Extinction Age

-23-

The metal doors rattled so hard Kennor almost dropped his .45. He steadied the gun and kept it aimed at the entrance. The Variants pounded on the other side relentlessly. They had murdered and eaten their way through the entire base, and it was only a matter of time before they found a way inside the command center.

Harris stood his ground a few feet away. He cupped his hands over his headset, still listening for intel down to the very last second.

“Sir,” Harris said. “I’ve got Colonel Wood on the line. He wants to talk to you.”

Kennor nodded and reached for Harris’s headset. He used his knife hand to hold his .45 and grabbed the headset with his other.

The emergency alarms screamed from every corner of the room, the electronic whine making it nearly impossible to think. Never in his career had he felt the prickle of fear so deep. He’d given the orders that had sent countless others to their deaths, and before that he’d led men into battle—but even those bullet-riddled memories paled against the prospect of being torn apart by a horde of goddamn monsters.

“Go ahead, Wood,” Kennor said after a deep breath.

“General, why aren’t you on a bird?” Wood asked. His voice sounded distant, but Kennor could still make out his dry tone. It was almost as obnoxious as the emergency alarms.

“I decided to stay with my staff,” Kennor said.

“Honorable, sir,” Wood said, somehow making the word into an insult.

“Promise me you’ll finish Operation Extinction, Wood.”

“Colonel Gibson and I made a commitment to our nation that we would come up with a weapon to wipe our enemies off the face of the Earth. I’m not going to give up now.”

The door shook violently as a Variant rammed the other side. The thud echoed over the screeching sirens. Kennor gripped his .45 tighter in his hand, his fingers slimy with sweat.

“The Hemorrhage virus wasn’t exactly my idea of destroying our enemies,” Wood said. “But in the end, I think it shall work out rather nicely. I plan on using Earthfall over the US and selected territories. I’ll probably save Puerto Rico. I always did like San Juan. In a few weeks, we’ll take back our country and will never have to worry about enemies overseas…” His voice disappeared in a flurry of white noise.

“Colonel… Colonel!” Kennor shouted, his gut tightening.

“I’m here,” Wood said a moment later.

“What about our allies? What about the British or the French? We can’t abandon them!” Kennor shouted.

Wood sighed, his breath crackling across the line. “You used to remind me a lot of Secretary of Defense McNamara. Remember him? The architect of the Vietnam War? He put our national security first. Took the fight abroad. But you? You’re a disappointment, sir.”

“You son of a bitch, I should have known not to trust you,” Kennor said. “You can’t do this, Wood. You can’t abandon our allies.”

Wood let out a laugh. “We’re on our own now, General.”

The feed cut out. Kennor ripped the headset off and tossed it to Harris. “Get General Johnson and Lieutenant Colonel Kramer on the horn. NOW! Tell them they have—”

The sirens abruptly shut off and darkness washed over the room. Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the command center in a malicious red. The pounding on the door stopped, too, and a rattling broke out overhead.

Kennor spun, his .45 darting across the ceiling from panel to panel. Everyone in the room fell quiet.

“When they come, watch your covering fire,” Kennor said.

Vicious scratching reverberated through the ductwork as the Variants clawed at the metal. Kennor shivered at the sounds, his breathing coming out in gasps. The Marines at the door took up position behind Harris, and Kennor worked his way through the stations to them. The other officers formed a perimeter, holding their sidearms. Corporal Van was the only one still at his desk. He was staring at the tile above his station.

Kennor waved at him, but froze when he saw dust raining from the ceiling. The flakes fluttered through the glow of the red light. Van turned and locked eyes with Kennor just as the panels overhead gave way.

Before Van could move, a Variant was on him. He let out a high-pitched scream as the monster tore him apart. The sound abruptly ended when it slashed his jugular vein and then clamped its bulging lips onto his neck.

Kennor ended Van’s suffering with a shot to his head. He squeezed off two more into the Variant’s back just as all hell broke loose. Ceiling panels in every corner of the command center cracked and plummeted to the ground. Variants poured from above.

The crack of gunfire sounded and muzzle flashes illuminated the pale, naked bodies of a dozen monsters. They darted across the room the moment they hit the ground.

He focused on the creature still perched on Van’s broken body. It pulled its lips away, clawed at its back, and let out a guttural roar of rage. Kennor squeezed off a shot that hit the monster right between its yellow eyes.

Kennor whirled to find another target when something hot stung his back and sent him crashing to the floor. His face smashed onto the ground. He struggled to get up, but everything below his belt felt numb. He watched helplessly as his staff vanished one by one, the Variants pulling them into the darkness.

He heard the popping of joints and screeching of claws before he saw the monster crawling toward him with its back arched in a catlike stance. With no small amount of effort, he rolled his head to the side just as the Variant leapt and sunk its claws into his paralyzed legs.

There was no physical pain, only the mental anguish of his failure. Kennor had failed to save Central Command, failed to save his beloved country. From Reaper to Liberty and now Extinction—he had made all the wrong choices, and now he would pay for it. It was the last thought that crossed his mind as his vision went dark and the Variants dragged him away.

Beckham grabbed the injured soldier under an arm. “Where is Alpha?”

He pointed to the south and said, “Just outside the Industrial Reservoir. We found survivors hunkered down in the Presidential Command Center. We were evacuating them when w-we…”—he stuttered, his long chin wobbling—“we woke the nest.”

Beckham looked over at Chow. He knew what they were heading into. If there was a nest inside, then the chances of any of them making it out alive were slim.

“When we couldn’t raise you on the radio, Sergeant Mikesell ordered me to come find you guys. I picked up the Humvee along the way,” the soldier continued.

“How bad are you hurt?” Chow asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. He grimaced and pulled his hand away from a slash on his chest.

“What’s your name, soldier?” Beckham asked.

“Sawyer,” he said, still looking down at his red-stained hand.

“You did the right thing, Sawyer. Just hang in there.”

The pop of gunfire echoed through the tunnel. It meant there were still soldiers fighting, and it snapped Beckham into motion.

“Horn, help Sawyer. Let’s move,” Beckham said. “I’ll drive.”

He climbed inside the Humvee and waited for the others to pile in. There was a turret with an M260 and a spotlight on top of the truck. It was a good old-fashioned M1 that looked like it had been used for patrols. No bells and whistles, just a diesel engine and a drivetrain that could handle virtually any terrain on the planet.

Beckham put the truck in gear and stomped the pedal. With stealth out the window, he didn’t care who heard them coming. He gripped the wheel tightly and sped down the tunnel, navigating around the crates and boxes that littered the road.

“How many are there?” Beckham asked.

“We found six survivors,” Sawyer replied. “A scientist, a—”

“How many Variants!” Beckham said, his voice raised. He watched Sawyer’s reaction in the rear view mirror.

The soldier shook his head. “I don’t know. A hundred, maybe.”

Beckham caught Horn’s gaze in the mirror as he pulled his skull mask over his face. When it was in position, he hefted his M249 out the open window.

“Mikesell, do you copy?” Beckham said into the comm. “Mikesell, where the fuck are you?”

A few words weakened by static made it through.

“In… West power…”

Beckham didn’t need to look at the map still tucked into his vest to know where he was going. Pushing the pedal harder, he accelerated through an open stretch of tunnel.

“Get ready,” Beckham said. “We’ll pick up the survivors and evacuate through Portal A or B. Whichever is clear.”

“What if neither are clear?” Lombardi asked.

Beckham kept his eyes on the road. “Then we fight our way out.”

They still had some outs, but Beckham didn’t like his poker hand. Five men against an army? It didn’t matter how many bullets they had. The odds of making it out alive were dismal.

At the far end of the tunnel, Beckham saw a flurry of movement. He flicked on the brights that cut through the shadowy passage. In the glow of the beams, a sea of Variants swarmed. They covered every square inch of concrete: the ground, walls, and even the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Beckham whispered.

“There,” Sawyer yelled. “That’s the plant.”

Beckham eased off the gas as they approached. He used the stolen minute to think of a plan. Sawyer had been wrong—there were more than one hundred.

The Variants on the edges of the mass scampered on all fours, some of them stopping to crouch and claw their way through the throng. As the Humvee coasted toward them, the Variants turned and centered their gaze on the truck.

“Boss, you got a plan?” Horn shouted.

“I’m working on one.”

The Variants caught in the rays of the vehicle’s lights broke off from the pack, squawking and leaping out of the way. Beckham had almost forgotten how much they hated light.

“Horn, get on the gun and turn on that spotlight!” Beckham shouted. “Everyone else, train your fire on the mob when I give the order.” He pushed the mini-mike back to his lips and said, “Mikesell, we’re almost there. I’ll get as close to the doors as possible. Be ready to roll.”

“Roger,” Mikesell replied.

Horn pulled himself into the turret, and a beam of light hit the swelling army a moment later as the Humvee rolled to a stop.

“Open fire!” Beckham shouted.

Streaks of red lanced through the tunnel. The rounds tore a hole into the swarm and sent body parts spurting in all directions.

Beckham’s heart climbed into his throat when he saw the entire army shift like it was a single clump of flesh. They certainly had the monsters’ attention now. He leaned out the driver’s side window and fired his M4. The crack of gunfire was deafening. Beckham could hardly hear the primal screeches of the creatures as the rounds cut them down.

The spotlight seemed to deter the Variants even more than the 7.62mm rounds Horn was unloading into the mass. A dozen of the monsters attempted to gallop toward the Humvee, but they only made it fifty feet before they vanished in the spray of gunfire.

Beckham pulled himself back into the truck and waited for an opportunity to break through the army. The mob was dispersing now, retreating from the lights and gunfire. He seized his moment and sped toward the power plant.

“Get ready, Mikesell!” Beckham yelled into the comm. They passed a series of doors that led to the living quarters, Presidential Command Center, and all of the other offices.

Beckham kept his foot on the pedal as they hit the minefield of bodies. Skulls and ribcages snapped under the weight of the tires. The shocks jerked up and down as they ran over the fresh corpses. A female Variant missing her legs dragged her torso across the pavement and reached up at the beams of the Humvee. Beckham flinched as the truck sent her spinning into a wall, where she splattered and slumped to the ground.

The meat of the army continued retreating ahead. Those that stayed behind were mowed down by Horn’s unwavering barrage of fire. He was a genius on the heavy gun. Beckham let up on the gas and pulled right up to the front door of the power plant.

“We’re here!” he shouted. “Keep them off us, Big Horn.”

The door to the plant swung open. Mikesell emerged and hurried toward the truck. There was a small group of civilians huddling in the shadows cast by the mechanical equipment behind him.

Mikesell stopped suddenly, staring with wide eyes at the Humvee. Beckham’s eyes flicked to motion in the rear view mirror. A slow moment of confusion passed before Beckham realized Mikesell wasn’t staring at the truck but through it. The monsters were streaming out of the doors they had passed earlier.

“Horn! Behind us!” Beckham shouted.

The spotlight rotated to their rear, and Beckham watched in horror as the army of Variants that had been retreating now turned and broke into a crazed run toward the truck. That left Beckham with only one option. There was no way they could hold off both waves of creatures.

“Everyone out!” he shouted.

“Boss, I can—” Horn began to say.

“Get out of the fucking truck!”

Beckham opened the driver door and waved Mikesell back inside the power plant. He hurried to the backseat and helped Horn pull Sawyer out. When everyone was inside the plant, Horn slammed the door.

They were stranded, trapped underground for the second time since the sewers of New York. And this time, Beckham didn’t think they’d ever see daylight again.

Kate looked through the window cresting the door to Holding Cell 2. I did what you said, Michael, she thought, remembering her mentor’s final words back in Atlanta. I created a weapon to kill every last one of the monsters.

The Variant lying chained to the floor was nearly dead. Rashes and open sores decorated its skin like polka dots. A wall of pink vomit had formed on the concrete where it had thrown up what looked a lot like stomach lining. The creature was nearing the final stages, and in a few minutes it would join the other two Variants that had already died. Plum Island would be monster free.

Ellis nudged Kate softly. “Ever wonder who these things were before the outbreak?” Ellis asked.

“I have tried very hard not to think that way.”

“Me too.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I think we did it, Kate. I’m feeling pretty good. The Variants are dying. All we have to do now is—”

The door to the hallway burst open, and Cooper and Berg rushed inside.

“Doctors,” Berg said, stopping to catch his breath.

Cooper continued down the hall, speaking as he walked. “Dr. Lovato, Dr. Ellis, we just got word from Colonel Wood that Central Command has fallen. General Kennor has been killed.”

“What? How?” Kate spluttered. “Who’s in charge now?”

“Not sure,” Berg said. “Things are chaotic over the net. All we know is that Colonel Wood is en route to the island. He should be here in a few minutes and will be able to provide a full report.”

Kate’s heart skipped a beat. If Wood was in charge now, she wasn’t sure what would happen.

“There’s something else,” Cooper said. “Bravo team just reported in. They’re on their way back to the island with a full supply of chemotherapeutics. Alpha and Charlie, however, are trapped inside Raven Rock Mountain Complex. Their status is unknown at this time.”

The words hit Kate hard. She could taste the stomach acid churning in the pit of her gut. She couldn’t lose Beckham now. Not when they were so close to…

To what?

The world was dying. Command was gone and no one seemed to know who was in charge. There were much bigger problems in the world than losing Beckham, but she couldn’t bear the thought of fighting on without him.

The sound of heavy boots in the other hallway pulled Kate back to reality. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith rounded the corner and strode through the open doors to the holding cell corridor.

Jensen stopped to stare at the Variant and then faced the doctors. “Kate—Dr. Lovato,” he said, correcting himself. “Colonel Wood has requested to see you both when he returns.”

Patient 2 let out an abrupt screech that was so loud Kate clutched her chest. She could feel her heart thumping so hard it felt like it was going to burst from her ribcage and plop into her hand. And not just because of the monster dying on the other side of the glass. The world was crumbling around Plum Island, and Beckham was stuck out there, again, because of the weapon she had designed.