Extinction Age

-9-

Darkness shrouded Plum Island. Another precious day humanity would never get back had passed. Countless more lives, lost. The scars from the previous night still lingered. Beckham noticed every single sign of battle as he strode across the tarmac with Fitz, Jensen, and the others.

After two hours of downtime and a fight with Kate, he was having second thoughts about the mission. Maybe he needed to sit this one out and let someone else take his place. He was injured and exhausted.

A simple sidelong glance at his team reminded him they were all in the same boat. Every man wore the same solemn, tired look. Beckham was just doing a better job of hiding it than they were.

There was no one else to take his place, and he wasn’t about to let Chow go out there on his own. The memory of the mission to Bragg was still fresh on Beckham’s memory. In the search for his family, Horn had broken a cardinal rule—he’d let his emotions get the best of him. Beckham had done the same thing by giving chase in New York when Jinx was taken. Chow was liable to make the same mistake on the Truxtun. Beckham couldn’t stop him from going now, but he could monitor his actions. Just like he’d monitored Horn’s at Bragg.

To add to the stress, Beckham felt growing dread from the way he’d left things with Kate. She deserved better. He’d been a prick, but he would make it up to her when he got back.

The distant chirp of crickets followed the teams across the tarmac to the choppers. As soon as they arrived, Beckham and his squad began their final preparations. He tightened the strap of his helmet and checked his optics.

“Listen up,” Jensen said. He licked his lips and waited.

All around Beckham, the other men stopped what they were doing and faced the lieutenant colonel.

“Situation is still the same. Ops has been hailing the Truxtun all day—still no answer. Recon hasn’t found anything. Guess they heard a dog barking, but that’s about it,” Jensen said.

“A dog?” Fitz asked.

“Yeah, a dog. Four legs and a tail,” Jensen said.

Fitz blushed and Beckham grimaced. Tensions were too high. The knot in his sour gut tightened. Maybe the mission wasn’t a good idea after all.

“You know the drill. Once we clear the ship, I’ll call in Echo 1 and 2. We’ll load up on all the weapons and supplies we can manage to jam into the birds. Got it?” Jensen said.

Beckham locked eyes with Jensen, ready to protest, but he backed down at the last second. Now wasn’t the time to question the mission. He should have done that hours before, during the briefing. His job now was to follow orders and achieve their objective.

“Yes, sir,” Beckham said after a brief pause.

“All right, men, let’s mount up,” Jensen said, his voice filled with a dangerous enthusiasm. He grabbed his weapon and jumped into Echo 1.

The rotors on both choppers made their first pass, whooshing overhead. Beckham jogged after the others to Echo 2. He took a seat next to Fitz and immediately traced a finger over his vest pocket. Inside was the tattered picture of his mom. He patted the pocket carefully, worried that he would damage his last copy.

Chow took the seat next to Beckham and pointed the tip of his M4 to the metal floor. Closing his eyes, he whispered something under his breath and then exhaled.

Good, Beckham thought. Maybe Chow had his emotions under control after all. He bumped his fellow operator on the arm with a friendly fist.

“In and out. Easy as shit,” Beckham said. “Get some ammo and grub and get back safe. Then we honor Jinx and the others. Give them the funerals they deserve.”

Chow slowly nodded. The chopper rose into the air and Beckham leaned back, resting his helmet on the metal wall, praying the Truxtun was an unguarded treasure chest free of Variants.

The domed buildings shrank as the chopper pulled away from the island. Somewhere down there, Kate was working on another weapon that was supposed to save the world. She’d put her life in jeopardy to get a sample from a Variant, and although the thought of her getting hurt made him furious, he wasn’t mad at Kate for doing her job. Neither of them was good at delegating the most deadly work, especially when protecting the lives of others was involved.

As the facilities vanished from view, he feared that what made them alike would also be what drove them apart.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kate snapped.

Ellis held up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry. Jeez.”

“I can’t believe he’s going back out there,” Kate said. “He hasn’t even been back for twenty-four hours yet. And I can’t believe Jensen is attempting the salvage run.”

Ellis pursed his lips as if he was unsure what to say. He took a step toward the entrance to the lab, but hesitated.

“Don’t you think the mission is ludicrous?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Ellis replied. He put his hands on the hips of his CBR suit.

“Well, now I’m asking,” Kate said.

Ellis exhaled inside of his helmet, hot breath puffing against the visor. “Yeah, I think it’s stupid, but I get why they’re doing it. We need supplies, and there’s no telling how long that ship’s going to be there before the Variants or someone else raids it.”

Kate pulled her key card and waved it at the entrance to the lab. The security panel beeped at them, and the glass doors whispered open. She was boiling from her conversation with Beckham, but deep down it was more than that. Her heart truly hurt. She’d known him for just over a month. He’d saved her life and she’d spent the most passionate night of her life with him, but she was starting to realize that he would always put his men first. She wasn’t sure she could live with that.

“Let’s get started,” she said. She crossed the lab carrying the box containing the biopsy of bone marrow from the Variant.

“I’ll prep the culture dishes and prime them,” Ellis said.

Kate buried her thoughts of Reed and focused on the task at hand. She met Ellis at the center lab station and opened the box containing the sample of bone marrow. Before she knew it, she’d lost herself in her work.

After the dishes were primed for the mesenchymal stem cells, they fed them into a high-throughput screening system. The robotic system would deposit the cells into plastic dishes with tiny wells. The cells would then incubate and run automatically. The machine’s plate reader would determine whether or not a reaction had taken place in each well. If there was a unique protein in the Variant’s stem cell surface, the machine would tell them.

“You think this is really going to work?” Kate asked.

“I sure hope so. If we can identify a unique protein, then I think I can come up with some antibodies that will target the cells.”

Kate finished loading the population of isolated stems cells into the HTS machine. She activated the system manually and took a step away from the controls.

“Even if we can identify this protein and antibodies to target the cells, how are we going to deploy it as a weapon? When I designed VX9H9, we still had pilots and a working military. That was weeks ago. I’m not sure General Kennor could even—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ellis said. “First we need to find the protein. Then we’re going to have to make antibodies, and then we’re going to need to test it on the Variants. Plus, we’ve got to come up with a payload for the antibodies—something for them to deliver that will kill the Variants’ stem cells. After we accomplish all of that, we can worry about who will deploy it. If worse comes to worst, maybe the military could use it on individual cities, one at a time. Taking them back from the Variants without having to send in troops.”

Kate didn’t find Ellis’s plan all that reassuring. A lot of people were going to die in the days or even weeks that it would take. But he did have a point—they could only do one thing at a time, in sequence. Until they found the protein, there was no sense in worrying about anything beyond that.

“Looks like we’re all set here,” Kate said.

Ellis crossed his arms. “Now we sit back and wait for the results.”

Beckham had been on plenty of warships before, but he’d never seen one run ashore. The five hundred foot, nine thousand ton ship looked like a beached whale, its bow firmly planted in the beach. A mountain of sand and rocks ran along both sides of the hull where it had carved a path.

“Area clear of hostiles,” one of the pilots said over the comm. “Prepare for insertion.”

Beckham scanned the LZ to double check. “You got eyes on anything?”

“Negative,” Fitz replied.

“Looks dead down there,” Chow said.

Peters crouch-walked over to the fast rope and grabbed hold as the chopper descended into position over the stern. Echo 1 was already hovering over the bow. Beckham watched Jensen’s team drop onto the deck and disappear from view.

“Peters, you got point. Chow, you’re on rear guard. Fitz, you’re with me,” Beckham said. He quickly fell into line behind Peters, tapping him on the shoulder. The Marine slid down the rope and moved into a covering fire position as soon as his boots hit the deck.

Beckham paused to touch his vest pocket one last time and then grabbed the rope. When his boots hit the ground, he planted them, squared his shoulders, and swept the stern for contacts while he waited for the others.

Fitz came next, his metal blades landing with a click.

“Eyes up,” Beckham said, flashing a hand signal toward the ladder leading to the next level. He passed a RIM-66 surface-to-air missile launcher and trained his weapon on the next deck. Peters was already running up the steps. He vanished from view before Beckham could tell him to slow down.

“Hold position,” Beckham whispered into his headset. He continued to the ladder and worked his way to the top. Peters was waiting in the center of the helo pad.

“Slow your ass down,” Beckham said when he caught up. He glanced back at Chow and then Fitz. He didn’t want either of them on point.

“I’ll take lead,” Beckham said. Peters scowled. The kid had an attitude problem—kind of like Riley, but without the humorous side.

Beckham pointed at a door leading into the ship. “On me,” he said. He slowly led the team across the deck. When they reached the door, he grabbed the hand wheel and twisted it a hair to ensure it was unlocked.

“Bow is clear,” Beckham heard over the comm. “Alpha proceeding to bridge.”

“Roger that,” Beckham replied. “Bravo entering ship. “

He stepped to the side as Chow took his place at the hand wheel.

“Execute,” Beckham said.

Chow rapidly turned the hand wheel and opened the door to allow Beckham inside. He flipped on his night vision and moved into an empty passageway. There was no sign of a struggle and no bodies. Beckham knew better. The three hundred sailors were somewhere on board, and someone had cut the power. He took in a breath, testing it for the scent of Variants, but the sour fruit smell was absent.

“Clear,” he said as he cautiously advanced. “Alpha, you got eyes?”

“Negative so far, ‘bout to enter the bridge,” came Jensen’s reply.

“Copy that.” Beckham continued working his way forward with his weapon aimed at each closed hatch. Halfway down the passage, he stopped to check one of the handles. This one was locked, so he continued past it.

Labored breathing and the click of Fitz’s blades reverberated off the bulkheads and overhead as Bravo advanced. Beckham stopped at a T-intersection and balled his hand into a fist. He edged around the corner, eyeing the passage to the left. Sensing it was clear, he pivoted into the center and swept his rifle to the right and then down in an arc as he spun to the left. Both sides were empty.

The left passage led to the galley and mess hall. A sign for the berthing area hung to the right with an arrow pointing down the passageway. Beckham turned back to his men, assessing them. Chow was doing okay so far. He still didn’t trust Peters, though. Not yet. He hated doing it, but he decided to split the team up.

“Peters, on me. We’ll take the right,” Beckham said. “We’re Bravo 1 and 2 on the comms. Chow and Fitz are 3 and 4. Clear the galley and mess hall.”

Chow nodded and patted his helmet in confirmation. Beckham tightened his grip around the handle of his M4 and slipped into the right passage with Peters behind him. The doors to the berthing areas were wide open. The sight made him pause. Each room was a potential hiding place for hostiles. They would need to clear each one.

He directed Peters to take the right side with a hand signal. Beckham took the left. He entered the first room and swept his rifle from bunk to bunk. One of them was sealed off with a blue drape. He approached it with his rifle in one hand and pulled back the curtain with the other.

Empty.

Where the fuck was everyone?

He continued into the next room and then the next. Each revealed the same thing. Empty bunks.

“Bravo 2, you got anything?”

“Negative,” Peters replied.

“Alpha, you got eyes on?” Beckham asked.

The response was quick. “Bridge is clear. No sign of struggle.”

“Copy that,” Beckham said. His mind raced as he continued to the head. Peters was already there, kneeling in the entrance and tracing a gloved finger over the floor.

“Blood?” Beckham asked.

“Yup,” Peters replied. “Lots of it. It wraps around the corner, too.”

Beckham shouldered his rifle and continued to the next junction. He hugged the bulkhead and peered around the side. The trail of blood continued down the passage to the left and ended at a hatch that went below decks.

“Alpha, you copy? Over,” Beckham said into his headset.

“Roger, Bravo. Loud and clear,” Jensen replied.

“I think I found our missing crew.”

“What’s your location?”

“Just outside the berthing area.”

“Alpha on the way.”

“Roger,” Beckham said, moving back to the head. He squeezed past Peters and checked the room for a second time. Maroon streaks crisscrossed the ground, pooling in some areas like someone had dumped buckets of blood. The overhead was splattered with the same dark blots.

Beckham continued inside, planting his boot firmly with every step, careful not to slip. He checked each stall, but didn’t find a single body. Whatever had happened had likely started here. His gut dropped as his mind reverted back to Building 8 where the Hemorrhage virus had started. Ghost had cleared those first few levels, expecting to find dead scientists. Instead, they’d found the first infected—and the bodies they’d hoarded for food. The memory of that first gruesome discovery in the mess hall made his heart pound.

Chow’s voice flickered in his ear. “Bravo 1, Bravo 3. Something you need to see in the galley.”

Beckham caught the small break in the man’s voice, and he knew exactly what it meant. Chow was spooked.

“Alpha, meet us in the galley,” Beckham said. He motioned for Peters to follow. Beckham’s boots squished as he ran into the passageway, the blood sticking with every stride.

It only took a few seconds to reach the galley. Fitz was waiting outside the entrance. It was hard to read his features with the NVGs hanging over his head. Beckham held his questions and entered the room.

Chow was standing next to an oversized food locker that wasn’t much different than the one Ghost had found the scientists in at Building 8. The operator pointed down as Beckham approached. He already saw the dark path leading to the walk-in fridge. He checked the temperature gauge. It was forty-two degrees inside. With the engines offline, the freezer was starting to warm.

“I don’t like this, man,” Chow said.

“Fitz, hold security at the door,” Beckham said. “Peters, get over here.”

Chow grabbed the handle and waited for orders. Raising his M4, Beckham held a breath inside his chest and nodded.

A cloud of cold air rushed out of the room as soon as Chow yanked it open. Beckham moved his weapon in an arc, stopping on a hunk of meat in the center of the room. At first glance it looked like the torso of a cow, but then Beckham saw the human head attached to it. When he let out his breath and sucked in another, he caught a whiff of rot.

Chow moved inside and stopped abruptly. He lowered his rifle but said nothing. Beckham joined him, staring at the corpse. A shredded pair of trousers covered its crotch and the stubs where its legs had been. Its arms were gone, torn from their sockets.

“Jesus,” Beckham whispered. He forced himself to walk further into the room and crouch next to the body. He flipped his night vision up, using the soft red glow from an emergency light to examine the remains. The man’s features were warped into a mask of horror. Beckham tried to close the man’s eyelids, but they were frozen open.

A low growl came from behind one of the shelves in the right corner of the room. Beckham swept his gun toward the noise. Chow heard it too, and raised his rifle. They exchanged a critical look and walked toward the metal rack stacked with food. He couldn’t see anything on the other side. A weaker growl responded to their footsteps.

Beckham’s breath came out in icy puffs as he walked. When he got to the final shelf, he pointed to his eyes, then to Chow, and then to the right side of the shelf. The operator moved into position. They burst around the corners simultaneously, Beckham anxious to put a bullet in whatever was making the sound. He almost pulled the trigger before he saw the German Shepherd. It was curled up on the lap of a navy officer’s corpse. The man’s chin rested limply against his chest. Everything below his waist was covered in blood.

The dog snarled as Beckham approached. He waved Chow off with his other hand and took a knee.

“It’s okay, boy,” Beckham said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog cowered, trying to back away. Beckham reached out to let the animal sniff his hand when the man’s head shot up and his eyes snapped open. The officer gasped for air and batted icy eyelids. The red glow illuminated his wide, frightened eyes.

“Help me,” he said. “Please, help me.”

Beckham didn’t have time to reply. Gunfire rang out in the distance, and a voice crackled over his headset.

It was Jensen, and he was screaming. “Contacts! We got multiple contacts!”