Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

“Should stop the bleeding,” Chow said. “But we need—”

Timbo’s voice flickered over the comm, cutting Chow off.

“Holy… Holy FUCK!”

Beckham’s eyes flipped open. The Ranger was crouched at the end of the left platform, peering over the side. In a blink of an eye, he stumbled away and fell on his ass, scrambling backward with his beefy arms.

“Contacts?” Beckham said, his heart kicking. He pulled away from Chow and walked slowly to the edge of the tunnel.

Timbo didn’t immediately reply. His gasping breaths crackled across the comm channel as he scrambled away.

“What the fuck did you see?” Beckham asked.

“I… I…” The shock in Timbo’s voice gave Beckham pause. He’d never heard the man so terrified.

Beckham inched closer to the ledge with Chow as a shadow. Together they crouched and looked over the side. A moment passed, a second frozen in time. The image his eyes relayed to his brain went unprocessed. It had to be a trick of the light, a mirage. An illusion fired off by his over-tired brain. Or at least, that’s what he wanted it to be.

But this was no illusion.

This was real.

A half dozen other tunnels dumped into a central chamber, feeding a pool of sewage below. The walls and ceiling of the massive room were covered with hundreds of human prisoners, their bodies plastered to the walls with thick vines of webbing that crisscrossed their flesh like bloated veins. Some were mutilated beyond recognition. Others were missing limbs.

Variants crawled across the walls, their backs hunched, clinging to the bricks with talons and the hair-like fibers Kate’s team had discovered. One of them clawed its way through the sticky film covering an unconscious man. His eyes shot open when the creature clamped down on his stomach and ripped into his flesh. He screamed, but his voice was quickly lost in the roar of the waterfall.

“Let’s go,” Chow whispered.

Beckham swallowed, unable to formulate a response. He backed away from the ledge only to see a woman attached to the wall on his right. Her eyes met his and she reached out with a trembling hand.

“Please. Please help me,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

Beckham brought a finger to his mouth, but it was already too late. Their whispers had attracted the nearest creature. It let out a high-pitched roar that made Beckham’s heart kick. The clicking of joints and the scratching of claws followed as the sleeping Variants stirred and searched the darkness.

“We need to move,” Chow said. “Now, man.”

Footsteps pounded the platforms as the team retreated, but Beckham hesitated. His eyes shifted from the prisoner to the Variants racing across the ceiling.

“Please,” the woman cried. “Please don’t leave me.”

Beckham threw a glance over his shoulder. The other men were halfway down the hall. Only Chow remained.

“Come on,” he said, waving frantically.

“No,” Beckham said. “Help me.” He wasn’t going to leave someone behind. Not when she was in arm’s reach.

Chow hustled over without further hesitation. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Hold my belt,” Beckham said. He drew his knife and crouched, using the blade to cut away the sticky vines across the woman’s feet and legs. When those were free, he slit through the webbing across her stomach and chest. Her body sagged forward, but Chow grabbed her before she plummeted into the water below. He pulled her to safety and she collapsed to the ground in a CBR suit. Beckham bent down to help her when he saw the deep gashes on her legs beneath the torn suit.

“You’re going to be okay,” Beckham assured her, hoping it wasn’t a lie. He caught a glimpse of the pack charging across the ceiling and walls. They were close now. Seconds away.

“Beckham, Chow, where the hell are you?” Jensen said over the comm.

“On our way,” Beckham replied. He grabbed the two grenades off Chow’s vest and considered what he was about to do. The decision only took a split second. If he couldn’t save the mutilated captives, he was going to make sure they didn’t suffer any longer.

“Get her out of here,” Beckham said. “I’m right behind you.”

Chow looked at him and nodded. The woman moaned in agony as he bent down and scooped her up.

Beckham cradled the grenades in one arm and fired off a flurry of well-aimed shots with the .45 to buy him a few seconds. When the Variants scattered, he jammed the pistol into his belt and plucked the pin off one of the grenades with his teeth. He launched it into the air with his good arm and watched it stick to the webbing of a prisoner. Then he pulled the pin off the second grenade and tossed it over his shoulder as he ran, like so many times before, away from the monsters.

Steam surrounded Dr. Kate Lovato in the shower stall.

“It’s hot,” Jenny whimpered in the adjacent stall.

“Do you girls need help?” Kate asked.

“No,” Tasha, Jenny’s protective older sister, said. “We’re okay.”

Kate took in a breath and stepped under the showerhead. Bringing a hand to her face, she wiped away the sticky blood caked on her skin. For a moment the water turned scarlet at her feet as it swirled around the shower drain.

The horror of the past three weeks surfaced under the warm flow of water. Everything she’d lost. Every one she’d lost. It all came crashing down. Guilt ate at her as she stood there, numb—yet deep down, also relieved. She was still breathing, still alive. And a part of her believed Beckham was still alive, too.

Kate had to believe it. Hope was the only thing that would keep her working. The survivors of Plum Island thought she was a miracle worker, but Kate knew better, especially now. After an hour of listening to radio transmissions trickling in from around the world, she knew nothing short of a real miracle would save the human race.

Her first bioweapon had eradicated all but a small percentage of those infected with the Hemorrhage virus. Convinced that the surviving Variants couldn’t be treated, her focus was now on designing another weapon that would exterminate them all before it was too late. Millions more would surely die before it was all over. In the end, she could only hope that humans came out on top.

Kate twisted the faucet off, grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower. Tasha and Jenny were already sitting on a bench, wrapped in towels. She reached for the duffel bag she’d retrieved from her quarters. Kate pulled out a clean set of clothes for each of them and turned away to slip on her own clothes.

“We need to hurry,” she said once she was dressed. “Your dad is on his way back.”

Both girls’ eyes lit up at that. Even after all the horrors they’d seen, there was still light there. Like Kate, they still had hope.

She grabbed the girls by the hand and led them into the hallway. The stink of fresh death hung in the air. Crimson stains covered the carpet where so many of her colleagues had died. Kate froze, remembering her fellow researcher Cindy’s final moments. They had never liked each other much, and in the end Cindy had chosen to hide instead of coming with Kate and the others. The decision had cost the woman her life.

Kate swallowed and continued on, navigating around a pair of bloody shoes and a small pile of bullet casings.

“Just keep walking,” she said to the girls. “Don’t look down, okay?”

“Doctor,” said a Medical Corps guard waiting for her at the end of the hallway. For a moment his youthful features reminded her of Jackson, the Marine who had saved their lives just a few hours ago—and lost his in the process.