Extinction Edge

-14-

Hours had passed since Beckham and the other men left for New York City. Kate stood on the concrete steps of Building 1 with Ellis, her chaotic thoughts threatening to take over. She’d left Jenny and Tasha with a technician named Leila, who’d offered to look after the girls while Kate spent a few hours working.

The whipping of helicopter blades pulled Kate’s attention to the skyline. A Chinook raced toward the island and then hovered over the tarmac as the pilot waited for permission to land.

Two Medical Corps guards shouldered their rifles at the bottom of the steps. One of them glanced up at Kate and Ellis.

“Doctors, you better go inside,” he said.

Kate crossed her arms. She needed to see this. To remember what they were dealing with.

A few minutes later and the bird touched down. The doors opened and six soldiers in what looked like riot gear emerged. Working together they pulled three stretchers from the belly of the chopper, split into two-man teams and then hurried across the runway.

Kate couldn’t see much, but she could glimpse the Variants. They were held down by blue restraints that covered their arms, chests and legs. She watched with fascination as the teams moved closer. A Medical Corps guard met them at the edge of the tarmac and pointed toward Building 4.

“Well look at that,” a voice said from the doorway. Kate hadn’t heard Major Smith open the doors. He stepped outside and joined Kate and Ellis on the stoop. He chuckled and said, “I hope their passengers are sleeping.”

“I’m sure they used tranquilizers on them,” Kate replied. She took a step back as the men approached Building 1. She stared at the stretchers, studying each one. The creatures’ mouths were covered with a metal contraption that looked a lot like the grill from a football helmet.

The soldier helping carry the first stretcher looked up at her, his eyes hidden behind a mirrored visor. Before he could react the Variant he was helping carry shook in its restraints, jerking from side to side.

“Shit! Put it down!” one of the men screamed.

The stretcher toppled over and the Variant fell face first onto the ground. The other soldiers put their loads down and retreated from the squirming creature. They formed a perimeter and then aimed their weapons.

For a moment the men just stood there, waiting, like none of them knew what to do. The Variant fought against its bands, twisting and shaking. It let out a muffled shriek that made Kate’s heart leap.

She covered her ears and backed toward the door of Building 1. When her back hit the metal, a gunshot rang out. One of the Medical Corps guards on the bottom step loped forward, emptying his magazine into the creature. Blood pooled around the Variant as its body was riddled with bullets.

“Let’s go,” Smith ordered, suddenly very stern. “You don’t need to see this.” He opened the door and gestured for Kate and Ellis to go inside. When they were clear he shut the door. Kate watched the major through the glass windows as he pulled a pistol and ran down the steps.

“Shit,” Ellis said. “That’s one less specimen to study.” He turned away from the view and walked toward the hallway.

“One less specimen?” Kate replied, her arms trembling. She focused on her breathing and her pounding heart. Ellis had seen a lot over the past month. They both had, but his lack of emotion bothered her.

Ellis stopped and then walked back to her when he finally realized what she was thinking. “Sorry, Kate. I know that must have been hard for you to see after what happened.”

She held up a hand. “I’m fine.”

He nodded and twisted his lips to the side, like he wanted to say something else. Then he continued down the corridor.

Thirty minutes later, and Kate was holding out her arms, waiting for Ellis to zip up the back of her suit. Her racing heart had finally calmed to a normal level.

“There you go,” he said. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Kate shrugged and then helped secure Ellis’s suit. “We have no choice. It’s the only way we’re going to learn more about them. I just hope to God they don’t get out again.”

She thought of what Gibson had said about Lieutenant Brett as she finished assisting Ellis.

He was an animal. Rabid, deadly and forever changed. We couldn’t control him.

The words chilled Kate to the core, but there was no turning back. She zipped Ellis up, patted his shoulder and then checked her suit one last time. When they were ready she held her keycard over the security panel.

The doors whispered open to the lab where she’d spent so many hours over the past couple weeks. White light from the overhead LEDs blinded her for a brief moment. When her vision cleared, she saw her pale reflection in the glass wall across the room. She looked past it and watched the scientists and technicians in CBR suits moving back and forth in their individual chambers.

The dead Variant outside, the motion, the bright lights, the chill of the oxygen filling her suit—it was all too much. Kate could hear Ellis’s breathing behind her. Then there was a hand on her shoulder.

“You okay, Kate?” he asked.

She didn’t reply. Her mind was a scrambled mess. She was overwhelmed with flashbacks of the horror she’d seen since the outbreak began, all of them as vivid as if she were watching a video of her past. There was Dr. Allen holding his injured arm back in Atlanta. She heard his final words before he jumped from the chopper: In order to kill a monster, you will have to create one.

She pictured the twisted face of her brother, Javier. Bloody saliva webbed across his mouth. Although she hadn’t seen him succumb to the virus, she had heard his agony on the phone just before she lost him forever. Kate shivered and blinked rapidly. She wanted the thoughts to stop, for everything to just stop.

“Kate,” Ellis said.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled filtered air through her nostrils. The anxiety slowly diminished.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m okay. Just needed a minute.” She crossed the lab and paused behind Cindy’s station. “Do we have a live feed?”

“Yup,” Cindy replied, swiveling the right monitor in their direction. “Both patients are in their cells and are coming to. Check this out.”

The display showed a video of holding cell 14. A female Variant huddled in a corner of the room away from the bulk of the bright light. She clawed the wall sluggishly. The tranquilizer still hadn’t worn off completely.

“Never seen one of them do that before,” Cindy said. “Interesting.” She keyed in several strokes, and the video camera zoomed in on the creature.

“Check out her arms,” Ellis said. “Are we seeing more of the epigenetic changes?”

Blue veins bulged from exposed skin. Not the thin blue ones she’d seen before; these were thicker and more wormlike. Kate had never seen a Variant with such pronounced veins.

“Can you get someone on the comm?” Ellis asked. “See if they can redirect the lights.”

Cindy typed in the request and brought up a feed to the lead guard at the isolation facility. The face of a young soldier filled the left screen.

“Station 2,” he said.

“Yeah, this is Dr. Pat Ellis. We’re watching the feed to cell 14 and are having a hard time seeing anything.”

“Our instructions are to keep the lights dimmed,” the man said.

“I’m overriding that,” Kate said. “You can tell your CO.”

The man shrugged. “She ain’t going to like it…”

A few seconds later the right monitor brightened as the LEDs intensified inside the cell. The creature let out a pained shriek, clawing at the light. Hunching down into a ball, the female covered her eyes with an arm, her body trembling.

“That good?” the guard asked.

“Yeah,” Kate mumbled, captivated by what she was seeing.

“Anything else I can do for you, Doctors?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Cindy replied.

“They must be forming a sensitivity to light,” Ellis said.

The patient peered up through a gap in her fort of limbs, focusing on the camera. Kate gasped as the subject’s vertical slits widened, focusing in the extreme light like she could see them.

Kate looked away and tapped Ellis on his arm. “Did you see anything in the report we received from Central about a response to UV radiation or bright lights?”

Ellis shook his helmet without taking his eyes off the monitor. “Could be another change we haven’t seen before.”

With a nod, Kate said, “Cindy, bring up the feed of the other specimen.”

With a few clicks, the woman’s gloved fingers moved from the mouse to the keyboard and then back to the table, tapping nervously. “This is cell 15.”

The monitor showed another female patient on the floor. Agonized shrieks filled the audio as she distorted her body. She fell to her stomach, squirmed, and then clambered on all fours. Her arms and legs cracked and popped as she scuffled forward and launched herself onto the wall with a raucous screech that hurt Kate’s ears.

“God, turn the volume down,” Kate said, cupping her hands over her helmet.

“Sure, sorry about that,” Cindy replied.

The audio feed cut out and Kate could only hear her own breathing. The Variant clawed at the lights and then dropped to the ground and darted to a corner, shielding its eyes with a naked arm.

“This is amazing,” Ellis said. “The sensitivity to light and UV rays is remarkable. I think we finally found a weakness!”

“What’s causing it?” Cindy asked. “Do you think it was from the Ebola infection? The virus could have damaged their optical nerves.”

“No,” Kate said firmly. “These Variants have all recovered from the virus. What we are witnessing is a result of the epigenetic changes from the nanostructures found in VX-99.”

In the blink of an eye, the creature hunched, coiled, and sprang toward the ceiling. Her rigid fingers grasped the bank of lights and tore them out of the ceiling. She hung there, swinging back and forth by a single cord before it snapped and both creature and the lights crashed to the floor. Glass shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments.

The woman darted into a dark corner and Kate lost sight of her. Her heart leapt. She tried to convince herself the creatures couldn’t get out again, that they were locked away in cells that would hold them this time. But deep down, she wasn’t convinced. The longer she watched, the more she realized how insane holding them on the island was. They’d gotten out before. What would prevent them from doing so again?

A flash of motion on the monitor caught her attention. The female Variant crawled out of the shadows and crouched at the edge of light and darkness. Tilting her head, she sniffed the air and puckered her lips. Her pupils dilated, focusing in the darkness.

“What’s it doing?” Ellis asked.

“Hunting,” Kate whispered. She brought a hand to her helmeted head, an epiphany hitting her so hard she could hardly breathe. “My God… I was right."

Cindy rose from her stool. “About what, Kate? I’m not following.”

Kate hurried toward the comm panel to call Major Smith, talking as she moved. “The Variants have acquired a sensitivity to UV rays, and they’ve developed night vision to compensate.” She turned and searched her colleagues’ eyes. They still didn’t understand.

“The Variants have gone underground,” she said. “Beckham and his team are heading into a trap!”

Fifteen minutes turned into four hours. Lieutenant Gates ordered 1^st Platoon to stand by and wait for the smoke to clear. Command had picked a really shitty day to launch Operation Liberty; the wind had shifted almost immediately after the bombing, carpeting 1^st Platoon’s path with unpredictable smoke. Beckham was surprised Command hadn’t delayed the mission further, but General Kennor had a hard-on for killing the Variants. He wanted his streets back, and he wanted them back yesterday.

The wait provided every man on the pier the chance to soak in the sporadic rain and the apocalyptic view of Manhattan. Black plumes blew across the skyline, rising from a smoking crater of rubble where the Rockefeller Center buildings towered just hours before.

When the armored vehicles finally choked to life, the morning had turned to afternoon. “Move out,” Gates yelled. He climbed inside one of the Humvees marked with a medical cross and slammed the armored door.

Horn huffed as they followed the convoy off the pier. “Man, I told my girls monsters weren’t real.” He shook his head and then regarded Beckham with a wolfish grin. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to kill all of ‘em.”

“Don’t be overconfident. That’s killed plenty of men before,” Beckham said sternly. “And wipe that grin off your face.”

Horn pulled his skull mask over his nose. “Just gearing up for the mission, Boss.”

“This isn’t Fallujah or the Sudan,” Beckham said. His knife hand shook, his fingers trembling. He didn’t want to be back out here again; he didn’t want to be leading these men to shallow graves. And now was not the time to fuck around. Horn should know better.

“Hold up,” Beckham said. He waited for Jinx, Chow, Timbo, and Ryan. They formed a circle at the edge of the pier, a phantom border separating them from the decay and death of Manhattan. Beckham caught a glimpse of Jensen leading his team across the street. His posture reflected a combat vet, but Beckham didn’t remember the man ever mentioning having seen action.

Turning back to his men, Beckham said, “You all know that we could very well be walking into a trap. Those things could be anywhere, and those Bradleys,” he said, pointing. “They only have so much ammo.”

He studied each face, stopping on Horn’s. The man’s eyes were focused above his bandana. That was the Horn he knew; that was the man he needed right now.

The sound of metal crunching and grinding announced Operation Liberty was officially underway. Marines rushed past Team Ghost, their helmets bobbing up and down as they followed the armored vehicles into the street.

“Let’s move,” Beckham said. “Straight line. Combat intervals.”

The cough of diesel engines, pounding of boots, and rustle of gear would have made Beckham’s skin crawl on other missions. Any enemy within a square mile would hear them coming. But Operation Liberty wasn’t about stealth. It was about firepower. General Kennor had made sure of that.

The Bradleys groaned and snorted as they smashed abandoned vehicles out of their path. Beckham pulled his scarf up over his nose and braved the street. The moment he stepped off the pier, an overwhelming draft of decomposing bodies and waste penetrated the cotton. He stifled a gag and secured the scarf with a tight knot.

Everywhere around him Marines removed gas masks from their rucksacks. Beckham ordered his team to do the same. Across the street to his left, Timbo and Ryan were one step ahead of him and had their masks in hand already.

The convoy inched forward, passing hundreds of bloated corpses lining the street. They had all bled out from Kate’s bioweapon, and crusted blood clung to the sidewalk like red moss. Most of the Marines didn’t seem to notice, but a few of them slowed for a better look. One man bent over and lurched, pulling his gas mask away from his mouth to puke.

A green recruit, Beckham thought. He checked the other Marines, one by one, wondering exactly how many of them had even made it through training before the outbreak hit. Judging by their posture and movements, he decided the most action they’d probably seen was at the shooting range.

1^st Platoon was a ragtag group after all, cobbled together from what was left of the Marine Corps. He’d heard the casualty reports from Operation Reaper and should have known. He just hoped these men knew to stay out of his line of fire when shit hit the fan.

Beckham tightened his grip on his weapon, his biceps flexing as he kept the muzzle at a forty-five-degree angle. The gas mask provided two narrow oval views of the post-apocalyptic world they were venturing into. He told himself not to think of this as New York City—it was like any other enemy territory, no different than Baghdad or Fallujah despite what he’d told Horn. The iconic buildings of one of the world’s favorite cities were dark, a grim reminder New York was really gone. And it was probably never coming back.

“Pretty quiet,” Horn said.

“For now,” Beckham replied.

The convoy moved slowly, plowing through the graveyard of empty cars one at a time. The vehicle commanders stood inside the hatches of the Bradleys, scoping the road with binoculars behind the TOW launchers.

The Hudson River snaked along the left side of the street, the calm waters devoid of boats. There were no tourists walking along the road, staring out over the polluted harbor or the seagulls perched on piers. Billboards jutted off the roofs of buildings on the right side of 12^th, displaying ads of smiling Armani models and rap stars.

Two blocks in, the wind shifted again. A cloud of black smoke crossed the path of the convoy. The Bradleys groaned to a stop, and the Humvees parked a few feet behind them. Marines fell into line behind the armor. They waited for several minutes before Beckham’s earpiece crackled to life.

“Command has ordered us to continue the mission through the smoke.” It was Lieutenant Gates, and he sounded irritated.

The transmission ended. Beckham glanced over his shoulder and signaled Team Ghost forward. The vehicles disappeared into the black wall, swallowed like they had entered a portal to another dimension.

“I don’t like this,” Horn said.

Beckham watched the swirling cloud. “Me neither, but the smoke messes with the Variant’s senses.”

“Messes with ours too,” Horn said. “And remember what Kate said? Their senses are evolving or something.” Horn adjusted his gas mask with his free hand.

“Just stay focused,” Beckham replied, letting his eyes tell Horn he had the same thoughts running through his mind. Holding his breath like he was about to jump into the water, he followed the rest of 1^st Platoon into the smoke. The crunch of the Bradleys’ tracks guided him.

When they reached the intersection at West 50^th, the smoke began to dissipate. Beckham searched for the rest of his team. Timbo and Ryan had their eyes and muzzles trained on the buildings nearby. Jinx and Chow eyed the skyline. An eerie gray haze lingered over Manhattan. Somewhere out there, the Variants were hiding.

Waiting.

The Bradleys smashed onto West 50^th Street, taking turns pushing cars to the side of the road. Beckham narrowed in on the wreckage. A bloated corpse slumped partially out of the window of a cab. The Bradley on the left reversed and then smashed into the tail of the car, sending the dead driver flying. The body skidded across the concrete and then hit the brick wall of a building covered in graffiti and murals. Its skin burst open, peppering the artwork with gore. Beckham cringed at the sight. He jumped onto the sidewalk and hugged the brick wall lining the right side of the street.

“Where the fuck are those things?” Chow asked over his shoulder. He’d moved to the middle of the street a few yards ahead of Beckham and Horn’s position.

Horn pointed to the skyline. “Maybe the bombers got all of ‘em.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Beckham said.

Three blocks in and there was still no sign of the Variants or survivors. A steady drizzle drenched the convoy as it charged forward. The crusted red blood on the streets pooled and streamed into storm drains. It would only take a few months for Mother Nature to cleanse the city. The corpses would decay, and the rats would finish what the Hemorrhage Virus and Kate’s bioweapon had started. New York City had a shortage of many things, but rats weren’t on the list. He suspected that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Beckham kept to the sidewalk on the right side of the road, careful not to cross in front of any windows or doors that weren’t boarded up. He had his urban combat senses on now. Every nook and cranny held the potential of a threat. Horn followed close behind him. Jinx and Chow held their places in the middle of the street, with Jinx rotating as he walked to continually check their six. Timbo and Ryan kept up across the street, watching high and low for contacts.

At the end of the block they reached the first high-rises, a pair of modest brick apartments. The Bradley on the left smashed a Honda Civic into the front of the building, blocking the entrance. One less door the Variants could use to ambush the convoy. Beckham sidestepped the crushed Honda and continued on when a drop of heavy rain pinged off his helmet. A few steps and another drop hit his visor. This time he looked up. What he saw stopped him mid-stride.

A body in a CBR suit hung halfway out a window some five floors above, the visor angled down right at him. Beckham locked onto the pale, dead face through the hazy smoke.

There was a blur of motion in the window behind the body. He took a step back and saw a shiny skull buried into the back of the man’s suit.

“Contact!” Beckham yelled. “Fifth floor, six o’clock.” It had to be a recent kill if the Variant was feeding, which meant there were others in the area.

Leaping into the street, he took up position next to Horn. The Bradleys skidded to a stop. The commander manning the TOW launcher in the turret on the left dropped back into the vehicle and secured the hatch. The M242 25mm chain gun squealed as it maneuvered toward the building. Marines fanned out across the road, shouldering rifles and taking up position behind the armor of the convoy.

“Shoot it!” someone yelled.

The Marine Beckham saw puking earlier screamed, “There’s another one!”

He was right. More of the creatures shot their heads out of the open windows to check on the fresh meat gathering outside. Dozens of Variants emerged, their lips puckering and popping.

Before Lieutenant Gates could bark a single order over the comm, half of the platoon was firing their M16s. Beckham and the rest of Team Ghost ran for cover across the street, kneeling behind a car one of the Bradleys had flipped.

The crack of automatic gunfire echoed through the city as Marines emptied their magazines. Bullet casings pinged off the concrete, and wounded Variants fell to their death, smashing into the street with loud cracks. Back in Iraq, Beckham had learned exactly what sound a body made after falling from a tall building. These were no different. Each splattering crunch was as loud as a shotgun going off.

The sky was raining monsters.

“Hold your fucking fire!” came a voice over the net. “Conserve your ammo!”

It was Gates, and he was too late. Most of the platoon was already feeding the building with rounds from their second magazine. Beckham checked on his own team. The men all had their weapons aimed at the high-rise, but none of them had taken a single shot.

A minute later, every single window in the apartment building was gone. Bullet holes pockmarked the brick exterior. A half-dozen mangled creatures lay in puddles of blood on the sidewalk and street.

When the smoke cleared, the Marines gathered around the first casualty of Operation Liberty. Beckham shook his head when he saw the body. The kid that puked earlier and then prematurely started the Fourth of July celebration was lying face down on the sidewalk. A panel of broken glass had nearly sliced him in two.

Sergeant Valdez went to work a few feet away, smacking helmets. He swooped down to check the man’s lifeless body. He then pointed at the corpse and said, “This is what happens when you aren’t careful! From here on out, no one fires unless I give the fucking order!”

Valdez checked the dead Marine one more time before storming off toward the Bradleys. The sound of the engines reclaimed the afternoon, and the panic of the first battle faded. Marines fell back into position, some of them looking sheepishly at the ground, knowing they’d just participated in Operation Overkill.

The Bradleys advanced into the next intersection and Beckham motioned his men forward. He passed the body of the dead Marine, pausing briefly to say a short prayer. Two PFCs were standing over the kid. They watched Beckham pass and then glanced back down at their friend.

“He never even finished his training,” Beckham heard one of them say.

“Neither did I,” the other Marine said.