Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

Major Smith walked into the room and looked Jensen up and down twice. “Shit, sir. You look like you’ve been through the grinder.”

The major eased the door shut and stood there, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. His eyes were ripe with exhaustion. Despite that, he looked relatively alert.

“Talk to me. How bad is it?”

Smith stiffened and said, “Bad, sir. We lost sixty-five people—eleven scientists, thirty-four soldiers, and twenty civilians.”

Jensen shook his head. “I thought we were safe here,” he said grimly.

“And Colonel Gibson is dead,” Smith added.

Jensen clenched a fist. “How’d he die?”

“A Variant, sir. It breached the secure medical wing where Gibson was being held. I was told there wasn’t much left when it got done with him.”

“A fitting end,” Jensen replied in a dark voice that sounded like it could have been from a stranger. He felt no trace of compassion for the colonel. Dying of a heart attack would have been the easy way out, but Gibson didn’t deserve the easy way. His fate seemed beyond fitting. It felt like some sort of retribution.

“Base is on lockdown, sir,” Smith said. “Guard posts are set up at multiple locations. The towers are all manned, and I’ve re-positioned the remaining guards to patrol the fences. Even if those things can swim, they won’t make it past the beach.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jensen said. An image of Gibson’s mutilated body was replaced with those of the Variants back in the Hudson. He could still see them swimming alongside the pier to flank Echo 3. The last thing he was going to do now was underestimate the creatures.

“I want every available man on security detail,” he said. “I’ll give the strike teams a few hours of bunk time to recover from Operation Liberty. At 1500, I want them back on patrol.”

“Understood, sir. We have a call with Central at 0900. General Kennor has requested to speak with Dr. Lovato.”

Jensen checked his watch, raising a sleeve smeared with a combination of shit and blood. The stink assaulted his nostrils. He needed a hot bath full of bleach.

“That gives us about five minutes,” Jensen said. “Where is she?” He looked around the empty room. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“Dr. Lovato’s not coming, sir.”

“What do you mean she isn’t coming?”

“She refuses to speak to the general. Said she has nothing to say to him and that he won’t listen anyway.”

The words hung in the air for an uncomfortable second. Jensen dug in his pocket for the tobacco he’d picked up from a Marine in New York. He tucked a chunk into his mouth as he spoke, his words coming out muffled. “Where’s Hickman and Benzing?”

Smith hesitated and shook his head.

Jensen swallowed hard. The juices burned his throat as they trickled to his guts. “God damn son of a…”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Smith said, his features tight and his eyes glassy. If Jensen didn’t know better, he would have thought the man was holding back tears. He wasn’t used to seeing the major show any emotion.

“They were good soldiers,” Jensen said. “Loyal soldiers.”

Smith nodded and glanced at the radio equipment along the wall.

Jensen decided against asking him how they died. All that mattered now was moving forward. He would hold a proper service for those they had lost, but for now he needed to work on salvaging what he could.

“Smith,” Jensen said sternly. “You need to get it together. Lots of people are counting on us.”

“Yes, sir,” Smith replied and straightened his posture. “I have a fill-in for now, but she’s not an experienced radio operator.”

“I’ll take whomever I can get. We need the intel now more than ever,” Jensen said. He paused in an effort to manage his thoughts. “Anything I should know before our call with General Kennor?”

Smith sat down at the war table and turned on the computer. His hand shook as he moused over to the video feed.

“Smith, what aren’t you telling me?”

The major looked up. “I was going to let the general tell you, sir.”

Jensen crossed his arms and waited.

Smith drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “General Kennor has issued a full retreat. We’ve lost the cities, sir. The military is pulling back.”

The door creaked open, distracting Jensen from his sour stomach. A woman with shoulder length gray hair and eyes as sharp as an eagles stood in the doorway. She threw up a tight salute and said, “Corporal Hook, reporting for duty, sir.”

Jensen returned the salute half-heartedly. Pointing at the radio equipment, he said, “Put together a SITREP based on whatever you’re hearing over the net. I want a report by 1600.”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said. She hurried over to the wall of monitors, grabbed a headset, and took a seat without asking questions or making small talk. He liked her already.

“Connecting to the call with Central,” Smith said from the table.

Jensen tossed a wad of chew into the trash and took a seat next to the major. “Anything else I should know?”

“We’re running low on supplies—both ammo and food,” Smith said, shaking his head. “Just when you think shit can’t get worse.”

Jensen frowned. “Things can always get worse, Smith. At least we’re still breathing. Supplies can be restocked… Humans can’t.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll put in a request at the end of the call.”

The computer beeped at them and a live feed of the ops room at Central Command emerged on the screen. Insignias of the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines were centered on the concrete wall of the command bunker. A mahogany table with maps and papers draped across it sat empty.

Jensen heard a door open and shut. A man with white hair strolled in and tossed a folder on the table. He took a seat and stared into the camera with eyes accentuated by bags that looked a lot like bruises. At first, Jensen could hardly believe it was Kennor. If it weren’t for his wrinkled face, he would have thought the man sitting in front of them was a boxer who had just taken multiple punches to the face. Jensen wished he could add a bruise for not listening to Kate in the first place.

The general opened his folder and licked a finger before thumbing through the pages so quickly it made Jensen sick. Did he even understand how bad things were?

Kennor paused at the last page, raised his bushy gray brows, and then frowned. A curse followed.

“Jensen, Smith,” he said, looking at them in turn.

“General,” Jensen said.

“Heard Plum Island was attacked in a freak accident last night.”

“Yes, sir, we had sixty-five casualties. Colonel Gibson was one of them.”

Kennor didn’t even flinch. “How many injured?”

Jensen did flinch at that . How many injured? Was Kennor that clueless?

“Zero, sir,” Jensen replied through clenched teeth. “The Variants don’t leave behind injured.”

Kennor’s forehead tightened, and he grumbled, “Where’s Dr. Lovato?”

“Not here,” Jensen said.

Kennor glared at him, letting his eyes do the talking.

“She’s in the lab, sir,” Smith said. “Cooking up a new weapon.”

“Good,” Kennor said. “I want a SITREP at 0700 every day from here out. If she makes a breakthrough, I’m the first person you tell.”

Jensen nodded. “Certainly, sir.” He wanted to reach through the screen and strangle the old bastard. But he kept his calm for the sake of those under his command. The general was still in charge, and Jensen had to respect that. Kennor was stubborn, but he wasn’t a madman. He wasn’t Colonel Gibson.

“As you two probably already know, Operation Liberty has failed. I’ve issued a full retreat to outposts, bases, and strongholds,” Kennor said. “That means it’s even more important that Dr. Lovato develops something as soon as possible.”