Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

Kate strolled over to the little girl and took her hand in her own. The squeak of Riley’s chair caught Kate’s ear as she watched the sunrise. A thumping replaced the sound, growing louder every second. The floor trembled and the windows rattled as a Blackhawk soared by.

Tasha first backed away and then inched closer to the window. “Is that daddy?”

“Yes,” Kate said.

The chopper raced over the sapphire waves and banked hard to the left as it flew toward New York.

Tasha palmed the glass as if she was reaching out to say goodbye. “He’s going to bring Reed home?”

“Yes, sweetie. He is.”

Tasha followed the chopper with wide eyes until it was only a dot on the horizon. Her hand fell away from the glass and she turned to Kate.

“I’m tired,” Tasha said. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Kate glanced back at Riley. Jenny was quiet on his lap, her head still buried and moving up and down with his breathing.

Sunlight spilled over the floor, bathing the room in golden light. For a moment, Kate felt everything was going to be okay—even though she knew this moment of peace was balanced on a razor’s edge.

The whine of the M260 from the Humvee’s turret and the roars of the Variants seemed so far off, like they were in a part of Beckham’s mind that he couldn’t completely access. He was hardly paying attention to Valdez’s erratic driving as the Humvee sped down West Fiftieth. The only thing he seemed to be fully aware of was Jinx’s blood soaking into his uniform.

A sharp jerk to the right sent Beckham smashing into the side of the door. The pain snapped him out of the shellshock. Everything came crashing down at that moment. His senses activated like he’d taken a shot of adrenaline. He could hear and feel everything.

“They’re fucking everywhere!” Timbo yelled over the comm.

The Humvee tore through the intersection, giving Beckham a glimpse of Ninth Avenue. Every inch of street seemed to be covered with the creatures. The mass surged over charcoaled cars and flowed across the surface of every building, moving so fast they seemed to blend together in one solid sea of pale flesh.

He twisted away from the view to check on Meg. She was in shock, her catatonic gaze locked on the windshield. She shared a seat with Chow, both of them jammed between the door and the console that separated them from Beckham. Jinx lay across their laps.

Up front, Jensen and Ryan shared the passenger seat, while Valdez leaned to the side of the steering wheel to see through the filthy window. The sunrise bled through the filthy glass. At first Beckham couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Hours before, he would have bet against ever seeing the sun again.

A voice crackled in his ear at the same moment a Variant speared Beckham’s window. The creature’s skull smashed into the glass with a crunch, leaving behind a smear of blood.

“Holy shit!” Chow said.

Beckham hardly flinched. He was more focused on hearing the incoming transmission.

“Ghost, this is Echo 3. En route to Pier 86, ETA five minutes. What’s your location? Over.”

“Echo 3. Ghost,” Beckham paused and smacked the front passenger seat. “Where the fuck are we?”

Valdez hunched farther to the side for a better view out the driver window. “About to hit Tenth Ave. Shouldn’t be more than a few—”

“Watch out!” Jensen screamed.

There was a flash of white, then the unmistakable crunch of metal on bones. The windshield cracked in every direction as the naked body of a Variant rolled off.

“Hold on!” Valdez yelled. He swerved to avoid two more of the creatures. The overcorrection sent the Humvee fishtailing, and the rubber screamed as they spun out of control.

They hit something else a moment later that made a wet thunk . A second and then a third body crunched under the tires, the truck jolting violently over each lump.

Chow held onto Meg to keep her from sliding out of their seat and Beckham grabbed Jinx’s body. He closed his eyes as Valdez clipped the back of a car. The windshield disappeared in an explosion of glass, and the turret grew silent.

When Beckham opened his eyes, Jensen was already kicking out the final shards. Valdez twisted the steering wheel, put the truck in reverse, and yelled, “Somebody get those things off our ass!”

Beckham whirled to see a pack of Variants that were almost on them. They charged forward using muscles that seemed to stretch in the morning light. He locked eyes with a hairless female, her yellow eyes smoldering with rage.

“Timbo! You okay up there?” Chow yelled, patting the man’s legs.

The bulky Ranger’s response came in the crack of heavy gunfire. The rounds shredded the Variants behind them as Valdez backed away from the snarl of vehicles.

Ryan fired one of the rifles he’d picked up off the street from the front passenger window, and Jensen unloaded a magazine of his own out the now absent windshield while Valdez shifted back into drive. The truck lurched forward and continued down Fiftieth.

“Meg, you okay?” Beckham asked.

She nodded and groaned.

“Echo 3, Ghost. We have an army trailing us,” Beckham said into his mini-mike.

“Roger that, Ghost. We’re flying hot.”

The distant rumble of a jet broke over the city. Were they coming in for another bombing run? Had Horn and the survivors of 1st Platoon made it out of the blast zone? Beckham’s mind hammered with questions he’d forgotten in the chaotic violence.

“Echo 3, did 1st Platoon get out?” Beckham asked. White noised surged over the comm long enough to make his heart skip.

“Roger that, Ghost. Got several of ‘em with me now. Came to save your ass.”

“Almost to Twelfth,” Valdez said. “Just one more block.”

Ryan changed magazines and jammed his M16 out the window as they passed through the intersection.He mowed down three Variants making a run for their position.

“Hold on,” Valdez shouted. He took a left at Twelfth Avenue, turning so hard the Humvee almost tipped on its side. The change in direction gave Beckham a close up view of the Hudson River, its banks littered with the dead, and the distorted shapes of Variants coming to join the chase.

The crimson glow of the sunrise flickered over the water and flooded the city streets. The radiant light wasn’t stopping the Variants this time. They were too focused on food.

Beckham narrowed his eyes on a single sailboat drifting toward the shore. It disappeared behind the clogged vehicles on the opposite side of the street, and Beckham shifted his gaze toward the sky, searching for Echo 3.

“I’m out!” Timbo yelled. “Someone give me a rifle.” He reached down and Ryan handed back one of the extra M16s he’d picked up.

“There has to be thousands of them!” Timbo yelled as he pulled himself back into the turret. The crack from his rifle came a beat later.

Beckham continued to scan the sky. There, through the gleaming sunlight, he made the shape of a chopper. He imagined what the scene would look like from above: a single vehicle moving at a breakneck speed through the ashes of a burned-out city with an army of enraged monsters chasing them. It was like something out of the movies.

He gripped one of Jinx’s limp hands, wishing desperately that he could fire on the Variants that had killed his brother. Sitting there and doing nothing felt like a betrayal.

The truck swerved to the left before taking a hard right. When he looked up, they were on the pier. Both Bradleys and the other Humvees were there, abandoned where 1 stPlatoon had left them. Echo 3 hovered over the end of the platform. Valdez navigated around the vehicles and raced toward the chopper.