Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

“Understood, sir,” Jensen said. After a pause, he added, “How will we deploy this weapon? Aren’t we strained for resources?”

“We’ll figure that out when she creates one,” Kennor said. He looked away from the camera and held up a finger to someone Jensen couldn’t see.

“I’m needed in ops, but there’s one last thing you two need to know. This is confidential. You are to share it with no one,” Kennor said. His forehead became a canyon of wrinkles, so many that it looked like it hurt. “Raven Rock has fallen.”

Jensen fidgeted in his chair. Surely the general was mistaken. There was no way the alternate command center could have been overrun.

“The Variants got into the tunnels beneath the base,” Kennor said.

I deployed a search and rescue team, but we lost contact with them shortly after they arrived.”

Jensen didn’t know what to say. The implications were startling. First New York, then Plum Island, now the retreat from the cities and the loss of Raven Rock.

Kennor stood and straightened his uniform. “Actually, you can share this intel with Dr. Lovato. Tell her we are losing this war.”

“She understands perfectly, sir,” Jensen said. He didn’t think he sounded condescending, but Kennor responded with a glare.

“Sir, we have a request,” Smith said.

“What is it?”

“We’re running low on munitions and our food supply is dangerously low, too. Requesting a resupply of both.”

Kennor shook his head. “I can’t authorize that.”

The response came so fast Jensen wondered if the general had even heard the question. When Smith started to protest, Kennor raised his hand like he was about to scold a private.

“We have requests coming in from every remaining military asset across the country. You’ll have to wait your turn,” Kennor said.

“Sir, Plum Island could help bring an end to this war. If it weren’t for Dr. Lovato’s first bioweapon—”

“I realize that, Lieutenant Colonel, but President Mitchell has authorized resupplies based on priority level, and as of now Plum Island isn’t at the top of the list.”

“General,” Jensen said. “If you want a scientific solution to this war, you need to get me the tools.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jensen, but we have other teams working on solutions.” He folded his hands and caught Jensen’s gaze. “You’re a soldier. You’ll have to make do.”

Jensen nodded, threw up a salute, and waited for Kennor to shut off the feed. As soon as the general signed off, Jensen stood and walked to the observation window, barking orders. “Smith, I want a SITREP on our supply levels. Count every gun, every round, every can of Campbell’s Chunky Soup. Hook, I want to know what’s going on in the rest of the country.”

The corporal swiveled her chair away from the monitors. “Sir, I’ve been scanning the channels and I’m not picking up much.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asked.

“I mean I’m not hearing much chatter at all,” she said. “I don’t think there are many people left out there.”

By mid-morning, a blanket of calm had settled over Plum Island. The only sounds were the sporadic chirp of a bird and the faint rap of footsteps. Beckham heard everything, his senses still on full alert. He hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours but couldn’t seem to shut off his mind. After everything he had been through, it wasn’t going to be easy to let his guard down enough to get some shut-eye.

He sat with Kate on the steps of Building 1, watching the cleanup crews carry bodies draped with white sheets into the medical building. Neither of them spoke. Being next to each other was enough for now.

Beckham wondered how long the quiet would last. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around Kate, to pull her tight, but he feared her soft touch could break him, so he pretended he didn’t need it. He tried to feel something—wanted to feel something—but beyond the lingering pain of losing so many of his brothers, there wasn’t much that seemed safe to feel besides anger.

Anger was a dangerous emotion. Like a house built of cards, the rage threatened to blow everything away. He’d gotten pummeled by a Variant at Bragg and taken shrapnel to the shoulder in New York, but it was always the mental wounds that hurt the worst. They went deeper than the bruises and cuts that tattooed his skin. He was a Delta Operator, yes, but no amount of training or experience could prepare him for the anguish that came with the loss of so many of his brothers, not to mention the civilians they couldn’t save.

“Will you stay now?” Kate asked, breaking the long silence.

“I hope so,” he said. “Need to heal.”

Kate scooted closer, just inches away from him. He almost flinched. She read his body language with a single, critical look.

Seeing her expression, Beckham said, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t do that. You don’t apologize. You’re a hero, Reed.”

Beckham shrugged; he didn’t feel like a hero. Before he could react, Kate brushed up next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. The fresh stitches screamed at him, but instead of pulling away, he leaned closer.

“I’m sorry about Jinx and the others,” Kate said. She stared ahead now, her eyes following another white-draped body on its way to the medical building.

“He died fighting. Can’t ask for anything more than a soldier’s death,” Beckham said. He looked to the north, toward New York City, and thought of Jake and Timothy. The cop and his son they’d rescued from Manhattan during Operation Liberty were safe on a destroyer now, sailing somewhere away from the monsters. He took solace in knowing that Jinx’s death hadn’t been for nothing. In the end, they had saved a few precious lives.

Kate let out a sigh and said, “What comes next?”

“Was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Back to the lab.”

Beckham shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his wounded shoulder.

“I’m going to design another weapon,” she continued. “Something that will kill every last one of the Variants.”

“That’s what we should have done a week ago,” Beckham said. His anger and frustration bubbled just below the surface. “That son of a bitch, Kennor. In some ways he’s no better than Gibson. If he would have just listened before Operation Liberty. And don’t get me started on Lieutenant Gates, that piece of shit. Called in an airstrike and left us out there to fight an army of Variants numbering in the hundreds of thousands.”

Kate placed her hand over his and gently squeezed his battered knuckles. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Reed.”

Hearing those simple words drained the anger from him. It flowed out with a breath and was gone. He pulled Kate toward him and kissed her with a soft ferocity.

Their lips parted and Beckham bowed his forehead against hers. “You get to the lab. I’m going to go check on Riley and then sleep for a day or two, if I can.”

Kate smiled, flashing the dimples that made his heart race. She gave him another kiss that kindled an emotion he had spent most of his life trying to bury. Now, after all hope seemed lost, it had arisen from the grave. He decided then to embrace it. To stop hiding behind his armor and weapons. He could be more than just a soldier.

Beckham gave Kate a meaningful look, and reached down to help her up.

“Where’d you find her?” Kate asked as they walked up the stairs. “The woman you brought back.”

Beckham stopped mid-stride, remembering the nightmarish lair beneath New York.

“Reed?”

He shook his head and turned partially toward her.

“If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand,” Kate said.