Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

by Browning, Walt

  He reacquired the beast as it began to soar in the air. A man was dangling from its claw-like legs, still squirming in an attempt to get free.

  Carver lined up his sights, aiming at the thing’s spine. Just before he pressed the trigger, he saw an explosion of black-speckled goo erupt from its neck.

  It lurched and then spun down to the ground, still clutching the terrified man as it fell nearly a hundred feet. It made no sound as it hit the earth, other than the thud of its body slamming into the loosely-packed soil.

  Shrek barked and Carver followed his dog’s gaze back to the desert floor.

  The buried Variant was rising from the soil. It stretched its vast wings then leapt up to catch the air. Its downward thrust created a whirl of dirt and sand. Carver ignored the tornadic wind and put the rifle scope’s triangular reticle on the joint where the neck met the skull. He pressed the trigger, sending the armor-piercing round through its spinal cord. It fell to the earth, paralyzed by the shot.

  Carver stood up and surveyed the skies. All six had been taken out.

  Shrek gave Carver a satisfied look then sat next to his master.

  “This is Blue One actual,” Shader said over the squad radio. “We lost Green Four.”

  “Shit!” Carver hissed. Another member down, one of the volunteers from the ship. He’d been a good kid.

  Carver heard a single shot, then saw Blue Team and the last three members of Green Team moving toward him.

  Carver waited for Shader before asking, “What was that?”

  “I put one in the kid’s brain. He’d been near death from the fall and had a cut by the damned thing. Couldn’t risk him turning.”

  Carver only nodded. Shader had done the right thing.

  “Let’s take a closer look,” Carver said, pointing at the downed creature.

  Carver advanced on the dead Variant. Its sprawled wings were larger than he had thought, covering over ten feet. It lay motionless on its back with its eyes staring above, like a crucified monster splayed on the desert floor.

  “Come on,” Carver commanded to his dog. Shrek had stopped about ten paces from the corpse, refusing to advance any closer.

  “I’d hold my position,” Shader said. “He’s not getting any closer than that, and I’d do the same.”

  Carver retreated and joined the other three team leaders. The rest of the group stood at a distance, scanning the skies for more Variants.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Gonzalez and Lazzaro remained mute while Shader continued to stare at the dead creature.

  “Look at its skin,” Shader began. “It looks like it was burned.”

  “Whatever did that, it left a lot of scars,” Gonzalez added. “Look how wrinkled and leathery its face is.”

  “That doesn’t explain why Shrek won’t get near it,” Carver replied.

  “Maybe it’s infected,” Lazzaro said.

  “No shit, Sherlock. Variants are what they are because of a viral infection,” Gonzalez said.

  “That’s not what I mean. What if there is another infection? Maybe something like typhoid or scurvy?”

  “Scurvy?” Carver said incredulously. “You mean it has a Vitamin C deficiency?”

  “I don’t know,” Lazzaro replied, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

  The other three started to laugh, earning them strange looks from the rest of their group.

  “God, I needed that,” Shader said as he slowly regained control.

  Lazzaro was now beet-red from embarrassment. “Glad I could help.”

  “Our resident nutritionist might have a point. I’ve seen something like this before,” Shader said, looking at Carver. “Remember back in ’03 right before the Iraqi invasion, when we had CBRN training?”

  “Running around in those monkey suits, sweating our asses off was about all I recall.”

  “Did you see the pictures of the Kurds that had been gassed? Their skin was burned by the chemicals.”

  “I slept through most of it,” Carver said.

  Shader looked over his shoulder at the Variant corpse, then turned back and nodded at it. “It was probably the only PowerPoint I remember. I’ll never forget it, and that thing looks the same.”

  “You think it was exposed to some chemical?” Lazzaro asked.

  “Something made that thing look like it does. Seriously, it has wings. What the hell is that about? These things used to be human. Look at it now.”

  The four turned and faced the dead creature, studying its deformed body.

  “Oh shit,” Gonzalez said. “You sayin’ that the virus can make us look like that if we smell some nerve or mustard gas?”

  “That’s a stretch,” Lazzaro said. “Growing wings from sarin? Even I know that’s not likely.”

  “Kid’s got a point. I don’t see how a nerve-blocking agent would do that,” Shader added.

  “I know something that could. Radiation. You put one of the infected near a reactor while they’re changing and anything is possible,” Carver said. “Tell Everly to bring some CBRN gear down here before we get anywhere near this thing.”

  A few hours later, the sun had crested and was starting to make its way toward the distant Pacific horizon. It took several hours to bring two CBRN (chemical, biological, radiological and nuclear) protective suits to the island.

  “Now I remember why I hate these darn things,” Carver muttered as he put the heavy gear on.

  Shader nodded while he strapped the full-face respirator over his head.

  “Did anyone check the expiration date on the filters?” Carver asked.

  “No way to know. I just made sure they were there,” Gonzalez replied as he handed a Radiac set to Shader.

  The green box had an attached wand that strongly resembled a professional microphone. It was the military’s version of a Geiger counter.

  “At least it’s nice out,” Shader sighed before strapping his respirator over his head.

  The cool California winter day was a far cry from Iraq. Wearing the suits in the hot desert during simulated chemical attack drills had caused more than one person to pass out from heat exhaustion or dehydration.

  Shader looked at the front panel of the Radiac device and began to fumble with the controls, squinting through the scratched glass facemask. Finally, he relented and gave the device back to Gonzalez. “Oh, for God’s sake. I can’t read the controls.”

  The young Marine smiled and flipped one of the metal toggles up. The detector’s LED screen came to life.

  “You know how to use this thing?” Gonzalez asked.

  “Of course, I do,” Shader barked back. “Just give me the damned thing.”

  The diminutive Marine handed the CB-radio-sized box back to the ex-SEAL and raised his hands in surrender. Shader would have flipped him off, but for the likelihood that he’d drop the Geiger counter in the process.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Carver said, and the two men advanced on the dead Variant.

  Shader held the wand out and looked at the LED screen. The readout didn’t change. He showed Carver the display and they began to fool with one of the several black knobs on the front, trying to adjust the sensitivity of the wand.

  “Hey, Chief!” Gonzalez laughed. “You might want to take the safety cover off.”

  Carver looked down at the wand in Shader’s hand. It was rectangular, rather than cylindrical, with a squared-off end. A metal plate covered the flat end of the detector, covering the sensitive radiation particle detector screen.

  “Might help to uncover that, Master Chief,” Carver gleefully added.

  “Don’t you start,” Shader grumbled.

  He unlatched the end’s stainless steel cover and flipped it open. The LED screen immediately jumped, the number bouncing around as he waved the end toward the dead creature.

  Shader leaned over to Carver and asked in a low voice. “You know what’s normal?”

  “Point it over there,” he replied, fingering the dirt behind them.
/>   The number dropped dramatically.

  “I guess that answers that question,” Carver said. He advanced on the corpse and pulled out his KA-BAR knife. Shader joined him as they began a dissection of the monster.

  “Where’s the heart?” Carver asked incredulously.

  The chest cavity was protected by a thick, bony plate. Carver’s large knife failed to penetrate it. Coming in from the side, he exposed the creature’s oversized lungs. Pink lung tissue had morphed into a grey, cratered balloon. Carver scraped at the mass of flesh until he hit the Variant’s esophagus. There was no heart.

  Shader pulled out a flashlight and searched the creature’s thoracic cavity. “There,” he said. “What’s that mass on the back of the chest plate?”

  Carver ducked in and saw what Shader had found. It was the Variant’s heart. Instead of being situated in the middle of its chest cavity, it was tucked behind several inches of thick, bony plate. It only had two chambers, unlike the four-chambered hearts in a human. Massive blood vessels looped out into the wing muscles on its back, all protected by its osseous armor.

  “Stand back,” Carver said.

  Shader pulled away and Carver pulled out a fresh magazine.

  “These are all penetrators,” he said.

  Carver lined his barrel with the center of its chest and pulled the trigger. Rounds buried themselves into the bone but failed to get to the heart.

  “Well, that sucks,” Carver said after examining his shots. “A side shot might make it, or from the back. Although, I wouldn’t count on our normal rounds to make it through all that muscle back there.”

  Carver lined up his rifle and took a single shot at the creature’s forehead. The bullet ricocheted off and into the dirt, leaving a large chip in the skull. It failed to penetrate as well.

  “The neck, it is,” Shader remarked.

  “Let’s get away from here,” Carver said. “I have no idea how bad those numbers are. Just keep taking readings as we walk back so we know what normal is supposed to be.”

  The pair retreated toward the rest of the group. The number dropped quickly and held steady about five feet from the monster.

  “Well?” Lazzaro asked as the two removed their suits.

  “I was right. That thing is radioactive.”

  “Are we all right?” Gonzalez said as he crossed himself.

  “Yeah. Readings are normal here. There’s about a five-foot radius around it that’s showing higher than normal radiation. We should be fine if we stay outside that space.”

  The two men began to remove their gear.

  “Let’s head back,” Carver said. “I’ll radio Donaldson and Everly. We can pick them up at the airport and bring them down to the ranch for supper. We can fill them in on what we’ve found.”

  Carver walked over to Shrek and rubbed his neck with both hands. “Nice job today. You deserve a treat when we get back.”

  Shrek

  I lift my head and accept Carver’s attention. Hearing the word “treat” means I’ve done well, and Carver will find something good for me to eat.

  Hearing the word “ranch” is just as exciting. It means we are going back to where the other dogs live.

  It is nice to see my kind.

  There are two that have caught my attention. A German Shepherd, like Apollo, and a Border Collie.

  Both are female, but neither gives off the scent I am waiting for.

  When they are ready for me, I will know.

  Until then, they will make great play companions.

  After all, if Carver can have a mate, then so can I.

  — 26 —

  El Ranchito Escondido

  Sometimes to catch a wolf you need to tie the bait to a tree.

  — Colonel Isaac Johnson

  Shooter

  “More ribs?” the ranch hand asked.

  Shader sat back in the chair and rubbed his belly. One of the male bison had been butchered. Most of the lean meats were being smoked, dehydrated or jerked. The ribs, with their fatty content, along with some cowboy steaks were being served.

  “I couldn’t,” the ex-SEAL remarked. “But that was a fine meal.”

  “Could have used some sauce,” Gonzalez said, picking shreds of the bison’s sinew from his teeth.

  “Nah,” Shader replied. “The rub was just enough.”

  “Maybe someday we’ll grow our own ingredients and make some barbeque sauce,” Maxwell added.

  “Maybe,” Carver replied. He was too worried about the flying Variants to even think about farming. These things needed to be followed back to their nest and eradicated.

  “You didn’t eat all your food,” Maxwell noted. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Not hungry, or too stressed to eat?” Maxwell asked.

  Carver shrugged.

  He was at a loss as to how to track these things. No matter how far away Everly kept his SuperCobra, the Variants seemed to be aware of his presence and would go to ground.

  The plates were cleared and coffee served.

  “Follow me,” Maxwell said as she stood.

  Carver, Shader, Gonzalez, and Lazzaro, along with Everly and Donaldson, followed her to a side room, where several tables and chairs sat next to a wine bar.

  “Take a seat,” she said, reaching behind the bar and bringing out a bottle of port wine. “We need to figure out our next step.”

  She poured them all snifters and handed one to each. She twirled the dark-red wine in the glass, her hand cupping the bottom to warm the after-dinner drink. She took a sip and contentedly sighed. The others followed, with Gonzalez and Lazzaro both drinking it all in one shot.

  “I see you liked the port,” she said to the two Marines.

  “Yeah. It was fine,” Lazzaro said.

  Maxwell shook her head and grinned. “This was four hundred dollars a bottle before the infection.”

  Shader gently sipped his glass and set it down on the table. “You can train ’em, but you can’t make them appreciate the finer things.”

  Carver snorted before finishing the after-dinner drink. Shader was really laying it on thick for Maxwell. His friend was about as refined as pig iron.

  “Thanks for the port,” Carver said. “Now that we’re all together, I’d like some input on how to track these damned things.”

  The usual suggestions came spilling out. None of them were satisfactory. There weren’t enough of them to set up observation posts around the island, and they seemed to hear the aircraft and go to ground, preventing them from following the creatures back to their nest.

  After thirty minutes of useless recommendations, they were back to where they started. Carver sat quietly as the others bantered back and forth, trying to justify their own suggestions.

  “Enough!” Carver yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “We’re arguing in circles.”

  The room went silent. All eyes were on Carver, who sat leaning over the table, his head in hands. His time in the Navy hadn’t provided any kind of scenario like what he was facing. They were trying to track down a killer. A predator that was preying on the helpless.

  He racked his brain for an answer and finally gave up. He realized the harder he thought, the more frustrated he got. He sat back and closed his eyes. None of his military mentors had an answer to his problem. He was at a loss.

  His mind wandered. He remembered his days of training and the hardships of SEAL selection. The Navy pushed the men to their limits, weeding out those who would give up. They weren’t looking for the man who could finish first, nor the man who could show he was the strongest. They wanted to know that you would pass out or die, rather than give up.

  The bell. Carver thought about that damn bell. Every time it rang, it meant another candidate had given up. It always bothered him that the Navy made you ring a bell. Why do that? Could it be they wanted you to know it was all right to surrender? That you could take comfort in sharing defeat?

  His dad had taught h
im that the only failure was to not get up and try again. He thought of his father. He had been a farmer, as had his father before him. His dad always seemed to find a way to overcome the obstacles life threw at him. Drought or flood had come and gone, yet he’d persisted. Even when the community had a run-in with a pack of wolves that were ravaging their livestock, the community had found a way to…

  “That’s it!” Carver suddenly blurted.

  The others sat up at his sudden outburst.

  “What’s it?” Shader asked.

  “I know how to track them,” he said.

  Carver turned to Maxwell. “Can you give us a couple of your bison?”

  “We’ve got a few to spare before the gene pool gets too thin. What do you have in mind?”

  “I need some bait,” he said. Then he turned toward the two pilots. “Can I borrow some of your equipment?”

  “You can have anything you want, as long as I’m still safe to fly after you take it,” Everly replied.

  “Great. Then I just need a couple of bison and your CSELs.”

  “CSEL?” Maxwell asked. “What’s that?”

  “Combat Survivor Evader Locator!” Everly said. “Of course!”

  “Explain?” she asked.

  “They’re a GPS device,” Everly said. “The Freedom has a GPS tracker on board. Wherever the C-cells go, we can track them. We just have to tag the bison and let the Variants take them back to their lair.”

  The table sat quietly for a moment before the objections started. Would the Variants take the tagged animals? All indications were that the bison were slaughtered in place and the parts transported. How would they fix the handheld device to the bison without it being discarded by the Variants?

  All were good questions, but it came down to just one thing. It was a chance to track them while all the other suggestions proved futile.

  “What do we have to lose?” Carver asked. “Other than a couple of bison that’ll be taken if we do nothing at all, there’s no downside.”

  It was settled. Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to fix the GPS device to the animal so it had a chance to survive the Variants’ attack.