Extinction Edge

-9-

Lieutenant Colonel Jensen had requested a call with Central Command, hoping to talk to someone with pull, someone who could get shit done. To say he was shocked when Hickman told him General Richard Kennor was on the line would have been an understatement. Kennor wasn’t only the acting commander in chief; he was the mastermind behind Operation Liberty.

“Sir, video call in five minutes,” Hickman said.

Jensen nodded, mentally preparing his thoughts. He had a real shot at saving countless American lives. All he had to do was convince the general that their intel was wrong.

After transferring the files, Jensen took a seat at the war table and typed in his credentials, wishing more than ever for a wad of juicy chewing tobacco. Instead he chewed on the inside of his lip and turned on the screen.

Straightening his uniform, he said, “Patch the call through, Lieutenant.”

The wrinkled face of General Kennor appeared on screen. His lips and nose were angled in a way that made him look like he had a sour taste in his mouth. With his saggy skin, the general reminded Jensen of a bulldog—which wasn’t far from the truth. The man’s career was defined by his aggressive war strategy. If the US military had an attack dog, Kennor was it. He’d overseen countless missions in the War on Terror and was responsible for killing or bringing close to one hundred terrorists to justice.

“Jensen,” General Kennor said, “I hear you have some important intel.”

The lieutenant colonel cleared his throat and said, “Yes, sir, very important. It’s about the Variant populations in New York City.”

Kennor raised a bushy gray brow. “I’m listening.”

“Sir, Central Command sent us projections of the population in Manhattan, specifically the cluster in Times Square around Rockefeller Center and the New York Public Library. The data shows only about two thousand Variants in the area.”

The general studied a piece of paper in front of him and then shrugged. “Good. Should make it that much easier for your strike teams and 1^st Platoon to clear the area and set up a forward operating base.”

“Yes, sir, it would, but I believe the intel isn’t accurate. Dr. Lovato, the CDC doctor who designed the—”

“I know who she is,” Kennor replied, looking up to meet Jensen’s eyes. “Relay my gratitude when you get a chance.”

Jensen nodded and continued, “I will, sir, but as I was saying, she believes there are hundreds of thousands more Variants in the area that aren’t being picked up by satellite imagery or the recon scouts.”

“Nonsense.”

“Sir, I understand how this sounds, but please check the encrypted file I sent a few minutes ago. I apologize for the delay, but I had to check with Dr. Lovato to ensure the numbers were correct.”

Kennor slid a laptop across his desk and flipped the top open. “Give me a second.”

“Yes, sir.” Jensen pulled open the file and reviewed the numbers.

“For the sake of time, why don’t you explain this to me?” Kennor said.

Nodding again, Jensen said, “Dr. Lovato believes approximately eighty percent of the population in New York was infected with the Hemorrhage Virus. About sixteen million people. After VariantX9H9 was launched, the infected population was reduced to ten percent. The Variants should then number between one and two million in New York City. The map should be crawling with them, sir. The numbers just don’t add up.”

“This map focuses just on Manhattan,” Kennor replied gruffly.

“Yes, sir, but if you add up every single other cluster in the metro area, you will see there are only fifty thousand of the creatures accounted for. So where the hell did the other million plus go?”

Kennor closed the lid to his laptop, folded his hands, and cleared his throat. “I’m going to be blunt here. Dr. Lovato was clearly off on her calculations. I appreciate her work, but let’s be honest, Jensen. That many people don’t simply vanish. And we’ve been running recon missions for weeks. Between flyovers, scouts, and satellite imagery, we have a pretty good idea of what we’re up against.”

Jensen picked at a hangnail under the table, out of view. He could feel a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Sir, I understand how this sounds, but we could be walking into a trap in New York. Why not insert a Special Ops team into the city? The Variants could be underground, in the subways or storm tunnels. I’d request that you delay Operation Liberty until we know—”

Kennor shook his head. He crunched his eyebrows again, forming a hundred wrinkles. “Absolutely not,” he growled. “Do you realize how much coordination and planning has gone into this mission? New York is only one of a hundred other cities. The Marine company in New York and the teams you will supply are only a small piece of the overall puzzle here. We need you in this fight. I need you in this fight. And I need you to keep your goddamn cool. This is just the sort of claim that could cause panic or desertion.”

The general scratched a day’s worth of gray stubble on his chin. “Quite frankly, we’re running out of time to take back our country. Every minute we wait, more survivors are brutally murdered and eaten by those things.”

Jensen bit back a response.

“Besides, you’re forgetting one key piece of information here,” continued Kennor.

“Sir?” Jensen asked.

“We are part of the United States military. And we have the most advanced weapons in the world at our disposal. The Variants are the equivalent of our distant Neanderthal ancestors. They don’t drive cars or fly jets. They can’t even fire a handgun. So I don’t care if there are one thousand or one million. Operation Liberty will crush them. The battle will be a slaughter.”

Yeah, thought Jenson, that’s what General Custer said right before the ‘savage’ Indians killed every single one of his men.

He shuddered at the thought but mastered his temper. “General Kennor, if you won’t delay the mission, at least provide me the opportunity to insert a team of my own. I have some Delta Force Operators here at Plum Island that have proven to be great assets.”

Kennor seemed to consider the request for a moment but then shook his head. “We have Recon Marines in the city, no need to waste more time on a useless mission.” He looked down at his watch. “Operation Liberty will launch as scheduled.”

Jensen fought the urge to speak his mind. General Kennor was panicking. He was anxious as hell to get this all over with, no matter what it took. And there was nothing Jensen could say that would change the man’s mind.

“Anything else?” Kennor asked.

“No, sir.”

“Good luck,” Kennor replied, reaching to shut off the feed.

The screen went dark and Jensen pounded the desk with his right fist. “The man is delusional!”

“Maybe so,” Major Smith said from the observation window. “But he’s right about the firepower. What can Variants do against missiles and tanks?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Jensen said. “Those things are evolving. Our teams could be heading into a trap. We can’t afford to underestimate the enemy. One mistake could send the human race spiraling toward extinction.”

Hickman grabbed her headset and slipped it back on. “Sir, I’m receiving a transmission from Echo 1.”

Jensen rushed over to the communication equipment, forgetting the conversation with Kennor.

“Echo 1, 2 and 3 are en route to Plum Island. They have fifty-two survivors in total,” Hickman said. “Echo 3 requests medical support for—” Her eyes shot up with concern. “For Master Sergeant Beckham.”

“How bad?” Jensen asked.

“Not sure, sir.”

Jensen cursed. With Operation Liberty still moving forward, he would need to find someone else to lead a team. Beckham’s fate affected many on the island, including Kate Lovato. He would need to tell her before the Black Hawks returned.

“Your briefing is in thirty minutes,” Smith reminded him.

Jensen nodded. Every man and woman on the island was waiting for his report. He’d made them a promise that he would keep them informed, a promise he fully intended to keep. But first he needed to meet with Kate.

The moment Riley had closed his eyes, he had fallen asleep. The pain medicines were powerful, and even the Delta Operator couldn’t resist them for long. Kate watched his chest move up and down for a few minutes, just to make sure he was out. Then she checked his biomonitor one last time and walked out of the medical ward, pausing in front of the doors to the ICU to see if she could catch a glimpse of Colonel Gibson’s room. The dimly lit corridor revealed two Marines standing guard.

The sight meant he was still alive. Good, she thought. Maybe after Operation Liberty was complete, Central Command would have the time and assets to try the man for international war crimes. If things ever did return to semi-normal, the trial would draw the same sort of press that Nuremburg had after World War II.

She left the building in a hurry and ran past the two Medical Corps guards posted at the entrance without uttering a word. Kate was anxious to get back to the lab. Ellis had assured her that they would finally have blood samples of Variants from around the country.

The mid-morning sun cast a beautiful trail of light across the concrete drive that connected the campus of domed buildings. A cool breeze rustled through her hair as she jogged to Building 1. Overhead, a single seagull dotted the blue sky. The bird spread its wings and then swooped toward the ocean, vanishing into the sunlight.

Kate shielded her eyes and stopped to check her watch. The choppers would have extracted Beckham and the other survivors now. They would be back in hours. She suppressed the prickle of anxiety and ran up the steps to Building 1.

Inside, she suited up and concentrated on the tasks ahead. Compartmentalizing her schedule took the edge off, gave her something to focus on. Gibson hadn’t given her anything she could work with. Nothing new, at least. Only tests would determine how the Variants were truly changing and hopefully reveal a way to stop them before it was too late. It was up to her team now, and whatever teams were left across the country.

She zipped up the back of her suit and slipped her helmet on. Cindy, the young scientist and engineer assigned to Kate’s team, was already busy working on the other side. Ellis sat at the adjacent station, staring at his computer screen. Behind them, the other compartments were all bustling with activity.

Kate held her keycard over the security panel. A chirp followed as the doors hissed open.

“Good morning,” Ellis said, keeping his focus on his monitor.

“Morning,” she replied. “Did we receive the samples?”

“Sure did. They came in during the night.” Cindy typed a few keystrokes and brought up a myriad of data streams. “I’ve already started the tests you requested.”

“And?” Kate moved to the right so Ellis could point at the screen. His finger stopped on the middle row of data.

“They are changing, Kate,” Ellis said, his voice low but clear over the comm system.

Kate gestured for Cindy to scoot over. Grabbing another stool, Kate pulled it up to the display.

“Check the confidential file that Command sent us,” Cindy said, pointing at the folder.

“This came from a team somewhere in DC,” Ellis added.

Kate didn’t hesitate, quickly clicking on the small folder. A message formed on the screen.

Seeing Michael’s name hit Kate in the gut.

“Kate,” Ellis said, putting a hand on her arm, “you good?”

She nodded and entered her electronic signature. The message disappeared and a PDF filled the screen.

Kate scrolled down to the picture of patient 45Y. The Variant was coiled up on the floor of a brightly lit holding cell. He’d bitten a large chunk out of his own arm.

The next page revealed a female subject. The blurred picture showed a snapshot of the woman moving vertically along the concrete side of her holding pen. A second image provided an enhanced look at the Variant’s palms.

“See that!” Ellis said. He pointed at the microscopic bristles on the subject’s skin. He zoomed in and, each time he did, the bristles split into smaller and smaller tips. “If you look closely, the Variants have those all over their hands, legs and arms. These are setae, microscopic hairs or bristles. The same thing that allow geckos to walk up walls or spiders to move across vertical surfaces. They take advantage of the attractive interactions between individual molecules. Normally, those attractive forces are pretty weak, but if you have millions of these setae like the Variants over a surface area even as small as a quarter, you can support a human’s body weight.”

Kate nodded slowly as she read the results.

She continued to the next picture. A magnified image of the nail on the specimen’s index finger filled the screen. A tape measure showed the yellowed blade was four inches long. The sharp tip curled at the end, more like a talon than a nail. Patient 49Y confirmed the physiological traits were continuing to develop, resulting in a more efficient killing machine.

“We already know this stuff. Give me something I can work with,” Kate said, scrolling further through the document. She stopped on a section entitled Physical Senses.

“Here we go,” she whispered.

The next image was taken during the autopsy of patient 49Y. The subject’s nasal cavity was exposed and the olfactory nerve severed. Another picture revealed the dissected eye of the same subject. The vertical yellow pupil was enlarged and the dual membrane peeled back. Kate had never seen anything quite like it. She shivered inside her suit and continued reading.

“This explains their enhanced ability to hunt,” Cindy said.

“Their senses are heightened. So what?” Ellis said. “We still haven’t found a smoking gun that explains how the epigenetic changes work. Without that we won’t have any way to treat them.”

Ellis spoke like developing a treatment was possible. Kate wasn’t as optimistic. There might be a way to stop further changes if they could discover how they worked, but looking at these pictures proved the creatures were beyond saving.

Kate ignored her colleagues and continued scrolling through the report. The next image was of a middle-aged, dark-skinned Variant labeled Patient 14Y. Patches of skin and flesh hung loosely off the bone. A second picture, dated two days later, revealed soaked bandages covering his legs. Two days after that, the bandages had been removed. The final shot showed thick, wrinkled skin over the subject’s legs.

“This can’t be right,” Kate muttered. No one could heal that quickly. She moved on to the conclusion, reading it aloud to the others.

“Patient 14Y shows remarkable healing ability. Tests show concentrations of fibrocytes circulating the bloodstream, allowing rapid healing of dermal layers. Further tests reveal the subject displays improved vascular regeneration, allowing expedited growth of blood vessels to injured regions. This in turn restores physiologic nutrient and oxygen delivery as well as cell waste removal.”

“A true super soldier,” Kate said.

“Yup. I can’t wait to see this all in person,” Cindy replied.

Kate craned her helmet. “What did you say?”

Cindy raised a glove. “I already know how you’re going to respond, but the request has already been approved by Lieutenant Colonel Jensen. I just heard it this morning. Central Command has authorized all medical facilities to perform live testing on Variants.”

Kate lowered her head in dismay. She’d known this was coming, and this time she wasn’t going to fight it. The Variants weren’t contagious anymore and they needed a live specimen. But if they got out again…

A buzzing from the PA system interrupted her flashback to patient 12, the Variant that attacked her a week before. Jensen stood behind the observation glass, his finger jammed against the comm button. “Dr. Lovato, may I see you for a moment?”

“Sure, one moment,” Kate said. She glanced over at Ellis and Cindy. “I want a full synopsis of this document ASAP.”

“No problem,” Ellis said, taking her place at the monitor.

Kate went over the facts in her mind as she crossed the lab. The Variants had developed microscopic hairs and talons to help them move faster and more efficiently. They had increased physical senses. And they had the ability to heal more rapidly. Combine that with the overwhelming desire to find and devour fresh meat, and Colonel Gibson had created the perfect weapon. A creature with no regard for human life and little, if any, regard for their own.

Sighing, she strode to the glass where Jensen waited. She paused when she saw he wore a grave look, his lips pressed into a tight line below his mustache.

“Beckham?” she choked.

Jensen nodded and pressed the comm button. “I only know that he was injured in the evacuation of Fort Bragg.”

Kate suddenly felt trapped behind the glass wall. She breathed deeply, her suit tightening around her chest. “When?” She sucked in a gasp of air. “When will they be back?”

“Two hours, max,” Jensen replied. “I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry, Doctor, but my briefing starts in a few minutes.”

Kate reached toward the glass. “Wait!”

“My apologies, but I really need to go.” Jensen nodded stiffly and stepped away from the glass.

Kate drifted back to her lab station, unable to decide if she should sit or stand or fall to the floor in tears. She came up against the lab table, bracing her gloved hands on the metal.

“You okay?” Ellis asked.

Kate slumped in her chair, staring at the lab notes on her monitor. The screen blurred, the text replaced by a mental image of Beckham’s broken body. She let out a sharp sob. No amount of work could save her from her thoughts this time.

Lieutenant Colonel Jensen walked into the mess hall, wondering if he was doing the right thing. The room was overflowing. Soldiers and support staff sat at metal tables, speaking in low voices. Others huddled in small groups, waiting patiently. He didn’t see a single open seat.

He faltered briefly, uncertainty amplifying in his chest. Smith was right; Plum Island was already operating at a maximum capacity. Bringing in more survivors would put a burden on their resources.

Seeing the faces of those who had taken a pledge to their country gave him a great sense of pride. He wanted to lead them in a fair and just way. That meant providing the same opportunities to everyone on the island.

The crowd quieted as Jensen and Smith marched to the center of the room, but not as quickly as they had silenced for Colonel Gibson weeks before. That meant one of two things. Either they had feared his predecessor, or Jensen had some work to do to gain their trust. Maybe both, he thought, clearing his throat and checking the mic with a double tap of his finger.

“Good morning, everyone.” Jensen worked the group with a quick sweep of his eyes. He’d seen other men master the gaze; they usually ended up as generals. He still needed some practice. “As many of you already know, General Kennor and Central Command have been organizing a mission designed to take back our cities from the Variants. Operation Liberty.”

Jensen ran a finger over his mustache and continued. “Command has asked us to provide multiple strike teams to support a mechanized platoon of Marines in Manhattan. This is part of a bigger mission to take back New York. There are four other platoons that will operate in the other boroughs. Each will set up a forward operating base as the first phase of Operation Liberty in New York. All will be mechanized, and all will have air support.”

“Only one company in New York?” a slender Marine asked from the front row. Jensen glanced over at him. He wasn’t taking questions—this was a briefing, not a Q and A—but the man’s eyes begged for reassurance.

“Truth is, we’re still trying to clean up the mess that was Operation Reaper. We lost a lot of men and equipment in the first few days of the outbreak. Most of what’s left comes from our navy vessels that returned from hotspots around the world. Every city west of the Mississippi is getting far less support than we are. Trust me. A company is a goddamn army in terms of the assets we have left.”

The Marine nodded.

“Your COs will meet with those of you selected for the mission after this briefing. But before they do so, I want to inform you of another development.”

Jensen sucked in a short breath through his nostrils, unsure of how the info would be received. He reminded himself that leadership required guts.

“Thirty hours ago, I authorized a mission to Fort Bragg. Two Delta Force Operators were inserted to look for survivors there. They found approximately fifty, including a small team of other Delta Force Operators and Army Rangers. As expected, the post had been overrun by Variants. I’m proud to report that we were able to evacuate all of the survivors, and they are currently en route to Plum Island via three Black Hawks.”

There were a few immediate protests. Support staff from the looks of it. Non-military. Jensen raised a hand. “Please!” he shouted. “Let me finish.”

Major Smith took a step toward the crowd.

Lowering his hand, Jensen said, “The moment I took command of this post, I promised to keep you all informed of the situation outside. I lifted the communication cloak so you could attempt to reach your families. But the hard truth is most of our families are gone. The man or woman next to you is your family now. We are all in this together and must remain vigilant. With that said, I hope you will all welcome the survivors from Fort Bragg with open arms. They will become a valuable part of our extended family.”

He waited for the crowd to transform into a mob like he’d seen days earlier. To his surprise the room remained still. A beat passed and then another before an unfamiliar noise finally broke the silence. In the back of the room a Marine stood, his hands coming together as he clapped. Jensen nodded at the man with gratitude. The man clapped louder and the entire table of Marines stood and joined in. Before Jensen could respond, the mess hall erupted with applause.

Jensen scanned each face, one by one, from the line cook with a filthy apron to the navy pilots in uniform. The men and women of Plum Island had pulled together, something he hadn’t been sure he would ever see after the truth about Colonel Gibson had emerged.

He glanced over at Smith, who smiled and joined in with the applause.

Maybe I’m getting closer to mastering that gaze after all, Jensen thought.