Extinction Age

-24-

Beckham ran through a maze of mechanical equipment. The door to the facility rattled behind them as the Variants continued their unyielding assault on the steel. It sounded like a mad miner beating on a wall with a sledgehammer.

“Who knows this place?” Beckham shouted over the noise.

“Ted does,” Mikesell said.

Beckham halted in front of a row of generators and scanned the survivors as Chow, Lombardi, and Horn set up a perimeter. Six faces covered in grime stared back at him. An African American woman wearing a white dress shirt with a US flag pin and black trousers caught Beckham’s attention. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun, and when she saw him looking at her, she straightened her back. Her brown eyes flared with something Beckham couldn’t place. Was it confidence? Strength? He could tell she was important, perhaps a politician or a high-level bureaucrat, but he didn’t have time to find out right now.

“Which one of you is Ted?” he asked.

A middle-aged man wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses pushed his way to the front of the civilians.

“Me,” the man said. “I know this plant better than anyone.”

“Good,” Beckham said. “Because you’re going to show us a way out.”

Ted pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes before slipping them back on. He glanced at Beckham and then at the steel door the Variants were continuing to hammer. “I… I don’t…”

Beckham snapped his fingers. “Ted, I need you to tell me how to get out of here.”

Ted looked away from the rattling doors and said, “There’s an access tunnel carved into the rock that leads to the reservoir. It’s the only way that doesn’t take us back out to the inner roadway, but it’s also where those things built their nest.”

“Hopefully they’ve all left the lair,” Chow said.

Horn snorted and said, “You’re telling us that’s the only way around them?”

“Yes, that’s the only way,” Ted said.

“Show me,” Beckham said. “Big Horn, I want you on rear guard. Everyone else, on me.”

Ted waved the group deeper into the plant. Beckham shouldered his rifle and played the muzzle over the equipment as they ran.

“Stay close,” Beckham said. “And keep quiet.”

They passed through a room full of generators and into another one packed with pumps, air handling units, and boilers.

“This way,” Ted said. He crossed to a door with a sign that read Danger. Confined Space. Enter By Permit Only. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and thumbed through them. He picked a key and was reaching toward the lock when Beckham stopped him. The Variants had already flanked them once, and Beckham wanted to be sure there wasn’t anything on the other side of the door.

“Out of the way,” Beckham said. He placed an ear against the metal and listened. The pounding and shrieks of the Variants at the entrance to the plant made it difficult to hear anything else, but he heard nothing to indicate the monsters were waiting on the other side of the door.

“Unlock it,” Beckham ordered. He raised his M4 and aimed it at the door as Ted inserted the key. The engineer glanced back at the group uncertainly.

Beckham nodded, and Ted opened the door.

“On me,” Beckham said. He went first, arching his rifle over the space. The dimly lit corridor was empty. Nothing but damp rock the color of sand. A network of cables and evenly spaced lights snaked across the ceiling.

“Move,” Beckham said. He hugged the walls, using the orange glow from the lights to guide him through the narrow passage. Water dropped from cracks in the rock and collected in puddles on the ground.

Beckham’s heart rate increased with every step—each one closer to the lair. Memories of the nest he’d pulled Meg from in New York surfaced on his mind. He was moving on pure adrenaline, his actions controlled by experience and his internal processor. There was nothing he could do but count on it to keep him and his people alive.

He stopped at a crooked sign marking the reservoir, which hung from a door coated in rust and grime at the next corner. Standing and staring wasn’t going to get them home any faster. After a few seconds of silence, he motioned Ted forward.

“Big Horn, get up here,” Beckham said. If there were Variants still in the nest, he wanted the M249 on point.

Horn grunted as he made his way through the civilians. “What’s the plan?” he said when he reached Beckham.

“We stay frosty,” Beckham whispered. He faced the others and said, “Whatever’s on the other side of this door isn’t going to be pretty. No matter what you see or hear, you keep quiet, you keep calm, and you follow us. Got it?”

There were several nods and a couple whispers of acknowledgement.

“Open it, Ted.”

This time the engineer hesitated even longer before inserting his key. After sucking in a breath, he twisted it and pulled the door open. The metal scraped over the rocky floor.

Beckham cringed and followed Horn onto a catwalk that looked over a cavern. Greenish-blue water shimmered under the walkway. The calm freshwater lake was deceiving, Beckham knew there was nothing peaceful about this place. He followed Horn to the railing to scope the cave.

“There,” Horn whispered. He pointed to the west where a shelf had been carved into the rock.

Beckham clenched his jaw when he saw it had been transformed into a meat locker. Dozens of human shapes were plastered to the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. He focused on a man in fatigues, his body stretched into a T, crucified against the rock. Red ropes hung from the man’s stomach and piled on the ground beneath his feet. Beckham zoomed in to see it was the man’s guts.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“Think of any of them are alive?” Horn asked.

“I’d bet on it,” Beckham said. “The Variants prefer fresh meat.”

Beckham searched for the monsters, sweeping his aim from left to right, but he saw nothing besides their human prisoners.

“Looks clear,” Horn said.

After a third sweep, Beckham nodded and turned back to the others. He couldn’t save the poor souls across the cavern, but maybe he could still save those behind him. He waved them onto the catwalk.

Ted grabbed the railing and hurried over to Beckham. “We just take this all the way around to the entrance.”

“Let’s move, Big Horn,” Beckham said.

He put a hand on Horn’s shoulder and followed him across the walkway. No matter how quietly the operators were trained to move, they couldn’t mask the sounds the civilians made. The clanks from their footfalls echoed in the cavern. With each step Beckham expected a Variant to answer with a shriek. They made it about one hundred yards before a dull sound reverberated through the chamber.

“Hold,” Beckham whispered. He paused to listen as a second hollow noise sounded.

“Where’s it coming from?” Horn asked.

Beckham turned and focused on the rock tunnel leading from the power plant. The sound of crashing mechanical equipment coupled with the shattering of glass exploded from the entrance. The Variants had found a way into the plant.

“Run,” Beckham said. “Everyone run, NOW!”

Horn was already moving, his boots pounding the metal. The civilians surged forward, and Beckham focused on the entrance to the reservoir ahead. It was only a few minutes away, but as the shrieks grew louder, he wasn’t sure they had enough time to get there.

The walkway suddenly shook violently, throwing Beckham off balance. He looked over his shoulder to see Variants streaming out of the tunnel and onto the catwalk. One of them tumbled over the railing and plummeted to the water below. There was a splash and the heavy crack of gunshots.

Lombardi had stopped to lay down covering fire. Blasts from his shotgun sent three more of the creatures spinning over the side and into the water, but others quickly took their place. The Variants pushed and clawed their way onto the platform. Within seconds the metal groaned under the weight of two dozen of them.

Mikesell halted and then ran back to join Lombardi. They fired side by side as the monsters advanced. A second soldier from Alpha fell into line behind them.

“Fall back!” Beckham screamed. He stood his ground as Ted raced past him. Chow rushed by, half dragging Sawyer. They staggered down the walkway, Chow’s M4 clanking on the side of the railing.

Lombardi and Mikesell continued to lay down covering fire as they backpedaled. The shots pierced the flesh of the Variants in front, splattering those in the back with blood from the exit wounds. The injured creatures dropped and vanished in the stampede of diseased skin. A few in front skittered up the wall to avoid the shots.

“Take out the climbers!” Beckham shouted as the final civilian passed him and ran after Horn and the others. He caught a glimpse of the well dressed woman he’d noticed in the power plant. There was something about the way she carried herself that made her stand out. Not military, but maybe an important government official. Beckham shouldered his rifle. If he hesitated another blink, they were all as good as dead.

Steady, Reed. Steady.

He stilled his breathing, planted his boots, and fired at the monsters clambering over the walls. The rounds bit into rock and punched through lean muscle. Two of the creatures skidded down, clawing and squawking. They crashed to the catwalk, and the remaining Variants trampled the life from the injured creatures.

Lombardi fired on a second wave that had taken to the walls while Mikesell and his squad-mate worked on the mob rushing toward them. Bullets thinned those out in front, but the tidal wave pouring from the tunnel seemed endless. The catwalk whined and sagged beneath their weight.

“Get out of—” Beckham began to shout. He was cut off by a metallic crack as an entire section of catwalk broke off. The Variants and the three Medical Corps soldiers plummeted into the water with it. The men screamed as they dropped into the lake with the shrieking monsters.

Beckham dropped to his knees at the edge of the walkway and peered over the side into the churning blue-green water.

Two of the men never surfaced, but Mikesell thrashed over to the wall. He dragged his fingernails frantically across the rock, trying to climb up.

Beckham looked for something to throw down to him, but it was already too late. The sergeant let out a shrill scream as the Variants pulled him under. Frothy red bubbles churned the water as the monsters tore him apart.

Beckham closed his eyes for a split second, muttering something that was halfway between a prayer and curse. When he snapped them back open, he saw Lombardi had finally surfaced and was swimming away from the pack of Variants.

“Get to the other side!” Beckham shouted. The crack of gunfire rang out behind him as he rose to his feet. Chow had handed Sawyer off to Horn and was now firing at the Variants spilling from the tunnel directly to the walls. They didn’t need a walkway to get to their prey.

“Got to move, man!” Chow yelled.

Beckham raised his rifle and fired as they retreated. Three of the creatures lost their grip and crashed into the water. After clearing several more from the walls, Beckham turned and bolted after Horn and the civilians.

He looked over the side of the railing as he ran. Lombardi was swimming like a madman, his strokes deep and fast, but the Variants were gaining. They used their legs to glide smoothly under the surface.

Lombardi flung a glance over his shoulder in between breaths and then stopped to tread water. He peered up at Beckham, his eyes wide and panicky—the terrified look of a man who hadn’t accepted his fate.

“No!” Beckham shouted as Lombardi vanished under the surface.

Chow tugged on Beckham’s flak jacket. “Nothing we can do for him! Come on!”

Beckham resisted, his eyes still locked on the bubbling surface.

“Now, god dammit!”

Beckham let Chow pull him away from the railing, and they sprinted across the final stretch of walkway. The group was waiting at a pair of doors leading to the inner roadway.

“Where are the others?” Horn asked.

Beckham shook his head. There was no time to hesitate or explain. They had to continue to the roadway regardless of what was waiting for them outside.

“Let’s go!” Beckham said. He shoved his way through the terrified civilians and waited impatiently while Ted fumbled with his keys. The engineer finally pulled the door open, and Horn hurried through first. The crack of his gun sounded as soon as he entered the tunnel.

Beckham could see the Variants to the east. Most of them were still working their way into the West Power Plant. He whirled and looked to the west tunnel leading to the A and B portals that Alpha team had used during insertion. That’s where Beckham had planned to escape, but it was a long hike. They would never outrun the creatures unless he bought them some time.

Beckham pulled his spent mag out and jammed another into his rifle. “Horn, on me! Chow, you go west with the others,” he yelled over Horn’s gunfire. “I’m going for the truck!”

The civilians hesitated, and Beckham bellowed, “GO!”

In the next instant, Beckham was running toward the Humvee. He picked off the Variants closest to the truck in mid-stride. His internal processor kicked into overdrive. He nailed headshot after headshot, plastering the walls and floor with gore.

It took Beckham thirty seconds to reach the truck. He flung his rifle over his back and pulled his pistol as he approached the driver’s side. An emaciated male Variant perched on the hood snarled at him and narrowed its yellow eyes on Beckham’s neck. Everything froze in that moment. It was like his world had been placed under a microscope. He could detect the smallest details, from the drops of sweat on the monster’s face to the blood on the tips of its brown, jagged teeth. Beckham could even smell the rancid scent of rotting fruit radiating off the thing’s filthy skin.

Beckham strode forward and executed the Variant with a shot to the temple. Its limp body slid off the hood and onto the ground. Beckham stepped over it, opened the door, and jumped inside. Horn shredded three more of the Variants before he climbed into the backseat.

“Let’s roll!” Horn shouted.

“Get in the turret,” Beckham yelled back. He put the truck into reverse and stomped the gas. The vehicle jerked backward, the tires crunching over corpses. A moment later, the mechanical whine of the M260 filled the cabin with the reassuring sound of 7.62mm rounds.

Beckham threw the Humvee into drive, and it lurched forward. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and sped after the group of civilians. The Variants grew smaller in the side mirrors as Beckham left them in a thin cloud of smoke from burning rubber.

He smacked the steering wheel. We’re going to make it. We’re actually going to get out of here!

But at what cost? Were the lives of Mikesell, Lombardi, and the soldiers whose names Beckham didn’t even know worth it?

Beckham blinked and eased off the gas as they approached the civilians. Chow had waved the group to the side of the tunnel.

“Get in!” Beckham yelled.

The survivors scrambled inside, and a moment later the Humvee was hauling ass down the tunnel. Beckham tried his comm as the first signs of natural light from Portal A spilled across the road.

“Echo 2, Echo 3, Charlie team leader. Do you copy? Over.”

The reply from one of the pilots was almost instantaneous. “Echo 2 here. Good to hear your voice, Charlie 1.”

Beckham looked in the rearview mirror, counting the people piled into the truck. “Echo 2, we need extraction for ten people. Repeat, need extraction for ten.”

Past the frightened faces, Beckham saw the army of Variants galloping down the tunnel after them. His eyes flicked back to the road and the green fence in the distance. Flooring the gas, Beckham drove like a man possessed, his focus on their salvation.

He squinted into the sunlight that he’d thought he would never see again. Through the glare, he could see the sleek outline of two circling choppers. Although he’d lost another piece of himself inside Raven Rock, he’d helped secure the drugs and saved lives—and he was returning to Kate. They were going to live. They were going home.

Fitz watched a seagull soar across the golden horizon. He was so bored he considered shooting it out of the sky. The highlight of his day had been pissing over the side of the tower. Operation Extinction had taken most of the soldiers into the field. That forced him to pull a twelve-hour shift with no one to relieve him for a latrine run. A bucket and a bag full of sand waited behind him, and he knew he’d be using them soon.

He sighed when he looked at his watch. Still another two hours before he would finally be relieved from his post.

“Apollo, how you doing down there, boy?” Fitz said. He looked over the side and searched for the dog. He found him sleeping on a patch of grass that looked so comfy it made Fitz tired.

“Don’t worry, Beckham will be back soon,” Fitz whispered, more to himself than the dog. He had just hoisted his MK11 back to the other side of the tower for a sweep of the post when he heard a trace of mechanical noise on the wind. He raised his rifle and centered the crosshairs on a single Blackhawk.

Fitz quickly scanned the horizon. One glance confirmed what he feared.

The bird was alone.

He followed it to the tarmac, where a four-man fire-team spilled out and began unloading boxes. He zoomed in on the face of each soldier, confirming that it was Bravo team. No Beckham. No Horn or Chow.

He checked the boxes next, focusing his scope on the crates that were marked Fragile. At least they’d secured the objective, but where the hell was Alpha and Charlie?

He waited thirty minutes for the other birds to show up. Valentine’s men continued unloading the chopper and carrying the crates to Building 1. The sun sank on the horizon, the warm golden glow losing the battle to the carpet of darkness spreading over the water. Fitz had to force himself to look away from the sky. He checked on Apollo to kill the time. The dog wagged his tail and glanced up when Fitz called his name.

In some ways, Fitz was jealous of Apollo. The dog had seen a lot of death, but there was no way it could comprehend the extent of the devastation. Fitz was envious of that. Some days, he wished he was in the dark. Today was one of them.

An hour passed and the light poles clicked on across the post. When Fitz was about to give up his search, he heard the faint whipping of chopper blades. The sniper in Tower 1 radioed two choppers in to command, but Fitz was hardly listening. He felt a smile forming on his face and hustled to the opposite side of the box to glass the darkness. Two red dots were growing larger in the sky, beacons of hope in an ocean of black.

Fitz focused on the troop holds as the Blackhawks set down on the tarmac. Something was off about the birds. Their markings were unusual, and their doors were closed.

He centered his crosshairs on one of the aircraft as soldiers in black fatigues swarmed out. Mikesell’s men had all worn black, Fitz thought. But these don’t look like the same guys. Who were they? And where was Charlie team?

The soldiers huddled around a central figure as they jogged away from the crafts. The sight reminded him of secret service surrounding the president. Whoever this person was, they were important.

Fitz zoomed in on the central figure’s face. He tensed his fingers around the handle of the gun when he saw it was Colonel Wood. This didn’t make any sense. Why would his men be guarding him like he was the most significant person left in the world?

Unless…

Fitz gritted his teeth and lowered his rifle. He was a grunt and therefore not worthy of the SITREP that would have informed him if Colonel Wood had suddenly been promoted up the chain of command. But he was smart enough to know that something had gone terribly wrong—and if Wood was running the show, things were about to get a whole hell of a lot worse.