Extinction Edge

-21-

They were trapped in the second medical wing. Kate wanted to cry. She wanted to break down and give up. But she’d come this far, and she had others to think about. She had Tasha and Jenny.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Rod said. He jerked his pistol around frantically, searching for the source of the screeching. It was coming from everywhere. Above, behind, even through the vents on the floor.

The Variant ripping through the ICU wasn’t the only one in the building. There were others, too.

An agonized scream broke out from the intensive care wing—a human scream. A mixture of pain and terror so deranged she couldn’t place the voice.

Ellis paced back and forth. “So what do we do now?”

Riley shook his head. “There isn’t anything to do but wait.”

“Great, just great,” Rod said.

“Would you rather have stayed in the ICU?” Kate asked.

He seemed to think for a moment. Before he could answer, another screech rang out. His eyes wild and wide, Rod played the pistol over the hallway. The screams from the ICU had faded, replaced by the sporadic sound of the other Variants deep inside the building.

Her heart racing, Kate hunched down to hold Tasha and Jenny. Both girls were in a state of shock, their eyes glazed, tears flowing freely down their rosy cheeks. Never before had Kate felt so alone. She’d lost almost everything in the past three weeks, and now Reed wasn’t here to protect her. She choked up at the thought of him. He was out there somewhere, fighting, doing what he did best.

What did she do best? She’d created a weapon that had killed billions.

The doors to the ICU suddenly crunched. The burned Variant dented the metal with his skull as he rammed it.

Another thump came from the ceiling.

Furious scratching followed, like a dog digging for a bone.

“Stay close to me,” Riley whispered. He waved Ellis, Kate, and the girls over with his free hand and kept his pistol aimed at the door. “Rod, you shoot anything that comes through that door.”

A short nod from the toxicologist. But Kate could see he was hardly listening. The man was beyond his breaking point. She was starting to worry he would shoot one of them by accident.

“You with me, man?” Riley asked.

Another short nod.

Pounding rattled the door as the creature continued to charge the metal. The scratching above stopped.

There was a cracking sound in the distance. Gunfire. Short, controlled bursts.

Kate looked up, filled with hope at the sound. There was still someone out there!

The door to the ICU shook again, tremors rippling through the floor from the force. The scratching in the vents above amplified. The Variants were growing more desperate.

More gunshots. These were closer. The crack echoed through the building. Then there were footsteps in the medical ward. Heavy boots.

A soldier.

Kate’s brief feeling of hope collapsed with the ceiling in front of her. She shielded the girls as panels and beams crashed down. Pulling them to her chest, she closed her eyes. Ellis joined them, wrapping his arms around them the best he could.

The pop of gunfire rang out in all directions.

There were screams. Indecipherable. Kate couldn’t tell if they were human or Variant. She cracked an eyelid to see two of the creatures covered in dust and blood. Both of them were badly burned, just like the one in the ICU. Riley fired without hesitation. The bullets peppered the lead creature with holes, its chest jerking from each impact.

It let a screech fly and tilted its head toward Rod. A swollen tongue circled its sucker as it lunged for the man. He didn’t get off a single shot before it overwhelmed him, wrapping limbs around his waist and clamping down on his chest with its sucker.

“No!” Rod screamed. “Help me!” The clatter from the other door and the pop of gunshots shrouded his pleas.

Kate held the girls closer as the other Variant skidded away on the tips of its claws. The monster leapt from the floor to the wall and crawled across the horizontal surface, joints clicking with every motion. Riley fired the rest of his magazine. Bullets tore into the creature’s flesh, blood spraying across the white wall.

“Kill it!” Kate screamed.

The doors to the ICU shook again. Both girls clung to her. Their fingers dug into her back.

Riley snapped a new magazine in and fired at the injured Variant racing across the wall. A bullet took off the top of its skull and it fell to the ground, spasms shaking it violently. Riley took careful aim and then fired one last shot into the creature’s head. Then he twisted in his chair, and fired at the monster that was busy bashing in Rod’s head. The toxicologist had stopped moaning. His eyes were gone, lost in the sunken crater that had been his face.

Another tremor shook the locked doors to the ICU. Kate forced her gaze away from Rod’s mangled body.

Riley fiddled with the pistol. “It’s fucking jammed!”

The Variant growled and twisted toward him, still perched over Rod. Tilting its head, it blinked as if it was trying to focus. It looked at Riley, compressed its swollen lips and then stood. Riley continued to work the jammed bullet out of the chamber as the creature walked toward him.

Kate couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d never seen one move without a sense of urgency. But this one seemed relaxed. Confident, even. The creature knew Riley couldn’t inflict any harm. It was like a cat playing with its food. Toying with them.

She couldn’t look away from the bulging blue veins covering its pale, wrinkled skin or the thin strands of white hair hanging over its vertical yellow pupils. The Variant had undergone a complete transformation, from its talons to its sucker lips.

Blood oozed from a bullet wound in the creature’s muscular chest. It stopped to examine Ellis, Kate, and the girls, slanting its head at an angle. It squeezed its lips together again and then opened its mouth to reveal jagged, broken teeth. Slurping, it turned back to Riley.

“Fuck,” he said. Giving up, he launched the pistol at the creature and raised his fists. “Come on, you piece of shit.” He kept his eyes locked on the pale beast and yelled, “Run! Take the girls and—”

Before he could finish, the lock hardware to the door leading to the first medical ward exploded. The metal swung open, and a soldier wielding a machine gun rushed into the room. He was drenched in blood. He looked like he’d taken a bath in it, and Kate couldn’t see his face well enough to identify him. Then she noticed the metal blades attached to his knees, glistening scarlet.

“Fitz!” Kate shouted.

The Variant’s yellow eyes widened, the vertical slits blinking rapidly like it was trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“Get behind me!” Fitz yelled. He opened fire at the creature. The rounds ripped into its chest and broke through the other side, painting the hallway with red. The monster shrieked, blood bursting from its mouth.

Fitz continued past Riley, who still held his fists in front of him. He fired again and again, but the Variant wouldn’t go down. It stepped forward on blackened, burnt legs and held its ground.

Raising his muzzle ever so slightly, Fitz stopped three feet away from the monster and aimed for its head. It let out one final screech but was silenced by the gunshot. The creature’s skull exploded like a piñata.

Fitz hovered over the corpse, fresh blood dripping from his body. Wiping an arm over his face, he reloaded and aimed his rifle at the dented door at the other end of the hallway. “Stay here,” he said.

Ellis helped Kate to her feet and then ran over to grab Rod’s gun. She handed it to Riley, and they huddled together in the middle of the hallway.

“Stop,” Riley shouted, holding up a hand. Fitz shot him a glare that said, I got this. He aimed his rifle at the lock and watched as the crazed Variant continued to smash into the door.

Kate gritted her teeth.

Fitz waited for the creature to strike again. He reached forward, unlocked the door, and then backed away. A second later the burnt creature came smashing through the right door, skidding face-first across the floor. It scrambled and thrashed as it attempted to regain its balance. But Fitz was already firing. It was over in less than five seconds. The creature flopped and let out one final gasp.

“That’s all of ‘em in this building.” Fitz said in a nonchalant tone. “You guys okay?”

Kate nodded and then cupped a hand over her mouth when she saw the floor and walls of the ICU behind him. Tina’s body lay in a puddle of her own blood, her hand only inches from the door.

“We better move,” Fitz said. “There could be more outside.”

Every helmet on Delta and Charlie team gravitated toward Beckham and his new company. The two teams were set up along the chest-high wall separating them from a twenty-six-floor drop. Ryan used his elbow pad to break out a final shard of glass and then hefted his MK11 onto the ledge.

“This is Jake and his son, Timothy,” Beckham said as they approached the strike team. He moved his mini-mic back to his lips. “Charlie and Delta in position.”

“Copy that,” Lieutenant Gates replied. “FOB is established. I’ll inform Command.”

Jake grabbed his son’s hand and stepped up to the window next to Beckham. The two men looked over the side, the wind rustling through their hair.

Several tents and a generator were set up below. The three Humvees were parked in a triangle, with the FOB shielded by the trucks. The .50 cals were angled in opposite directions and the TOW launchers on the Bradleys were facing the park.

No matter how impressive the firepower was, Beckham knew there was no way in hell it would hold off an enemy numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

“Glad to see someone else made it,” Jensen said, pulling Beckham’s attention from the view below. He examined Jake and Timothy for a moment and said, “You’re a cop?”

“Was a cop,” Jake said. “The last of our group tried to leave the city a few days ago. We lost contact with them a few hours later. Those things have nests and—”

Ryan’s raised voice cut the man off before he could explain further. “We got movement.”

Beckham rushed back to the wall for a look. His stomach dropped as he approached. Was this it? Were the Variants finally attacking?

A gust of wind pushed Beckham back. He fought his way closer.

“I don’t see shit,” Horn said.

Ryan angled his MK11 toward the library. “Front steps.”

Beckham scoped the grounds and zeroed in on the motion. Sure enough, dozens of Variants swarmed out of the building. The clanging of weapons vibrated through the room as the men shifted their rifles toward the motion.

“We need to get out of here,” Jake said. “Those things know we’re here now! You led them right to us!”

“Calm down,” Horn said. “The Variants won’t even get close. We’re packing a ton of firepower up here and down there,” he said, pointing to the armored vehicles.

Beckham flicked his mini-mic back to his mouth. “We have multiple contacts outside of the library.”

“Copy that; stand by for orders,” Gates replied, his voice deceivingly calm.

“Hold your fire,” Beckham said to his men. “Wait for the lieutenant to give us the order. And conserve your ammo. Don’t shoot until you have a target.”

He wiped his nose and watched dozens of the Variants flow out of the building. They dashed into the tree cover of Bryant Park, most of them on all fours like the animals they were.

“Contacts incoming,” Beckham said with disgust. This was just the beginning. He could feel it in his gut.

His earpiece filled with static and then Gates said, “Engage the enemy. Fire when you have a target.” This time his voice was rough and tense.

At least you’re not out in the open, Beckham thought, checking on the men below. Most of them were situated behind the armor, but a few stood in the street.

The spotlights from the Humvees crisscrossed the concrete, and the vehicle commanders concentrated the beams on the east entrance to Bryant Park. Beckham clenched his jaw as more of the creatures piled out of the building, a never-ending flow of monsters. He’d lost count of their numbers now. There were well over a hundred—just a snapshot of their true strength.

“Stay focused,” Beckham said. “Don’t fire until you have one in your crosshairs.” He felt like a commander from the Civil War ordering his line to wait with their muskets for the Confederates to come spilling into the open.

The sound of muffled breathing and the whistling of wind crowded around him. The teams waited patiently, every one of them knowing what was about to happen. Weapons were aimed tightly at the park.

Beckham flipped on his NVG optics and scoped the trees. The wind carried a new sound—a sound that filled him with fear and rage. The inhumane screams of the Variants came from inside the urban forest. They had stayed inside the tree cover. The creatures were smarter now.

He wondered if they were taunting 1^st Platoon. Nothing would surprise him at this point.

Beckham checked their rear guard. Two Marines held security at the entrance of the floor with their weapons aimed down the hallway. Everything was set.

Jake and Timothy waited in the shadows of a cubicle. The police officer held his trembling son. “We need to leave,” he pleaded when he saw Beckham looking in his direction.

The chorus of shrieks, croaks, and high-pitched screams continued, making it difficult for Beckham to concentrate. His heart thumped. The battle for Manhattan was finally starting.

“Try to stay calm and cover your ears. This is going to be loud,” he said.

“You’re not listening!” the cop insisted. It seemed to be his favorite phrase.

Beckham moved back to the window. He didn’t have time to argue. The armored shells of the Bradleys maneuvered their turrets.

“What the hell is Gates waiting for?” Horn whispered.

“For them to strike first,” Jensen said.

The hungry wails of the creatures increased, and the convoy finally answered with the earsplitting 25mm rounds. The chain guns belched fire. Trees disappeared in a cloud of wooden confetti.

“Hold your fire,” Beckham shouted. The Variants still weren’t in view.

“Where the fuck are they?” Jensen yelled.

The Marines in the Humvee turrets swept their spotlights over the destruction, searching for contacts.

Beckham’s earpiece came to life with Gate’s confused voice. “Does anyone have—” Then a brief pause. “Strike teams, do you have eyes?”

“We lost the Variants in the park,” Beckham said. “Rodriguez, Peters, you got anything?”

“Negative,” both Marines replied simultaneously.

“Behind them! Behind them!” Timbo suddenly shouted.

Beckham pressed his body against the wall and leaned over the side to scan the pile of cars at the rear guard of the convoy, but saw nothing. “Where? I don’t see shit!”

“The manhole covers!” Ryan said.

Beckham’s heart climbed into his throat. The Variants had laid the perfect trap.

They spilled out of the open manholes, breaking into a gallop as soon as they climbed onto the street.

“Check your six!” Beckham shouted into his mini-mic. But it was already too late. The creatures tackled a trio of Marines before they could react.

“Open fire!” Beckham ordered as the monsters dragged the men across the concrete and into their lairs.

The Marines in the turrets turned and fired the .50 cals at the Variants attacking their six just as a wave over a hundred strong streamed out of Bryant Park. The chain guns coughed and spewed rounds into the Variants, cutting them down with ease. But they kept coming.

Beckham focused on the Marines. One of them stood on the rear of Steam Beast, firing his rifle wildly at the pack charging on the platoons’ six. It was Sergeant Valdez.

“My God,” Beckham whispered.

The crack of gunfire and faint screams of dying Marines activated Beckham’s internal machine. His entire body went numb, his instinct taking over, and he started barking rapid orders.

“Lieutenant, get your fucking men into the Bradley troop holds!” There was no response. He cursed. The officer was worthless now. He was probably cowering in the backseat of his armored chariot. He tried the sergeant. “Valdez. Do you copy?”

“They’re everywhere!” the man replied.

“Sergeant, get your men into the tracks!” Beckham shouted. The gunfire was so loud he couldn’t even hear himself. He turned to the snipers. “Focus your fire on the Variants at the rear. Lay down covering fire for those Marines.”

The shapes of desperate men scrambled for the safety of the armored vehicles. Beckham paced back and forth behind the strike teams. They fired calculated shots into the melee. Empty magazines and bullet casings clanged on the floor.

A frantic voice spilled over the net. “More contacts to the northwest!”

Beckham squeezed his way between Horn and Jensen. He didn’t need a scope to see the new flood of creatures climbing over the barricade of cars. 1^st Platoon was surrounded.

“Can’t hold ‘em!” grunted Sergeant Valdez. He jumped off the track and herded a pair of Marines into the back of the vehicle. Another two stood their ground a hundred yards away. In a blink, the men were gone. Swallowed by the horde, their screams were lost in the madness.

A second turret swiveled from the park and joined the fight to the rear guard. The two .50 cals cut through the creatures flowing from the manhole, buying Valdez a few extra seconds. Beckham scoped the street and watched a final Marine pile into the back of Steam Beast. Valdez fired off another several shots before securing the hatch.

Only four of the Marines on the street had made it.

Beckham cursed. He had to maintain control of his anger. Nothing he could do would change the fate of those lost. He had to think of the living, of the men still fighting.

The turret guns obliterated the final Variants that climbed from the manholes. Beckham zoomed in on the mess. Piles of the dead and dying creatures were hemorrhaging a lake of blood.

It was a small victory.

The vehicle commanders in the Humvees focused their fire on the approaching horde to the north as Black Reaper and Steam Beast kept their fire concentrated on the park. A thick haze loitered in the tree line. Packs of the creatures continued to charge out of the spray.

Only a few made it through.

They dashed across the concrete, swerving and navigating around the gunfire. The creatures were making a run for the convoy.

“Keep them off the Bradleys!” Beckham yelled.

One of the Variants leapt onto Black Reaper and tugged on the hatch. A sniper bullet took off its head. The body slumped over the hull and slid onto the street. Two more climbed onto the armor before more sniper fire erased them from the fight.

A beat later and the battle to the east ended. Variants stumbled from the wall of gray only to be dropped by the .50 cal fire from the third Humvee. Beckham couldn’t believe his eyes. The massacre had quickly reversed sides. 1^st Platoon had prevailed. Maybe Command was right after all—maybe bullets could win this war after all.

The crackle of his headset pulled him back to the reality of the situation. A voice spluttered over the channel. Beckham clenched his fists when he realized it was Lieutenant Gates. The man was babbling, incoherent.

Sergeant Valdez cut in. “Vehicle commanders, hold your fire. Strike teams, hold position.”

“Delta, copy,” Beckham replied. He exchanged a nervous glance with Jensen.

“Charlie, copy,” the lieutenant colonel said, changing his magazine with a metallic click.

“Alpha, copy,” Peters replied.

Beckham waited for Rodriguez to respond. But the sergeant said nothing.

A small tremor suddenly rippled through the building.

“We need to leave!” Jake yelled. He pulled Timothy from their cubicle and hurried toward the Marines holding security at the exit.

“Wait!” Beckham ordered. But the man didn’t look back.

Pushing his mini-mic back into position, Beckham said, “Rodriguez, do you copy? Over.”

Another faint quake rattled the tower.

“Do you feel that?” Horn said.

“What the hell…” Jensen began to say.

The channel flickered and solidified, and Rodriguez finally came online. “Uh, copy, Delta.” He paused and let out a weak cough. “You got to fucking see this to believe it.”

“See what?” Beckham said.

“Grand Central Station,” Rodriguez replied, his voice shaking now.

Beckham hesitantly brought his MP5 to his NVG optics and glassed the station to the east.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jensen whispered.

Holy fucking shit was an adequate response, Beckham decided, watching as thousands of Variants flowed from the station. They fanned out in all directions, transforming the streets into rivers of white flesh. There had to be tens of thousands if not more, and the number kept rising as more spilled from the building.

Now he knew why Jake had insisted on leaving. New York City no longer belonged to the human race. It belonged to the Variants. And 1^st Platoon had awakened the hive.

Beckham snapped into motion. “Lieutenant Gates, do you copy? Over.”

Static flickered over the net. He considered tearing the headset off and tossing it out the window. The fucking commander was worthless. Mastering his rage, he turned to the rest of his men waiting at the windows.

“Get to the street,” Beckham shouted. “We need to get the fuck out of here, ASAP. For all we know, that son of a bitch Gates is calling in an air strike!”

Jensen hopped to his feet. “I thought this location was supposed to be off-limits.”

Beckham pointed to the Variant army surging out of Grand Central Station. “They won’t worry about some library when they can kill hundreds of thousands of Variants in one strike.”

In seconds, the team was moving with unprecedented speed, scooping up gear and slinging straps over their shoulders. The doomsday clock was ticking.

Beckham caught up to Jake and Timothy. “You guys have to move fast, okay?”

Two nods.

Straightening his headset back into position, Beckham said, “Valdez, if you can hear me, hold tight. We’re on our way.”