Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (6 page)

Mitchell resisted the urge to grip his sour gut as he watched. The Marine in Feed 1 staggered backward, tripping over something out of view. He pushed himself to his feet and took off running away from the beasts. Ahead of him, something meaty and muscular darted across the camera and vanished into the underbrush. In the distance, a pair of dark figures skittered up the base of a tree. The other five members of the squad were bolting through a grove of pines. Low evergreen branches hit them as they moved, obstructing the video.

“We have movement on Feeds 3 and 5,” a staffer said.

Stanton brought his radio back to his lips. “Bravo 1, do you copy?”

The only response came in the hiss of static, but Mitchell was hardly paying attention. He watched the six monitors with a sense of awe that only live battle could produce.

“Bravo 1, return to home plate. I repeat, return to home plate. Do
not
engage. Over.” Stanton turned and shouted at a Marine across the room. “Where are they?”

“West side of the mountain, sir!” the Marine shouted back.

“Dammit,” Stanton muttered. He pushed his way closer to the monitors.

The squad was spreading out through the tall, thin trees. Their rifles searched the branches and rocky terrain. Stanton cursed at that too.

A flash of movement suddenly broke across Feed 5. The Marine turned to the right just as a Variant came barreling over a boulder. He fired a volley that sent the creature smashing into the rock. It slumped to the ground, blood smearing across the smooth surface.

“Bravo 1! Do
not
engage!” Stanton repeated into his radio, his voice rising into a shout.

Again, there was no response but the white noise of static.

The Marine in Feed 5 backpedaled away from the dying creature. He turned to run, but crashed into a Variant that had flanked him. The impact knocked them both to the ground. In a blink the creature was on him. It slashed at the Marine’s neck with both hands, eyes bulging with bloodlust. Blood peppered the cam. It was hard to see, but this Variant had developed some sort of scales or bark on its skin. Before Mitchell could get a good look, the monster brought an elbow down on the camera.

“Bravo 1,
goddammit
, get the hell out of there!” Stanton shouted. He clenched his jaw and turned to the NCO. “Patch this channel over the speakers.”

Mitchell shifted his gaze to Feed 4. The Marine was running through the woods, brushing into trees and swatting his way through low limbs. He shot a look over his shoulder and his cam picked up a Variant springing across the dirt. Mitchell could almost hear the panicked breathing of the young Marine.

The creature’s swollen lips opened, exposing a black oblivion with needle teeth dripping saliva. It lunged and knocked the Marine down in a cloud of dirt that momentarily blocked the view. When it cleared, the Variant had clamped down on the man’s stomach. Scaly, oily skin filled the screen. The beast lurched back, ropy cords hanging from its wormy lips. The Marine squirmed frantically as the Variant reached down and pulled more steaming intestines from his gut.

“My God,” Mitchell whispered. He gagged, and tasted the shitty coffee he’d had for breakfast. He swallowed the acidic taste, took in several deep breaths, and forced himself to watch the monitors. Mitchell didn’t know any of these Marines by name. He had only seen them in passing, but he knew each had a mother and a father. Some of them had families of their own. They didn’t deserve to die out there in the dark forest at the hands of men turned into monsters.

Feeds 2 and 3 went dark a moment later, leaving only 1 and 6. Those two Marines were still on the move. They raced around trees, swatting at limbs and underbrush. Mitchell felt his heart climbing toward his throat. Sweat dripped from his hairline. He wiped it away with a sleeve and tried his best to remain calm. On screen, the remaining Marines closed in on a frontage road.

“Where’s that lead?” Stanton asked.

“Access point 14,” the NCO under the monitor said. “It’s one of the back doors to the facility.”

“Shit, they’re leading the Variants right to it!” Stanton shouted. He squinted at the individual feeds, watching helplessly. After a pause he said, “Hanson, Ralph. Do either of you copy? Over.”

A garbled voice surged out of the speakers mounted over the displays. Labored breathing followed. Then came a raspy voice, “Hanson... Hanson here. That you, LT?”

“Yes, son. I need you to listen very carefully.”

“They’re everywhere!” Hanson stopped and turned to fire at four Variants leaping through the trees. The rounds took one of them down, but the other three scattered.

Hanson’s cam bobbled as he continued to fire blindly at the forest. Long pine needles rained to the ground and bark exploded in all directions. Sap oozed from the bleeding trees. Low evergreen branches reached out at the Marine like the limbs of a scarecrow.

“Hanson, move your ass!” Stanton shouted into his comm. The words came a beat too late. Hanson pivoted to the right and shouldered his rifle to fire at a pack of flanking Variants, but this time the muzzle didn’t flash. The creatures tackled him to the ground. 

Mitchell turned his attention to Feed 6, knowing Hanson was gone. The other Marine, Ralph, was through the clearing and running down the frontage road. His camera was focused on a hill in the distance. As he got closer, the feed showed a pair of rusted doors built into the embankment.

A high-pitched, animalistic screech suddenly roared from the speakers. The tortured scream echoed through the room with a blare of static. At first, Mitchell thought it was coming from Ralph’s comm, but when he looked back at Camera 1, he saw that a trio of the creatures had wrestled Hanson to the ground. The Marine was still fighting. He had pulled his handgun and was firing over and over. A Variant skull exploded, covering the cam with brain matter. Beyond the red goo there was a flurry of motion—a talon, thick chest muscles, and a yellow, reptilian eye. Hanson managed three more shots before the gun was knocked away. As the brain chunks slid away from the camera, the two remaining creatures slashed at Hanson’s flesh. A second later, the video feed disappeared completely in a mist of blood and gore.

“No!” Hanson shouted. “Mama! Please, Ma—”

Mitchell cupped his hands over his ears as the monsters tore Hanson limb from limb. But no matter how hard he pushed, Mitchell could still hear the Marine crying out for his mother in a terrified voice. This time Mitchell forced himself to look away. His gaze flitted to Feed 6—the final Marine.

Ralph was almost to the door. He shot a glance over his shoulder. The camera showed a pack of Variants racing down the road. Powerful limbs pounded the dirt, kicking up a trail of exhaust.

“Ralph! Do not lead them back to the doors!” Stanton shouted. “That’s an order!”

The Marine either couldn’t hear the lieutenant or was too frightened to answer. He arrived at the partially hidden entrance to the mountain a minute later and pounded the steel with both fists. A staffer activated the feed from a video camera over the door. It fed to the wall-mounted display to the right of the monitor connected to Ralph’s helmet-mounted cam. Side by side, the screens showed Ralph’s POV and the view from the camera above him.

Stanton turned to his Marines positioned behind the command staff and shouted, “Sergeant, take every available man and get your ass to access point 14!”

Mitchell alternated his gaze from monitor to monitor. Ralph was staring up at the camera, waving and screaming. His face looked far too young to know the horror of the Variants. He turned, and the display to the left captured the creatures just as they plowed into him. The camera feed went topsy-turvy, but Ralph quickly fought his way back to his feet.

“Jesus Christ,” Stanton said in a voice hardly audible over the chaos.

The knot in Mitchell’s gut tightened as the monsters clamped their sucker lips onto Ralph’s arms, legs, and back. They wrestled him to the ground. He squirmed and screamed, but it was no use. Four more creatures joined, clawing and biting their way to the feeding. Ralph reached up toward the camera with a bloody hand missing two fingers. Then he disappeared under the tidal wave of diseased, bark-like flesh. 

“Will those doors hold them?” someone asked.

“We need to get the POTUS and VPOTUS out of here now,” another said.

Mitchell felt a hand tugging his shoulder, but he couldn’t pull his eyes from the pack of Variants. There was something else different about them—something off from the others he’d seen in photos.

One of the monsters glanced up at the camera with its grotesque slitted eyes, as if it could sense being watched. It staggered over, chewing on a chunk of Ralph’s face. The naked creature’s oily skin stretched as it moved, lean muscles flexing. The mounted video camera provided the perfect snapshot of humanity’s ever-evolving enemy. In a span of a minute, the monster’s skin slowly reverted back to the pale, veiny flesh Mitchell had seen before. The beast continued to the doors, feeding as it walked. When it got there, it cupped the piece of Ralph’s flesh against its side and leaned in to sniff the rusted metal. Then it placed an ear to the door.

“Sir! We need to move! NOW!” someone shouted.

Mitchell wanted to tell everyone to shut the hell up, but he remained silent, staring with grim fascination as the Variant turned from the door and discarded the steak of human flesh. It crouched on the ground, pointed at the other Variants, and howled. If Mitchell didn’t know any better, it had issued a command to the pack.

A blink of an eye later, the other creatures had abandoned Ralph’s mutilated carcass and were ramming the back door to Cheyenne Mountain.

B
eckham knelt next to the cross marking Lieutenant Colonel Jensen’s grave. The ceremony had been short, and the men and women who had come to honor Jensen had already dispersed. Beckham had stayed to pay his final, silent respects. He bowed his head, said a prayer, and let his friend go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. There was a war to fight, and Jensen wouldn’t want anything to distract the survivors from victory. He had loved his country, loved being a soldier. Carrying on the fight was the best way Beckham could think of to honor his memory.

“I won’t let you down, sir,” Beckham whispered. “RIP, brother.”

Standing, Beckham took a moment to scan the other white crosses jutting out of the soil. Although Jinx’s grave wasn’t marked, he knew exactly where it was.

A hand clapped Beckham on the shoulder. He turned to see Chow with Apollo. Lost in his thoughts, Beckham hadn’t heard them approach. 

“You ready, Boss?” Chow asked.

Beckham nodded and reached down to pat Apollo on the head.

For the next hour, the two Delta Operators patrolled the shoreline in the fleeting moonlight. Apollo followed close behind, his fur glistening from his dip in the ocean. Regardless of the second bath, he still had a streak of blood on his beard from the night before that wouldn’t go away.

Dense shadows rolled across the dark skyline. With every step Beckham took, a sinking feeling rose in his gut. He stopped on a ridgeline overlooking the water. The boat they had seen earlier was nowhere in sight, and for the first time in days the bay was void of any derelict ships. They had all either run aground or drifted farther out to sea. Crickets chirped from the bushes ahead, but beyond the sounds of nature, it was eerily quiet.

Beckham scanned the guard posts to the west. Tower 4 protruded from a bluff overlooking the beach. He could vaguely make out the muzzle of Fitz’s MK11. With the Marine covering his back, Beckham felt better about their lack of firepower.

Chow’s radio crackled a moment later. “Ghost 2, Central. Over.”

Beckham recognized Corporal Hook’s sharp voice.

“Ghost 2,” Chow said.

“Report back to Command ASAP.”

Beckham scoped the bay one last time before he followed Chow back to the base. They made a pit stop at Tower 4.

“Fitz, you up there, brother?” Beckham said.

The Marine looked out the window and waved. “Sure am. Got a long night ahead of me.”

“You need anything?” Beckham asked.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

Beckham looked down at Apollo. “How do you feel about keeping our friend here company?”

The dog’s tail began to wag until it was thumping.

“I’m leaving Apollo here with you. Stay frosty, Fitz,” Beckham said. “As you know, someone’s been casing the island.”

Fitz raised his MK11 into the air. “Oorah.”

Beckham smiled at that and patted Apollo on the head. “Stay, boy. Look after Fitz.”

Apollo craned his head. The dog knew close to one hundred verbal commands and hand gestures.
Stay
wasn’t one he seemed to like, even if it was to protect Fitz. Beckham could feel Apollo watching him as he continued with Chow through the underbrush. The dog was as loyal as any soldier, and fought just as fiercely.

Back at the base, Major Smith and Horn waited on the landing of Building 5. The Major had an anxious look on his face, but Beckham guessed it had more to do with the lieutenant colonel’s funeral.

“Secretary Ringgold would like to speak to you three. She’s waiting inside,” Smith said. 

Beckham eyed Horn’s bicep. A strawberry-sized stain had blossomed across the fresh white bandage wrapped around his muscular arm.

“Did she say what about, sir?” Chow asked.

Smith shook his head. “Nope, but Dr. Lovato and Dr. Ellis spoke with her this morning. She was asking about the VX-99 program. I’m guessing she’s trying to get to the bottom of things.”

Beckham scrutinized Smith more closely as he approached the stairs. Swollen bags rimmed the major’s eyes. They weren’t from lack of sleep, either—they were from shedding tears. Beckham wasn’t the only one on the island who’d been close with Lieutenant Colonel Jensen. His death had hit Smith hard. It had hit
everyone
hard. And they hadn’t even had the time to mourn him. Hell, they hadn’t had time to mourn anyone. Beckham was just glad they’d been able to lay Jensen to rest. He deserved more than they had given him, but for now it was all they could do.