Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival

by Browning, Walt

“For the most part. There’s a basement where the mechanical stuff and other supplies are housed, but the building is really just three large floors.”

  “But it’s so tall on the outside.”

  “Yeah. If you could have seen it before all this happened,” she said wistfully. “The domed ceiling in the ballroom with its silver deco artwork and the nineteen-twenties murals are singularly unique. It was the largest, single dance floor in the world. Ten thousand square feet. Both top and bottom floors have massive, vaulted ceilings. That’s where the building gets its height.”

  “That ballroom could hold a lot of Variants,” Carver said.

  “I know,” she replied. “But when we were trying to escape, I didn’t see anything in there. It was empty. All of them are down in the theater, the mezzanine level, or the basement.”

  “Maybe they don’t like the light all the glass doors let in,” Shader said.

  Carver thought about that possibility for a moment. “Maybe. But it hasn’t stopped them from climbing the walls and trying to get in.”

  “He may have a point, though,” Metcalf said. “When we were first trapped in here, we noticed that the infected never lingered too long outside the window. They were always switching spots. Never the same ones for any length of time.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Metcalf dropped her gaze. “It’s a small community, and I recognized a lot of them. School teachers, plumbers, and even the barista from the coffee shop I used to go to. Her name was Jasmine.”

  Metcalf shook her head then looked at Carver with intense pain. “You can’t know how it felt, seeing them crazed and infected like that. They were all our neighbors and many of them, I had once considered friends.”

  “I understand,” Carver replied. “But they’re gone now. The infection’s taken who they were. Your friends are all dead.”

  Metcalf nodded and sighed.

  The radio snapped to life.

  “Huh.” Carver grunted, looking at his watch. “They’re a few hours early.”

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

  “Go ahead, Rescue One. Over,” Carver replied.

  “We’ve got a plan. You need to be ready to move at seventeen hundred hours. Over.”

  Carver checked his watch again. That was less than an hour away. “We’ll be ready. Just curious how you’re going to get us out of here.”

  They discussed their ideas and after a couple of minutes, Carver signed off.

  “I guess it’s as good a plan as any,” Shader remarked.

  Metcalf looked worried. “But I don’t know how to go down a rope.”

  “No worries,” Shader replied. “I’ll be your elevator.”

  Carver stood. “Pack up. Let’s lighten our load and prepare to bug out.” He reached down and rubbed Shrek on his back of his head. “We’ll need you, big guy.”

  Shrek looked back at his master and teammate with a calm and confident gaze.

  Of course. I’ll be ready. I am Shrek. I always win. It is just who I am.

  — 33 —

  Escape

  Violence of action means the unrestricted use of speed, strength, surprise, and aggression to achieve total dominance against your enemy… any fighting technique is useless unless you first totally commit to violence of action.

  — Cade Courtley, Retired Navy Seal

  Carver had Metcalf line up behind him. Shader stood in the back while Shrek was standing at Carver’s feet, waiting for the command to move forward.

  The sound of the Osprey finally reverberated on the plaster ceiling, its low-pitched thumps announcing its arrival.

  “Sixty seconds,” Carver whispered.

  The countdown was silent in the darkened doorway. The glow stick had long ago lost its intensity and the faint, dying light was almost unnoticeable. It wasn’t relevant now. They were going to make a run for freedom or die trying.

  “Now,” Carver said, pulling the knob and punching through to the next room.

  He swung to the right, aiming down his sights at the broken casement window. The Variants were gone.

  “Looks like it’s working,” Carver mumbled.

  Shader rushed to the window and stared out at the ground below while Carver kept watch at the door. The grassy strip between the ocean and the building was thick with Variants. The Osprey hovered above the throng of the infected, with a large, frightened bison dangling from a line. Buckets of blood and sinew, remnants of a butchered bull, were being tossed to the ground out of the rear ramp. Potoski was throwing chum, bringing the crazed Variants out into the open. The struggles of the bison only enraged the Variant mob, while their upturned faces caught the spatter of blood being whipped about by the downwash of the twin rotors.

  “Can’t go that way,” Shader announced.

  Hovering about fifty yards in front of the Casino, Potoski glanced at the window where Shader stood and got a quick wave from the SEAL. The big man’s face lit up with a broad smile before he disappeared to get another bucket of chum.

  “Looks like that big grunt is having fun,” Shader said as he turned back into the room.

  Carver glanced at Shrek. His posture indicated that the hallway outside was clear.

  “Ready,” Carver said. He grabbed the heavy, metal door.

  He looked down at Shrek. The Mal’s eyes were pleading for the command to move. Carver smiled at Shrek’s energy and courage then silently unlatched the deadbolt and glanced again at the war dog.

  “Vooruit!” Carver hissed as he flung open the door.

  Shrek shot forward. Seconds later, he had disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. The only sound he made was the occasional clicking of his nails on the maple-covered floor.

  Kristin Metcalf

  Fear. It’s an overwhelming thing. It consumes your brain and distorts your emotions. When you’re as afraid as I am, life happens in flashes of events that can seem unrelated or even trivial. Time becomes irrelevant.

  I am sitting on the storage room’s hardwood floor, then suddenly, I am standing behind Carver and his dog at the hallway door. Shader is behind me, his left hand on my shoulder. His fingers firmly grasp the muscle above my collar bone while the palm of his hand engulfs my shoulder—not in an aggressive manner, but one that lets me know that he is in charge. I normally shun a stranger’s touch, but in this case, I am glad to have it. It is a connection to someone who knows what they are doing.

  Shrek bolts from the room. It is a mystery to me how he just seems to disappear. I could say that the dog shot away, but that’s not what happened. He was there, and then he wasn’t. There was no in-between. A magician could become world famous with a trick like that, but it is no sleight of hand. It is the result of years of work and time spent in battle. I am baffled, but I don’t think about it. We are moving.

  Shader directs me like he’s steering a car. He puts pressure on my shoulder, and I respond. We turn left and then slow down, my movement guided with each change in his grip, mirroring the steps of our war dog team.

  Shader leans into my ear and tells me to take a slow, deep breath. I don’t know if I have forgotten to breathe or if I am panting for air. I do what he says.

  My body isn’t my own. It belongs to someone else or it has left my mind behind. I am floating, watching my arms and legs respond to Shader’s commands.

  Our movement is fluid. As we slide along the hallway, I become part of something greater than me. The two men and their dog are bonded in a well-practiced dance and I feel a momentary fusion with their tactical ballet.

  I can sense Shrek taking in the smells and sounds around us. My body blends with Shader’s. We move together as he responds to each hesitation or turn of the dog’s head. We act as limbs of a greater organism. I suddenly understand, at the deepest level that any human being can fathom, the bond between these tier-one operators. Years of training and months of sustained combat has honed a connection that no normal couple could hope to approach. They have merged into on
e being. I am jealous.

  The first creature appears from the stairwell. Carver shoots it through the face with his suppressed weapon. I hear a snap and click from the rifle as it cycles a bullet in and out of its chamber. It is the only sound I hear. Shader’s grip on my shoulder adjusts and he spins me towards the ground. The hand he has been guiding me with is needed to fire and reload his weapon. I bend at the knees and watch as the two men and dog perform a deadly tango, their weapons and bodies twirling in a synchronized, lethal dance.

  I am not afraid. I don’t know if I am too absorbed watching the battle or if the emotion has simply left me.

  The shooting starts, and I am surprised.

  I expect the loud noise. Shader has given me a set of earplugs that dampen the explosions from his weapon. I am also prepared for the brilliant flashes of light. Shader had warned me to look away from their rifle muzzles, so the torch-like flames flaring from the end of their weapons don’t surprise me.

  What startles me are the concussions into my chest. The eruption of each bullet sends a sonic wave of compressed air into my body, pulling a little breath from my lungs. My mind panics at the thought of suffocating from the pressure waves and the thick cordite smoke that is filling the hallway.

  They move together next to me, then stand back-to-back. Their weapons begin to move, almost as if an invisible hand guides them to their targets. Bullets fly. I concentrate on their faces, rather than being blinded by the muzzle flashes that are erupting at a continuous rate.

  Both men seem to be in a trance. No smiles nor frowns. Their eyes are focused, never wavering. They have a singularity of purpose, their hands and arms moving fluidly and without panic.

  I find myself moving as Shader reaches out and takes my shoulder once again. I expect his grip to be firmer, more agitated or fearful. But I am wrong. It is the same grasp as before.

  We enter the stairwell, passing over a dozen dead creatures that had once been my neighbors. I don’t recognize any of them, but their corpses lie in the darkened hallway and our movement is swift.

  We go down.

  The hallway in the mezzanine level is dimly lit. Small, single casement windows spaced many yards apart cast their light onto the deco carpet. Pools of the orange, evening sunshine beam into the space, creating rectangles of light surrounded by swaths of darkness.

  The putrid smell of rotted fruit and spoiled meat assaults my nose.

  The dog stiffens.

  Dozens of yellow orbs appear in the distant darkness. More bodies rush at us from down the hallway. Shader grabs me and spins me toward the cloak room door.

  They stand together, their rifles shooting in a synchronized beat. A concussive song of death compresses the air around me. It hammers my body. I back into the cloak room.

  Shrek suddenly materializes. The dog leaps past me and I spin. A monster staggers back as the dog collides with its body.

  Shader appears at my side and pulls his trigger. Nothing happens.

  The creature coils, rearing its arm to strike.

  Shader plunges his rifle’s muzzle into its face. The thump sends the creature back. Shader grabs it by the jaw and lifts it up. He smashes its head into the wall.

  A large, ornate coat hook, mounted on the oak paneling, pierces its spine. The metal hanger sticks out of the front of its neck. It dies dangling above the wooden floor.

  We move down the hallway once again.

  Now, I am sitting on a window’s threshold. Somehow, Carver has tied a thin rope around one of the metal rails of the stairwell and thrown it out the opening. He is standing next to me, firing down the stairs at an unknown number of creatures. Blazing yellow eyes and screams of pain and rage echo back at us.

  Shader is outside the window with his left arm wrapped around the rope.

  I am falling.

  Shader’s sweat and the smell of gunpowder saturate his clothing. My face is buried in his shoulder as we hurtle toward the ground.

  We slow quickly and land gently on the grass. He releases me and begins to fire his rifle once again.

  I feel a jolt from behind. It is Carver and his dog. They drop next to me.

  He releases the rappelling line. Shrek is still grasped in his right arm. He drops the dog and pushes me toward the water.

  We run. They fire. The sound of a thousand ravenous beasts echoes in my ears. I can feel their feet pounding on the ground. I can smell their fetid breath as I fight to get into the ocean. It seems to be a mile away. I don’t see how we are going to make it.

  I am flying.

  I hit the waves and salty water shoots up my nose.

  I fight to get to the surface, but a strong, unyielding hand keeps me under. I begin to panic and reach for the glassy, bright ocean above.

  I am being dragged out to sea.

  My eyes sting as I look through the water to the harbor’s edge. I can see the distorted shapes of bodies crashing into the ocean. They are drowning, being pushed into the surf by the mob attempting to get to us.

  Sunlight. I gasp. My lungs are about to explode when we break the surface. I turn back, gulping for air, and am amazed. We are almost a hundred yards off the coast.

  When the sailors from the inflatable boat drag us in, Shader commends me on my efforts. I laugh. I don’t remember giving Shader any help while we were underwater. I tell him as much, and he smiles.

  I am beyond grateful. I’d have been torn into shreds of flesh and sinew by now if it had been anyone other than those two and their dog. We made it out of there, not because of luck or anything I did, but because they are the best. It is as simple as that.

  Carver

  They’d barely escaped. Carver reclined against the side of the inflatable craft as they moved away from land. They weaved back and forth in the harbor, dodging the many private boats that were anchored offshore.

  “Freedom. This is Rescue One. We’re clear of the Casino.”

  “Roger that, Rescue One. Enjoy the show.”

  Carver gave a questioning look to the sailor. Seaman Dixon looked down at Carver and nodded.

  “We’re taking the Casino out,” she said.

  Everly’s attack helicopter thumped in the distance. Its rotor noise seemed distant and unchanging until it appeared over the crest of the harbor’s northern rise. It exploded over the Casino as the Osprey banked away to the west, carrying its bison back to the ranch.

  The SuperCobra hovered a few hundred yards from the large building and released four of its Hellfire missiles. The eruptions blew out the bottom floors of the structure, sending tons of debris and shrapnel into the mass of creatures that had collected outside. The upper part of the old building buckled and collapsed forward, covering most of the infected with thousands of pounds of steel and concrete.

  Everly circled the partially collapsed landmark. The front of the structure continued to stand, and dozens of Variants poured out of its front doors. He sent two more of his Hellfires into the ornate building, felling the remaining walls into the debris pile he’d made with his first missile attack. He followed the explosions with dozens of cannon rounds, shredding the ones that had made it out.

  Carver heard a warning horn out at sea. He stood in the moving craft and saw Freedom churning offshore. The ship’s klaxons blared for half a minute, alerting the crew, and anyone within the sound of its horn, that they were preparing to fire.

  Everly banked away from the destruction.

  “This is Viper One. I’m off station.”

  “Roger that, Viper One. Freedom to engage in fifteen seconds.”

  Carver watched the debris pile that used to be one of the country’s most treasured landmarks. A single boom announced that Freedom had begun its attack.

  The two-inch shell hit the edge of the land, taking a large chunk of seawall into the ocean.

  A few moments elapsed before the bombardment began.

  “Watch this,” Shader whispered to Kristin.

  The ship was designed to work in shallow waters and was n
ot equipped with the big guns that larger, heavier vessels carried. It was supposed to hunt submarines and pirates, not blast the enemy’s shoreline. What it did have were shells that fragmented. These anti-personnel rounds were designed to shred the open-air boats that pirates were so fond of.

  The 57mm Bofors gun began to fire in rapid, six-round bursts. The ground around and within the downed Casino was strafed with shrapnel. Lines of metal death, nearly a football field in length, showered the land. The cannon spit out shells at over three rounds per second. Each warhead sent hundreds of metal shards when their proximity fuses ignited at a predetermined height above the ground. The results were horrific.

  Anything not protected by six inches of concrete was ripped apart. It was literally raining death. After several hundred rounds, the shooting stopped and Everly’s helicopter reappeared to assess the damage.

  He hovered above the harbor, his craft motionless, while his underbelly cannon swept back and forth. Twice, the 20mm Gatling gun erupted, sending dozens of the inch-wide rounds splashing into the debris field.

  “This is Viper One. I think we’re good here.”

  “This is Red One. Are we clear for infil? Over,” Gonzalez replied.

  “Roger that, Red One.”

  Carver heard all of this over his radio as he scampered onto the dock at the opposite end of the harbor. Ladley and his family were all there to greet Kristin. It was the same spot they’d first met the older man and his son.

  Shader helped the woman out of the craft while Dr. Ladley pulled her the rest of the way onto the dock. They embraced while the rest of his family joined, creating a huddle. All were crying at the reunion.

  Carver glassed back to the smoldering pile that used to be the Casino. The three pickup trucks rushed from the town and slammed on their brakes. The fireteams sprinted out and formed into three advancing squads. Carver nodded and smiled. Their techniques were perfect. They began their final sweep of the rubble, putting “security shots” into the skulls of the dead Variants they found.