Extinction Edge

-15-

Kate trembled with anger.

“What do you mean you can’t get a message through?” she asked.

“Doctor, I assure you, Command is fully aware of the Variant threat in Manhattan. 1^st Platoon is well equipped to deal with it, too,” Major Smith said from behind the glass.

“Bullshit,” Kate replied. “The Variants have gone underground. There are hundreds of thousands if not more of them beneath the city!”

Ellis put a hand on Kate’s shoulder, but she pulled away.

“Major, all you have to do is get on the phone and inform Central Command. Tell them I told you. Tell them the Variants are sensitive to UV rays. They’ve developed night vision, or something close to it, and I can guarantee you that they’ve gone underground. New York is riddled with sewers, storm drains, and utility tunnels, not to mention the subways. It’s a trap.”

“You are one hundred percent certain of this?” Smith asked.

“Yes!” Kate said, her voice just shy of a shout.

Smith nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can already tell you General Kennor is plowing full steam ahead.”

Kate sucked in a breath and said, “There are a lot of lives at stake. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

The major paused at that, but then continued walking.

Kate felt a hand on her shoulder again.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” Ellis said.

She exhaled and strode over to Cindy’s station. “Talk to me,” she said, filing the conversation with Smith and her concerns about Beckham and the others away.

Cindy avoided eye contact, her hand tapping nervously on the desk. “We just received new test results from Central. They sent us a video from a lab in Colorado.”

“Did they find the same thing as us?” Kate asked.

Cindy nodded. “The creatures are evolving at an incredible rate. But so far the other teams haven’t found any weakness besides the sensitivity to light.”

Kate gritted her teeth. When the video feed came up on the screen, she saw Cindy was right. The creatures had transformed even further. These new specimens hardly looked human.

The video feed showed a female subject that resembled a shell of her former self. Wisps of thin blonde hair hung off her pale scalp. Veins bulged from her nearly translucent flesh. And her face had gone through a grotesque alteration, her lips fully developed into what could only be called a sucker. If it weren’t for the specimen’s breasts, Kate wouldn’t have known the patient was female.

Ellis broke the silence as the team stared at the monitors. “Technicians here are reporting the same thing with our two subjects.”

Kate sucked in a cold breath of filtered air.

“All of the specimens are expressing traits of species that make them excellent predators,” Cindy added.

“The flexible limbs and joints, the microscopic setae on the skin, the nails, the increased cones and rods in the eyes and the regeneration of cochlear hair cells in the ear,” said Ellis enthusiastically. “Think about how far back those genes could go. We’re talking primordial ooze here. I remember reading about an extinct mammal that—”

“I know, you’ve already told us this,” Kate said. “But unless you can tell me exactly which genes of the twenty thousand plus that make up our genetic code, then I’m not interested.”

Ellis’s cheeks flared red behind his visor and he turned back to his monitor. “Well, I may not be able to tell you exactly which genes, but looks like the first toxicology results finally came through for the blood samples we sent them yesterday. Give me a second to read these.”

Kate raised a brow and joined him at his station. A chill ran through her entire body. She was freezing, terrified, and tense. She desperately wished she could rub her eyes, but her chilly spacesuit made that impossible. She settled for a wrinkle of her nose and a couple rapid blinks.

“Interesting,” Ellis said after a few minutes. “Toxicology found several vital pieces of information. First off, the nanostructures of VX-99 are virtually gone in our new batch of Variants. Seems like Dr. Medford may have created his untraceable bioweapon after all.”

Kate didn’t want to think about Medford or Gibson. “Keep going.”

With a nod, Ellis continued. “Second—and this is fascinating—histology reports show the Variants seem to have lost the taste receptors for sweetness. They are no longer expressing the amino acids responsible. But like cats, they seem to have developed taste receptors for adenosine triphosphate, a molecule responsible for energy found in all living cells.”

“So that explains their desire for flesh,” Cindy said. “They’ve been reprogrammed as carnivores.”

“Yup,” Ellis replied. “Plus, endocrine cell signaling is causing an increase in the stem cell population within dermal and bone marrow tissues.”

Kate squinted. “So we can explain their healing ability and their affinity for the protein in meat.”

“Correct,” Ellis replied.

“So what?” Kate asked, irritated.

“Think about it, Kate,” Ellis said. There was a note of almost manic enthusiasm in his voice. He pulled up a stool next to her. “These changes are occurring at a cellular level and are happening very quickly. The Variants aren’t just evolving; they’re adapting. All of the epigenetic changes we have seen are just part of the overall picture.”

Kate nodded, once, then twice, then more rapidly. Ellis was right. The changes they were seeing were the result of something they couldn’t see with their naked eye.

“Can’t we find a way to turn those genes off?” Cindy asked. “I mean, wouldn’t—”

Ellis cut in. “I’ve thought of that. Which is one reason I’m so interested in which genes the VX-99 nanostructures activated,” he said, glancing at Kate with a raised brow. “Epigenetic changes have been reversed before, but we’re talking about single cell cultures and turning off one easily identified gene. But changes at this scale and magnitude?”

Pausing, Ellis shook his head. “I’m not even sure if that’s possible. It’s simply beyond the realm of modern medicine. It would be like trying to devolve a human back into an ape.”

“I’ve said it before. There’s no bringing these things back,” said Kate. “The Variants have evolved into an entirely new species. We have to focus on killing them, not treating them.”

“Contact!”

Beckham waited for gunfire that never came. The convoy rolled to a stop. Sandy-brown armor protruded out of the haze like some sort of prehistoric creature.

A large man in a CBR suit emerged from the wall of gray haze. He walked past the armored vehicles and then stopped in front of the Humvees. Marines surrounded him with shouldered rifles.

Beckham balled his hand into a fist, and his men halted.

The man stumbled away from the vehicles with Sergeant Valdez shadowing him. “Stop where you are!”

Whoever it was, he kept walking aimlessly down the street like he hadn’t even heard the sergeant.

“What the fuck is wrong with this guy?” Horn asked.

“I have no idea,” Beckham replied. He gripped his submachine gun.

“Stop or we open fire!”

Beckham’s earpiece flared to life. “Strike teams, don’t let this guy escape. Proceed with caution.”

With his muzzle angled at the concrete, Beckham approached the man. They were only about twenty yards apart now. “Sir, we aren’t going to hurt you. Please, stop, and put your hands above your head.”

The man continued walking, unfazed by the small army surrounding him.

“We’re here to help you,” Beckham said, letting his MP5 hang from his chest. He raised a hand. “Please, Sir, we are here to help.”

The man suddenly froze. He tilted his filthy, bloodstained visor and stared at Beckham. Then he wiped a sleeve across the pane of his helmet, revealing a freckled face. He stared back, unblinking.

“What’s your name?” Beckham asked.

The man flinched and said, “You can’t help me.” He turned and scanned the Marines surrounding him. “None of you can help me!”

That was good, Beckham thought. At least he had the guy talking now. “Calm down, man,” Beckham said. “What’s your name?”

His hands trembling, he looked at Beckham and said, “Rex.”

“You a doctor?”

The man looked down at his suit as if he didn’t realize he was wearing it. “No, I was a firefighter before…” He paused, his gaze shifting to the skyline and focusing on a cloud.

“Are you by yourself? Where is everyone else?”

The man let out a nervous chuckle. “Meg thought we could get out of the city. So did Jed. They thought we could run…”

“Rex, tell me where they are,” Beckham said. “The other survivors.”

“Jed’s dead,” Rex said. Then he pointed straight down at the pavement. “And Meg’s down there with everyone else that tried to escape.”

Seven hours into Operation Liberty and 1^st Platoon was finally closing in on their first objective. The convoy crawled through the haze at a turtle’s pace, the silhouettes of Marines followed the armored beasts like ghosts. Dust and ash rained down from the sky, mixing with a light drizzle. Everything was covered with a layer of gray. Tree branches sagged under the weight of the soot.

Rushing wind hit Beckham when he stepped into the intersection of Broadway and West 50^th. He stood there in the slush of ash and dirt, his helmet slowly twisting as he took in the view. No matter how many times he told himself this was no longer New York City, he still stared in awe.

The billboard of a play that would never be seen again hung at an angle from the building next to an Applebee’s restaurant. Up ahead, 50^th Street was choked with charred vehicles and burned, mangled corpses. The contents of food vendor carts littered the concrete. Every window in sight was shattered. The Air Force had used firebombs designed to scorch everything in their path. He tried to picture what it must have been like hours earlier when the jets swooped in. The incendiary bombs would have detonated at street level before spreading to the surrounding buildings, blowing out every window and burning every square inch. The military had used the same strategy during Operation Reaper in an attempt to stop the spread of the infection.

It hadn’t worked then, and Beckham was starting to wonder if it had worked now. The lone survivor they’d picked up could tell them more—if he was talking. The man was in the troop hold of one of the Bradleys, a medic tending to him. He hadn’t said a word since they put him inside. Maybe the man was crazy, or maybe there were survivors underground. Either way, 1^st Platoon’s main objective was to clear the area of Variants and set up a base, not explore the subways and sewers.

Beckham flinched as a strong hand patted him on the shoulder. Horn walked past, his M27 angled at the dark entrance to an underground parking ramp a few feet away.

“You good, Boss?”

“Yeah, Big Horn. I’m good.”

They walked side by side toward the target zone. Beckham kept his team on the rear guard, hugging the walls of nearby buildings and keeping an eye on the broken windows above. Jensen’s strike team and the other teams from Plum Island had the same idea. They kept to the side of the road rather than walking through the middle of the street like most of 1^st Platoon. There wasn’t any danger of being caught out in the open, but Beckham still liked the comfort of a solid wall at his back.

The convoy slowed a block away from the Avenue of the Americas. Beckham scoped the skyline with his MP5. A hole in the darkening sky spilled rays of light over the city. He still wasn’t sure why, but the Variants seemed to avoid the sunlight. Maybe it was their pale skin, or some of those epigenetic changes that Kate hadn’t explained. He didn’t really give a shit either way. As long as they weren’t setting up an ambush, they could hide all they wanted.

The vehicles crunched to a stop in the middle of the intersection at 7^th Avenue. Lieutenant Gates jumped out of his Humvee and joined Sergeant Valdez on the back of a Bradley. The lieutenant used a pair of binoculars to scope the street as he spoke with the vehicle commander in the hatch.

Horn stopped next to Beckham. “What’s going on?”

“Not sure. I’ll check it out,” Beckham replied. A couple of eloquent illustrations caught Beckham’s eye as he jogged ahead. The armor on the left had the name Black Reaper painted in red on the vehicle’s sandy-brown hull. The Bradley on the right had an image of a snorting buffalo tattooed on the armor and above that the words Steam Beast. These Marines had some impressive artistic skills.

Several of the men watched him curiously as he passed, their visors gravitating to his MP5. Their nods told him they were happy to have Team Ghost along on this operation.

Gates was already climbing off the track when Beckham arrived.

“Problem, Lieutenant?” Beckham asked.

Before he could answer, Sergeant Valdez jumped onto the concrete. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem,” He raised a muscular arm and pointed over Steam Beast at the intersection with 7^th Avenue. “We got a clogged artery ahead that would make a heart surgeon shit a brick.”

“Lots of dead Marines up there,” Gates said. “Looks like some of the vehicles from Operation Reaper.”

Beckham stood on his toes and caught a glimpse of a fuel tanker turned on its side. By some miracle it hadn’t exploded. The entire street had been spared from the firebombs.

“Any way around?” Beckham asked.

Gates shook his head. “We could go back the way we came, but satellite imagery showed the other streets were worse.”

“Someone at Command really fucked this up good,” Valdez snapped. “How they miss a tanker must be beyond my pay grade.”

Beckham ignored the sergeant and climbed onto the back of the track. Valdez was right; the road ahead was a clusterfuck of abandoned military vehicles and a ton of bodies. Marines sprawled out across the sidewalks, draped over the hoods of Humvees. Some were hanging from turrets. All had been torn to shreds by the Variants.

The track commander regarded Beckham from the hatch. “Never seen nothin’ like this,” he said.

Beckham swung his MP5 to eye level and scoped the road. The tanker lay at a forty-five-degree angle across the street and left sidewalk. There was a short gap on the right side. It would be close, but maybe they could get around. He swept the gun downward and checked for any sign of oil. He saw something dark on the ground, but it wasn’t gasoline—it was blood from the fallen Marines.

“Lieutenant,” Beckham said. “Can you come up here for a second, sir.”

The officer climbed onto the rear of the track and joined Beckham near the hatch. “Take a look, sir. One o’clock.” He let his weapon fall against his chest and pointed toward the curb.

Gates nodded and turned to the vehicle commander. “Think you can push those Humvees to the side and then sneak around the tanker?”

The man shook his head and then let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, sir. We’d have to go in single file. And if we clip the truck…” He used both hands to mimic an explosion.

Gates shifted his gaze from Beckham to Valdez like he was looking for reassurance. Well, I’ll be damned, Beckham thought. The puking Marine who had died a few blocks back wasn’t the only greenhorn in the platoon. Gates’s inability to make this simple decision told Beckham that this was his first mission at the helm.

“Get the platoon into a line. Have every Marine buddy up. We start with Steam Beast,” Beckham said, patting the track with a glove.

He searched the vehicle commander’s eyes. There was terror there. Despair. The man fidgeted with his helmet and gas mask before nodding.

“What’s your name?” Beckham asked, pretending like he hadn’t already glanced at the man’s tag.

“Matthews,” the commander replied. Even with the breathing apparatus, he sounded terribly young. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two.

“Matthews,” Beckham said, “a lot of Marines are counting on you today, and I know you’re scared. Shit, I’m scared too, and this is my fourth time in the field since the outbreak. But I’ve seen your maneuvers. I’ve been watching. You were born to command this track.”

Matthews cracked a half smile and nodded twice. They were confident nods. Beckham’s work was done.

“You got this,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder. He turned and followed Gates. Valdez was waiting on the concrete, his right hand massaging the scar on his cheek.

“Get the men in line,” Gates said. “Have them buddy up. Matthews is going to clear us a path. Then we send the rest of the convoy around the tanker in single file.”

Valdez tilted his visor toward Beckham and winked. The gesture took him off guard, but it told him that the sergeant’s stereotypical behavior earlier wasn’t just an act. The man was probably the most experienced Marine out here. And that experience was exactly what 1^st Platoon needed.

Beckham cracked a half smile when he saw Team Ghost waiting for him at the end of the street. They reminded him that maybe 1^st Platoon had a chance after all. Glancing up, he saw his theory was about to be tested. An armada of storm clouds was rolling into the city, and in minutes they would carpet Manhattan with shadows.

Kate’s brain felt like it had melted inside her head. The only neurons firing were the ones that pulled her back to the night she’d spent with Beckham. She tried to remember what they’d learned about the Variants, replaying her conversations with Cindy and Ellis. The Variants were evolving. Check. The Variants were a new species. Check.

The list of their strengths was extensive. But there seemed to be only a few weaknesses. Their sensitivity to light wasn’t even really a weakness. The sun didn’t kill the creatures; they just really didn’t like it. They weren’t vampires. After wrapping a four-hour session in the lab, Kate was relieved to spend some time away from science. She picked up Tasha and Jenny from Leila and swung by the medical ward to pick up Riley. He was waiting in the hallway, doing wheelies in his chair.

“Hey, we’re going to be late,” he said when he saw Kate. “I think we told Fitz 1800.”

“Yeah, it’s only…” Kate glanced at her watch. It was already after six. “Crap.”

They hurried to the mess hall and found Fitz waiting with his back against a wall. He smiled when he saw them.

“Sorry we’re late,” Kate said. “Lost track of time.”

Fitz shrugged. “Not like I have any place to be. Not yet anyway. Still no orders.”

Kate felt a tug on her sleeve. Jenny was looking up, her eyes dull and sad. “Is my daddy coming back soon?”

When Kate didn’t reply, Riley jumped in. “He’s going to be back soon, honey. Reed and him are just out on a training mission.”

“Okay,” Jenny whispered.

“I’m hungry,” Tasha chimed in.

“Well, let’s get some food,” Kate said, leading the girls toward the end of the line. The survivors from Fort Bragg had added a significant chunk to the island’s growing population. The sight of other children was reassuring. It reassured Kate that humanity still had hope, a fighting chance. But she missed her own family. Grabbing two trays, Kate moved up to the counter with Tasha and Jenny.

“What do you girls want to eat? Anything you want,” Kate said.

A middle-aged cook wearing a backwards New York Yankees hat flashed her an incredulous look. “Sorry, Doc, but tonight we’re only serving soup.”

Kate examined the empty buffet. She was so lost in her own thoughts she’d failed to see the single serving bowl of soup the man was handing each person. No wonder the line was moving faster than normal.

“Soup it is,” she said, forcing a smile. She carefully passed bowls to Tasha and Jenny. Kate refused the third bowl. “I’m not hungry. Better save it for the others.”

“Suit yourself,” the man replied, handing the bowl to Fitz.

“You should eat, Kate,” Riley said. He cradled a bowl of soup on his lap as he wheeled forward.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied.

They found an empty table, and Riley maneuvered his wheelchair under the opening at the end. Tasha and Jenny sat next to Kate, grabbing their spoons and attacking their soup like they hadn’t eaten in days.

Most of the soldiers and support staff around them ate in silence. Small talk seemed unimportant. With resources dwindling, conversations had shifted from lost loved ones to concerns about food and resources. Kate found herself staring at Tasha and Jenny as they lapped up the broth in front of them. Their mother’s death and the horrors they witnessed at Fort Bragg would be with them the rest of their lives.

Sighing, Kate broke the silence. “You said you didn’t get assigned a post. Is that right, Fitz?”

He nodded. “Not yet. Apparently things are backed up at the administration building with all of the new refugees.”

Riley glanced up from his bowl. “Did you tell them you’re a bull’s-eye waiting to happen?”

Fitz grinned. “Yeah, I mentioned it.”

“I bet you could outshoot most of the turds on this island.”

“Not my daddy,” Tasha said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

“He’d give me a run for my money,” Fitz said.

“What’s that mean?” Jenny asked.

Both men chuckled, prompting several looks from the adjacent tables. Laughter was rare these days.