Extinction Age

-10-

Riley was furious. The state-of-the-art post had been built without ADA access. Everywhere he went, he needed help. He wheeled down the hallway of Building 1, where Kate and the other scientists lived. Smith had redistributed the rooms after the attack had killed most of the former residents. Horn and his girls got one, and so did Riley. He was glad to be out of the medical ward, but he would have rather been assigned a bunk in the barracks. Now everything was a challenge. Especially taking a shit, which he’d been holding off on doing for hours.

Horn nursed a bottle of Jameson they’d manage to barter off one of the newer Medical Corps guards. He sat on the small couch in Riley’s room, his gaze locked on the window.

“I hate waiting like this,” Horn said. He wiped his mouth with a tattooed arm.

“Beckham can take care of himself. He’ll be fine,” Riley said, in a less than convincing tone.

“He’s been lucky, kid. You know that, and I know that,” Horn said. “Doesn’t matter how good he is. Eventually that luck will catch up to him.”

A moment of silence passed over them. He wanted to reassure Horn everything would be fine, that Beckham and the others would find nothing but food and ammunition, but he had the sinking suspicion they were probably walking into a boat full of bodies or worse.

“I don’t like sitting on the sidelines either,” Horn said.

Riley looked down at his casts and let out a sad chuckle. “Man, I’ve been the fucking water boy for weeks now. I want back in the game.”

“Fuck it, I should have gone,” Horn grumbled. He took a long gulp and then punched the cushion next to him. “Beckham needs me out there.”

“Your girls need you here.”

Horn bowed his head and ran a hand through his thin, strawberry hair. “I still can’t believe Sheila’s gone. It’s finally starting to sink in. The girls are going to grow up without their mother.”

“I’m sorry,” Riley said. “But that’s another reason you need to be here for them. And I’m pretty sure that’s why Beckham wanted you to sit this out. They need their father.”

Horn wiped his eyes and sat up straight. “Yeah,” was all he managed to say.

Goosebumps rose on Riley’s arms. “I gotta go to the can. You mind getting the door for me, Big Horn?”

“Sure, I need to check on the girls anyway. Make sure they’re sleeping.”

As they made their way to the door, Riley said in what he hoped was a casual voice, “So, what do you think of that Meg chick? A real firecracker, huh?”

Horn held the door open and glanced down at him, his freckled forehead lined. “You serious, man? You’re really thinking about a woman right now?”

“Bro, I’m always thinking about women.”

Horn jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Go take your dump.”

Riley wheeled into the hall. Before he could get out of the way, Major Smith came bolting out of nowhere.

“Riley, Horn! We’ve got a problem. It’s the Truxtun.”

“We got multiple contacts! Something’s wrong with them. They’re bleeding from their eyes and ears,” Jensen said. His panicked voice vanished under the crack of gunfire.

Beckham couldn’t believe what he was hearing over his headset. “Where are you?” he shouted back.

A flurry of static was the only reply.

“What do we do?” Fitz asked. “Go to them or wait?”

Beckham glanced back at the freezer where Chow stood waiting for orders. “Seal that guy inside with the dog. We can’t bring them with us right now,” Beckham said. “We’ll come back for him.”

Chow slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside. If something happened to Beckham and his men, the officer wouldn’t have any way to get out. Then again, if something happened to them, the Variants would kill the officer anyway. His fate was tied to Bravo team now.

“Let’s go,” Beckham said. He ran toward the sound of gunfire, but the close quarters made it hard to locate the source.

“Jensen, where are you?” Beckham shouted.

“Upper deck, just outside the CIC!”

Beckham opened the hatch to the amplified sound of gunfire echoing through the bowels of the ship. He looked up the dark ladder that led to the next deck and said, “Eyes up, on me.”

The hatch at the top was already open. As soon as he approached, a volley of gunshots tore through the passage. An angry shriek followed… someone had found a target.

Beckham stumbled away from the hatch and slammed his back against the bulkhead. “Hold your fucking fire!”

Whoever was shooting didn’t let up. Another torrent of rounds hit the bulkhead. One of the bullets ricocheted, pinging through the hatch and whistling past Beckham’s leg.

“Jensen, hold your fucking fire!” Beckham shouted, his voice raw with anger.

“Fall back!” came a reply.

The gunshots moved into the next passageway. Beckham counted the seconds, listening to the impacts. When he was sure they were clear, he poked his head into the passage.

A pile of bodies lay at the opposite end. There was movement behind them. It was a Variant, hunched, coiled, and gripping a gushing wound. More of the creatures skidded into the passage across the bulkhead and overhead.

Beckham glanced to the right, where the gunshots had come from. Jensen, or whoever had fired, was gone. He slipped back through the hatch before the creatures could see him and used his fingers to tell the story, holding up four of them and then pointing.

His team nodded in unison. Beckham raised his M4 and jumped into the passageway, firing as soon as he found a target. A head mushroomed in an explosion of bone fragments and brain. The other Variants dodged around the fallen body, each of them roaring with anger.

Beckham heard the click of Fitz’s blades to the right. The crack of his rifle sounded a second later. Peters and Chow fell into line behind them to guard the rear.

The dim passage lit up with the flashes from their rifles as Variants charged for their position. Beckham centered his rifle on the closest creature’s head and squeezed the trigger. The bullets pinged off the overhead where the monster had been only a second before. It dropped to the floor and galloped forward, using its back legs to spring into the air.

This time his shots found a home in the Variant’s chin, blowing open its skull in a spray of gore. Another creature took its place, but Fitz nailed it with a headshot before it got close to them.

A second wave pumped into the passageway like blood through a vein. Beckham’s senses were on full alert, his brain and body in sync. He fired efficiently, conscious of his ammo at first but quickly giving up on firing discipline. The creatures were fast, even in the narrow space. Their motions were blurred by their speed, making it difficult to find vital targets. Anything that wasn’t a headshot only slowed them down.

“Fall back!” Beckham shouted.

“Changing!” Fitz said. He moved out of the way and Chow took his place.

The pile of dead grew with every shot. Bullet casings clanked off the deck as the team emptied magazines into the mass of veiny flesh. Beckham backpedaled, his boots crunching over the casings.

He almost stumbled when he saw the face of the nearest Variant. Blood trickled from its eyes and nose. At first he thought it was from a flesh wound, but then he remembered Jensen’s panicked words. A chill spiked up his back when he realized what was happening. These bastards were infected with the Hemorrhage Virus. That meant they would have all the abilities of a Variant but also the symptoms of the Ebola virus.

“Run!” Beckham screamed. “Don’t get any blood on you!”

Beckham grabbed a protesting Chow by his flak jacket and pulled him down the passageway. Fitz and Peters were already moving, their weapons probing the darkness for more contacts.

“They’re contagious!” Beckham yelled.

Chow risked a glance over his shoulder and then ran faster. “How is that possible?”

Beckham didn’t have an exact answer, but knew it wouldn’t take much for the virus to have worked through the Truxtun. If a single person had been infected, it would have spread throughout the ship with lightning speed.

Peters ran into the next passage. “Fuck this,” he shouted, putting on more speed. Beckham watched helplessly as the Marine ran full-tilt into an ambush.

“Watch out!” Beckham shouted. Peters was gone in an instant, a trio of infected dragging him away screaming. Beckham grabbed the back of Fitz’s armor and yanked him away from the junction just as a group of the creatures came clambering over the bulkheads.

Bravo was cornered.

Without thinking, Beckham pulled Fitz through an open hatch. Chow followed, and Beckham slammed it shut behind them. He shouldered the metal with his uninjured arm.

“Check the ladders, above and below,” Beckham shouted without turning. The door vibrated as one of the monsters rammed it. The pounding that followed made Beckham think the monsters were using a battering ram..

He stepped backward and aimed his rifle, his hand trembling. Peters was gone—dead in the blink of an eye. Alpha was on the run, and now Bravo was trapped.

Fitz and Chow joined Beckham at the door after they had cleared the ladders. They centered the rifles at the hatch and planted their boots.

“What do we do?” Fitz asked.

Beckham pulled the magazine from his gun to check his ammo. “What we have to,” he said as he slammed the mag home. “We fight.”

“Infected? What do you mean infected?” Kate shouted.

Major Smith twisted the wedding ring on his finger. “Jensen reported that the crew is displaying symptoms of the Hemorrhage virus.”

Kate suddenly felt lightheaded. A wave of nausea hit her, and she sucked in a breath to calm her nerves.

“It’s possible they had a sample of the virus in a lab on board. Maybe someone was accidentally infected. The military was working on a cure in multiple undisclosed locations,” Ellis said.

“Someone must have been infected after VX9H9 was deployed,” Kate said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Smith grunted. “What the hell does this all mean?”

“It means the crew will experience all of the epigenetic changes from the VX-99 chemicals, but they’re also infected with Ebola. Think back to the first days of the outbreak, before VX9H9 was dropped.”

“The crewmen on the Truxtun are essentially Variants with Ebola,” Ellis added.

“Great. That’s just fucking great,” Smith said. He shook his head and looked at Kate. “So what do we do, Doctor?”

She glanced over at Riley and then at Horn, who held Jenny in his arms with Tasha by his side. Both operators wore the same helpless looks. They’d fought the creatures since day one, and they knew that with the Hemorrhage virus present the stakes had been raised ten-fold. Even if Beckham and his men could fight their way through the ship, the risk of infection made the odds of escape even worse. She wanted to cry. Instead, she clenched her jaw and looked Smith square in the eye.

“Get the extra CBR suits and prep a chopper,” she said.

Smith took a step back, hesitating.

“If you want to save your men, Major, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

Beckham flinched as the door shook from another impact. The creatures continued their assault on the steel. Each strike sent a vibration echoing off the bulkheads and overhead. The cacophony rattled his senses, and he tightened his grip on his rifle as he prepared for them to come crashing through. Chow and Fitz fidgeted next to him, sweat bleeding down their faces.

“Jensen, do you copy? Over,” Beckham said for the tenth time.

Static crackled over the comm channel. The headsets were either pooched or Alpha team was gone. Beckham had a feeling it was the latter, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope. What he needed was a plan.

“We need to get to the bridge. If we can make our way to the bow, then maybe we have a chance to get out of here,” Fitz said.

“What about the guy and his dog back in the freezer?” Chow said. “We can’t just leave him in there.”

Beckham felt all eyes on him. There were three options: attempt to rescue the officer and his dog and make their way to the bridge, abandon them and go straight to the bridge, or save their asses and jump ship. He threw the third out as soon as it crossed his mind, but he didn’t like the other two either.

“Bravo, do you copy?” came a voice in Beckham’s earpiece. It was Jensen, and he sounded shaky. “We made it to the bridge. Rodriguez is gone. It’s just me and Timbo now. We’re locked in the CIC.”

“Stay put,” Beckham said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jensen said. “Good luck.”

Jensen signed off, the regret in his voice audible over the comm. Beckham didn’t have time for regrets now. The infected were howling at the door, slamming into the metal relentlessly.

“We can’t go back out the way we came in,” Beckham said. “Even if we could fight our way past those things, the risk of infection is too high.”

The pounding on the door increased as they spoke, the monsters on the other side growing more desperate.

“We can’t just sit here,” Chow said.

“I know,” Beckham said. “I think we need to try for the galley. The officer may be our best shot at getting back to the bridge.”

“Was afraid you were going to say that,” Fitz said. “But hey, we did lock him in a fucking freezer. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if we just left him there.”

Beckham looked first up and then down the ladder. Perhaps there was a way to get back to the galley undetected. It was worth a shot, but they needed to move fast.

“On me,” Beckham said. He aimed his M4 into the green-hued darkness and continued down to the lower deck. He paused by a closed hatch and waited for several beats, listening with an ear on the metal. The banging noise was still only coming from above.

Beckham pointed at Chow and then the door. Chow nodded back, twisted the handle of the door, and swung it open. Beckham shouldered his rifle and strode into the empty passageway.

After a quick sweep confirmed it was clear, he waved his men forward. They worked their way back to the galley quietly. Beckham could hardly hear the click of Fitz’s blades.

The door to the galley was still open when they arrived. Beckham flashed a hand signal to Chow and followed him inside. They cleared the room and hurried to the freezer door. The officer was waiting just inside, his teeth chattering. The dog let out a soft growl and leaned its head against the man’s blood soaked shirt.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said.

The man shook, his crossed arms trembling. He managed a nod and tried to move.

“Did anyone else make it?” Beckham asked. He didn’t have much time, but needed to know.

The man shook his head, twitching. “I think we’re it. There were others, but they’re all dead now. I tried to escape with Apollo here. He’s a bomb-sniffing dog.” He paused, closing his eyes. “We heard the choppers earlier. Apollo barked up a damn storm. That’s when we hid in here.”

Beckham patted the dog on the head. This time it didn’t make a sound and accepted the scratch of his fingers greedily.

“Name’s Beckham,” he said.

“Scottie,” the man replied.

Beckham helped him to his feet. “You’re hurt pretty bad,” he said, eyeing the man’s stomach.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Can you walk?”

Scottie nodded. “I think so.”

“Good,” Beckham said. “Because I need you to take us to the bridge.”