Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

by Browning, Walt

  “Come here. Let me show you.”

  Thieriot led them down the passageway to the combat control center. As they navigated the corridor, it was the first time Carver noticed that most of the lights were off and there was no air movement.

  The mission control center, however, was cool and multiple computer monitors lit the space with green and blue light.

  “We’ve kept the brains of the ship going. Computers need air conditioning.”

  The captain went to a station with a joystick that looked like a gaming console controller. He began to manipulate the buttons and the flat, green screen began to pan.

  “This is manual control for one of our 30mm guns.” He continued to rotate the mount to port, bringing the harbor into view. “Here. Watch this.”

  The screen zoomed in on the buildings. There was no movement. Thieriot continued to scan back and forth. The small harbor town appeared abandoned.

  “No one’s home,” he said.

  “Maybe they don’t know you’re here.”

  “No. We gave them a blast from the horn. As you can see, there’s been no response.”

  “Where did they all go?” Shader asked. “They didn’t just sail away.”

  “I don’t know. But maybe they ran out of food and starved.”

  Shader frowned. “I don’t buy that. I saw an entire Marine expeditionary unit destroyed back in Los Angeles using that exact thought process.”

  “Do you have a better idea where they went?” the captain asked. “Because I don’t.”

  “Have you seen any bodies?”

  “We’re too far out to see, even with our combat optics. I could send some sailors into the town after you leave, but none of us have any combat experience. We had a few Marines on board, but they were the cause of the outbreak. Our infected warriors almost killed the ship.”

  Shader and Carver gave each other a knowing glance. The story here was the same as on the aircraft carrier they’d abandoned half a year ago. Infected fluids and wounds brought onboard by the refugees of the Battle of Inglewood Forum or the retreat from NAS San Diego had destroyed the fleet.

  “Instead of risking your men, can’t you send your ship’s Seahawk out to scan the island?” Carver asked.

  “We lost the pilots to the infection. Which brings me to you and your crew.”

  “You want us to recon Catalina Island?”

  “At least do a fly-over. It would really help.”

  “And if the island is clear, what’s your plan?”

  “Make a home here. The ship’s been up and down the Western seaboard, and we’ve found nothing but Variants everywhere we went.”

  “The island’s pretty big for just twenty-three people,” Shader remarked.

  “Yeah. Well, it’s not like we have a lot of choices here. The only other place we could go would be one of the islands off the coast of British Columbia.”

  “Kind of cold there, isn’t it?”

  “Not too bad. The Vancouver area had a lot of agriculture, so growing food wouldn’t be an issue. But it’s a moot point. We don’t have the fuel to return. Besides, the only islands we could use were uninhabited. We’d be chopping down trees for years, just to clear enough land to farm. On top of that, we’d have to build our homes from scratch and, quite frankly, none of us knows how to do that. Here we’ve got the buildings already in place, along with a couple freshwater wells to support us.”

  “Makes sense,” Carver said.

  “What we need to find out is if the island is habitable. We need to know how many Variants are left and where they are so we can deal with them.”

  “No problem,” one of the Seahawk crew said. “We’ve got enough Avgas for that.”

  “Changing the subject, is your Seahawk functional? Looks like it took some damage in the firefight,” Everly said.

  “Our mechanics fixed it, but without a pilot, we haven’t been able to take it on a test flight.”

  “I guess this is your lucky day,” Everly said. “I can fly it if our pilot will show me where the ‘go’ button is.”

  “He flew a SuperCobra for the Marines before evacuating with us,” Carver said.

  “Two helicopters!” Thieriot said. “That would help tremendously moving gear and equipment.”

  “Don’t forget the Osprey,” Shader said.

  “Sounds like we have a plan,” Carver remarked. “At least, something to shoot for. Let’s get down to the nuts and bolts and make this happen. It’ll be good to have a neighbor close by.”

  “That brings me to a second point. Would you consider one more thing?” Thieriot asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Move to the island with us. We need your group and their experience. Once the island is clear, you wouldn’t need to worry about Variants anymore.”

  Carver glanced at Shader, then turned to the rest of his men. He was met with raised eyebrows and shrugs.

  “We’d have to think about it,” Carver said.

  “You’ll bring it up with your people?”

  “Of course. And if anyone wants to join you, we’ll be happy to bring them back.”

  The group spent the next few hours plotting the mission to retake Catalina Island. The first order of business was to do a quick assessment of the island, then haul fuel out to the ship with the portable bladders from the air station.

  After the meeting broke up, the Seahawk circumnavigated the small island and confirmed the presence of a small number of Variants. The few stragglers they saw seemed lethargic as they staggered about in response to the helicopter’s rotors thumping through the air.

  All in all, it looked promising.

  After the Seahawk returned, the Lost Valley group met in the captain’s quarters.

  “I think it’s worth going forward,” Carver said. “At least, we can send a couple fireteams into Two Harbors and begin there. We’ll bring some people back to do a proper job of it.”

  “In the meantime, we can pick up a bladder on our way back to the camp and begin hauling fuel,” Shader said.

  “Makes sense,” Thieriot replied. “What do you need from us?”

  Shader thought for a moment then spoke. “How many inflatables do you have?”

  “We had two, but one got shot up in the firefight.”

  “So, just one RIB?”

  “Yes. But it’s seaworthy. We’ve taken it out without a problem.”

  “Then I have a plan,” Shader said. “Do you have any cargo straps on board?”

  “Sure. How many do you need?”

  “Enough to hang the RIB under the Seahawk. We’ll use the boat to infiltrate the air station. We can drop it offshore and drive it in. Nice and quiet.”

  Thieriot nodded then stood up from his chair. He faced the Lost Valley group.

  “This is where humanity makes its stand. We can’t do this without you,” he said. “You have the knowledge to make this island a colony. A haven we can use to rebuild what was lost. Please, ask your people to join us and help us save our world.”

  — 4 —

  Over the Pacific Ocean

  Five Miles West of North Point NAS, San Diego

  “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

  — Frank Herbert

  Dune

  Shader loved the rush. He stared out of the helicopter’s side window and watched as the night sky provided a muted, blue light that illuminated the undulating ocean beneath them. The air roared past the side of the craft as they flew the eighty miles between the ship and the naval air station.

  “You all right?” Shader yelled at Gonzalez.

  “Yeah, Chief. I’m just peachy.”

  The young man sat rigidly against the helicopter’s airframe, next to an equally concerned Corporal Keele. Unlike Carver and Shader, who had extensive experience jumping into the o
cean, the two Marines were new to this.

  It had all sounded so benign to Gonzalez when Carver explained it. Maybe even a bit exciting. “An adventure,” he was told. Shader, Carver, and Shrek would join him and Keele to create the Quick Reaction Force.

  Neither he nor Keele had jumped into the ocean from a moving helicopter, and doing it in the dead of night made the act even more frightening. Fortunately, they weren’t going to have to blindly leap into the churning night sea. Only Chief Shader would be getting wet.

  Beneath the rushing Seahawk was the Freedom’s remaining RIB. The thirty-four-foot-long Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat (RIB) hung from a grapple by heavy, nylon straps. It had a standup console to drive the boat and enough room in front for the recon squad and all their gear. When they got within four miles of the coast, the Seahawk would release the boat, and the team would leave the helicopter.

  Normally, they’d just jump into the ocean and swim to the waiting craft. But with Shrek riding along and both Keele and Gonzalez having no experience at this, they came up with a different plan.

  “Two minutes to insertion,” Everly yelled.

  Everly grasped the sliding cabin door’s handle and pulled it to the side. The cool, late fall Pacific air smacked Shader in the face as it rushed into the Seahawk’s cargo space.

  Shader gave the team a thumbs-up and collected himself at the open side door. Carver joined him and inspected his buddy’s gear, making sure everything was buckled securely to his body. Shader returned the act before glaring at the two Marines.

  “Get ready, you two,” he yelled.

  Keele and Gonzalez stood and re-inspected each other for what seemed like the tenth time that night. They unzipped their waterproof duffels and quickly checked their weapons, night vision, and spare magazines. Everything was ready to go, just as the last nine times they’d checked.

  The Seahawk slowed to a stop and hovered above the water. Shader could feel a mechanical snap beneath his feet on the floorboard of the Seahawk as the helicopter released the RIB. It dropped to the water below. Shader looked over the edge and saw that the craft had landed upright, while the attached lashes were floating to the side of the boat. He’d retrieve the cargo straps once he got on board. They would be used to haul the fuel bladder out to the Freedom.

  The Seahawk, free from the swinging boat, began to bank and descend until they were about ten yards above the ocean. Everly tapped Shader on the shoulder and the SEAL jumped into the inky water.

  Everly grabbed a coiled fast rope that lay nearby. It was already attached to a cantilevered arm that projected out, directly above the open door. He flung it out of the bay and nodded to the remaining three warriors. The helicopter ascended slightly to reduce the rotor’s effects on the ocean’s surface.

  Carver looked over the edge and saw that Shader had already crawled into the small boat. A moment or two later, the RIB’s engine came alive, and the craft shot forward then made a tight circle below.

  Shrek was attached to Carver with straps that were hooked to the front of the SEAL’s chest rig. Gonzalez could have sworn that the Mal was smiling.

  Even the dog likes this shit! Shrek shamed away his fear.

  Carver grabbed the line and quickly fast-roped down to the waiting inflatable craft, while Shader fought the copter blade’s downwash. The tornadic winds were making the boat drift. The pair came down inside of the RIB without a problem.

  “Easy!” Keele said.

  He had his duffel strapped over his shoulder. Keele grabbed the fast rope, and he dropped quickly out of sight. Gonzalez leaned out and saw Carver grab his friend’s legs and pull him into the craft. The waves from the blades pounding the air were a challenge for Shader, but both man and equipment arrived safely.

  Gonzalez took a deep breath and crossed himself for good luck. His own gear bag was tied around his back, while Shader’s gear sat at his feet, attached to his belt by a long tether. He grabbed the rope with his gloved hands and began a much slower descent than the other two.

  About ten feet down, he realized Shader’s waterproof duffel was back on the deck of the Seahawk but still attached to his rig. He yanked the lanyard. The bag tumbled out of the open door and fifty-seven pounds of ammo, weapons, and gear smacked him on the head. Gonzalez lost his grip briefly, sending him swaying like a pendulum. Dazed from the collision, he lost his bearings and let go of the rope. He dropped like a rock, hit the roiling ocean, and began to sink.

  Too much weight, he thought.

  He struggled to break the surface. His legs churned as he tried to lift himself out of the water, but both attached duffels and the weight of his clothing made his efforts futile.

  Gonzalez continued to sink. The faint starlight above diminished.

  Is this it? he thought as his lungs began to burn.

  The ocean surrounded him, beckoning him below. Gonzalez looked down and saw nothing but black. It frightened him, and he renewed his fight to the surface. His chest began to demand more air, and his legs slowed as the seconds slipped away. He’d already used much of his strength, and the weight of his gear was pulling him down.

  The warm water was soothing, like he was being hugged by a soft blanket that had just come out of the dryer. Drowning almost seemed comforting. His brain began to rationalize his impending death. His life sped by as he remembered family and friends, all lost to the infection. Why should he live when everyone he’d ever loved was dead, or worse? He remembered his fellow Marines and their horrific deaths at the Inglewood Forum. He thought of Keele and Lazzaro. He’d miss them.

  Then, he thought of Carver and Shader.

  He knew they’d blame themselves for his death. They were his team leaders and were responsible for him. Gonzalez could feel the self-loathing and guilt they would have for allowing him to perish. He knew how that felt. It was a guilt that never left you. The knowledge that you survived when others died was a corrosive rust that ate at your soul. The unfairness of death’s choices would do that to you.

  Anger at himself welled up. He couldn’t do that to his friends. He had to fight back.

  Gonzalez kicked. He frantically scissored his legs. He couldn’t die. He had to live! Not for himself, but for his teammates. He would never be the cause of their pain. He couldn’t let them down.

  His lungs screamed, and his movement became frantic. He looked up and saw the faint dots of starlight blurred on the surface. He was rising! He knew where to go.

  He continued to fight, but his arms burned. His legs were cramping. His eyesight began to narrow.

  Oxygen! I need oxygen, his brain screamed.

  He became disoriented and when he looked above again, the lights had disappeared. He couldn’t see the surface anymore. Somehow, he’d turned himself around. Was he upside down? Did he turn onto his side? The buoyancy and underwater currents hid gravity’s pull. He didn’t know which way to go. He sadly realized that he was going to die after all.

  Gonzalez let out a muffled scream and could feel the salty liquid rush into his mouth. His throat spasmed and closed itself off. He reached out, pleading to God for one more chance. Blackness washed over him. It was the divine’s response to his prayer. He stopped struggling. It was done.

  — 5 —

  RIB

  Four Miles Offshore of North Island Naval Air Station

  “And the sea will grant each man new hope, his sleep brings dreams of home.”

  ― Captain Marko Ramius

  The Hunt for Red October

  “That stupid grunt!” Carver said to Shader.

  They both smiled as the tiny Marine began to swing from the sea breeze and helicopter wash.

  Keele sat and laughed at his friend as well. “He’s scared to death. I’ll bet he’s pissed himself already!”

  Carver grinned and turned to Shader. “Radio the copter. Tell them to come back around and take the sway out of the rope.”

  Shader was just about to make the call when Gonzalez dropped into the water.

  “Shi
t!” Shader yelled.

  The fast-rope swung back and forth in a long arc, so Gonzalez was about fifty feet away when he went in. Shader gunned the motor but waited for the kid’s head to pop up out of the water. No sense rushing over to help and accidently run him down with the propellers.

  After ten seconds, the three of them were all leaning over the edge of the craft, searching for their friend. At half a minute, Shader gunned the boat and they rushed over to the spot where they saw him go in.

  “Nothing!” Carver yelled as he searched the black ocean off to port. He may as well have been staring into a pool of ink.

  “Nothing here,” Keele yelled from the bow.

  Shader looked up from starboard and just shook his head.

  They’d lost Gonzalez, and there was no way they would find him in the dark, angry sea.

  “He’s gone!” Carver cried.

  Shrek

  The warrior is gone. I saw him jump into the water, but he didn’t come back. I see Carver. He’s upset. The man they call Gonzalez has fallen and they can’t find him.

  I stay back, because that is what Carver told me to do. Sit and stay.

  But he needs my help. I saw where the man went into the water. I stand up next to Carver. “He’s gone!” I hear him say.

  I stand and look over the edge. I stare into the dark water. My eyes can see deeply. I can see something floating below. Just a shadow that doesn’t move. It must be him. I turn to Carver and yell to him.

  “I see him!” I bark. “I can see him!”

  Carver

  Shrek bumped into Carver’s leg as he leaned over the edge. The helicopter lifted away and began its own search of the ocean floor. Its spotlight blazed down, revealing the choppy Pacific Ocean. The light might have helped the helicopter’s crew, but its glare blinded the three men.

  Shrek barked.

  Carver looked down and saw the dog pleading with him. It was the same look the dog would give him when the Mal located its prize.

  “Shrek’s onto something!” Carver said.