Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

by Browning, Walt

  Shader struggled to get his rifle back in the fight. He finally looked at the chamber where the two rounds were stuck. Both bullet heads had wedged into the barrel. They weren’t going to come out until he could get to his armorer’s equipment back at camp. His rifle was done for the day.

  “My rifle’s down!” he yelled. Only Keele could hear him, as the screams from below blasted up the shaft, drowning out Shader’s alarm.

  The SEAL slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his sidearm. The Sig Sauer began to speak, and its 9mm bullets found their targets. He had given them a few seconds to get away.

  “Move it, Marine!” Shader commanded.

  Keele began to hobble up the steps, his gait slowed by his wound. Shader looked down at Keele’s leg. The bandage was soaked, and a magenta trail led to a small puddle of blood that had formed back where the young Marine had been standing.

  Shader extended his hand, and Keele reached out to grab it. They were one flight from safety and the SEAL was going to carry the kid home if he had to.

  Keele’s fingers touched Shader’s. But that was as far as he got.

  A deformed arm and torso appeared from the fourth-floor deck. A huge Variant grabbed Keele by the back of the neck and yanked him into the garage. In less than a second, the young Marine was gone.

  Shader stared at his empty hand.

  He screamed and took a step down.

  Dozens of Variants appeared on the landing below. They’d be on him in a moment. With no other option, Shader bounded back up top. Potoski and Gonzalez covered the opening, and just as he passed the two Marines, they lit up the stairwell.

  Shader grabbed both men by the shoulders and pulled them away.

  “Go! Get in the bird!” he yelled.

  “Keele!” Gonzalez yelled. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone!” Shader barked. “Now get in the Osprey!”

  Gonzalez’s face dropped with shock, then turned to rage. He began cursing in Spanish and advancing on the stairwell. Variant screams echoed back. They were just feet away.

  Potoski grabbed Gonzalez across his chest and lifted him up. The big Pole carried the little Marine in one arm while hefting the heavy machine gun with the other. He strode up the waiting ramp and into the Osprey. Gonzalez screamed the entire time, all the while unloading his rifle on any of the monsters that made the mistake of appearing.

  “That’s it. Let’s go,” Shader said.

  “Keele. Where’s Keele?” Carver asked.

  One look at the dejected SEAL was all he needed to know.

  “All on board. Let’s go,” Shader said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Carver said into the craft’s radio.

  The Osprey’s engines accelerated, and the twin rotors spun up. The giant craft lifted into the air just as the landing pad was swarmed by the infected. Crawling up the sides of the building, they enveloped the space from all sides. They stopped as a group, their faces all turned upward. Their mouths were open in a primal scream of anger, hate, and hunger. Within moments, Carver and the rest had disappeared into the California morning sky.

  Keele

  San Diego Drainage Tunnels

  Keele felt the movement. He was slowly gaining consciousness. He had hit his head on the stair railing as he was pulled into the garage. After that, it all went black.

  The stench was overwhelming. That’s what forced him into consciousness. He stayed still as the creature carrying him bounded across the land. He saw light through the inside of his eyelids, then darkness. Keele stole a brief look and saw that they were entering a tunnel.

  He heard the barks of the infected. They grew louder. Then he felt himself being flung to the ground. He struck a hard, cold surface, smacking his head against the ground. He blacked out once again.

  He awoke to the smell of rotten fruit.

  His eyes fluttered.

  His eyelids remained closed, but he could see that some brightness was filtering into the space nearby. That meant a way out.

  Keele cracked his eyelids open, just a sliver. A Variant had its face in front of his, its maw of razor-sharp teeth open, croaking and grunting as it sniffed his clothing and boots. The Marine remained still.

  The Variant moved on, giving Keele a chance to slowly probe his body. His battle belt and sidearm were gone, and he couldn’t feel his rifle anywhere. He dared not search further for fear of being assaulted again. He had no idea why they’d left him alive, and he didn’t want to risk letting them know he was conscious.

  The sound of another approaching group of the creatures echoed off the nearby walls. Keele could feel a wet coldness to the air. It confirmed that he was still in the tunnel. The grunts and shrieks of the group grew in intensity as they got near. He continued to feign unconsciousness, trying to silently gather any information he could that would help him escape.

  Keele was jarred by a kick in his side. He shot upright and cried out from the pain. He looked up to see the large creature that had brought him into the tunnel. It was hovering next to him, a morbid smile on its face.

  “Fuck you!” Keele shouted.

  A deformed hand shot out and slammed into the Marine’s chest, sending him sprawling into the wall. It leapt forward and leaned over the injured man, croaking at him.

  Keele swung at the Variant, but it easily sprang back. It squatted down on its haunches a few yards away and began to pound its fists onto the concrete, hissing and spitting at the Marine.

  A loud cry boomed from the approaching group. A flash of diseased flesh rushed out of the gloom and sprang onto the infected bully. The new Variant’s long, disjointed arms thrashed the beast. Fingers, nearly twice their normal length, were disfigured with arthritic-shaped joints. Long, spear-like nails ripped through his tormentor’s chest. Its pectoral muscle flapped back, revealing white fibrous tendons and bone. It howled in pain and sprinted away.

  The attacker was massive, but in the darkened tunnel, Keele could only make out grey images, the light from afar providing only rudimentary help with his vision.

  The creature stalked around, staring and barking at the rest of the horde. It stopped and slowly approached its captive.

  Keele was out of strength. The blow into the wall and his prior head and leg wounds had drained him, both of blood and the will to live. Unfocused and unmoving, Keele began to accept his fate. He was going to be the big creature’s next meal.

  The giant monster sniffed the air, then leaned down to stare at the Marine. It barked. Then, it showed its teeth. The razor-sharp fangs lined its mouth in a macabre death grin.

  “God damn, you’re ugly,” Keele said.

  The Variant stood quietly, as if deciding the man’s fate. Then, it opened its mouth. “You Carver man,” it grunted with a spastic, guttural voice.

  Keele, momentarily stunned, failed to react.

  “You Carver man,” it repeated.

  That voice! It couldn’t be.

  It squatted near the downed Marine. A stray beam of light flashed across its disfigured head. Its thickened forehead framed glowing yellow orbs and his mutilated face was covered with black, streaked tissue. A large scar ran diagonally across its cheek. Then, Keele saw it. A shock of red hair, matted and patchy, confirmed his worse fears. It was the one from the naval air base. The same one they’d thought Everly had blown up back in the parking deck. The alpha.

  Keele began to frisk himself for anything he could use as a weapon, but he had been effectively disarmed. The alpha saw him searching himself and croaked a diseased laugh.

  “You Carver man. Now, you us.”

  “What the fuck are you saying?”

  “You, us,” it repeated.

  The alpha sprang forward and grabbed Keele’s leg. He pulled the Marine up, dangling him above the ground. The two-hundred-pound man was being thrown about like a toy, hanging upside down in the Variant’s grasp.

  A heavy metal object dropped out from under Keele’s shirt. It dangled in front of his face, the necklace
held from falling to the ground by the back of his head and one earlobe.

  “Now, you us,” it repeated.

  It raised him up and in one, swift movement, bit a chunk of flesh from Keele’s thigh, infecting him.

  Keele suddenly realized that his worst nightmare wasn’t being eaten. It was being turned. He couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t have that.

  The alpha dropped him to the ground and gloated. It leaned down, once more, and hissed. “You, us.”

  Keele felt for the metal object that was now dangling on a chain outside his shirt. He found the tiny handle of his neck knife and tugged it clear of its sheath.

  The alpha, too intent on gloating, failed to see the glint of metal as Keele lunged at it. The creature saw Keele’s attack though, and easily deflected the Marine’s aim. The two-inch blade had been directed at its abdomen, but the Variant knocked it off course. It sent the full tang, steel-edged weapon to a new destination.

  The blade sliced down its groin and tore through one of its testicles.

  Keele ended up lying, face-down, at the feet of the monster.

  The pain initially failed to register in the diseased creature’s mind. Keele always kept the blade razor sharp and it cut without remorse.

  A realization of the damage slowly came over the alpha’s face. It looked down between its legs and saw black, chunky blood spilling out. Its eyes narrowed as the nerves finally registered that it had been damaged. It screamed as loudly as any living creature could.

  Keele rolled on his back, looking up at his executioner. He began to chuckle. In the dim light of the tunnel, he could have sworn he saw a large, golf-ball-shaped chunk of flesh drop out of the remnants of the alpha’s pants.

  The enormous creature grabbed the Marine by the hair and pulled him up to eye level. It opened its mouth and roared.

  Keele stared at the gaping maw, the tunnel’s filtered light glistening off the sharp edges of its teeth. Keele gathered the blood and saliva in his own mouth and spit on the alpha’s face.

  The creature reared its arm back, its fingers spread out and elongated nails glinting in the shadowy light.

  “Fuck you, Stumpy!” Keele laughed.

  It was the last thing Corporal John Keele, United States Marine Corps, would ever do. The alpha swung a mighty blow, its nails slicing through the young man’s neck, cutting off his head.

  — 18 —

  Carver

  Lost Valley

  Be a lie if I told you that I never thought of death

  My niggas, we the last ones left, but life goes on

  “Life Goes On”

  — Tupac Shakur

  Days passed with little change in the mood of the camp, even with the announcement that Hope was having Carver’s child. The loss of Keele was a body sheet that blanketed the simple joy they all should have felt. The Marine’s death reminded them of the surrounding danger and the fragility of the life they were forced to lead.

  It was early afternoon. Carver was sitting inside the cabin, swaying slowly in the family room’s cushioned rocking chair. He hadn’t taken a nap out on the porch couch since they’d returned.

  The room was dark. The cloud cover hadn’t broken for days, and the mountain air was crisp, almost to the point of being cold. There was nothing for Carver outside right now.

  The door to the cabin opened, disturbing his mood.

  “Hey, babe,” Hope said.

  She was met with silence.

  “Where’s Shrek?”

  “With Kyle,” he grunted.

  Hope walked around the chair and stood next to her man. He continued to gaze out the window, his eyes unfocused.

  She put her hand in his hair and rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t respond, so she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “The baby moved,” she whispered.

  Caver’s trance was broken, and he momentarily smiled. “Already?”

  She placed his hand on her expanding belly and covered it with her own. “I’m at seventeen weeks,” she said. “When I was pregnant with Kyle, I felt him at twenty. But they say no pregnancy is the same.”

  Carver kept his hand over her womb. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “It’s just starting. It’ll get more frequent in a few weeks.”

  “I can’t wait.” Carver pulled her head to his and gave her a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she said. “But I need you back with me.”

  “I’m here.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re still back at the parking deck. I feel like you left yourself back there.”

  Carver’s face dropped again. He laid his head back and turned away. “I failed him. It’s my fault.”

  Hope pulled a chair over to his and sat down. “Maybe it was.”

  Carver turned and gave Hope a hurt and surprised look. “That wasn’t very supportive.”

  “Maybe not. But it’s the truth,” she answered. “Maybe it was partially your fault. But it probably wasn’t. The truth is, you’ll never know. The only thing you can do is accept his loss, learn from it, and move on.”

  “Learn from it,” Carver scoffed. “What the hell can I learn from his senseless death? We were surrounded and seconds from being overrun.”

  “Yeah. But the rest of you made it. What was different?”

  “I don’t know. He was injured pretty bad. It made him slow.”

  Carver sat silently and Hope let his mind work. She needed him to re-engage. The camp needed him to re-engage.

  “I should have swapped Potoski and Keele. That way, Keele would have set the pace for the group instead of him taking point, then covering our retreat.”

  “Maybe,” Hope said. “But if you’d done that, and been just a minute or two slower, you all would be dead. Right? Didn’t you say the deck was swarmed just seconds after you got in the air?”

  “Yeah. We weren’t a hundred feet off the ground when they poured onto the platform.”

  She stayed silent, letting that sink in.

  “So,” Hope said. “If you’d tried to protect him by slowing the whole group down, you’d all be dead. I guess that means you made the right call.”

  Carver’s face lightened. He looked up at Hope with a grateful face. “Yeah. I guess so.” He pulled her down to his lap. “Thanks. That was helpful. But it doesn’t fix all our other problems.”

  “Like what?” Hope said, smiling. “We have each other. We have food and water and friends. I think we’re doing pretty well.”

  “We are. But the Freedom needs us.”

  “I suppose you’re ready to fix that problem?” Hope asked.

  “Yeah. I’m ready now.”

  “Good,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Because Shader sent me over here to get you. Captain Theriot has been bugging us for a couple of days. His people are getting tired of seeing an abandoned town while they’re stuck on the ship. Shader wants to meet to talk about it at four. That means, we’ve got an hour.”

  Carver nodded and gave her a gentle kiss. She turned it into something much more passionate.

  “Careful,” Carver said. “You might just get me going.”

  “I hope so,” Hope panted. She reached under his shirt and grasped his muscular sides. “You know how they say pregnant women can get really horny?”

  “Never heard of it,” Carver said jokingly.

  “Well, you’re about to find out.”

  Beckham Hall

  Hope and Carver walked hand in hand into Beckham Hall. Shader was already there, along with Gonzalez, Potoski, and Kinney. They had a map of Southern California spread out on one of the tables. Catalina Island was present, but it was only a small part of the larger chart. It was the best they had under the circumstances.

  Shader looked up and saw the change in his friend’s attitude. “Glad to have you back,” Porky said.

  Carver just nodded. That was enough for the warriors at the table.

  “I’ve been studying the map,” Shader began. “The
flyovers haven’t shown any large group of Variants, just sporadic clusters of the creatures. The largest of those was less than a dozen.”

  “We’ve heard that story before,” Potoski said, reminding everyone of the flawed assessment provided by Naval Intelligence that led to the doomed attempt to retake Los Angeles.

  Battle plans had been drawn up based on the faulty assumption that the Variants had died off due to starvation. Drone surveillance had failed to locate the hundreds of thousands of Variants that were hidden throughout the city, almost all of them having gone into a low-energy, dormant state. That had cost them over ten thousand lives, and other than the USS Freedom, it had also destroyed the Pacific Fleet.

  “True. We have to plan on the assumption that there are still a substantial number of Variants dormant. This is going to be another Fallujah, going door to door and clearing each structure on the island,” Shader said. His tone left no doubt that he was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of engaging in a close-quarter battle with the Variants.

  “We have way too few rifles right now to do a CQB sweep of anything,” Gonzalez said. “We need more bodies out there.”

  “What do you propose?” Shader asked.

  “We need to ramp up our training. Include CQB and breaching techniques.”

  “Are the boys ready? They’re still teenagers,” Carver asked.

  “I was seventeen when I joined,” Shader said. “These boys aren’t much younger. They’ve filled out nicely since the outbreak, and they know how to take orders.”

  Carver looked unconvinced, especially since Hope’s son would be one of those he’d be leading into battle.

  “I know one thing. You’d be dead if it hadn’t been for those boys. They saved both our asses back at Temecula Hospital. They handled that perfectly,” Kinney added.

  Carver struggled with the idea of training the Scouts in CQB technique. In the end, it didn’t matter how old they were. They were just a year shy of being able to join the military in the pre-infection world. In this case, they had little choice. They needed bodies. They needed rifles, and the boys were more than capable of filling that role.