Extinction Agenda

Chapter Thirty

Shreveport, Louisiana

Adderson and his men were dug in at a small park in a residential section of town. Although he started the day on a routine patrol in search of survivors or buildings used as dens by Class Twos, he was no longer concerned with street names or addresses. Once the Class One had climbed to the top of a firehouse and howled loud enough to turn a quarter of a platoon, the IRD was reduced to hit and run tactics just to keep their heads above water.

It was colder than normal, and cloudy enough to reduce the sun to a distant stranger that didn’t bother looking in on the city no matter how hard the wind blew. Even though it was slightly above freezing, Adderson felt a chill rip all the way down to his bones. When he lifted the radio to his mouth, he did his best to keep his hand from trembling. “Raven One, this is Hunter One. Over.”

The silence that followed was more than enough to send his gut into his boots. Before he got too lost in the possibility of losing another chopper, Hendricks responded amid the thumping of helicopter blades. “Go ahead, Hunter One.”

“What’s your position? Over.”

“About ten klicks south of you, circling over a parking lot. There was supposed to be a pickup, but the unit was compromised. They’re gone, so I’m heading back. Over.”

“Has there been any word from the Air Force? Over.”

“Bombing runs have started in West Texas and northern California. Don’t know any specifics. I’ve been kind of busy. Over.”

Adderson tried to narrow it down using what he knew about shifter movements over the last several days. He swore under his breath when he realized things were bad enough in so many places that he couldn’t make any guesses as to where those bombs were being dropped. All he could do was hope the cities had been properly evacuated. Forcing his mind back to the present situation, he asked, “How many men are you carrying?”

Asking one question without framing it in proper radio procedure gave Hendricks the go-ahead to speak normally as well. “Just the door gunners, sir.”

“Have you spotted the Class One yet?”

“Saw him hopping around to the north. He might have been headed your way. Want me to swing by there?”

Holding the radio away from his mouth, Adderson looked to the closest Marine he could find. “Warren, what’s the status on Raven Four?”

She was lying on her stomach on top of a squat cement building containing a set of bathrooms. Under normal circumstances it might have been a disgusting place to set up. Since there hadn’t been anyone in that park since the first werewolves had torn up a kids’ soccer game there, the only smells coming from that building were rusty water and mildew.

“Visual contact on the messenger, but not with the rest of them,” Warren replied.

Every IRD soldier had a radio and at least two other means of communicating with their teammates. Because the wolves were just too damn fast, the most reliable way to keep tabs on another team was for them to leave stragglers behind. Those were called messengers. If the rest of the team was attacked, the wolves wouldn’t stop before coming back for the straggler. If that happened, the soldier watching that team would know. Otherwise, they got a thumbs-up from the messenger. It wasn’t a very friendly way to go about things, but Adderson had never known the military to be cordial.

“Any sign of the Class One?” he asked.

After taking a sweeping look at the horizon through her binocs, Warren said, “Not yet.”

He keyed the radio. “Hendricks, see if you can bring the Class One to my position.”

“I’ve herded that thing into one ambush after another, sir. None of them do jack shit. All I’ve been doing is wasting a lot of ammo and getting scratches on my bird.”

“The attacks have been launched on a diminishing schedule,” Adderson said. “That thing is slowing down.”

“Slowing down a little, but not enough. We’ll have to—”

“Whatever it is, we’ll have to do it, Lieutenant. Do you understand me?”

The familiar tone in Adderson’s voice had been instantaneously replaced with authority, and Hendricks responded in kind. “Roger that. It’s my professional opinion that the ordnance I’m carrying won’t be enough to do the job. Over.”

“Then we’ll have to throw all of it plus what I’ve got at that thing. We back off now and it’ll just get a chance to lick its wounds so it can come at us fresh in the next city. No matter what happens in that fight, it means this city will be completely compromised. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“How many other Ravens are in the air?”

“Last time I checked, three.”

“Good,” Adderson replied, even though he knew that meant two choppers had either been brought down or crashed when their pilots were turned. “You and another Raven take turns firing at that Class One to lead it to my position.”

“That thing can fade in and out, sir. When it ghosts like that, nothing even ruffles its fur.”

“Then act wounded and make it chase you. I don’t care how, just bring it to me so we can all hit it in one concerted effort.”

“All due respect, Major, but we haven’t been collecting in a big group like that for a reason,” Hendricks said. “What happens when we start to drop?”

It had become habit for soldiers in the IRD to assume any one of them would be turned at any given moment. Not only was it a harsh dose of reality, but it brought out the best in any fighting spirit. Adderson cringed when he heard it even though he’d been pivotal in starting the trend. It was nothing but a cold statement of fact when he replied, “We may drop now or later, but the longer this fight goes, the more of us will wind up turned into one of those things. And the more of us that go, the fewer volunteers we’ll have to join this outfit and do what needs to be done.”

“That’s a load of shit, sir,” Hendricks said without hesitation. “And with all due respect, I’d punch you in the mouth for saying it if I was there.”

“Good, then prove me wrong.”

“Yes, sir.”

The connection was cut, and Adderson had no doubt it was so Hendricks could issue orders to the other helicopter pilots circling the city. Times might change and wars might come and go, but certain things remained constant. Sometimes a soldier just needed a good old-fashioned boot to the ass.

He lifted the radio to his mouth but paused before touching the button. Sensing a tremor working its way through his body, Adderson decided to let it pass before it put something into his voice that he didn’t want broadcast to the rest of the IRD. When it turned out to be a simple shiver sent by the cold instead of a wave of broken bones sent by a deranged creature, he let out the breath he’d been holding and prepared to speak.

“Hunter One, this is Hunter Three!”

Grateful for another moment to prep himself, Adderson said, “Go ahead, Hunter Three.”

“We found at least five packs of Class Twos in an apartment complex and they’re being engaged by a team of specialists.”

“Say again, Hunter Three?”

“Have found a large group of Class Threes, but there are specialists on site. Repeat, we have specialists on site.”

All Adderson had to do was look up to see some very relieved expressions on his soldiers’ faces. To Warren, he said, “Get down to the others and rally everyone to join Hunter Three.”

“Will we be getting a lift from any of the Ravens, sir?”

“I’ll try to arrange it, but we may be humping it across town. Either way, we’re going in hot.”

“Yes, sir!”

Before she could climb down from her post, another voice crackled through the radio. “Hunter Three, this is Raven Two. Looks like the Class One sniffed out those specialists of yours. It’s headed your way. Over.”

“This is Hunter One. Are there any Ravens in the area to take me and some of my troops in to meet up with Hunter Three?”

All of the chopper pilots chimed in with their positions. Raven Two was closest, so Adderson ordered them to make a quick pickup and sent the others to gather as many troops as they could before heading into the hot zone. The pilots gave their affirmatives and broke contact.

Less than fifteen minutes later Adderson was sitting on the edge of one of the fold-down seats inside Raven Two’s cabin area. The rotors churned over his head as the helicopter navigated the Shreveport streets in a gut-wrenching series of hard turns that culminated with a drop into what could have been hell itself. Even through the noise of the engine, wind, and radio chatter from the cockpit, he could hear the wild howling and hungry snarls scattered amidst the choppy barrage of automatic gunfire. When an unwavering howl rose above everything else, the pilot followed safety procedures by immediately dropping to a safer altitude. Adderson broke some safety protocols himself by unbuckling his harness and grabbing onto one of the rails above his head so he could get a look out one of the windows.

The street below wound back and forth across a small field that could have been used for sporting events or maybe small carnivals or fairs. Adderson spotted plenty of bodies down there, but most of them were lying in gory pools. A few wolves picked at the carcasses and barked up at the helicopter, but the real action didn’t pick up until the grass gave way to a parking lot surrounding a small complex of three story apartments. Two Humvees were parked at right angles to each other to provide some measure of cover for the soldiers keeping their backs to the doors. The helicopter’s gunners were both still pulling the triggers of their .50 cals, which did nothing to discourage the onslaught of Class Twos pouring out of the middle apartment building.

Placing his finger to the button that would open the connection between him and the pilot, Adderson said, “Bring us in above those Humvees so we can lay down some support fire.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dusting in above the soldiers forced the troops on the ground to lower their heads and secure their loose clothing, but it also brought a few grateful shouts from the men who still had enough breath in their lungs to cheer. The copter’s gunner sighted along the top of his belt-fed machine gun and sent a stream of lead into the encroaching werewolves. Cement and dirt alike were chopped up along with plenty of Class Two flesh and bone. The wolves that weren’t cut into enough pieces divided into smaller groups and scattered. Once they got too close to the Humvees, the gunner eased back on his trigger.

“Where’s the closest place you can set us down?” Adderson asked the pilot through the helmet radio.

“On one of those rooftops. Any closer and we’re risking the bird, sir.”

The IRD might have had the support of the United States military, but NH-90s didn’t come cheap. And if this battle was going to be won, no available asset could be wasted. “Fine,” he said. “Do it.”

The helicopter rose straight up and eased over to settle above one of the apartment buildings. As soon as the gear touched down, the door was opened and troops were deployed. Last man out shut the door behind him and the bird was once again in the air and firing at another group of targets. Bing, bang, boom. Now if the rest of the day could run like that, Adderson thought, he would be a happy man. He carried his HK-G36, but some of the other troops had brought along semiautomatic Benelli M-4 shotguns. Several paces before reaching the door that led into the building, two shotgunners moved forward to take point. They kicked the door in and headed down a narrow set of stairs that led to a maintenance room at the end of a long hall. The next set of stairs was lit by a flickering set of emergency lights. Judging by the boards nailed to the interior of the frames, the residents of those apartments had tried to defend their homes against the beasts that invaded their city.

One of the lead shotgunners stopped and raised a fist so everyone behind him could see it. The entire group came to a halt and waited silently for the next signal. With a minimum of hand motions, the shotgunner told them he saw something ahead and down the next set of stairs. At least two possible threats.

A pair of Marines carrying HKs moved up to join the shotgunners, and Adderson moved back. Once the new marching order had been arranged, he ordered them to proceed down the stairs and assess the situation. It was an open, square stairwell, which allowed the shotgunners to proceed downward and the Marines to cover them from higher ground. Adderson hung back with the remaining team members and divided his attention between the soldiers ahead and behind. There was no way for anything to get the drop on them without being spotted first. Of course, considering what they were up against, spotting the enemy usually wasn’t the problem.

At the bottom of the stairwell something heavy smashed through a set of reinforced doors. Adderson could hear the doors being knocked off their hinges, followed by the loud clanging of iron bars hitting the floor. The IRD fire team remained where it was, sighting along their weapons and waiting for a target to present itself. When several rasping growls drifted in from beyond the broken entrance, he knew every one of the trigger fingers around him was tensing. He held up his hand, signaling the team to remain where it was as the scraping on the lower floors reached the bottom of the stairs. They were definitely Class Twos. Adderson recognized the mixture of hunger, pain, and rage in their rasping grunts.

He sent the two shotgunners forward so they worked their way to the next landing and dropped to one knee. By now Adderson and the Marines with the HKs had once again positioned themselves on higher stairs to look down at the shotgunners. The Class Twos were ripping at something. Those sounds, mixed with the tearing of wet meat and the lack of screaming, told him the wolves had found a dead body at the bottom of the stairwell. When one of the shotgunners looked up to him for instruction, Adderson pointed toward the rest of the team and made a sweeping motion that ended by pointing his fingers directly to the bottom of the stairwell. If the wolves decided to pick the wrong time for a snack, there was no reason that mistake couldn’t be their last.

The lead shotgunner held up three fingers, ticked them off one by one, then led a shuffling charge down the stairs. All of their steps started quietly enough, but built in pace as well as intensity as the team got close enough to where they knew the wolves would hear or smell them at any second, no matter how stealthily they tried to approach. The chomping downstairs stopped as the first werewolf grunted and then barked up the stairs. By the time the small pack started scrambling upward, they were already being met by a volley of gunfire.

The shotgunners were first, and they unleashed a twelve-gauge torrent that tore into the werewolves’ faces in a way that put a smile on the team members pulling the triggers. But despite that gloriously visceral payback for all of the blood they’d seen spilled, the IRD shooters weren’t able to put the Class Twos down. That’s where the team members on the upper stairs came in. Once the shotguns slowed the wolves down and ripped away enough of their flesh, more precise rounds drilled into the creatures’ spines and skulls from a downward angle. For any other living thing, the result would have been instantaneous. Then again, Adderson mused as he pulled his trigger to send bursts into the pack of shapeshifters, no other living thing could have withstood the shotguns. Even though his team performed by the numbers, one of the Class Twos made it to a shotgunner and clamped its jaws around his shin.

Gritting his teeth as the fangs drove in deeper, the man pressed the Benelli’s barrel against a gaping wound on the creature’s face and pulled his trigger. The shotgun round exploded out through the back of the creature’s head, but its grip on his leg only tightened. It took a few more concentrated bursts from the HKs to put an end to that reflex so the shotgunner could kick the dead beast away.

“You all right, soldier?” Adderson asked as he moved to the lower landing.

The shotgunner looked up and nodded without showing surprise that Adderson’s gun was pointed at him. “I’m good to go, sir.”

“Did the fangs get through?”

“Yeah, but just into the armor and some meat. Not the bone.” Pulling in a pained breath, he said, “The specialists said they had to get all the way through to bone before I’d turn, right?”

“Right.”

Adderson stared at the messy wound on the shotgunner’s leg. Instead of the compassion he’d felt when seeing lesser wounds in other conflicts, he could only think about whether he should take the questionable data gathered by what amounted to a supernatural militia member over the knowledge he’d gained from the battlefield. “Do we have any more of that stuff the specialists mixed up for us to clean these wounds?”

The reply came from one of the Marines above him. “Used the last of it up yesterday, sir.”

“If there’s more specialists in the city,” the other shotgunner offered, “then we could—”

“We could waste a lot of time on a gamble that they’re carrying the exact supplies we need,” Adderson snapped. Pointing to the second shotgunner and the Marine who’d spoken up earlier, he said, “You two stay here and dress the wound. If he starts to turn, you’re to put him down immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

The orders were taken without resentment or a second thought. That didn’t mean Adderson didn’t feel any pangs upon issuing them, however. Referring to his own troops like animals went against every instinct in his body but was a necessary evil in a world that had been fucked up beyond his ability to repair it. After signaling for the rest of the team to go down the rest of the stairs and sweep the next room, he brought the radio to his mouth and said, “Any Ravens in the vicinity of Zone Four?”

After a brief pause, Hendricks replied, “Never got too far from you, Major. Need a lift?”

“What’s the status on that special delivery from up north?”

“Should be arriving within the hour. Over.”

“And what about that Class One?”

“Ripping the hell out of a park, but he’s awfully mobile. Doesn’t seem to want to get too far away from those specialists, though.”

“Do you have gunners?” Adderson asked.

“Down one after that last howl.”

“Replenish your supply and pick up as many troops as you can. I’m bringing one along with me, so come and get us ASAP.”

“What’s the plan from there, sir?”

When Adderson pressed the radio’s button, he felt like he was ready to crush the device in his hand. “We point every barrel we’ve got at that fucking Class One and burn it down.”

“Roger that.”