more than I do. Your families need you, too. Time to let people like me and Ruckley do our share.”

  Ruckley cracked a grin. “Everything’s taken care of. We’re going to start the evac. Permission to check on their friends, sir?”

  “Go,” Niven said.

  Beckham and Horn followed Ruckley back down to the campus grounds. The young woman at the information tent was still looking over the ledger when they got there.

  Her eyes caught Beckham’s on their approach. “I found Donna and Bo Tufo, but Timothy Temper has left the outpost.”

  “What?” Beckham said, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’m still trying to figure out where the militia group he’s with went,” she said.

  “Hold on. Militia?” Beckham asked, heart pounding.

  “That’s got to be wrong,” Horn said. “Timothy’s no militia soldier. Check again.”

  The girl looked back down and then back up again. “Timothy Temper?”

  “Yeah…” Horn said.

  “He went out with a group of militia soldiers.” She jabbed her finger on the ledger. “Says so right here.”

  “Can you tell us where they went?” Beckham asked.

  “Not exactly. All I know is they’re out west hunting a truck of those collaborators.”

  “That’s Variant territory!” Horn said, face turning red.

  Beckham couldn’t imagine what would have compelled the militia to head out there when the outpost was in jeopardy like this, but he did know what had compelled Timothy to go with them.

  A memory surfaced of Timothy’s father, Jake, bleeding out back on Peaks Island after the raider attack—no doubt the same group affiliated with these collaborators.

  Timothy wanted revenge.

  “What should we do, boss?” Horn asked.

  “Timothy’s not ready for this. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”

  “You’re not actually considering going after them, are you?” Ruckley asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m considering,” Beckham said.

  “We’re considering,” Horn corrected. “You ain’t going out there alone.”

  ***

  Timothy thought back to the hunting trips he had taken with his dad when he was younger. In a way, this wasn’t that different, aside from the prey they were tracking.

  At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  But deep down he knew that was a lie.

  This was very different.

  And the farther away they went from Portland, the more he felt like the prey.

  He marched with a group of twelve militia soldiers carrying M-16s down a dirt road about twenty miles away from the outpost. Two trucks trailed them.

  They had chased a Jeep Cherokee until the vehicle had run out of gas and the collaborators inside disappeared into the forest.

  The militia soldiers had lost the trail and were back on the road on foot. Timothy was in the middle of the group, his father’s Remington 870 Wingmaster twelve-gauge shotgun cradled in his arms.

  Several of these men had known his father, but none of them seemed to know who Timothy was. The group leader was a guy named Stephen Rhodes, a guy about as old as Timothy’s dad. Stephen was in good shape. He wore green fatigues with a baseball cap and scarf to match. He hadn’t even questioned Timothy when he claimed he was eighteen years old and wanted to join the militia right there and then.

  “Get in the truck if you’re coming,” Stephen had said.

  Timothy had hopped into the pickup’s bed, and they had raced out of the city. The only regret he had was not dressing a bit warmer, especially now with the late afternoon sun behind the trees.

  He shifted the weight of his shotgun and scanned the forest. They were on the border of Variant territory now. Maybe even inside it for all he knew. In his mind’s eye, he could picture his dad yelling at him about how dangerous this mission was.

  Beckham and Horn would have something to say about it too, but Timothy didn’t care. He didn’t want to sit back in the outpost, scared and crying. He wasn’t afraid of dying.

  Without his father, he was already dead.

  The dread returned, filling his chest and gut. Anger replaced it from time to time, but right now he just felt… empty.

  His dad had been his world.

  Stephen balled his fist, and the group halted.

  The trucks behind t
hem crunched over the dirt road before coming to a stop. Silence passed over the road. The two drivers stepped out of the trucks, joining the huddled group.

  “We definitely lost the trail,” Stephen said in a gruff voice. “We can turn back or head into these woods to try and pick up a new one.”

  The men around Timothy looked at each other as if gauging what their comrades wanted to do.

  Timothy raised his chin, trying not to show any fear. “I say we keep going.”

  “Me too,” said another.

  “I won’t lie to you: the sun sets early and night will be here before we know it,” Stephen said. “We aren’t prepared to hunt in the dark and we could very well run into a pack of Variants.”

  He shrugged. “On the other hand, if you’re like me, I’m guessing most everyone in this group lost someone to those bastards or you wouldn’t have volunteered. This could be our best chance of catching up to them.”

  Timothy thought back to what Big Horn and Beckham had told them about the Army Rangers giving up the chase when they literally had the collaborators in sight.

  “Military sure as hell ain’t going to do it,” Timothy said. “They had their chance once, and let them get away.”

  “How about this,” Stephen said. “Half of us will continue on, the rest will head back to the outpost just in case we need backup.”

  Six of the militia soldiers climbed into a truck with one driver, and the engine rumbled back to life. The departing truck did a U-turn and headed back. The remaining five soldiers, including Stephen, fanned out into the forest as the driver of the second truck waited in the cab for their return.

  Timothy walked into the weeds along the side of the road, following the other men into the woods. He was definitely the youngest here. Several of these guys were old dudes. Too old to join the military even with their relaxed requirements.

  They set off, and Timothy scanned the hilly woods, breaking the area down into a two-dimensional canvas just like his dad had taught him. Surveying it from left to right, and then back again, looking for any sign of movement.

  The beasts could easily camouflage themselves to blend in with the terrain, but they were easier to spot when they moved.

  Leaves and twigs crunched under the weight of their boots as they marched deeper into the forest, the trees swallowing the group. Timothy made his way closer to Stephen, trying not to make too much noise.

  “You’re a brave kid,” Stephen said quietly.

  “Not a kid,” Timothy whispered back.

  Stephen’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Bullshit. I knew your dad. You aren’t eighteen. I just figured if you’re anything like your old man, we could use your help.”

  So he did know…

  Timothy simply nodded.

  They walked for the next thirty minutes into the forest, searching for any sign of buildings, tracks, or a trail. He wasn’t the best tracker, but he could have spotted human footprints had they come across any.

  Stephen halted and pulled out a compass. Then he put it away and pulled out a bottle of water. He handed it to Timothy.

  Timothy brought the bottle to his lips and downed a third of it. His stomach growled. They hadn’t come prepared for being out here so long. This was supposed to be quick.

  “Thanks,” Timothy said, handing it back.

  An older man with glasses stood and pointed. “I think I see something.”

  Timothy brought up his shotgun, but he didn’t have a scope to zoom in on whatever it was this guy was pointing at.

  “I don’t see shit,” Stephen said.

  The older man looked away with a frown. “I’m sorry, my old eyes must be playing tricks on me.”

  Stephen slowly lowered his rifle and picked the bottle of water off the ground.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “If we don’t—”

  Crows burst from the trees to the east, filling the late afternoon with their caws. The men all aimed their rifles in that direction.

  Timothy moved his finger to the trigger. After blinking away the sting of sweat in his eyes, he searched the carpet of leaves littering the forest floor for movement and then the phalanx of trees around them.

  He saw nothing out there but skeletal branches shedding more leaves.

  The crows flapped away, silhouetted against the blue sky, their cries fading.

  Silence again shrouded the group.

  They remained frozen for what felt like an hour. One of the men tried to keep his rifle up, but it wobbled in his grip, the weight too much for his old muscles to support.

  Stephen took a few steps, his boots making a faint crunch over the leaves.

  He gave the advance signal toward where the birds had taken off. Timothy fell in next to him. They walked slowly toward a cluster of massive trees that towered into the sky. The older man with glasses turned to wait.

  A flash of movement in the branches far above the man’s head caught Timothy’s attention. The few remaining leaves rustled on one particularly large branch. This one looked different than the others, like it had something clinging to it.

  Two reptilian eyes suddenly focused on him. Before he could raise his shotgun, the camouflaged Variant let go of the branch and pounced.

  The beast slammed into the guy with the glasses. Leaves and dirt exploded into the air. Timothy aimed his shotgun, but before he could get a clean shot the beast dragged the man around a tree.

  “Help me!” he wailed.

  A second militia soldier slammed into the ground with a thud, a Variant standing atop his chest. He fired off a burst, but the rounds hit the dirt.

  All at once, a dozen beasts poured from between the tree trunks. They had all taken on the colors of the forest. Timothy fired on the beast straddling the second downed soldier just as it slashed the guy’s throat open.

  The shotgun pellets hit the creature in the chest, punching into vital organs.

  The crack of automatic gunfire came from both sides as Stephen and the two remaining militia soldiers fired on the encroaching monsters. Timothy pumped his shotgun and fired at the creatures.

  Stephen dropped several beasts with headshots. Timothy’s aim wasn’t as good. His shots harmlessly hit trees and dirt. In less than a minute, he was out of shells. He back pedaled as he struggled to pull more from his sweatshirt and load them into the shotgun.

  He dropped one in the grass, fingers trembling, but managed to load the next two.

  “Run!” Stephen yelled over the gunfire.

  Timothy took off with the other two soldiers. Stephen led them, turning every few moments to shoot off a burst or two.

  Turning, Timothy did the same, firing the two shells.

  “I’m out!” Stephen said, grabbing a new magazine.

  Timothy was out, too. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket. There were no more shells there. He threw his shotgun away and snatched his pistol from his holster. He twisted to fire wildly behind him while Stephen reloaded.

  In the seconds it took to fire, Timothy glimpsed at least a dozen of the sinewy beasts moving between the trees. They were on all fours, but they were slinking in and out of cover rather than running straight into the gunfire at full speed.

  A hidden Variant lunged and took down the soldier running behind Timothy and Stephen. The talons slashed his face off. His screams faded as the beast dragged him away.

  “Come on!” Stephen yelled.

  Timothy bolted after him. The man paused and fired until his bolt locked back, and he was forced to replace the magazine.

  They ran like that for almost ten minutes, covering each other to hold the beasts at bay. The Variants grew more desperate, their screeches closing in.

  Stephen and Timothy let loose a flurry of gunfire. The rounds dropped some of the creatures still pursuing them.

  “Move it, kid!” Stephen shouted.

  They couldn’t be far from the road now. Timothy spotted two hills he thought he recognized. The road was just on the other side.

  Stephen s
topped again to lay down more covering fire before leading them down the first of the two hills. Timothy kept his balance, but Stephen tripped and fell. He got right back up and kept running.

  Timothy charged ahead, trying not to slide, and then ran across a creek, his boots splashing up muddy water. He bolted up the next slope with Stephen close behind. Halfway up, a shriek sounded from the crest of the first bluff.

  “Keep going!” Stephen shouted. He turned to fire, giving Timothy time to get to the top. When he reached the crest, Timothy turned with his pistol, aiming at a pack of Variants loping down toward the creek. Three of the creatures jumped into the water with a splash.

  Stephen stood his ground, firing bursts with his rifle. Timothy squeezed his trigger as fast as he could. Most of the wild shots missed, but a few made their mark.

  The creatures that were brought down were replaced by more barreling down the hill. They were no longer held back by caution now that it was only Timothy and Stephen left.

  Stephen turned and locked eyes with Timothy just as the beasts swarmed him.

  “Run!” he screamed. “RUN, KID!”

  The beasts pulled him to the ground, ripping through his clothing and flesh with their claws. Timothy took a step backward, nearly frozen by fear. It wasn’t until one of the beast’s locked eyes with him that he snapped out of it.

  Turning, he ran onto the road, looking left and then right. The truck was still there.

  “Help!” he shouted.

  Waving his hands, he ran toward it.

  A Variant screeched behind him, bursting onto the road. It dropped to all fours and bounded toward him. There was no way he would make it to the truck in time.

  Halting, he closed one eye and then fired at the beast.

  The first two shots missed, but the third and fourth clipped the monster in the upper chest. The fifth shot punched into the skull, finishing it off. It crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  Timothy ran, not stopping until he got to the passenger side of the pickup. He opened the door and jumped into the cab.

  It was empty. The driver was gone.