Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

by Browning, Walt

  “Bring us down. Hover at a hundred meters,” Carver commanded. “Let’s see if things have changed.”

  The Seahawk descended toward the base. The morning light cast long shadows across the vista as the orange sunrise broke over the top of the eastern Laguna Mountain Range.

  Just north of the airfield, the base’s emerald-green golf course stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the tan-and-ochre countryside. Barracks and apartments covered the base, while subdivisions and strip malls were stacked next to each other outside the wire. Over the years, humans had plastered the land with their handiwork. On their last visit five months ago, they’d found tens of thousands of Variants, making the base a no-go zone. Now was as good a time as any to see if things had changed.

  They drew down toward the concrete, the runways extending over a mile from east to the west. Their descent was gradual, giving Carver a chance to scan the massive installation.

  The northern edge of the base housed the base’s personnel. Most of the units had been burned or partially destroyed by fire or explosions. The gate at Miramar and Anderson had been reinforced. MRAPs and up-armored HUMVEEs were parked at the airbase’s northern portal. Guarding it would have proven futile, and the abandoned fighting vehicles were simply a testament to the folly of their efforts. The Variants had likely scaled the adjoining fence, even with the barrier’s razor-sharp concertina wire covering the top.

  As they drew closer, Carver could see the open hangars. The last time they were there, a mass of Variants had flooded out of their bays. They had run at the hovering Osprey while Donaldson slowly pulled her aircraft to the south, leading the horde away from the giant buildings. They’d eventually decided to abandon Miramar when they’d stopped moving and hovered over the southern end of the runway. Nearly a half a mile separated them from the hangars. The base dwellers had been joined by Variants from the air station’s other structures. There were so many infected that not a bare patch of concrete could be seen. There had been far too many to even count.

  The Seahawk gently slowed to a stop, hovering about a hundred yards above the pad.

  Shader moved to the door and looked out as well.

  “Looks quiet,” Carver said. “Might be worth another look, sometime.”

  “Copy that. I’m sure we could scavenge supplies. But I’d much prefer finding healthy people, and I doubt anyone survived that mess,” Shader replied.

  After a half minute, Carver pressed his mic and contacted the pilot. “I’ve seen enough. Looks good for a return visit someday. Let’s get back on mission.”

  The Seahawk shot forward, eating up the remaining miles between Miramar and SeaWorld.

  Carver looked out over the San Diego suburbs and saw the devastation. The prior months had seen more damage and destruction since their last fly-over. Clairemont had been consumed by fire. Several of its one-story sub-divisions contained nothing more than burned-out hulks. The occasional home had been left untouched, but they were the exception rather than the rule.

  They banked over I-5 and headed south. Off to the west, both La Jolla and Pacific Beach had seen damage as well. Several plumes of smoke wafted into the air, prompting Carver to nudge Shader and point them out.

  “Survivors?” Carver asked.

  “Maybe. Or just a natural brush fire. But it’s worth a look next time we’re here,” Shader replied.

  “We’re one mike out,” the pilot said, slowing the craft as he turned over Mission Bay. SeaWorld was on its southern shore.

  Carver and Shader rose and staged at the door. Gonzalez and Keele stood behind them while Shrek stayed close at Carver’s side.

  The helicopter made a wide, slow turn over the park. Trying to draw out any Variants, the pilot brought them down, skimming the tops of the attractions.

  Carver looked out and saw the mess that had once been SeaWorld. Skeletal remains dotted the pathways while the buildings all showed the signs of violence.

  “I don’t see any movement,” Shader said in his mic.

  “Yeah. But I don’t trust them. There are a lot of places they can be hiding. They might be smart like that last Alpha male. We still need to do this right.”

  The helicopter circled a second time, this time dropping low enough to scatter detritus below its rotors.

  Shader elbowed Carver and pointed to a half-emptied water tank. Debris floated above a green and brown surface. The skeletal remains of several Orcas were piled at the bottom of the exhibit. The longer bones stuck out of the swampy water with several of them projecting skyward like a prehistoric diorama. The scene almost looked staged.

  “Looks like the Variants eat seafood,” Shader said.

  “Sad. They never had a chance,” Carver replied.

  “Seahawk One. This is Viper One. The AO looks clear. Do you copy? Over.”

  Everly was flying his Viper above the Seahawk, scanning the park and its surroundings. His television gunsights gave him both a visual and infrared picture of the area.

  “Copy that, Viper One. Keep an eye out for us. Seahawk One, out.”

  The pilot tilted the craft and swung them toward a green space in front of the large restaurant. Moments later, the Seahawk flared, then Carver felt the skids hit the ground.

  “Move!” he yelled.

  The four-man team broke out from under the rotors and fanned out. The tornadic wind from the Seahawk’s blades sent rubbish flying away from the craft as the pilot increased power to the engine and it lifted back up into the air.

  Carver let Shrek lead them to the side of the building. The Mal never stopped his forward movement, and they easily made it to the back of the building. There was a chain-link fence that separated them from the attraction’s parking lot. A blue plastic insert masked their view of the cars and trucks.

  The team scanned their surroundings before Carver called to Everly.

  “Viper One. This is Red One actual. How does the A.O. look? Over.”

  “Red One actual. You’re clear. You’ve got a green light. Over.”

  “Copy that, Viper One. I’ll contact Seahawk One when we’re ready for evac. Red One actual, out.”

  Carver nodded at Shader. Porky moved to the back door and tried to enter. The door wouldn’t budge. He pounded on it but got no reply.

  “Open up!” Shader yelled. “We’re here to rescue you!”

  Silence met his cries. Shader and Carver became worried. They should have gotten some response from inside.

  “Give me a minute,” Shader said, producing his lock pick set. He grunted when he heard a click come from the lock’s tumblers.

  Carver put Shrek up front, and the team stacked up at the door. He nodded at Shader, who flung the door open. The darkness inside and the smell of human waste smacked them in the face. Shrek stood tautly, his eyes and nose working to separate the room’s odors and shadows into information he could recognize.

  “Reveiren!” Carver commanded.

  The Mal accelerated into the dark space, disappearing into the inky blackness.

  Shrek

  The land around me stinks of the asp. Their smell lies everywhere. It is hard for me to tell how many there had been. I search the darkness for signs and clues, but the human sweat and urine has left a heavy scent.

  “Reveiren,” Carver says.

  I quickly move forward.

  The hard floor under me is slick with liquid. My footing is not good. My paws want to slide out from under me. I must be careful or I could fall.

  My claws find the edges of the slippery stone. I can grip the rough space in between.

  The room is dark. Human waste is everywhere, and I slide around them all without making a sound. I can sense something in the room ahead. Movement of the air touches my nose.

  Then I smell it. An Asp smell. The acid stench of the enemy. I freeze. I don’t want it to know where I am, but I know it senses me. It stopped moving when I did. It is still.

  But it doesn’t have my nose. It can’t smell like I can. The air brings its st
ench to me. I turn my head to the right to smell from a different spot. The strength of the stench is less. The Asp must be to my left.

  I slink forward, making sure I don’t touch the things lying on the floor. They will make noise if I bump them. I come to doors like the ones where we found Hope’s friend, Randy. They swing in and out. The smell comes from there. I come to them and stop, smelling the air that is coming out from between the ground and the door. It is in there.

  I nudge the door and it moves. I hear the asp shift its weight inside. The smell is strong. It is near me.

  The ground is still slick, so I have to be smart. I bump the door to make a sound and stick my head inside. The noise alerts the asp.

  I hear it coil to strike.

  I grip the ground, finding the seams between the flat, slick hard surface.

  I am ready.

  I growl. Just a low rumble.

  It triggers the creature, and it takes in a breath. They do that before attacking. I am ready.

  It is time.

  I growl just once more.

  I hear it leap, its claws scraping the ground as it tries to push off.

  I hear it rushing through the air.

  It is fast, but I am faster.

  I have prepared myself.

  My claws push me back and my grip is true.

  As I back away, the door closes.

  The asp flies by, crashing into the wall on the other side.

  I hear it scream. It is angry that it missed.

  I’ve done my job.

  I call out to Carver.

  “An Asp!” I yell.

  The lights from the humans’ weapons quickly appear.

  Carver

  Shrek barked.

  He recognized the tone. It’s a Variant. He rushed forward and engaged his mounted light. He could hear the rest of the fireteam on his six. Four bright beams cut through the darkness, crisscrossing the space, revealing a kitchen that had been torn apart. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor and prep tables were overturned.

  The industrial space had been ransacked and twice, Carver felt his footing slip. Large cans of vegetable oil lay on their sides, the container’s contents coating the floor. He slowed his advance, cursing at the necessity to mind his footing.

  “Shit,” Keele barked. He accidentally kicked several pots when he lost his footing on the slick surface. The metal-on-tile clanging was only intensified by the cavernous room. Carver could almost feel Shader’s anger burning the back of his neck, even though he couldn’t see him because Porky was bringing up his “six”.

  The moments stretched out, and Carver’s angst increased. Shrek was somewhere in there, but he couldn’t see the faithful Mal. Too many overturned tables in the large, abandoned space.

  Carver began to worry at the dog’s silence, but he kept the slow pace. Four intense beams shone from floor to ceiling and from left to right. It gave the room a strobe-like feel of an old-time disco.

  A primal growl echoed outside the room. It came from the right. Carver moved quickly, risking a potentially fatal fall. He should be at Shrek’s side. They were a team.

  Swinging doors appeared. Shrek stood in front of them, his body taut, staring at the double-paneled entrance.

  Carver aimed down his rifle’s barrel. His ACOG’s red reticle stayed level and unmoving, as his deliberate heel-to-toe footsteps kept his aim steady.

  Shrek growled once again.

  Carver stopped. Nothing. Stillness. Silence. The seconds continued to pass.

  The door exploded and a large Variant leapt into the room, landing on an upright prep table. It screamed. The violence of action surprised all four men, who momentarily froze at the sight. It nearly cost them a life.

  But the Mal had heard the creature coiling on the other side of the door and was prepared. The Variant was preparing for another leap when it was dragged off the table and down onto the slippery floor. Shrek latched onto its shirt collar and twisted as he flew by his target. The combination of a slick tabletop and the large dog twisting its neck pulled the Variant down.

  Shrek let go of the creature and scrambled, his claws searching for some purchase point on the floor. He failed and slipped on the oily surface.

  The Variant quickly recovered and immediately found the dog. They weren’t more than ten feet apart.

  It struck at the dog, its legs blasting forth with superhuman strength. Its claws reached for the stumbling Mal, its eyes alit with anticipation. Its only focus was to kill, and Shrek was the prize.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  A .300 Blackout round crashed through its skull at three times the speed of sound. The polymer-tipped projectile became deformed from the bullet’s impact on the cranial bone, causing an expansion of the metal head. It mushroomed, pushing the creature’s brains out the side of its skull.

  By the time it dropped at Shrek’s feet, it was already dead.

  Carver rushed to the dog’s side. The spray of cranial matter had touched a few spots on the Mal’s tactical vest. He brushed them off with a towel from a nearby table. Further inspection showed a clean coat.

  Shrek led them through the double doors and into the dining area. The space had been converted into a makeshift dormitory. Strings crisscrossed the room with tarps and plastic wrap partitioning the room. There were no more Variants.

  “Dr. Miller!” Carver called out.

  There was no reply.

  “Shader. You and Keele clear the left side and we’ll search the right.”

  It didn’t take long before Shader found one of the survivors. At least, what was left of them.

  “Over here!” Shader called out.

  The body had been disemboweled. It was Dr. Miller’s wife. Her face was gone as were most of the organs and muscle. Her long hair was the only indication that they were seeing a female corpse.

  “Find the doctor,” Carver said glumly. “Let’s confirm he’s dead, then we can get back to camp.”

  The rest of the space was clear. Carver was about to call it quits when Keele shouted out.

  “Over here! North wall. The bathroom is locked.”

  The wooden door had taken a terrible beating from the Variant. Scratches gouged the panel, and in one spot, the gnarled claw-like nail of the infected monster’s hand was still buried in the door.

  Carver pounded on the panel. “Doctor Miller. Can you hear me?”

  Silence greeted Carver’s cry.

  “Doctor Miller. We’re here to rescue you. Please, open the door.”

  A faint moan came from inside, but after a few more seconds, nothing else was heard.

  “Shader. Get that pick set out again and open this up.”

  “I’ll knock it in,” Gonzalez said. “Just back away.”

  “If the Variant couldn’t get in there, I doubt you’ll have much luck,” Carver replied.

  “Back up, Marine. Sometimes you need brains and not muscles,” Shader barked.

  Porky played with the deadbolt. It was a simple tumbler and the lock rotated open within a few seconds.

  Carver brought Shrek to the door. The Mal sniffed and turned away. No Variants.

  They stacked on the door, just in case, and burst into the room with guns up and lights blazing.

  Dr. Miller was lying against the wall. His body was curled up, covered with towels. Empty plastic water bottles lay scattered on the floor. Carver ran over and checked for a pulse. He was alive, but unresponsive.

  Carver pulled out his med kit. A quick blood pressure check showed that he was dangerously hypotensive. Carver started an IV and began to pump saline into the old man’s arm.

  “Grab some blankets. We need to improvise a stretcher.”

  The sound of the Viper’s 20mm cannon shook the roof of the building.

  “Seahawk One. This is Red One actual. Do you copy? Over.”

  “Red One. This is Seahawk One. We were just about to call you. We’ve got a situation. Variants are massing. They’re pouring out of a hotel to your
west. They’ll be at the far end of the parking lot in sixty seconds. You’ve got less than two mikes before they’re on you. Over.”

  “This is Viper One. I’ll buy some time, but Red Team needs to move out immediately. Over.”

  “Copy that. Red Team requesting evac. We’ll be carrying one survivor. Meet us at our original drop-off point in sixty seconds. Over.”

  “That’s a hard copy, Red Team. Seahawk One will be at drop-off point in one mike. Seahawk One, out.”

  The Viper sprayed another burst of his cannon at the distant Variants as the four operators placed the doctor on a couple of blankets that were doubled over each other to provide some strength. They each grabbed a corner and shuffled their way out of the building, Shrek leading the way.

  The Seahawk flared and landed, just as the team rounded the corner. Potoski reached out and dragged the doctor through the cargo door, followed by Shrek and the four operators. They were in the air within seconds, rising and away from the advancing menace.

  “Viper One. This is Seahawk One. We have everyone on board. Heading back to the barn. Over.”

  “Copy that, Seahawk One. Viper One returning to base, out.”

  Carver finally had some time to inspect the doctor. He hovered over the injured man and examined him for bites or other signs of the Variant infection. He appeared clean, but his blood pressure was still low. Carver started a second run of saline, this time squeezing the bag to rapidly push the liquid into his patient’s system. Dr. Miller began to move. His eyes fluttered and he weakly grasped Carver’s arm.

  “My wife…”

  Carver held the man’s hand and gently squeezed it. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  The doctor’s eyes welled, and a tear ran down his right cheek.

  “Get some rest, doc. We’re taking you somewhere safe. It’ll be all right.”

  But that wasn’t meant to be.

  Moments later, the helicopter lurched, and the engine coughed as the Seahawk began to fight for lift. Carver knew they were in trouble. Years of moving in these flying coffins had exposed him to more than his share of mechanical issues. This one seemed worse than the rest.