Extinction Horizon

-12-

The Blackhawk circled the glass-paneled CDC building for several minutes. Beckham patted the vest pocket that held the picture of his mom. The simple touch filled him with strength and, glancing down, he knew he was going to need it.

Atlanta was in chaos.

Reaching for a handhold, he leaned out the door to scan for a possible LZ. He’d had ample time to plan their insertion point, but every time he thought he had a location nailed, he’d found a barrier.

Cars clogged the roads everywhere he looked. There wasn’t a single inch of clear concrete, and there was little sign of life. Only a few panicked citizens ran through the streets. He watched them race toward a pair of abandoned Humvees surrounding the gated entry to the Arlen Spector building.

“That’s our target!” Beckham yelled. The reflection of their Blackhawk flashed in the glass windows as they circled. The twelve-story building stood in the middle of a large open space of grass and walking paths. Built on a hill, the facility overlooked a road that snaked beneath it.

There was motion down there, more civilians streaming from under the building. He lost sight of them on the second pass and focused on the Humvees outside the front gates.

“Where the fuck did the soldiers go?” Beckham muttered. “Get us closer to the ground,” he yelled.

“Roger,” came the voice of the pilot.

Beckham tightened his hold and squinted. As they descended, the runners on the ground came into focus. He spotted the missing soldiers. They were all shirtless, but there was no mistaking their ACU pants. Beckham concentrated on the pack for a better look. Even from the present altitude, he could see the men were covered with blood.

“We have infected!” Horn shouted.

Beckham’s muscles twitched. He was hoping for a secure landing, a quick in and out. Put down near the CDC building, grab Dr. Michael Allen and his team, and get the hell out of Dodge. As the chopper took them closer to the ground he realized things weren’t going to be that easy. There weren’t any guards left to roll out a red carpet and let his men into the building.

“Shit,” Beckham muttered. He looked to Big Horn for support. The operator hid behind his skull bandana, his eyes the only visible feature on his face.

“Whatcha thinkin’, boss?”

Beckham scanned the LZ for a safe place to deploy their rope. More of the infected darted across the ground on all fours.

Riley shouted, “Do you see that shit?”

Beckham looked for Ellis. The man sat paralyzed in the corner. “Doctor, we’re going to need you on your feet.”

Ellis threw up his hands. “Hell no! You’re crazy if you think I’m going down there.”

“We need you to get into the building,” Horn grunted.

“Here, take it,” Ellis replied, reaching inside his pocket and fumbling for his keycard. He held it out with a shaky hand. “That’ll get you inside.”

“What about the retinal scan?” Beckham asked. “Won’t we need that, too?”

The doctor’s shoulders sagged as the words sank in. He nodded slowly, tucking the keycard back into his pocket.

The chopper jerked hard to the right, throwing Beckham off balance. He smashed onto the floor, sliding a few feet. A pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders and stopped him. He looked up to see the bottom half of Horn’s skull bandana.

“What the fuck!” Beckham yelled, grabbing Horn’s right arm and pulling himself to his feet.

Before the pilot had a chance to respond, Beckham heard the scream of F-22s flying low over the city. He crouched and moved into the cockpit, looking through the dirty windshield. Beyond he could see three of the jets racing across the skyline.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Beckham asked, his skin tingling from a combination of awe and nerves. Nothing could put a man on high alert like the roar of F-22s flying at five hundred feet.

The pilot held up his left hand. Beckham flinched as the jets made their first pass. Turbulence shook the hovering chopper as they shrieked over top.

“They’re going to bomb strategic locations in the city,” the pilot finally said.

“You’re shitting me,” Beckham replied. When the pilot glanced up at him, Beckham saw he was completely serious.

“How long do we have?”

The pilot cupped his headset and said, “They’re telling all military contacts to be out of the city in thirty minutes.”

Beckham felt a lump form in his throat. Shocked into motion, he moved back into the troop compartment. “Time to move! Get on the rope, Big Horn.”

“All of us?” Ellis choked. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You heard the man,” Riley said. He grabbed the doctor by his shirt and pulled him toward the open door.

“But we don’t have biohazard suits!”

“Better hold your breath,” Horn said with what could pass as a laugh. He locked the rope into position with a metallic click.

“Nothing we can do about that now, doctor,” Beckham yelled over the whoosh of the blades. “Besides, we know this thing isn’t airborne. Right?” He watched Ellis nod slowly. The man’s eyes seemed detached, like he didn’t know where he was.

The pilot’s voice pulled Beckham back to the chopper.

“Where should I put you down?”

Beckham took another minute to scan the potential landing zone. Identifying an opening, he pointed to the lawn just outside the front drive of the main entrance. “Over there!”

Seconds later they were hovering over the green space, the tree branches rocking viciously below.

Horn threw the fast rope over the side and scoped the area with his M27. Then he grabbed the line with his gloves and slid down.

Beckham watched him hit the ground and take off running for an abandoned Humvee. With a reassuring nod, Beckham slapped Riley on the back. “You’re next.”

Without a second of hesitation the operator took the rope and slid down after Horn.

“Please, I don’t know if I can do this again,” Ellis said, his eyes pleading with Beckham to reconsider.

The distant roar of the F-22s rumbled and Beckham shoved the doctor toward the door. “We need you, Doctor. Your team needs you!”

Minutes later they were running as a group across the lawn, the gusts from the helo blades swirling debris around them. Beckham shot a glance over his shoulder. The infected that were at the gates earlier were running in the opposite direction now, chasing the helicopter. Great, he thought. He would take the distraction.

They halted behind a second set of Humvees parked near the circle drive. Balling his hand into a fist, Beckham inched the barrel of his MP5 over the hood. The entrance looked clear, no sign of life.

“All right, Ellis, which way?” Beckham asked.

Ellis shook nervously, his hands twitching. He jammed them in his pockets. “Through those glass doors we’ll take a left, enter the stairwell, and then proceed to Lab Facility 14 on Level D.”

Beckham offered a reassuring nod and rapidly spewed new orders. “Kid, you take point. Big Horn, watch our six. Doc, you’re with me.”

With a measured breath, he counted to three and then flashed an advance signal. Riley burst from his position with his shotgun shouldered and aimed at the front doors.

Beckham moved next. “Follow me,” he said to Ellis, jerking his chin toward the entrance. They crossed the circle drive quickly, the sound of their footfalls beating against the concrete. The noise didn’t bother Beckham, but the doctor’s hesitation did. It was likely to get them all killed.

Snorting, he clenched his fist. He would not put his men at risk if Ellis decided to go chickenshit. Beckham crouched behind a concrete ledge and watched Riley and Horn take up positions along the wall.

Beckham spied the doctor glancing nervously over his shoulder. He snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face. “Dr. Ellis, can you do this? Because we don’t have much time. In less than twenty minutes, those F-22s are going to barbeque this city, and I do not want to be here when that happens.”

Ellis emerged from his trance, and the color slowly returned in his cheeks. He swallowed and then nodded. “Yes, I can do it.”

A burst of wind swept across the group. Beckham could taste the scent of burning rubber in the air. It reminded him of Iraq and half a dozen other war zones he’d been in. Plumes of dark smoke rose into the sky from locations across the city.

The sporadic sound of gunfire rang out at the same moment. The noise came from automatic rifles. Machine guns.

“Let’s move,” Beckham said, knowing the sound would draw any infected away.

“Contact!” Horn yelled.

Beckham saw the former soldier immediately. The man stood between them and the glass doors to the headquarters. His posture was completely off, like his bones and joints had been repositioned by a shitty chiropractor. Dried blood clung to the man’s cheeks, forming a barrier around his swollen lips. They puckered and then made a sickening pop.

Beckham fired on instinct. He raised his MP5 and in two swift motions he squeezed off a double burst. The first shots caught the former soldier in the chest, jolting his body backward. Bloody mist exploded from the man’s open lips. The second burst hit him in the center of his forehead, and his brains peppered the concrete behind him.

“Covering fire!” Beckham yelled.

Grabbing Ellis by the collar, he yanked him toward the doors. Riley got there first. He crouched next to the entrance and swept the area beyond the shattered glass with his shotgun.

“We’re clear on my side!” he yelled.

Beckham followed Riley inside. They entered an empty white lobby covered in shards of glass and bullet casings. A round center desk sat empty in the middle of the space.

“Maybe we’re too late,” Horn said. He lowered his bandana and spat onto the tile floor.

“Keep moving,” Beckham said.

Riley guided the team to the door at the end of the hallway. “Key card,” he yelled, waving Ellis forward. The doctor ran the plastic card over the security panel a moment later. It beeped and unlocked.

Pulling on the handle, Riley moved inside the columned stairwell first. He aimed his shotgun down the stairs. “Looks clear.”

“Where to, doctor?” Beckham asked.

Ellis pointed down.

Riley moved like a ghost, hopping down two stairs at a time and landing on the balls of his feet, the sound hardly audible.

When they reached Sub Level A, Ellis paused. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked at Beckham. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

Beckham strained to listen but heard nothing besides the faint crack of distant gunfire.

“Why are we stopped?” Horn asked, hocking another wad of spit onto the ground.

“Ellis thought he—” Beckham paused at the sound of a metal door slamming. Skittering feet followed the echo. With clenched teeth he looked up. The noise sounded like it was coming from all around them. Another door swung open somewhere below.

“Fuck!” Riley said. “We got contacts moving up the stairwell.”

“Up top, too,” Horn said, shouldering his M27.

Ellis panicked. “We have to get out of here!”

With nowhere to run, Beckham locked eyes with Riley. “Clear us a path, kid.”

Riley nodded. “You got it.”

He disappeared around the next corner and a deafening blast reverberated through the stairwell. Beckham yelled, “Keep them off our six, Big Horn.”

“On it!”

A moment later an ear-piercing crack from the M27 rang out.

Grabbing Ellis by his shirt, Beckham pulled the man down the next flight of stairs. They passed the mangled corpse of a female scientist still in her lab coat. There was a hole the size of a melon in the middle of her chest where Riley had shot her.

“Oh shit, oh shit!” Ellis yelled. “That’s Amy. I know her!” The doctor hesitated, pulling away from Beckham’s grasp.

“Keep moving!” Beckham yelled, grabbing the doctor’s arm.

Ellis stifled a whimper and followed Beckham down the next two flights of stairs. Riley fired again, the flash from his shotgun filling the dimly lit passage with a flicker of light. The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the smell of scorched flesh.

The doctor gagged and Beckham yanked on his shirt before Ellis had a chance to stop and puke. Unlike in Building 8, they weren’t protected by the filtered breathing apparatus of a bio suit. They were breathing one hundred percent natural air. And it smelled like a war zone.

“What floor!” Beckham yelled before pulling his scarf over his mouth and nose.

“D! We’re looking for D,” Ellis managed to reply.

“Riley,” Beckham said. “Did you—”

Another burst from Horn’s M27 cut him off.

“I heard him!” came Riley’s voice after the sound had faded.

Beckham checked the sign at the next landing.

One more floor to go, Beckham thought. He jumped over the corpse of another scientist. The poor bastard had taken the shotgun blast to the face.

Riley waited for them at the next landing, his weapon aimed down the next set of stairs. Beckham patted him on the back and then moved Ellis in between the two of them with a soft push.

“Get us in, Ellis,” Beckham ordered.

Ellis pulled the card from his pocket, his hand shaking. He reached around Riley and swept it over the surface of the panel just as Horn made it to the landing. Then he pressed his right eye against the sensor.

Footfalls echoed above them.

“We got multiple contacts,” Horn said, gasping for air. He reached for a new magazine and jammed it home into his rifle. “These things are fucking fast as shit!”

The guttural screams of the infected throbbed in Beckham’s ears. He cringed at the sub-human sound.

A chirp from the keypad pulled Beckham back to the door. Grabbing the handle, he nodded at Riley and slowly opened it, revealing a group of three terrified scientists.

“Kate, Michael!” Ellis yelled.

Beckham wasted no time. He shoved the doctor through the opening and then waited for Horn and Riley to safely enter the passage. Beckham slammed the door shut behind them just as one of the infected smashed into the other side.

The impact shook the metal door, prompting several cries from the group of scientists behind him. Beckham faced them. Running his sleeve across his forehead, he took a deep breath.

“Which one of you is Dr. Michael Allen?”

A bald middle-aged man with bushy gray eyebrows stepped forward and raised his hand. “That’s me. And who are you?”

“Master Sergeant Reed Beckham with Delta Force Team Ghost. We’re here to evacuate you and we don’t have much time. What’s the best way out of here?”

Dr. Allen pointed over Beckham’s shoulder. “The way you came.”

Kate examined their rescue team. None of them were wearing suits, and blood peppered their uniforms. It was hard to grasp that just days ago she had been busy working on a cure for the new Ebola strain ripping through western Africa. Now the country was crumbling around her, and she didn’t even know what they were dealing with.

Everything had happened so fast.

She rubbed her eyes, hiding any remnants of tears. The leader, Master Sergeant Beckham, stepped forward. He pulled a sand-colored scarf away from his mouth to reveal a face ripe with exhaustion.

He was a handsome man, taller than average, with full brown eyes and a chiseled jawline. Black tactical armor and green fatigues covered his olive skin. He tilted up his helmet and swiped his sweaty dark hair off his forehead.

Several bangs vibrated the door, jolting the soldier into action. He pointed to the door and shouted, “Is that really the only way out of here?”

Michael nodded. “Unless any of you have other ideas?” He looked to Kate and then to Kurt, the assistant that had alerted them of the news earlier.

“There’s no emergency exit?” said a young-looking soldier, the one that she’d heard Beckham call Riley.

“There is, but it’s not accessible,” Michael replied calmly.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Beckham asked.

“He means one of them is inside,” the assistant said. “A coworker, upstairs. She was infected. We locked her in the other stairwell.”

“Wonderful,” Horn said.

“But there’s only one infected in this other exit?” Beckham asked.

Michael shook his head. “No, there are others now too.”

“Great,” Riley said. “So it’s back the way we came?”

Several of the creatures smashed into the frame, the echo vibrating through the metal.

Kate’s world blurred, time slowing around her. She could hear the banging and the awful screams, but she couldn’t move. Paralyzed, she was forced to watch helplessly as Beckham barked orders. The other soldiers moved back to the entrance, pointing their weapons at the metal. There was a hand on her shoulder and more shouting.

A pinch to her wrist brought her back to reality. She glanced up to see Beckham’s intense stare. “Dr. Lovato, are you with me? I need you to get with the program.”

She managed the smallest of nods and then pulled free from his grasp. “I’m with you.”

Beckham held her gaze for a second. She knew he was studying her, testing her to make sure she was okay. But was she? Could she do this?

She had to do this. There was no other choice.

With an uncontrolled deep breath, she joined the group of other scientists. Michael stood defiantly in the center of the team with his arms crossed. In that moment he looked fearless.

“Here’s the plan,” Beckham shouted over the pounding. “We’re going to open this door, lay down suppressing fire, and clear a path. Then we are going to make our way back to the surface where our ride is waiting.”

“You’re going to open that door?” Kurt asked, his finger shaking as he pointed. “Can’t we just wait this out? We have provisions down here that will last for weeks.”

Beckham shook his head. He checked his wristwatch and then in a very calm voice said, “We have thirteen minutes to get the hell out of the city before the Air Force drops a massive payload on Atlanta.”

Kate gasped. “They can’t do that. How can they do that?”

“It’s what I would do if I was the President,” Michael replied.

“They’re going to kill millions of innocent civilians?” Kate protested.

“The bombing will be strategic,” Riley remarked. “But we don’t know what the targets are.” He pulled a bandana with a smiling joker face over his mouth and reloaded his shotgun.

“Any other questions?” Beckham asked.

Kate felt her heart racing. This can’t be happening, she thought. None of this was possible—her single worst nightmare, now a reality. And with Javier gone… She pushed the thought aside and sucked in a lungful of filtered air.

Beckham was speaking again, and Kate focused on his words, letting them ground her. “Everyone, move back to those tables. Riley, you and Horn blast anything that comes through that door. When it’s clear, everyone follows us out of here. I’ll cover our six as we move. Got it?” Beckham said, scanning each face individually.

Kate nodded. Their eyes connected for the briefest of moments. There was strength there, inspiration.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Riley shouted. He pumped his shotgun and grabbed the door handle. “On three.”

Kate listened to the soldier count.

“One.”

“Two.”

With his shotgun in his left hand and the door handle in his right, he yelled, “Three!”

The door clicked open and he fired off an immediate blast. The loud crack echoed through the room, pulsating inside Kate’s head. She moved behind a lab station next to the others and cupped her ears. Through half-open eyes, she watched the room explode into chaos.

Three of the infected burst through the door, so fast they were just a blur of white flesh.

Fire erupted from the barrel of Horn’s machine gun. The bullets transformed the creatures into mulch. Flesh, bone, and blood peppered the floor. Both Horn and Riley backpedaled as they fired.

When the first three corpses hit the ground, another two creatures dashed through the doorway. They made it several steps before they were cut down. And still more came, a wave of four this time.

Jumping over the other bodies, they plunged forward, making it inches further than the others. The click and clack of snapping joints reminded Kate they were dealing with a new virus, something completely different than the world had ever seen.

She choked on the smell of smoke and listened to bullet casings rain down on the tile floor. She cringed, gagged, and dry heaved over the floor. Shaking Michael’s hand off her shoulder, Kate looked back to the carnage. She had to see this. She needed to see this. If she had any hope of surviving what was to come, she needed to watch how the soldiers moved. If she was going to keep up with them, she needed to mimic their actions as best as she could.

The pile of bodies in front of the door grew. People she knew and worked with lay there in pooling blood.

In less than a minute it was over. The three soldiers reloaded their weapons, dropping their spent magazines onto the floor.

“There’ll be more,” Beckham said calmly. “We need to move.”

Michael was the first to walk away from the table. Ellis followed him, hesitating to look at Kate. She nodded and grabbed Kurt’s shirt, tugging on his collar. He cowered under the table, his eyes closed and hands cupping his ears.

“Let’s go,” Kate said with a final jerk.

“Don’t touch any of them,” Michael said as he approached the bodies. “Any fluid will carry the virus.”

Beckham paused and eyed his men. “Did you guys get any in your eyes or mouth?”

Both men hesitated and then shook their heads. Riley pulled his bandana further up his face and then repositioned his clear sunglasses.

“If you’re infected you will know it within minutes. At least, that’s the average incubation period,” Michael said. He shook his head like he wasn’t certain.

Beckham checked his watch again and then stepped over the nearest corpse. “We have nine minutes before those firebombs start dropping.”

Riley and Horn moved into the stairwell and disappeared around the corner. Kate followed Michael and Beckham into the space, and within seconds they were moving up the stairs.

Using her sleeve, she covered her nostrils. The smell of scorched flesh was overwhelming. She forced herself to look away from the destroyed bodies of the infected but found it was impossible. Yellow pupils stared up at her, following them as they moved like the optical illusion from a portrait hanging on the wall.

Kate tucked her nose into her armpit and reached forward to grab the back of Beckham’s vest.

The team moved slowly in single file with Riley at the helm. When they were halfway up the second stairwell, Kate’s shoe hit a lump. Blinking, she looked down to see a body, its face blown away.

“Keep moving,” Beckham whispered.

She cupped her free hand over her mouth and slowly nodded, following him to the first landing. Horn waited for them there, but Riley ran ahead.

Beckham looked back at her. “You good, Doc?”

Kate nodded and checked on Michael and Kurt. They hung back a few stairs behind her, both men breathing heavily.

Adjusting his headset, Beckham said, “Echo 4, this is Ghost. Requesting evac. Over.”

Kate heard a muffled voice crackle over the channel but couldn’t make out the words.

“Roger, Echo 4. We’re on the move. Out,” Beckham said. His eyes found Kate’s once more. “Okay, bird’s on the way. Let’s go.”

Stepping around another twisted corpse, she followed him up the next two flights of stairs.

When they reached the final landing, Beckham paused. He peered around the corner and then rested his back against the concrete wall.

“Okay,” he said, glancing down at Kate and the other scientists. “Riley and Horn are going to clear the lobby. Then we move outside to the chopper.”

Before Kate or the others could reply a new sound erupted from somewhere inside the facility. Her heart kicked, missing a beat. Riley came bursting down the stairs. “We need to move. Now!”

“Let’s go, people!” Beckham shouted.

Horn waited for them at the final doorway leading to the lobby. Swinging the door open, he rushed through. One by one they followed his lead into the atrium. The space looked like a war zone. Broken glass lay shattered across the floor, tables were flipped, and trails of blood streaked over the tiles.

Kate was unable to control her eyes. To the right was the main entrance and exit to the building that led to the lawn—to salvation. That’s where the chopper would land.

She kept close to Michael, Ellis, and Kurt, following Beckham across the room. Riley was positioned at the edge of the center reception desk, his gun sweeping every corner of the room.

The muzzle of his gun stopped at a door leading to a hallway of conference rooms and offices.

“Contacts!” he yelled.

Kate froze and the others crashed into her, pushing her forward. She regained her balance and spun back to the view.

Pressed up against the single pane of cracked glass were three scientists, their lips clamped to the other side.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head back and forth as one of the creatures licked the glass, smearing blood across the cracked pane with an audible squeak.

An emergency light flickered over the dim corner and illuminated an entire group of the infected.

“Multiple contacts.” Riley shouted.

The group reacted to the shouts by smashing into the doors, splintering the glass further.

“Riley, keep them off our six,” Beckham yelled. “Horn, take point. The rest of you, follow me.”

“Moving,” Horn replied.

Michael and Kurt pushed Ellis and Kate forward. As a group they ran after Beckham. He paused at the main entrance, slipping carefully through the broken glass doors after Horn.

The whoosh of helicopter blades thumped outside the building. The black craft descended over the lawn. Kate stopped to watch Riley as her male colleagues fled the building in Beckham’s wake. The door to the conference rooms was breaking and two of the infected pushed their torsos through the shattered glass, reaching out with hands morphed into claws.

“Hurry! This won’t hold them for long,” Riley shouted. He fired at the two infected coming through the doors. The shot hit the man on the left in the chest. He hung there through the glass, his body held up by the growing horde behind him. The next shot caught the second man in the face. His head disappeared in a red cloud of mist, and his body slumped to the ground. The group surged forward and the glass finally gave way, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Kate ran.

Cool spring air and warm sun hit her bare arms a moment later. She was on the grass now. The Blackhawk hovered one hundred feet away. It felt surreal, like she was in a dream.

A flash of motion from her right pulled her back to the chaos. A second pack of infected were rushing from around the corner of the building. Their warped bodies jerked and creaked as they moved.

Kate’s heart leapt at the sight. There were so many of them and they were so fast. So very fast. Beckham fired at the new group from behind a Humvee. Michael, Ellis, and Kurt crouched behind the soldier.

“Run!” Beckham screamed as he changed magazines and bolted for the chopper. Kate fought the panic in her chest, putting everything she had into making it there with him. Horn was already inside the chopper, firing from a standing position. Over the gunfire she heard a panicked voice.

“Wait up!”

That was Kurt. Or was it Ellis?

She wasn’t sure. Kate twisted and her heart nearly stopped when she saw her colleagues were lagging behind. The second pack was closing in—the sight of fresh meat whipping them into a frenzy. Their croaks and angry howls grew louder.

Horn’s shots dropped two of the infected, but more took their place. A former soldier dropped to the ground, galloping on all fours. Using his back legs he sprang into the air. He landed on Kurt and knocked him onto the grass.

“No!” Kate yelled.

She watched helplessly as the man tore into Kurt’s stomach. The assistant screamed in pain, his arms thrashing. “Help me! God, somebody, please help…” His voice trailed off as the ex-soldier clamped onto his neck and ripped a hunk of meat away, silencing Kurt forever.

A wave of nausea spiked through Kate.

The other infected caught up to the first and the entire group stopped to feed, providing Ellis and Michael an opportunity to escape. Riley was right on their tail and sprinted past them.

“Move!” Beckham yelled. He yanked on Kate’s sleeve and pulled her away from the view. Gasping for air, she ran with him to the chopper. She grabbed a handhold and pulled herself inside.

Beckham remained on the ground. Horn lowered his rifle, pushed past Kate, and jumped back to the grass to join the Master Sergeant. They fired side by side, their rifles sweeping across the field, picking off the infected with ease.

She flinched each time. These people were her former coworkers—her friends. She lost count after a dozen. Their ragged clothing and pale exposed flesh became a fuzzy blob of wild movement.

Ellis and Riley climbed into the chopper a few moments later, but Michael had fallen behind. He was limping, his hand clutching a thigh. The first group was almost on him, only a few feet away now.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Gunfire cut down three of the monsters trailing him, but the precious extra seconds weren’t enough.

Kate screamed in horror as another former soldier launched into the air, tackling Michael and sinking his teeth into his right arm.

Beckham rushed forward with his weapon blazing. The bullets tore into the infected man, red blood splattering on the grass. Grabbing Michael with his free hand, the soldier dragged him to safety.

Horn cut down the rest of the pack in one sweep of his machine gun. Together, he and Beckham hoisted Michael into the chopper.

Kate rushed to his side.

“I can’t go with you,” Michael choked.

“Get us out of here!” Beckham yelled to the pilot.

“No!” Michael grabbed his arm. “You have to leave me. I’m infected,” he said, glancing down at his bloodied bicep.

Beckham followed Michael’s eyes to the wound.

The chopper pulled away from the lawn and hovered. More of the creatures streamed out of the building.

“Fuck,” Beckham said, shaking his head. “You sure about this, doctor?”

Michael nodded. “Give me a gun.”

“No,” Kate whimpered. “We can save you.”

Michael chuckled and then winced from the pain. “You always did think you could save the world, Kate.” He stood, holding his injured arm.

Beckham pulled a pistol from a holster on his leg and handed it to him.

Kate reached forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

For a second they locked eyes and Michael said, “You’re going to get your chance to save the world, Kate. Just remember, in order to kill a monster, you will have to create one.” Closing his eyes, he jumped out onto the grass below, his knees giving out as he landed.

“No!” Kate yelled. She dropped to the floor and reached down for him, but someone grabbed her and yanked her back.

“Get us out of here!” Beckham yelled.

The Blackhawk pulled away, up toward the smoke-infested skyline. The pack turned away from the chopper and surrounded Michael. The grass and tree branches whipped wildly in the wind below.

“Michael!” she yelled. He looked up and found her eyes one last time before the horde consumed him.

As the chopper sped away, the faint pop of Michael’s pistol faded against the roar of jets racing toward the city.