Extinction Edge

-20-

The ticking of a wall clock was a grim reminder that they were running out of time. The last of the gunshots had faded away minutes before. Now there was only silence and the tick-tock of their fate.

Kate jumped as a hollow pounding filled the air. Then a shriek of strained metal echoed through the building. The creatures breached the first barricade before she had a chance to move. The doors gave way to the crunch of metal, sending Tasha and Jenny running for the nurses’ station.

Kate hurried after them. Bringing a finger to her mouth, she said, “Shh.”

Tasha looked up, her eyes filling with tears. She whispered in Jenny’s ear and then pulled her legs to her chest and buried her head.

“Where are they?” Ellis muttered. He stood behind the desk, his hair a disheveled mess. Kate peeked over the station and checked the door. Rod stood a few feet away, the gun shaking in his wobbly hands. The red from the emergency lights flashed, splashing him with bloody light.

A distant screech of metal rang out in the distance once more.

Rod looked toward the ceiling. “Where’s it coming from?”

For several minutes no one said a word or moved. The banging reverberated as the creatures tore through the building. Kate clung desperately to any shred of sanity she had left, knowing it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

Time crept by. The noises waned and then intensified, making it impossible to determine where they were coming from.

And then they stopped as if someone had muted the monsters. Kate slowly stood, her eyes roving back and forth. Had the Variants moved on?

Afraid to breathe, Kate crouched next to Tasha and Jenny. Glazed, swollen eyes stared back at her. Both girls were in shock. She corralled them to her chest, wishing she could do more to protect them.

Rod finally lowered the pistol to his side. In a low whisper he said, “Maybe they’re gone.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Riley said. He laid his gun in his lap and wheeled himself toward the desk. His features darkened, his jaw clenched. The fun-loving kid had vanished, replaced by a hardened Delta Force Operator.

He crinkled his nose and locked eyes with Kate. In a stern voice he said, “When those things come, you and the girls run.”

There was strength there. The same strength she saw in Beckham.

“You got it, Doc?”

“Y-yes,” Kate stuttered. She jumped as something rattled nearby. Riley scrambled for his pistol and aimed it at the ceiling. Rod hurried over and pointed his gun at the panels.

Kate’s heart raced at every noise. The clanging grew louder.

“They’re right above us,” Riley said. “Shit. They figured a way past the barricades. Up there.”

He brought a finger to his lips with his other hand, and Kate turned to the girls to mimic his gesture. The thumping continued as the creature scuffled through the ductwork. The team followed the sounds as they passed overhead. The Variant was working its way to the back of the medical ward.

Riley jerked his chin toward the doors. “Now’s our chance. We need to get out of here.”

Rod protested with a violent shake of his head. “What if there are more out there?”

Ellis ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time. “I’m with Riley. We need to get out of here.”

The pounding from the ductwork stopped. An animalistic snuffling sound followed, like a dog trying to get a scent.

Kate froze, her eyes inching back down the hallway. Dr. Holder poked his head out of his hiding spot. He lipped something Kate couldn’t make out. She shook her head and put a finger to her mouth.

A screech broke out above them, and then a desperate clawing as the creature struggled through the ductwork.

Ellis dropped to both knees by the desk to try to calm the girls. “It’s okay,” he said in a low and unconvincing voice.

Kate took a knee next to them and pulled them toward her, shielding them from the monster she knew would fall from the ceiling. She closed her eyes and prayed.

The scratching continued toward Dr. Holder’s room. The rest of the rooms were empty, except…

Her eyes snapped open again when she remembered that Colonel Gibson lay hooked up to machines in the last room of the ward. The Variant was banging its way right toward him. The thought of his own creation tearing him apart sent a chill through her. He was helpless, just like her brother had been helpless when he was infected with the Hemorrhage Virus back in Chicago. Conflicting emotions pulled at her.

Riley wheeled over to the door. “Help me,” he said, reaching for the lock.

Rod hesitated. “What about the others?”

“They can come with us,” Riley replied. “Let’s go.” Jerking his chin toward the double doors, he unfastened the lock and inched it open with the muzzle of his pistol.

Kate trusted the man. He’d helped save her in Atlanta, and he was their only chance of surviving now. “Come on,” she said, reaching out for the girls. Grabbing both of their tiny hands within her own, she pulled the girls up and ran after Rod and Riley.

“You have to keep quiet,” Ellis said. He held a finger to his lips as he looked at them.

Both girls nodded.

The flickering red lights guided them into the second corridor. They left the banging behind, and the terrifying scratching faded as they raced down the hall. Kate’s heart rate slowed, but she didn’t dare let herself relax. Not until they were safe.

She stole one glance over her shoulder, wondering if Colonel Gibson could hear his fate inching closer. In a blink, the ceiling collapsed in front of his room. Panels, ductwork, wires and flakes of white streamed over the muscular frame of a man wearing nothing but frayed white trousers. Covered in dust and blood, the creature shook off the soot and grime. Charred black skin ran from his right leg to his rib cage, muscles and flesh exposed to the elements. Tilting his chin, he sniffed the air and then dropped into a catlike position.

Everything froze in that moment. Distant voices told Kate to run. Dr. Holder and Tina poked out of their room and then slammed their door shut.

There were more voices and a tug on Kate’s arm. She wanted to move, she wanted to run, but she was petrified. Unblinking, she stared at the Variant. It pursed its bulging lips and flicked a swollen tongue around the edges. Then it whirled around, its arms extended outward, claws curled toward the floor.

Kate could smell it from where she stood, a draft of the sour rot finding its way into her nostrils.

The creature’s vertical yellow slits blinked, over and over, studying her.

“Kate!” Riley shouted, finally snapping her from her morbid trance.

“Help!” cried a voice. “Somebody help me!”

The creature twisted toward Gibson’s room.

Tasha and Jenny squealed. Before Kate realized what she was doing, she dropped both girls’ hands and rushed back to the doors. Tina and Holder had made their choice. She had children to think about.

Hating herself for doing it, Kate pushed the doors shut and locked the doctor, his nurse, and their patient inside.

The boy ran the moment Beckham moved. He took off through the maze of cubicles and then vanished.

Beckham swore under his breath. He flipped his mini-mic to his mouth and said, “We have a survivor. A kid.”

Flashing an advance signal toward the office door, he traversed the hallway. Horn was waiting for him. Beckham took a knee and looked over the wall. A shattered glass panel blocked his view, cobweb cracks filling the entire pane.

“You got eyes?” he asked, hunching down.

His earpiece crackled. It was Sergeant Peters. “Alpha and Bravo in position.”

Lieutenant Gates replied a beat later. “Assembling FOB. Armor is in position. Charlie, Delta, SITREP.”

Beckham flicked his mini-mic back to his lips and changed the channel so he could communicate with the entire platoon. “We have a survivor. Kid took off running.”

White noised crackled in his earpiece long enough to make Beckham nervous. He knew what the officer was thinking on the other side. The objective was to set up a base and clear the area. Survivors were secondary, a liability to the mission.

Beckham brought two fingers to his eyes and then pointed into the office. “Go get that kid,” he whispered to Horn.

The man nodded his reply and reached for the handle. Ryan took his place as Horn moved into the room. Beckham started to tell the Ranger to follow, but another order crackled across the comm.

“Set up position, but do not search for survivors. I need your men on those windows, Beckham,” Gates said. His voice shook, but Beckham knew it wasn’t really the lieutenant giving the order; it was the old fossil leading Operation Liberty—General fucking Kennor.

“Copy that,” Beckham replied. Anger swirled through him at the thought of leaving a kid behind. Fuck that, Beckham thought. He wasn’t leaving anyone behind again. He would never forgive himself for abandoning that family the last time he was in New York.

Beckham turned the channel back to Charlie and Delta. “Listen up. We got a survivor on this floor. We’re going to clear the room, secure the kid, and then fall into position. Got it?”

Nine helmets moved up and down, including Lieutenant Colonel Jensen’s. That was good; they all trusted him.

“I want two Marines to hold security here,” Beckham said. Then he signaled the strike teams to advance into the office. “Horn, you got eyes?”

“Negative.”

Beckham pulled his scarf away from his mouth. “Ryan?”

“Negative.”

Gripping his weapon, Beckham paused to map out the room. The cubicles were set up in rows of ten and went five deep. The glass that had overlooked Manhattan was mostly gone. Shards stuck out of a three-foot-high wall. That’s where they would set up their rifles, he decided.

He looked for Horn next and found the man’s helmet bobbing up and down at the far right of the room.

“Clear,” Ryan said over the comm.

Beckham swore again. The kid was probably long gone now. If he had survived this long, he likely had some secure hiding spot.

“Found something,” Horn said.

Beckham pointed the rest of the strike teams toward the waist-high wall overlooking Bryant Park and the library. “Get into position.”

He rushed through the row of cubicles to the edge of the floor, catching a breathtaking glimpse of the city. The wind whistled through the open windows, brushing against his armor. It was one hell of a long way down, like break-every-bone-in-your-body long way down. He felt a flash of extreme vertigo and waited for it to pass.

He spied Horn’s helmet jutting over a cubicle at the other end of the room. He broke into a run and found the man standing in the doorway of a small office. Filthy blankets and trash littered the floor.

“Looks like the kid was living here,” Horn remarked.

There was rustling at the opposite end of the floor from the teams setting up their weapons and gear.

Beckham shook his head. “Kid’s gone.”

“Maybe he’ll come back when he realizes we aren’t monsters.”

Beckham stepped out of the space and checked the passage to the right. “Did you clear these?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s go.”

They cleared the last row of cubicles and stopped at the emergency exit. Beckham took a guarded step forward, reaching for the handle as Horn aimed his rifle at the door. They exchanged a glance, and then Beckham twisted the knob. Horn went first, with Beckham on his heels.

“Don’t fucking move!” came a deep, panicked voice.

Beckham struggled to see around Horn’s bulky frame.

“I said don’t MOVE!” A bearded man with wild hair angled a mean-looking shotgun toward Horn. The boy Beckham had seen before cowered behind the man. It was then Beckham noticed the uniform.

He was a cop.

“We’re friendly,” Horn said. He lowered his rifle and raised his right hand. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Drop the shotgun, man,” Beckham added, pointing his muzzle at the floor.

The bearded officer’s hands shook, the barrel of the shotgun waving from side to side. Beckham watched his trigger finger. It was dangerously close to squeezing off a round that would take off Horn’s head.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said. “Just lower your weapon.” He realized what they must look like, with their NVGs and armored vests packed full of magazines. The passage was lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window behind them. Beckham imagined they looked a lot like something from the Terminator movies.

“You can’t get us out of here,” the man said. “There’s no way out of the city.”

Beckham wasn’t sure how to respond. He was too worried about the guy firing a slug into Horn’s dome.

“Listen,” Beckham said in his calmest voice. “There is an entire platoon of Marines on the street below. We’re here to clear the area, set up a base, and then evacuate any survivors.”

“You’re not fucking listening!”

Beckham’s earpiece flared to life. “What the hell is going on?” It was Jensen.

“Hold position,” Beckham whispered into his mini-mic. If the other strike teams showed up now, the officer would either run or start shooting.

“I’m listening,” Beckham said, trying to draw the man’s attention.

He raised the shotgun and pointed it at Beckham. That was fine; it kept Horn out of the line of fire.

“Those things are everywhere, man. Everywhere. There is no way out of the city. Everyone that’s tried has ended up in the nests.” He whimpered, the gun shaking again.

“That’s not going to happen to you. We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said.

The man burped out a chuckle, lowered his rifle, and slowly raised his chin toward the top of the stairwell. “You don’t understand, do you? No one can save you. Those monsters…” He paused and wiped saliva from his lips before adding, “Those monsters own this city now. Every single inch.”

Beckham wanted to reply, but they were running out of time. His earpiece came to life again. “In position. Where the hell are you, Beckham?”

Jensen again. He was agitated.

“Hold position,” Beckham replied, trying to conceal his own frustration. He flipped the channel off and then took a step down the staircase.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But either way, you have a better chance with us.”

The kid peered out from behind him. “Maybe we should go with them, Dad?”

Beckham’s heart leapt at the word.

“Fine,” the officer said. “But I sure hope there are shit-ton of you guys.”

“There are,” Horn lied.

Beckham moved out of the way and walked back down the wall of cubicles. The view of the destroyed city shocked him again every time he looked. It was remarkable that anyone had survived, let alone a father and his son. It was a true testament of what people did when faced with daunting odds. Some ran for the hills. Others held their lover’s hand and committed suicide. And there were a few like these two that fought to survive.

“What’s your name, sir?” Beckham said as they walked.

“I’m Jake. This is my son, Timothy.”

“Good to have you with us,” Beckham said. “We’re going to get you guys out of here.” It was yet another promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. But he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t break it. Gripping the handle of his MP5 tightly, he led the trio through the rows of cubicles back to where the members of Charlie and Delta were waiting, their rifles aimed at the park below.