Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (40 page)

Jesus, how could these men be so evil?

Fitz wiped the rain from his eyes and pushed down on the throttle. He’d lost ten minutes trying to figure out how to fill it with gas. The tank was almost on empty when he boarded. 

“Come on, you piece of shit.”

For a speedboat, he expected the damn thing to go faster, but the wind and rain prevented him from pushing her to the max. Doing so could result in flipping and capsizing. The last thing he wanted was to swim to Plum Island.

They weren’t far now, and the closer he got, the higher his heart rate spiked. He wasn’t going to make it. There just wasn’t enough time.

On the horizon, the vague outline of the island was already in focus. He searched the skies for a Blackhawk, but saw only darkness. And there was no sign of the Mark V SOCs in the dark water. By the time one of the guard towers saw the boats, it could be too late. Where the fuck was the air support? Had the other choppers been recalled to the
GW
?

Fitz cursed, his mind spinning as he considered his options. He could remove the silencer on the M4, but gunshots were going to be hard to hear over the thunder. Craning his neck, he searched the boat. He had seen an emergency pack when he boarded. He eyed the box, an idea emerging on his mind. Ahead, two of the boats were slowing. The other crafts continued at full speed. Had they spotted him?

Fitz eased off on the throttle and let his boat coast. He had to do something, and he had to do something now. He ran back to the emergency box. Rummaging through the contents, he pulled an orange flare gun and a set of flares.

Stuffing them into his vest, he rushed back to steering wheel, grabbed it with his left hand, and pushed the throttle down with his right. The boat jolted, the bow lifting into the air. Apollo slid across the floor, letting out a whimper.

“Sorry!” Fitz shouted. He took his hand off the throttle and loaded the flare gun. The boats were a half-mile from the island now, and there was still no sign of a chopper or a Mark V SOC.

Fitz fired off a flare into the sky. He cracked the break open and was moving to put in another flare when Apollo howled. In his peripheral vision, a Variant, soaked and shrieking, pulled itself onto the right side of the boat.

Now he knew why the two boats had slowed earlier. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, the beast had thrown a wrench into the cog of war.

Fitz fired off a second flare into the sky and pulled his M9. Apollo was already on the monster and had it pinned it to the ground. A second and then a third Variant climbed into the boat from the left side.

Before the third was all the way aboard, Fitz shot it in the nose. It flipped over the side and hit the water, skating over the whitecaps and vanishing in the darkness. The other beast leapt toward Fitz. Apollo left his limp prey on the deck and grabbed it by the ankle. The creature slashed at Fitz, knocking his hand away from the steering wheel. The boat curved to the right, slamming over waves and jolting up and down.

Howling in pain, the Variant jerked and kicked Apollo off its leg. The dog slid across the bloody deck and hit the starboard side with a yelp.

Fitz fought out of the monster’s grip and shot it under the chin, brains blowing out the top of its shiny skull. He pushed the beast over the side and grabbed the wheel, straightening the boat out with a quick twist.

“Apollo!” Fitz shouted.

The dog hurried to his side, seemingly unharmed. Fitz breathed in a sigh of relief, and turned back to the island. The other boats were slowing as they approached, but one was already making a run for the beach. Flashes of gunfire streaked away from the towers. Flames licked the back of the hull, and tendrils of smoke rose into the sky. The towers continued to fire, but the vessel hit the beach at full steam, skidding over the sand and smashing through both sets of electric fences.

Fitz pushed the throttle down as far as it would go. A Blackhawk rose over the tarmac, the .50 cal barking to life as soon as it was in the sky.

Thank God.

Fitz twisted the steering wheel, trying his best to keep the boat steady. Rain beat against his face, and he batted the water from his eyes. In between blinks, a flash of fire streaked from one of the boats. He flinched as a rocket slammed into the side of the chopper, crimson ballooning out the sides.

“No!” Fitz shouted, unable to control himself. He watched in shock, his mouth hanging open as the wreckage crashed back onto the tarmac.

A Mark V SOC finally came bursting around the corner of the island, Gatling gun blazing at the approaching boats. But it was already too late. The human collaborators drove the vessels onto the beach. Monsters piled over the sides and bolted across the sand. Fitz swallowed, still unable to quite process the turn of events. His eyes flitted to Apollo.

“You ready to fight, boy?”

Apollo bared his teeth and sat next to Fitz’s bent blade. He patted the dog on the head, and steered the boat toward the shore. Plum Island was about to be overrun, but he was prepared to fight with his bare hands to save his friends.

K
ate almost cried out loud when Major Smith told her Reed and his team had been extracted from New York with a live specimen in tow.

“He’s on the Vice President’s shit list for making off with an Osprey unauthorized. Not like it matters anymore who follows orders and who doesn’t,” Smith had said with a shrug.

Kate knew Major Smith had been broken by the loss of his family and his commanding officer, but she wasn’t prepared for how easily he brushed aside Team Ghost’s actions. Still, it was nice to know Reed might have some support from the officer if Johnson decided to enforce discipline. Then she remembered his words to Fitz when he first arrived on Plum Island.

“UCMJ says I’m supposed to arrest you. But I suppose I should give you a medal.”

Thoughts of Fitz put Kate’s mind back on the other news Major Smith had shared. Chow had suffered severe injuries in Manhattan. The Operator was in stable condition, but only just. And the teams had found no sign of Fitz or Apollo.

Like everything in this never-ending apocalypse, there seemed to be a trade-off. A juvenile Variant could be the key to winning the war and retaking the planet. Could she weigh that against the losses they’d suffered to obtain it?

Kate went over the data from Bioreactor 11 in silence. Earlier, focusing on work had been like trying to run a marathon with a hangover. She hadn’t gotten anything done, but now she couldn’t waste any more time.

“Kate, you okay?” Ellis asked. He was standing in front of Bioreactor 12, checking the stats and tapping the results into his tablet.

“As okay as I can be,” she said. “How about you?”

Ellis nodded, and backed away from Bioreactor 12. “Only four or five more days before this batch should be ready. Did you speak to the other US labs before you left the
GW
?”

“Dr. Yokoyama was going to contact them this evening and report back. He was pretty shaken up after the incident with Lieutenant Brett.”

Ellis glanced in her direction. “You never did explain what happened.”

“He overpowered the guards, from what I was told. Guess they underestimated his strength. After he escaped, he made a run for the labs.”

“And he knew how to find them?”

“Dr. Yokoyama had performed tests on Brett. He knew exactly where he was going.”

Ellis was quiet. He lowered his head and studied the screen of his tablet. 

“Where are we at with the next phase of Kryptonite?” Kate asked.

Still looking down, Ellis said, “I’ve decided to use a polymer micro-encapsulation technique.”

“That’s what the other labs are doing, too.”

Ellis strolled over to Bioreactor 10. “I hope they know what they’re doing. This is all experimental.”

Kate almost asked him if he understood the process, but he beat her to it.

“I think I understand the technique, but I’ll need assistance. First, we’ll need to conjugate the antibodies to the polymer shells encapsulating the Paclitaxel and Docetaxel. When that’s finished, we put them into the missiles.”

Kate nodded again. “I’ll contact Dr. Yokoyama tomorrow morning and let him know our status.” She was walking to Bioreactor 9 when a thud rattled the lab. “What the hell was that?”

Ellis stared at the observation window. “I...I don’t know.”

The blare of an emergency siren sounded. Both of them flinched at the noise. They exchanged a worried glance, each likely fearing the same thing—the island was under attack.

“Must be a false alarm, right?” Ellis asked. “Major Smith would have told us if something was wrong.”

“I’ll check it out,” Kate said. “Keep working.”

T
he extraction from New York had gone flawlessly. Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters had only encountered light resistance before the Osprey picked them up. That was almost two hours ago. Now, the men sat in the troop hold of the craft, racing through heavy storms toward the
GW
.

Beckham was lost in his thoughts, the mission replaying in his mind on a loop, one eye still on Chow. The man lay on the floor covered in bandages. Some of the lacerations were deep, but they had stopped most of the bleeding. He was stable for now, but he would need surgery when he got back to the
GW
. The creatures had carved him up good. If he did live, he was going to be covered in scars.

The Variant specimen was in the corner of the troop hold, hands and feet bound, with Horn holding a knee to its chest. The thing wasn’t going anywhere. They were thirty minutes out, and the creature showed no sign of waking.

White noise broke over the comms, pulling Beckham back to the grim reality. Fitz and Apollo were still out there, and Chow was severely injured because Beckham had fucked up. The guilt stabbed at his insides. He had to accept Fitz and Apollo were gone. He had to let them go.

“Master Sergeant,” Tito said. “We got Lieutenant Davis on the comms. She wants to talk to you.”

“Patch it through,” Beckham said. Static crackled in his ear.

“Master Sergeant Beckham,” Davis said.

“Here, Lieutenant,” Beckham said in a low, deep voice.

“I’d offer you congratulations, but I’m afraid I have disturbing news. We just heard that Plum Island is under attack.”

Beckham’s heart thudded his ribcage, and Horn craned his neck to catch his worried gaze.

“What do you mean under attack?” Beckham asked, his voice cracking.

“We don’t have many details. Major Smith only sent us an SOS saying that boats had rammed the electric fences and that Variants had made landfall a few minutes ago.”

Beckham shot out of his seat and worked his way to the cockpit. “Turn this bird around!” he shouted. “We have to get to Plum Island!”

The pilots both twisted around to look at him.

“That’s an order!” Beckham shouted.

Tito glanced back at the controls. “We can’t, sir. We’re low on fuel. We wouldn’t even make it halfway there.”

Beckham kicked the wall in frustration. “How much farther to the
GW
?”

“Fifteen minutes, sir,” the other pilot replied.

Horn was standing now, his boot clamped down on the monster’s throat. “What the hell is happening?”

“Davis, how long until you can have birds in the air?” Beckham said into the comm.

“They’re already in the air, but they won’t get to the island for another hour.”

“Fuck!” Beckham shouted.

Garcia had risen to his feet. He put a hand on Beckham’s back. “We’re with you, brother. Once we drop off Chow and this freak, we’ll head back out there.”

Chow struggled to sit up, but Tank held up a hand. “Don’t
move
,” Tank said.

Chow’s eyes flitted to Beckham. There was sadness there, but also resiliency. Despite his injuries, Beckham could see Chow wanted to fight. They exchanged a nod that told Beckham his brother was going to be okay.

Beckham bowed his head, shaking it from side to side. He put a hand to his vest pocket, his heart beating so hard he could feel it through his vest.

Mom, please, if you’re watching over me, help Kate and the others.