Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  There was no doubt in his mind now.

  “Someone in Portland is compromised,” Beckham said. “And this was a message.”

  “Why not just shoot us?” Horn growled. “Least then I could see the slimy fuck’s face and fight back.”

  Beckham grabbed his rifle, a chill running up his spine. The other soldiers raised their weapons again, slowly turning.

  “It’s not safe here,” Ruckley said.

  “Fuck this, I’m going to skin the little prick alive,” Horn said. “Or pricks. Hell, I’ll take on an entire fucking ARMY!”

  “Calm down,” Beckham said.

  Horn kicked a burned board.

  “This is our goddamn home, boss,” he said. “They killed our friends, destroyed our houses. They’re after our whole damn country. I want to find the motherfuckers and kill them all.”

  Ruckley spat on the ground. “You’re welcome to stay here and help me find them.”

  Beckham tried to bite back his own fury. Revenge could wait. There were more important matters at hand.

  “First we bury our friends so they can rest in peace,” he said.

  ***

  Hours ago Fischer had left El Paso, Texas. He and his men had left Sergeant Sharp behind with Lieutenant Riggs to guard the seismic detection trucks. Sharp would then oversee the deployment of a seismic detection truck near Outpost Galveston. But what they needed now was a way to deploy this technology across the Allied States.

  Cornelius had requested Fischer to come to Outpost Manchester in New Hampshire to focus on a new mission implementing seismic detection defenses.

  Fischer wasn’t sure yet how they were going to do it with limited manpower, and the equipment they had scrounged up wasn’t enough for more than a few outposts. The trucks were already being deployed, but simply couldn’t cover the ground they needed to adequately defend the Allied States.

  Apparently, Cornelius had something else in mind for Manchester.

  The town had once been a mill town bisected by the Merrimack River and later evolved into a center for high-tech startups and niche businesses. The place appeared to Fischer as if it was on the next stage of its life, currently occupied and defended by a combination of General Cornelius’ army and the Allied States’ military.

  At Cornelius’ behest, Fischer had gone with Chase and Tran to an office building overlooking the Merrimack for a meeting and call with the president. He entered a conference room with his two guards.

  “Mr. Fischer, it’s good to see you again.” General Cornelius said. He was polite but he remained seated behind a long mahogany table, a laptop resting in front of him. Not rising was a reminder who was in charge here.

  Four officers wearing the Orca badge and blue armband of his private army also remained seated in brown leather chairs. Three empty fabric-covered chairs stood nearby, looking out of place. Fischer shook hands with Cornelius across the table and then took a seat with Tran and Chase.

  “You all outperformed my expectations in El Paso,” Cornelius said. “We’ll deploy this strategy across the Allied States as soon as possible. Hopefully this will buy us the time to destroy the brains of the Variant network. But unfortunately we are running out of time.”

  “Some outposts have already ran out,” Fischer said. “I heard we lost eight last night.”

  “Actually, ten,” Cornelius said.

  Tran and Chase exchanged a look but Fischer remained stern-faced. The losses were hard to stomach, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on them. They had to focus on preventing further damage.

  “Our enemies unleashed a new weapon,” Cornelius added. “Somehow, they rigged bats with explosives and set the damn things loose on Outpost Portland.”

  “Good God,” Fischer said, unable to contain himself.

  “We thought by moving to places like Manchester we would be safe from the tunneling Variants, but the bats have added another threat into the mix,” Cornelius said. “Fortunately, we have a secret weapon of our own.”

  Fischer leaned forward, curious.

  “SOCOM is helping organize the evacuation and defense of strategic bases around the Allied States, and we’ve been asked to help with Manchester’s defenses,” Cornelius said. “This city was once the site of advanced biotechnological research. It will make a perfect research space for Dr. Lovato and her team.”

  “Research space for what, exactly?”

  “As we speak, teams are working to capture a mastermind and bring it here for the scientists to study.”

  Chase laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  Cornelius didn’t laugh.

  “Wait, you’re really not joking?” Chase asked.

  “Not at all,” said the general. “They have the beast surrounded right now.”

  Fischer stroked his mustache nervously. Then realized what he was doing and stopped. “What in the Sam Hill are they thinking bringing one of those creatures here?”

  “The scientists think it will allow us to tap into the Variant communications network. Needless to say, we have reason to believe the Variants are going to want it back. It’s up to us to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  Cornelius rotated his wrist to check his watch.

  “It’s about time to call President Ringgold.” He turned to one of the officers next to him, who in turn used a satellite phone.

  “What I’ve been investigating will provide us unparalleled defenses in Manchester and the rest of the country,” Cornelius said. “Better than the trucks you used in El Paso.”

  Fischer was anxious to hear what that might be when a voice came over the phone’s speaker.

  “President Ringgold here.”

  “Madam President, this is General Cornelius. I have S.M. Fischer with me in Manchester.”

  “Hello, gentleman, I’m with Vice President Lemke, General Souza and Lieutenant Festa.”

  “Before I begin, I just want to express my sympathy for everyone and everything we lost last night,” Cornelius said.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “Thank you, and frankly, we’re running out of time to save everyone else,” Ringgold said.

  Fischer thought he detected Ringgold’s voice shaking slightly. He had once thought that she was a coward running off to a ship, far from land, but he knew she cared deeply for the people of this country.

  “I’ll get right to it,” Cornelius said. “Mr. Fischer has proved seismic detection allows us to accurately detect and locate Variant tunneling activities in El Paso. I’ve identified a location with technology even more advanced than what Mr. Fischer used. When I was involved with the Department of Defense, one project I encountered consisted of advanced detection systems for tsunami and earthquake activity.”

  General Souza came back on the line. “I vaguely remember that. Wasn’t that one of the DARPA-funded environmental warfare projects near Stanford?”

  “Yes, it was called Project Rolling Stone. Researchers at the National Accelerator Laboratories were devising a system to detect seismic aberrations that might lead to a catastrophic environmental event. But that wasn’t the only use they saw fit for this program.”

  Fischer raised a brow, intrigued by where this was going.

  “North Korea has a long history of attempting to tunnel under the Demilitarized Zone,” Cornelius explained. “South Korea needed something to detect those tunnels before they hit Seoul, and they reached out to us. Hence Project Rolling Stone took on a new goal.”

  “Pardon me, but if this project already exists, what did you need the vibroseis equipment for in El Paso?” Fischer asked.

  Cornelius gave Fischer a knowing nod.

  “The answer is two-fold. First, the technology developed in Project Rolling Stone is still out in California, deep in the heart of Variant-controlled territory. Second, if I was going to even suggest we consider retrieving it, we needed to show that seismic detection and location works.”

  “We don’t have nearly enough of those vibroseis t
rucks for every outpost. How will we guarantee there’s enough of this Project Rolling Stone equipment? And even if we have the equipment, how do we find the people to help run it?” Ringgold asked.

  “When I retired, we had enough equipment to deploy all over the DMZ, plus surplus to detect environmental seismic events across the Pacific Northwest,” Cornelius replied.

  Fischer was impressed with the idea so far and listened anxiously.

  “We can deploy this new technology in Manchester as soon as it arrives with Mr. Fischer’s help, but in the meantime we will deploy the few vibroseis trucks we have at outposts they are needed the most,” Cornelius said. “Then we’ll roll out these Rolling Stone technologies to outposts all around the country.”

  “General,” said a new voice. “This is Lieutenant Festa. France has sent us 100 consultants—engineers, soldiers, and more—with experience finding and fighting the monsters that dug through the ground in Europe. I believe that should help with the manpower issue.”

  “Then we have the people and enough equipment to cover far more ground than the vibroseis truck setups we used last night,” Cornelius said. “One Seismic Detection System—or SDS—from Project Rolling Stone can cover a radius of approximately 200 to 500 square miles depending on geological factors. In other words, it will be more than enough for the outposts you decide to…”

  “To save,” Souza cut in. “We’re abandoning outposts in the Midwest and continuing to pull people back east.”

  Festa spoke up again. “That’s great that we might be able to scrounge up this equipment, but our aircraft are at their limits of use right now. What exactly does this SDS stuff look like? Is it hard to transport?”

  Cornelius unfolded the laptop in front of him. “I’m sending you schematics of what this is so you know what to expect. Goes without saying, this was a highly classified project beforehand, and I think we need to keep this intel amongst ourselves for the time being.”

  The general twisted the laptop enough so that Fischer could get a look at the images on the screen. On it, Fischer saw an array of metal-encased sensors, all of which looked similar to the small coin-sized sensors civil engineers used on bridges to detect stability issues and potential damage from traffic and floods. Each sensor could easily fit in the palm of his hand.

  “As you can see, the sensors are quite small. It’s no problem to scatter these around an outpost.” Cornelius opened another image. “This is our signal processing unit.”

  A backpack-sized metallic device with a computer screen and an array of antenna came on the screen.

  “Remember, these were only meant to be passive detection systems—not active like the equipment we used in El Paso,” Cornelius said. “All they’ve got to do is receive even the most minute of signals from tunneling activity, and you can get an accurate read on any tunnel-making. Like I said, perfect for the DMZ between North and South Korea.”

  “That certainly exceeds my expectations if it works how you promised,” Fischer said.

  “Me, too,” Ringgold said. “This sounds like something we can’t pass up. Let’s get it done.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Cornelius replied.

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “My troops are made up of mercenaries, retired soldiers, and a lot of brave men and women, but these are not Special Op soldiers, and that’s what I need to help locate the tech before our people can get it out of there.”

  Hushed chatter came over the other line.

  “Anything could have happened to the SDS equipment since I last heard about it. The facility may have been inadvertently destroyed in the bombing campaigns in the war or marauders may have sacked the National Accelerator Labs,” Cornelius said. “We need a team with the experience of working behind enemy lines.”

  “I know of just the one,” Ringgold said. “Unfortunately, they’re busy trying to secure a mastermind.”

  “A mission to locate and retrieve this technology is imperative to protect the mastermind while the scientists research it,” Cornelius replied. “This location is one of the hardest to get at, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done if the Variants try.”

  There was silence on the phone for a few seconds.

  Fischer had made some tough decisions in his time, but he did not envy the president’s position now. Every soldier they had left was a valuable asset from a dwindling pool of resources.

  “General Cornelius, I want you to send myself and General Souza all the intel you have on Project Rolling Stone,” Ringgold said. “We’ll need it if we’re going to send a team out looking for it.”

  “Uploading now,” Cornelius said.

  “Thank you, we will be in touch shortly. Until then, stay safe.”

  “You too, Madam President.”

  The call ended and Cornelius stood.

  “I’m counting on you now, Mr. Fischer,” he said. “As soon as the SDS equipment arrives, I want your men ready to deploy it. In the meantime, I’ll be heading back to Galveston.” He crossed around the table closer to Fischer. “There’s something else I want to warn you about.”

  “What?” Fischer asked.

  “We have good reason to believe most of these attacks have been aided by collaborators within and outside of the outposts.”

  Fischer furrowed his brow. “You’re telling me there are traitors in our midst?”

  A firm nod. “What you and the rest of the people are doing in this base is extremely important. Between the mastermind and the SDS equipment, these are perhaps the most crucial missions if we’re going to beat the Variants and their allies.”

  “I’m all too aware of it.”

  “There very well could be people at this outpost that are compromised. You might run into some of these collaborators here on base and not even realize it. I want you to be vigilant, and I trust you can make sure the SDS equipment is safe when it’s brought here.”

  Fischer swallowed. “I’m a good judge of character, but…”

  “Stay frosty at all times and keep all classified intel quiet. The collaborators might be planning something even more sinister, and we can’t afford any of our plans to fall into their hands.

  “That sounds like you don’t think our military and its scientists can keep a secret,” Fischer said.

  “Unfortunately from what I’ve heard and seen, it sure as hell seems like we’ve got compromised people who have sufficient security clearance to intercept classified data.”

  “Then who do I trust out here?” Fischer asked.

  Cornelius drew in a breath. “Wish I could tell you exactly who to trust and who not to. But if we’d figured that out already, I wouldn’t have to give you this warning, would I?”

  Fischer swallowed even harder.

  “All I can say is use your brain, use your gut, and trust basically no one,” Cornelius said. He gave Fischer a nod and then exited with his team behind him.

  — 14 —

  “Ghost, Falcon 1, ETA five minutes,” came a voice over the channel.

  Dohi and the rest of Team Ghost had been patiently waiting for this moment, all of them spread out and hidden in vantage points covering Jackson Square around the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.

  After calling in the mastermind’s location, they had retreated to observe the beast through the cracked and broken stained-glass windows. Dohi watched the abomination with a growing dread. He had grown up listening to Navajo folklore about many different demons, and had always believed them to be more fantasy than fact, but this beast proved his ancestors were right.

  “Eyes on target,” Fitz responded over the channel. “Awaiting orders.”

  “Four birds incoming, two to touch down,” Falcon 1 called back. “Confirm LZ clear?”

  The channel went quiet. Dohi scanned the flooded terrain filled with debris and charcoaled vehicles around Jackson Square.

  “Negative,” Fitz finally replied. “Not enough room to land you, Falcon 1.”

  “Understood, Ghost 1
. We’ll find an alternative.”

  The distant whir of the helicopters rose over the clicking of joints and the moans of the monsters’ captives inside the cathedral. A howl burst over the din—the Variant version of an air-raid siren sounding the alarm over the helicopters.

  From his position, Dohi could see the beasts cease feeding their master. Several of the smaller monsters skittered over the webbing toward the broken windows and doors.

  “Eyes on movement,” Fitz said over the private channel.

  “Six… no, seven hostiles from the south,” Rico reported.

  Next came Mendez. “Got a pack of juvies streaming out of the apartments to our east.”

  “Four more around the museums to the northwest,” Ace chimed in.

  The whoop of the chopper blades cut them off. Dark silhouettes appeared in the rolling gray clouds.

  “We’re drawing heat,” Falcon 1 said over the comms. “Got a horde growing in our wake. Ghost, you’ll need to clear the pickup zone.”

  “Wilco,” Fitz said. “All right, boys and girls, you heard him. We keep this square clear, then move inside and secure the cathedral. On my mark.”

  There was tension in his voice.

  Dohi was nervous too. They were about to attempt something no other team had tried and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy, even with the air support en route.

  The other members of the team shouldered their rifles, standing amid the overgrown bushes and masses of webbing. Dohi spotted an armored juvenile Variant with roving, saucer-shaped eyes.

  “Execute,” Fitz ordered on the comms.

  Dohi pulled the trigger and suppressed rifle shots choofed all around the square. Their targets crumpled, red holes weeping from heads and chests.

  The next volley punched through the flanks of the Variants drawn out of the cathedral by the noise.

  Through the gaping holes in the windows of the cathedral, Dohi saw the mastermind go mad behind the altar where it stood. The hulking red form shook, the vibrations traveling through the folds of tissue that covered the monster. It reached out with huge, glistening claws and yanked on the tissue vines attached to its body like it was orchestrating a sickening puppet performance. Multiple cocooned bodies were slashed open by the raging beast, dumping the contents to the floor.