Extinction Edge

-3-

The wind howled outside the dark hotel room, gusts rattling the window with every pass. Inside, a sultry draft of air lingered, carrying the stink of sweat and mold. With his eyes narrowed and his breathing slow, Beckham studied every flash of movement through the filthy glass. He knelt under a pair of ragged drapes, sweeping the empty parking lot for any signs of hostiles with his MP5.

Trash and pieces of newspaper whistled past. One of them slapped against the pane. His muscles tensed as he spotted something else moving, something much bigger than a newspaper.

Horn fidgeted. He saw it too.

Beckham listened, still expecting to hear noises of the old world. But the hum of civilization had long since vanished. Instead, Beckham heard new sounds, automatically identifying them to create a sonic map of his surroundings. He didn’t need to see the open car door grinding against the concrete to know someone had hastily abandoned their vehicle. He didn’t need to see the downed power line to know it was the source of the whining in the distance.

As a Delta Force Operator, Beckham had made a career of using his senses to get him out of hot zones, to succeed where other men failed. But things had changed. There were new rules now, and they required constant focus and attention. Ignore them and you would end up a rotting corpse like the majority of the world’s population.

Beckham zoomed in on the Kangaroo Express gas station beyond the parking lot and then the tree line across the street. There was a faint clicking, but he saw no other sign of motion. He didn’t need to see the Variants to know they were there. Images of their swollen lips, distorted bodies, and reptilian eyes were tattooed on his memory.

Back at Plum Island, Kate had explained that the creatures had undergone epigenetic changes. He tuned out for most of the science, but understood the fundamentals. The Variants weren’t just insane, deformed humans; they possessed super strength, speed, and predatory senses. And they moved like insects, scaling walls and hanging from ceilings. Beckham missed the days of fighting enemies that moved on two legs.

A distant screech ripped through the night.

Beckham ducked under the window ledge. He caught Horn’s gaze. They were used to being the hunters, not the hunted. Bringing two fingers to his eyes, Beckham pointed at the curtains. He took a measured breath, trying not to focus on the awful stench of rancid fruit and rotting flesh. He never thought he would miss the smell of plastic from the biohazard suits.

Pulling his scarf over his nose, he waited a few more beats before moving back to the window. He slowly peeled back the curtain with his right hand. White rays of moonlight spilled across the parking lot. It was just enough to light up the abandoned vehicles. Flipping up his night vision, Beckham peered through the glass without the aid of his optics.

Nothing.

The lot was empty, no sign of the creatures. Beckham scoped the blacktop one more time just to be clear, noting the sagging power line and open car door he’d heard before. Under normal circumstances, he would have grinned at being right, but this wasn’t normal. They were deep in enemy territory and a few miles away from Fort Bragg.

It wasn’t just Horn’s wife and daughters out there. They were Beckham’s family too, the only family he’d had since his mom and dad had died of cancer. And there was the possibility of finding more Delta Force Operators. If anyone had survived out here for this long, it would be his brothers in arms.

“Clear,” he finally whispered.

Crouching, Beckham spread his crinkled map on the stained carpet and studied it one last time. The plan was to move north along the All American Expressway and then take Gruber Road west to the US Army JFK Special Warfare Center and School building.

Beckham grabbed the door handle as Horn fell in behind him. “We move on three,” Beckham whispered. He held up his fingers as they waited and mentally counted.

One.

Two.

“Go,” Beckham said. He twisted the doorknob with a click and stepped out into the humid night. Wind whipped against his body armor as he moved with rapid and calculated steps. Beckham pushed his scarf further over his face until it was just below his eyes. He charged forward with his lips clenched shut, breathing into the cotton.

His eyes darted from the abandoned vehicles to the gas station at the end of the lot. His gut told him they weren’t being watched, that they were in the clear, and his eyes revealed nothing but the flicker of tree branches and swirling wrappers.

Then a guttural screech sent him running for the nearest vehicle. Beckham slid on his knees and propped his back against the passenger door. Horn took up position behind a pickup.

“One o’clock,” Horn said, his voice cold and tense.

Beckham swept his submachine gun toward the roof of the Kangaroo Express. Two of the creatures were perched on the ledge, their pale, naked skin shimmering under the moonlight.

The shattering of glass pulled Beckham to the entrance of the building, where a male and female emerged from the broken front door. Their bodies twisted from side to side, their arms and legs cracking.

Horn made a dash to the car and took a knee next to Beckham.

“They know we’re here,” he said.

“If we take them out, we’ll draw others.”

“I’m not sure we can outrun them,” Horn said. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

The clacking grew closer, claws scratching across the concrete. Beckham snuck a look through a window.

Neither of the creatures wore much of anything, their clothing torn away from constant scratching and biting. Bushy, tangled hair hung over the side of the woman’s face. A reptilian eye probed the parking lot as she shambled forward. She stopped abruptly and tilted her head to scratch a bloody bald spot. When she was finished she clamped down on her arm with her sucker lips and tore away a piece of flesh.

The two on the roof remained still, while the male on the edge of the parking lot sniffed the muggy air. It was an odd feeling, Beckham thought, knowing they were sniffing for his scent.

Before Beckham could duck, the woman stared in his direction. Hunger radiated from her eyes. She blinked and then let out a roar.

“Shit,” Beckham said. “You take the top. I’ll take out the other two. Then we run.”

Horn’s response came in the heavy crack from his M27. Fire flashed from the muzzle and cut into the roof’s awning. The creatures dropped to all fours and disappeared over the backside of the building while the two on the ground loped forward.

Beckham’s shots were more accurate. And with every squeeze of the trigger he felt the rage of war building inside of him. It wasn’t bloodlust; it was his internal processor. Like a computer, it controlled his every movement. He knew what to do by instinct, and his body simply took over. His movements were automatic. Robotic.

The first shots caught the female by surprise. The bullets tore into her stomach and sent her wailing into the darkness. He whirled to the right and fired on the male galloping toward him. The bullets peppered the side of a Jeep Cherokee as the creature dashed for cover.

Horn was already on the move, his M27 leveled at the vehicle. Both men opened fire at the same moment. Dust and shrapnel exploded into the air as the bullets raked the concrete. The Variant zigzagged between the rounds. Using its back legs, it sprang into the air. With hands morphed into claws, the creature flew toward Beckham. He sidestepped and squeezed the trigger without restraint.

Gore plastered Beckham’s clear shooting glasses, but he didn’t flinch. He wiped the slime away and watched the monster flopping on the pavement, the large holes in its chest gushing blood.

“Got ‘em,” Horn said. “You good, Boss?”

Beckham ran a sleeve across his forehead and nodded. He let out a breath, remembering there was only a remote chance of infection. Still, he waited in anticipation for the hallucinations to set in. A flashback to Building 8 raced across his anxious mind. He vividly remembered finding Staff Sergeant Will Tenor’s broken body as the Hemorrhage Virus rapidly took control. He had turned in just minutes.

“You’re fine. Kate said this area was part of the first drop zone,” Horn reassured him. “We need to move.”

Beckham fell into a run and changed his magazine in mid stride. The rap of his footfalls was the only response Horn needed. Together, they advanced through the empty streets, navigating around vehicles until they came to the on-ramp of the All American Expressway.

Magnolia trees lined the right side of the ramp. Even in the dim night, Beckham could see the beautiful blossoms, and the breeze carried their sweet candy scent. He took a moment to soak it in, enjoying the ability to breathe freely.

“Looks clear,” Horn whispered.

The moonlight vanished under dense clouds and darkness reclaimed the road. Both men snapped their night vision into position and sprinted down the ramp. They were completely exposed in the graveyard of vehicles. It was a goddamn minefield of places the Variants could hide.

He flashed a signal toward the shoulder of the road, and the operators melted into the shadows. The depression provided them the vantage of both the road to the left and the hillside thick with trees to the right. They were still visible, but this way they weren’t forced to clear every vehicle. Beckham took a moment to scan the crowded road of FEMA trucks, Humvees, police cruisers, and civilian cars.

Not everyone had made it out. Beckham’s gaze locked onto a minivan with its doors still closed. Three small bodies were curled up in the backseat.

The numbness returned. The loss of innocent life was difficult to understand, even for a Delta Force Operator. He’d seen war most of his life. He’d lived it, breathed it. He’d killed in order to keep the war machine going. But never had he seen this much death. These children were only three among billions.

Billions, he thought. How was that even possible? How could billions of people have lost their lives?

Horn stood a few feet away, staring at the dusty windows of the minivan. Beckham saw the tear crawling down Horn’s face. He gave the man a moment as he swept the area for contacts.

They were still alone.

“Those aren’t your girls,” Beckham said. “Let’s move.” The sight, while awful, reminded him of their mission. They were here to find Horn’s family. Dead or alive, he would find them.

After a few minutes of jogging at a brisk pace, Beckham saw the checkpoints on the highway. Barbed-wire fences and the metal rooftops of buildings protruded over the dense ridgeline to the right. He didn’t need to read the wooden sign up ahead to know what it said:

They were home.

“I’m coming,” Horn whispered. He shouldered his rifle and continued jogging toward the post.

Beckham eyed the skyline again. There was something odd about the cloud of smoke. He sucked in a breath. The humid air stank of barbeque. The wind was shifting.

“Shit,” Beckham said, pointing to the north. “Wind is changing course.”

“I know, I can smell it,” Horn said. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t want to get caught out here if the wind shifts completely.”

Horn nodded. “You’re right.”

A rustling sound from the forest shocked both men into action. They spun simultaneously to scope the trees on top of the hillside. Beckham scanned each one for motion. Limbs rattled in the wind, but otherwise… nothing.

“You got anything?”

“Negative,” Horn replied.

More rustling and snapping twigs pulled Beckham’s gaze up to the canopy. The leaves shook and fell to the ground.

“Contacts,” Beckham said, realizing how crazy it sounded. The movement had to be from something else. Variants weren’t monkeys. They didn’t swing from branches or climb trees.

Did they?

“Holy shit,” Beckham muttered as the treetops rustled to life. The canopy swayed as if in a torrential wind. Leaves and twigs rained to the forest floor. And then he saw them. His heart rate went into overdrive. There were dozens of Variants scaling the trees on all fours with their claws. Jumping from tree to tree, the pale creatures swarmed toward Beckham and Horn.

“Run,” Beckham choked. “Jesus Christ! Run!”

“You can’t see him. I’m sorry,” Lieutenant Colonel Jensen said.

Major Smith nodded. “Sorry, Doctor.”

Kate scrunched her eyebrows together. “Listen to me very carefully. Colonel Gibson has information that I believe can help my research.”

Crossing his arms, Jensen frowned. “What kind of information?”

“She’s right,” Ellis said. He stepped forward to stand beside Kate. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Lieutenant Trevor Brett?”

Jensen’s features remained unchanged. If he had heard of the man, he wasn’t giving off any clues.

“Even if I wanted to let you see Colonel Gibson, I wouldn’t be able to,” Jensen said. “He’s been admitted to the ICU.”

“What?” Kate asked.

“Turns out the bastard has degenerative heart disease. Been a smoker his entire life. Doubt he’ll even make it to stand trial.”

Kate stared at the ceiling, wrestling with her anger. If he died, then the secrets of VX-99 would go to the grave with him. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Sir,” Kate said, in her most businesslike tone, “Colonel Gibson has been studying VX-99 for decades. We have to know more about his research.”

Jensen’s right eye twitched. The man was nervous, and if her suspicions were correct, he already felt guilty for the part he played in all of this. She would use that to her advantage.

After a short pause to let her words sink in, she continued. “You are a natural leader. I can see that. Master Sergeant Beckham sees that. But you were part of Colonel Gibson’s entourage. His confidant. You played a role in the end of the world, even if you didn’t know exactly what was going on.”

Jensen dropped his arms to his sides. “Dr. Lovato—”

“Please let me finish,” she said. “All I need is a few minutes of Colonel Gibson’s time. He may have information that could help us find a way to fight the Variants.” She looked over at Ellis and added, “Or possibly bring them back.”

Jensen’s eyes widened. He looked down at his watch. “Can’t this wait until the morning? It’s late.”

Kate bit the inside of her lip. “Every second we wait, more people will die outside of this island.”

“Fine,” Jensen said. “But do not get him riled up.”

“I won’t,” Kate said, unsure if she could live up to her promise.

Jensen glanced at his watch again. “Meet us at the ICU in thirty minutes.” He glared at Kate and then walked past her, leaving the room swiftly.

“That went well,” Ellis said.

“Yeah. But that was the easy part.” She placed a hand on Ellis’s shoulder. “Wait till we talk to that son of a bitch. I doubt he’s going to tell us anything.”

“Too bad Beckham’s not here. He’d get it out of Gibson.”

Kate’s gut sank at the thought of Reed out there somewhere being a hero. Facing danger to help save what was still worth saving. It was what he did, and it was the reason she was falling for him. She hoped they’d both survive long enough for her to tell him.