Extinction Edge

-18-

The emergency alarm system at Plum Island wailed so loud that Kate had to clap her hands over her ears. It had started seconds after a massive explosion shook the entire facility. She had still been in the conference room, polishing up the report for Cindy and Ellis to look through in the morning, when the first detonation had rocked the post.

The alarm took her back to the evacuation of the CDC headquarters in Atlanta. Plum Island no longer felt like the safe maximum-security facility Colonel Gibson had claimed it to be. Then again, she’d never really believed his bullshit.

The pop of gunfire snapped Kate into motion. She rushed into the hallway. Frightened and confused scientists poked their heads out of their rooms, their features accented by the red glow of emergency lights.

A technician from Chamber 3 stood in the middle of the hall. He grabbed Kate as she passed. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know!” Kate yelled. She pushed past a woman from toxicology and swung the door open to her room. Tasha and Jenny were curled up in the corner.

“What’s that sound?” Tasha cried.

She grabbed them by the hands and then led them back into the corridor. She had no idea where she would take them or what was happening. But they couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. They needed to find soldiers.

The distant crack of automatic gunfire deep in the base made her pause. The noise was getting louder and more rapid. A battle was raging outside.

Kate never considered it before, but what if a hostile force found their safe little island? Not of Variants, but of other survivors. The facility had food, water, and medicine—things people would kill for at the end of the world. The thought terrified her almost as much as the thought of Variants.

A familiar voice emerged from the screams of scared scientists. “Kate!”

Ellis was waiting for her at the end of the hallway. He beckoned to her urgently. “This way!”

Another distant explosion reverberated through the post. Panicked scientists and other civilians cried out, some slamming the doors to their rooms while others crowded the hallway in a wild frenzy. Kate pulled the girls through the mass.

“What’s happening?” she yelled when they reached Ellis.

“Follow me!”

He pushed the door open to the lobby, and they piled out onto the tile floor with a few other people from the hallway. Four soldiers waited near the front doors, their weapons aimed at the glass. Intermittent red light flickered over their stoic stances.

Outside, orange flames licked the night sky. They rose and fell from what looked like the skeleton of a large helicopter. Darkened shapes rushed away from the wreckage.

She gasped when she saw one of them was on fire. “Oh my God,” Kate whispered. The figures continued forward, leaving the burning one behind.

Flashes from machine guns illuminated the armored fatigues of Marines on the edge of the tarmac.

“Variants,” Ellis whispered.

“Hold the line!” one of the Marines guarding the door shouted into his headset.

Tasha let out a whimper, and the man twisted his helmet in their direction. “Get back! Return to your rooms!”

Kate retreated a few steps, but Ellis stood his ground. His eyes were glued to the chaos.

Gunfire lit up the runway. Several of the creatures racing away from the chopper dropped to the ground. But more shapes appeared, charging at the Marines.

The flashes from the rifles vanished one by one, like candles blown out by a strong breath. The Variants overwhelmed the line of Marines and then pushed on into the darkness.

“Move!” shouted the Marine at the front door. He waved his team back to the atrium’s central desk. They shoved a computer monitor and stacks of paper onto the floor and set up their machine guns.

He turned to Kate. “I said get the fuck out of here!”

Kate glanced down at Tasha and Jenny. “Remember that game you wanted to play earlier?”

“Hide and go seek?”

“Yes,” Kate whispered. “We’re going to hide.”

Fitz scoped the runway. He’d taken out three of the Variants himself and the Marines dropped another three before they were overrun. That left another dozen—and they were on their way toward the civilian buildings. He had to stop the monsters before they reached Building 1.

“Why the fuck would they bring so many to the island?” Fitz muttered. It seemed stupid, but he figured the scientists had their reasons. Throwing the strap of the rifle over his shoulder, he grabbed the railing and climbed to the ground. Gunfire cracked in the distance. The reassuring sound told him there were still Marines left in the fight.

Fitz followed the trail back to the base, running as fast as he could on his metal blades. They clicked on the concrete as he moved, filling him with an odd satisfaction. Years ago, when he’d arrived at Walter Reed Medical Facility, he never thought he would walk again. A couple months later he wasn’t just walking, he was running.

Darkness shrouded him as he made his way across the island. He clung to the shadows and flipped his NVG into place, probing the green-hued path for contacts. The street twisted around the north edge of the tarmac. He slowed to a trot as the glistening pools of blood around the Marines came into focus. He could feel the heat of the fire raging behind him, small explosions still rocking the downed Chinook.

Fitz didn’t stop to check the bodies. He knew they were all dead. The Variants never left injured behind. They would be back, though, after they’d killed everyone on the base. They would return to feed and drag the bodies away. He couldn’t do anything for the dead Marines, but he could still save Kate and Horn’s girls. Fitz spat on the concrete and ran faster.

“Wait up!”

The guard from Tower 3 was jogging behind him. The man was heavyset and panted loudly as he ran. Fitz had met him just hours before but couldn’t remember his name.

“Hurry up, man,” Fitz shouted.

“Where are you going?”

“Building 1. That’s where those things were headed.”

“Shit. No way those things get in.”

Fitz shot the man a look as he ran. “Have you seen the way they move? They’re not exactly easy to bring down either.”

The Medical Corps guard wheezed. “No.”

“Better prepare yourself,” Fitz said.

The other man changed the subject. “What’s your name?”

“Fitz.”

“Cole.”

Fitz filed it away, focusing on the night around them as they moved across the base.

A few minutes later, they arrived outside Building 1. One of the creatures lay in a twisted heap on the concrete steps, clutching a bullet wound on its neck. Blood gurgled from its grotesque sucker mouth. The injured Variant swiped at them with its other hand.

Cole aimed his carbine at the monster’s face, but Fitz pushed the muzzle away.

“No,” he said. “We don’t want to draw attention.” Fitz pulled his knife and jammed it into the creature’s skull with a crunch. Without hesitation, Fitz continued on. Cole followed him up the steps into the building. The glass doors were blown out. The body of another dead Marine lay slumped over the front desk, a pistol hanging loosely from a gloved hand. The lights were dim but still working.

“Clear,” Fitz said, inching the door open with the barrel of his rifle. Inside, he swung the weapon over his shoulder and pulled out his pistol.

Together the two men covered the space, following a trail of blood leading to a dark intersection. The hallway to the left led to the conference rooms and labs; the one to the right led to the personnel quarters. That’s where Kate and the girls would be.

“Why the hell would someone turn off the lights?” Cole asked.

“Who knows,” Fitz said. “Keep moving.”

A flashing red light flickered in the open doorway, illuminating the space with a ghostly glow like a gateway to hell. “Keep quiet,” he said, flipping on his night vision and pushing open the door.

They crept forward into the hallway, the sound of his metal blades clanking on the floor. Fitz cringed with every step. He policed the space with his pistol, swinging it up and down, checking the ceiling and shadowy corners for the creatures. Instead he found dead scientists, their bodies battered and torn. Blood speckled the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. Fitz gagged when he smelled the sour scent of rotting fruit. It was the awful perfume of the Variants.

The monsters were close.

Smooth and slow, he led his overweight comrade through the carnage, clearing each room. By the time they got to the end of the hall, his heart had climbed into his throat. He felt every beat, the pulse throbbing inside his skull.

Fitz slipped into the final room with his pistol firm in his hands. The green optics revealed a small twin bed, desk, and closet.

Empty.

Exhaling, he lowered his weapon. Then he heard a crunching noise. Cole bumped into him, startled.

“What the hell was that?” the man asked.

Raising a finger to his lips, Fitz moved back into the hallway. He cautiously approached the door leading to the next hallway.

A clacking sound followed, and then a deep crunch like the snap of a bone. The noises came from the other side of the door. There was a clicking and then another crunch from the passage beyond. Fitz and Cole both took a step back, exchanging glances.

“On three,” Fitz said, reaching for the handle and raising his pistol.

Cole’s eyes hardened and he shook his head. “No, man, let’s just stay here.”

“You can stay, but I’m going in,” Fitz replied. He’d made a promise to Beckham and he wasn’t going to break it, no matter how terrified he was. Fitz was a Marine, and Marines didn’t run from a fight.

“One.

“Two.”

Cole backed away and shouldered his rifle.

“Three.” Fitz yanked the door open and trained his pistol on a Variant. The creature’s face was buried in the exposed stomach of a female scientist. Bodies clogged the hallway. He hesitated before pulling the trigger, hoping that he wasn’t too late, hoping the woman wasn’t Kate.

Night had fallen on New York City. Shrouded in complete darkness, the convoy rolled to a stop at the intersection of the Avenue of the Americas. The door to the command Humvee opened, and Lieutenant Gates stepped into the ash. He staggered away from the vehicle like he was drunk.

With his NVGs active, Beckham could see why 50^th Street was impassable. The GE building and Rockefeller Center were reduced to stubs of metal and rebar. Stone, brick, and other debris formed a mountain that ended at the edge of the intersection. Remains of a Radio City sign protruded from the rubble.

The view was horrifying and breathtaking at the same time. This was where Gates said the convoy would experience the most resistance, but as Beckham scanned the area, he didn’t see how anything, even the Variants, could have survived the blasts.

Then a voice cried out, “Contact!”

A pair of Marines rushed over to the debris and aimed their weapons at the pile of destruction.

“Hold position,” Gates yelled. Sergeant Valdez and the lieutenant approached carefully. Beckham hustled over to the Marines. The crushed body of a Variant jutted out of the wreckage. The skin on its torso was burnt away, exposing glistening muscles and fat. By some miracle it was still alive, twisting and lurching as it struggled to get free.

“Jesus,” Valdez muttered. “Probably should put this one out of his misery before he alerts his friends.”

“They already know we’re here,” Beckham replied. The creature reached up with mutated hands. The nails curled into sharp tips. They had to be four or five inches long. The creature pressed its swollen lips together with a pop. It tried to let a scream fly, but only a faint gurgle escaped its mouth.

“Thing’s not going to alert anyone,” Gates said. He looked to the right. “Keep moving. We’re almost to our final objective. I want to get this FOB set up ASAP.”

Valdez nodded and whistled to the vehicle commanders. Then he flashed an advance signal. The men pulled the spotlights away from the crumbled buildings, and their bright white beams cut through the night.

Beckham remained at the wreckage, wondering what the Variants were waiting for. They had the advantage of darkness. His gut told him something was wrong, that the Variants were planning something.

The longer he waited for the convoy to start rolling, the more the sixth sense intensified. He suddenly thought of Kate, Riley, and Horn’s girls. Had something happened on Plum Island? He gave his helmet a strong pat, quashing the concerns before they had a chance to take hold. From the moment he boarded the Black Hawk, he had promised himself he wouldn’t think of Kate.

The beam from a spotlight caught him in the face. He flipped up his NVGs and shielded his eyes with a hand, squinting through his fingers.

“Let’s roll,” Valdez shouted from inside the turret of a Humvee. He gripped the .50 cal and trained it on the street. “Keep sharp!”

Black Reaper and Steam Beast screamed, their tracks reversing and then turning to the south. The Humvees drove after them.

“Six more blocks to go,” Beckham muttered. Team Ghost fell into line and followed the platoon down the Avenue of the Americas. The street was twice the size of 50^th and considerably less clogged. The Bradleys weaved around the derelict vehicles and plowed the others out of the way.

Beckham kept close to Horn. The last thing he wanted was to lose his brother in the chaos of the attack they all knew was coming. They walked in silence, glass crunching under the layer of ash and dust covering the sidewalk.

“How do you think the other platoons are doing?” Horn asked.

Beckham replied with a shrug. “Hopefully better than us.” He hadn’t heard a single gunshot or explosion for five hours.

He strained to hear something besides the scraping of metal. He would have given anything to hear a gunshot from one of the other platoons, evidence that there were still Marines out there fighting.

Horn stepped off the curb and glanced up at the skyscrapers. “Where the hell do you think all the other survivors are? Rex couldn’t be the only one.”

“Maybe there aren’t any,” said a voice behind them. It was Chow. Jinx followed him through the ash, leaving a trail of footprints behind like they were walking through snow. There wasn’t much to say after that.

Fifteen minutes passed and the armored vehicles were pushing through the second intersection with 48^th Street. Up ahead, the dark mouth of a subway entrance yawned. Beckham waited for the Variants, but none came. He lowered his weapon to give his arms a break and checked the Gap store on his right. He saw the scorched body of a headless female manikin. Her clothes were burned away. The other five models were all twisted from the heat of the firebombs. But there was one that looked unscathed behind the others, one with a head. Beckham’s hands found his weapon, and he narrowed his focus on the figure.

It moved.

His heart rate rose along with the muzzle of his MP5, but the creature disappeared before Beckham could pull the trigger.

“Contacts!” another Marine yelled somewhere across the street.

Beckham backed away from the store and joined Horn.

“I don’t see shit,” Chow said from a few feet away. “Anyone got eyes?”

Jinx took a knee and angled his rifle toward the subway station. “There!” he yelled.

Suddenly, the street was alive with motion. The Variants streamed out of the subway entrance, climbing over one another and leaping toward the convoy. The grotesque snapping of their movements enraged Beckham. He was ready to fight. To kill.

Marines ran for cover behind the vehicles. But for one man it was too late. Two Variants tackled the Marine and pulled him, screaming, into the thick of the growing horde.

Valdez swung his turret into position and opened fire with his .50 cal. The bullets punched through the swarm, splattering the street with blood.

Beckham kept the Gap store in his peripheral as he fired. The flood of monsters continued from the depths of the subway station. He changed magazines as the Bradleys both maneuvered their turrets into position. Fire from their M242 chain guns erupted simultaneously. The wave of Variants disappeared in a cloud of crimson as the 25mm rounds found targets.

Beckham held his palm facing out and then swiped it up and down in front of his face, yelling, “Cease fire!” He wanted his team to conserve ammo since it was obvious the Bradleys had the fight under control.

Soon, the layer of ash lining the street was soaked with blood and covered in body parts. A Marine to the side of the convoy fired a LAW rocket at the subway station as more of the creatures continued to pile out. The missile streaked across the road and detonated with a deafening explosion. A fireball rose from the stairway as the walls caved in on top of the horde and sealed the passage. Chunks of gore and cement flew out of the blast. Pieces bounced off the ground and rolled to a stop in the scarlet ash.

“Cease fire!” Valdez shouted. “Check the man next to you. See if anyone’s missing.”

Heavy silence followed.

“They got McDonnell,” a Marine finally shouted.

“Anyone else?”

Somewhere down the street, a dying Variant let out a screech. A single shot ended its suffering.

Beckham checked his own team. Five helmets. Then he looked for the other strike teams. It looked like they were all there.

He breathed a sigh of relief and mentally counted their remaining numbers. With ten Marines missing and three confirmed KIA, 1^st Platoon had forty-seven men left to fight. Not many to face an army numbering in the millions. Team Ghost wasn’t new to shitty odds; the enemy always seemed to outnumber them. But this took it to an entirely new level.