Extinction Edge

-19-

Kate took a closer look at the Marine who helped them escape from Building 1. He’d said his name was Jackson. They’d stopped under a circle of light from an industrial pole as he swept his weapon over the concrete path ahead. The calm, confident sparkle in his eyes didn’t reflect his age. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. Just a boy, Kate thought. But he had killed two of the Variants like a battle-hardened Marine, with single shots to their heads.

After clearing the area, Jackson signaled for the small group to continue. Holding Jenny’s and Tasha’s hands, Kate trailed Ellis and a handful of other scientists. She counted heads as the light spilled over them. Only nine of them had made it out of the lab building.

Cindy wasn’t one of them.

A flashback to the chaos raced across her mind and she remembered the Variant pouncing on Cindy. Her thrashing arms. Her screams. And then silence.

Kate bent over to throw up, dry heaving on the ground.

Tasha and Jenny yanked on her sleeves. She wiped her mouth off with a sweep of her forearm and then grabbed their hands. She still didn’t quite believe this was all happening. The base was supposed to be secure.

Safe.

The word made her want to laugh. How could she have been so naïve? The Variants couldn’t be caged like a dog. They were intelligent, powerful predators. Kate should have known they were too dangerous to keep locked up. She thought of Fitz and Riley, wondering if they were okay.

The girls were crying at her side as they ran. Footfalls pounded the concrete. There were other human sounds. Labored breathing. Coughing and whimpering.

“Come on!” Jackson insisted. He ran past Building 2 and pointed at the third dome in the distance. He was leading them to the medical facility. Kate risked a glance over her shoulder. There was movement outside Building 1. She squinted, but the shapes melted away.

Another explosion lit up the sky. The chopper was completely engulfed now, the full tank of gas burning out of control.

Everything seemed surreal. A dream.

A tug on her right hand forced her to turn back to the others. They were only a hundred yards from Building 3. Two silhouettes jogged down the steps. Kate’s heart jumped again, but then she saw the rifles.

The soldiers moved into the dim light with their weapons shouldered.

“Get inside!” one of them shouted.

“Thank you,” Kate whispered to Jackson as she led the girls into the building.

“Doing my job, ma’am.” He paused and looked behind them. “I think that’s it.”

“There have to be more survivors,” said the other soldier.

She lost track of their conversation as she followed Ellis and the others through the front doors. Riley was waiting in the atrium in his wheelchair, a pistol lying on his lap “What the hell’s going on?” His eyes skittered from face to face.

“Kate,” he said. “What the hell?”

Gripping the crying girls’ hands tighter, she said, “The base has been overrun.” She shook her head and looked back at the door. “I don’t…”

Ellis took over. “A chopper full of Variants crash-landed. They’re rampaging through the base, building by building.”

Kate flinched when the doors opened. She backed away, pulling the girls with her. Jackson peered through the gap. “We’re going to hold them here. You guys find a place to hide and lock the doors from inside.”

“What?” Kate said, shocked. “You’re not going to come with us?”

The Marine narrowed his blue eyes on her and shook his head. “I’m going to do what I was ordered to do. I’m going to protect this base.”

Kate marveled at the young man’s heroism. The world needed men like him, men that were willing to make sacrifices. Men like Beckham.

“Thank you,” she said again.

Jackson handed his sidearm to Ellis. “Take this.” Then he looked over at Riley. “Keep ‘em safe.”

“Good luck,” Riley said. He checked the magazine in his pistol and then chambered a round.

More screams sounded in the distance.

“Jackson, get back out here,” one of the soldiers shouted.

The Marine exchanged one final look with Kate and then closed the door.

Ellis quickly locked it behind him with a twist. “We should go to the ICU and lock down every ward on our way. Those things will have a hell of a time getting through.”

“Let’s move,” Riley said. He wheeled down the atrium and into the hallway connecting to the medical wings. There were three total, and the ICU was the final compartment.

They heard gunfire before they were able to secure the first doors. Kate flinched at every crack. It was over in seconds. The high-pitched croaks and shrieks of the Variants reclaimed the night.

Kate and Ellis exchanged a look. They both knew what the sound meant. Jackson and the others were already dead.

“Hurry!” Riley shouted.

Tasha and Jenny ran down the hall with Kate by their side. Dr. Holder and his nurse, Tina, came bursting around the corner.

“What the hell is happening?” Holder asked.

Kate slid to a stop. “No time to talk. Where are the other patients?”

The doctor ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “Colonel Gibson’s it.”

Kate grabbed the girls and continued down the hallway, their shoes clicking on the tile. When they reached the final ward, the group stopped and huddled around the front desk. Ellis secured the doors and then raised his pistol, giving it a once-over like he’d never seen a gun before. “Anyone know how to shoot this?”

A familiar face emerged from the group of strangers. It was Rod from Toxicology. He’d helped them identify the nanostructures of VX-99 present in the Hemorrhage Virus. The scientist held out a shaky hand. “I do.”

“What the hell do we do now?” Holder asked.

Tina echoed the doctor’s words. “Yeah, what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for those things?”

Her tone reminded Kate why she didn’t like the woman.

“Yeah. We wait,” Riley said. “I mean, you could go find a place to hide if you want. But I’m going to camp out right here. He raised his pistol at the door. “And then, when those things come through, I’m going to kill every last one of ‘em.”

Tina looked at the man like he was crazy and then took off running down the hall, disappearing into one of the vacant rooms. Dr. Holder shook his head and ran after her.

That left Rod, Kate, Ellis, the girls, and four other scientists she didn’t know. Everyone but Riley was staring at her, looking to the ‘savior of the world’ for strength. But like so many times before, Kate didn’t know what to do. Though she wouldn’t say it out loud, she was convinced this was the end of the line.

Metal clanged deep inside the facility. Kate tensed as she listened. The noise came again. Louder now. Closer.

“They’re in,” Riley said. He raised his pistol. “Stay behind me.”

The monsters were finally coming. And this time Kate had no way to stop them.

The convoy slowed to a stop at the corner of West 42^nd. Spotlights swept over the street, the beams cutting through the night like a scalpel. Beckham tensed as he looked up at the Bank of America Tower. The Air Force had spared the area from the firebombs, but most of the windows were still shattered. As long as the frame was stable, he wasn’t going to sweat it. The biggest concern was clearing the building and finding a place to set up sniping positions.

“All right, let’s get this FOB set up,” Gates said over the comm. He stepped out of the command Humvee and directed Marines to the other two trucks. The remaining men unloaded equipment and weapons.

Beckham pulled off his gas mask and stuffed it in the bag on his hip. Ghost waited on the curb with the rest of the other strike teams as the Bradleys worked on forming a perimeter around the street. They made a wall of metal with the abandoned vehicles that would slow down any Variants coming from the north, but it also blocked a potential escape route if 1^st Platoon needed to get the hell out of Dodge.

What the fuck was Gates thinking? His decisions were straight out of the handbook. But the handbook didn’t apply to end-of-the-world scenarios like this one.

Beckham studied the city, mentally mapping out the target zone of the New York Public Library and the forest of trees surrounding Bryant Park. Ash-covered branches swayed in a light breeze, the soot raining down like snow.

His legs felt numb from the hike. And he was filthy. Blood and soot covered him from boots to helmet. He wiped grime off his face and focused on the park. With the ash on the trees, the image looked like it belonged on some Christmas card. He stood there, watching and waiting for orders, half expecting to see an army of Variants swinging through the branches like they had back at Fort Bragg. But besides the crunching of metal, all was quiet.

“Moving armor into position,” Beckham heard through his headset. It was the voice of Sergeant Valdez.

Jensen walked over to Beckham. Even in the dim light, he could see the lieutenant colonel was furious. Jensen jerked his chin and Beckham followed him a little distance from the other teams.

“I’m considering pulling rank,” he said. “Ordering in an extraction.”

“Sir, I thought you would never say that,” Beckham replied gingerly.

“Problem is, I don’t think Kennor would approve the order. I honestly think it’s going to take a million of those fucking monsters for the general to realize the city can’t be taken back with force.”

Beckham nodded. “Kennor is a bull-headed asshole. Just like Gibson.” He paused to take in a sidelong glance of their men and then said, “So what do we do?”

Jensen spat on the ground. “We set up shop and pray the Bradleys and Humvees can hold off the Variants when they decide to show their true strength. At that point, I’m hoping the flyboys finish the rest.”

“I’m with you, sir. And my men are with you, too,” Beckham said.

Jensen put a hand on Beckham’s shoulder. “To the end.”

“To the end,” Beckham repeated.

The comm channel came online a moment later. It was Gates. “Strike teams advance to Bank of America Tower. Command wants the FOB set up by dawn.”

Beckham turned from the surreal view of the park and snapped his street senses back on. The tower loomed overhead. It was the perfect place for sniping positions, given the vantage it had over the entire area. But what if there were Variants lurking inside?

It was going to be a long hike up. Taking in a measured breath, he flashed an advance signal toward the shattered windows of the first floor. Team Ghost and the other strike teams hustled inside, broken glass crunching under the weight of their boots. Beckham shouldered one last glance at 1^st Platoon and said a mental prayer before following his men into the building.

“Clear,” Horn yelled.

Beckham stopped in front of the elevators and scanned the two dozen Special Op soldiers and Marines. Weapons of all sizes and calibers were leveled at the ground, ready to rock ’n’ roll. Grenades and extra magazines hung from armored vests. NVG optics stared back at him.

“All right,” Beckham said. He paused to wait for one of the Bradleys to finish pushing a car into position outside. When the noise subsided, he said, “Our objective is to take out any Variants and support the FOB. I’m going to be honest with you—those things are waiting to strike. I can feel it. You watch yourself, and you watch your buddy. This may be the most important battle of our lives. There won’t be any room for mistakes. Every bullet counts.”

There were several nods from the group. Beckham decided to keep the talk short. “Who’s got the building layout?”

The slender frame of Sergeant Peters stepped forward from the group, followed by Sergeant Rodriguez, a man almost twice as thick. Peters pulled out the blueprints and spread them out on the floor. “The building is fifty-five stories tall with fifty-two elevators, but obviously those aren’t an option. We got concrete stairwells here and here.”

Beckham took a knee to scan the layout. “Are they secured passages?”

“Yup,” Peters replied. “Building has a state-of-the-art security system.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Rodriguez said, swinging a tactical shotgun toward the floor.

“Alpha and Bravo, you take this stairwell to the twenty-fifth floor. Charlie and Delta, you’re with me and Lieutenant Colonel Jensen. We’ll take floor twenty-six and above. If things get dicey, we’re only a few beams of metal and drywall apart.” Beckham rubbed his gloves together. “Keep your headsets on and your eyes open. Good luck.”

The teams separated and fanned out across the lobby. Several of the Marines clapped each other on the back amidst muffled chants of “Oorah!”

One of Jensen’s men was waiting for them at the stairwell, his shotgun leveled at the door. Beckham flashed a thumbs-up, and the man fired at the locking mechanism. Sparks and metal exploded from the door. It swung open. The Marine stepped away and a second Marine darted up the stairs. A beat later he yelled, “Clear!”

Beckham fell into line behind Horn. He pulled his scarf over his nose the moment he smelled the rancid reek of rot.

The teams filed up the steps slowly, clearing one corner at a time. On the third floor they came across a mangled corpse, crusted blood still surrounding the body where the victim had bled out.

Poor bastard, Beckham thought. Alone and afraid was a really shitty way to die. He focused on the men in front of him. It was quiet—too fucking quiet.

Ten minutes into the climb, fatigue set in. The numbness returned. He felt every step, the injuries from Fort Bragg dragging on him. He reached for his water bottle and popped a mild pain med into his mouth. Kate had given him a bottle before he left, but he’d held off using them as long as he could.

A sign for floor twenty rolled into view and recharged his muscles. Only a few more floors to go. He wondered if the Variants would show up in the park below before they were able to secure their sniping positions.

“Hold!” shouted one of the Marines from Charlie team. He crouched on the landing.

Horn hunched in a defensive position. Beckham strained to get a view, angling his helmet, but he couldn’t see shit. Static crackled in his earpiece. The concrete stairwell was screwing with the transmissions. Beckham’s hand crept toward his vest, and he ran a finger over the pocket where he kept the picture of his mom. The simple touch quelled the anxiety building in his gut.

The Marine on the landing finally stood and motioned the others forward. He disappeared around the corner.

The stench of sour fruit filled Beckham’s nostrils before he saw the dead Variant three floors up. The creature lay clutching a melon-sized hole in its chest. Vertical pupils stared up blankly at the ceiling. Beckham halted when he thought he saw it blink.

Of course it hadn’t blinked. Beckham wiped a hand across his face to clear the phantom vision. The creature was dead as a fucking doornail. He kicked it in the leg just to be sure and continued on.

The team came to a stop at floor twenty-six. Beckham stretched his legs and then shoved his way through the pack to the front. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen was crouched outside the door next to the Marine with the tactical shotgun.

“On me,” Beckham said.

Jensen nodded and backed away from the entrance. Beckham took his place and said, “Blow the lock.”

The Marine aimed and fired. He then pulled on the handle and swung the door open. Beckham rushed inside, his MP5 sweeping over a carpeted hallway, clear of any signs of struggle. The opulent space was like walking into a fairytale. Then the lingering rot reached his nose, and he fumbled for his scarf. He pulled it up and breathed out a sigh when he saw the bodies at the end of the hallway.

“We got corpses,” Beckham whispered into his mini-mic. “Lots of ‘em.”

He halted and balled his hand into a fist. Most of the dead were covered with tarps, but there were a few limbs exposed.

“Hold position,” he said. He angled his weapon at a wall of cracked glass that looked over a floor of desks and cubicles. There were no contacts, no movement. Nothing. With his weapon at low ready, he moved slowly toward the pile of dead.

He took a knee when he was several feet away.

“God,” he muttered, the reek burning his nasal passages. He clutched his MP5 against his chest and held his breath as he reached forward.

He shifted the tarp and uncovered a woman’s hand. The fingers were stiff but straight, not twisted like those of a Variant. He peeled back the tarp all the way to reveal the face of a woman, an obvious victim of the Hemorrhage Virus. A bloody beard surrounded her lips and crusted blood trickled from her eyes, nose, and ears.

He took up his MP5 again and swiveled on his heels to scan the area. Someone had survived both the virus and the Variants long enough to stack the corpses.

A soft scuffling noise pulled him away from the pile. He slowly rose to his feet and aimed his weapon at the glass. He almost fired, but then he saw the wild, frightened eyes of a young boy staring back at him from the other side.