Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

As the chopper ascended into the air, he kept his gaze on the crowd, knowing in his heart that once everyone he loved was safe, he would get his revenge for humanity.

General Kennor studied the picture of his grandkids. For the first four days after he’d arrived at Offutt Air Force Base, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at their innocent faces. Every time he did, he imagined them being torn to shreds by the Variants.

That’s why he’d put Colonel Wood in charge of all science operations. No one knew VX-99 better than him—at least, no one living. If anyone could defeat the Variants, it was Wood.

At first, when General Johnson had informed Kennor of Wood’s connection to Gibson, he had considered tossing Wood into a prison cell and throwing away the key. But Kennor was a practical man and saw the situation for what it was—an opportunity. Wood understood the details of VX-99, and his country needed that knowledge.

A rap on the door startled Kennor. He put the picture down and said, “It’s open.”

Wood himself opened the door and strode inside. “General,” he said, throwing up an impeccable salute.

“Colonel,” Kennor replied. He raised a return salute and then gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Wood straightened his uniform and slid into the chair. “Plans are in motion, sir. We have over one hundred strike-teams from multiple bases participating in Operation Extinction.”

“Excellent news. How is the plan for stage two coming along?”

“Very good, sir. Once we collect the drugs, we’ll ship them to four locations including Plum Island. All of the antibody reactors are on stand by.”

Wood continued speaking, occasionally stroking the fingers of one hand down his pockmarked cheek, but Kennor was hardly listening. He was thinking of his daughter, his son in-law, and their kids. Men like Wood were the reason they were gone, yet Wood had put the pieces in place to avenge their tragic deaths.

It wasn’t ethical. It wasn’t moral. And it wasn’t right by any stretch of the imagination. Yet history proved that wars were started and ended by men who didn’t deserve to breathe free air. Wood was one of those men—and Kennor had become one too. He knew he was no better than Gibson or Wood, but in the end, morality meant nothing if there wasn’t anyone left to judge.

There was a less than gentle knock on the door. Kennor emerged from his thoughts to see Colonel Harris standing in the doorway. His lips were pressed into a thin line so tight they were almost as white as his hair.

“I thought I said no interruptions,” Kennor said.

“You did, General, but we have a problem.”

Kennor folded his arms across his chest. “What kind of problem?”

For the briefest moment, Harris paused. “The Variants, General. They’ve found us.”

Beckham grabbed a handhold and looked out over the open door. The bright morning sun glimmered off the skyscrapers of Baltimore. The reflection of their bird hopped from building to building. They followed Echo 1 over the city with Echo 3 close behind, their troop holds all packed full of weary soldiers.

“Remind me why they don’t just send us to a hospital for the drugs?” Horn asked over the comm.

Beckham pointed to a crater a half-mile away. The burned out husk of a building protruded out of the center. “That’s why.”

“There aren’t many hospitals left,” Chow said. “And for the first time in this entire war, Central Command is thinking with their heads. The FEMA warehouse will have stockpiles of everything from tampons to cancer drugs.”

“I thought the warehouses were just a myth,” Horn said.

“Apparently not,” Beckham said. “Hopefully the fact they’re ‘secret’ means they haven’t been raided and hostiles are at a minimum.”

Lombardi worked his way to the door. “Wouldn’t count on that.”

“You know something we don’t?” Beckham asked. He twisted away from the view to look Lombardi in the eye.

The sergeant shook his head. “Besides what Lieutenant Colonel Jensen already said? Not really. I just know that Site R had a permanent staff of three hundred and fifty with room for another two thousand. I’m glad I didn’t get assigned to Alpha. Mikesell and his team are probably walking into a slaughterhouse.”

Beckham’s earpiece crackled as one of the pilots said, “ETA fifteen minutes.”

The chopper flew over woodland and pasture, leaving civilization behind. The view wasn’t much different than the one he remembered vividly from April, when Team Ghost had taken an Osprey from Fort Bragg to Edwards Air Force Base. The leaves had just begun to come in, and a herd of horses had been galloping through a field of lush green grass, just like the one below them now.

Spring was Beckham’s favorite time of year because it signaled new life. But despite the vibrant colors, there was no sign of life below. No horses, no deer or rabbits. Not live ones, anyway. The bloody carcasses of a herd of cows dotted one field. He turned from the gruesome sight. At first, he’d wondered how animals were surviving the apocalypse. Now he knew that they weren’t. The Variants had eaten most of them.

“Eyes on Raven Rock,” one of the pilots said. Beckham scanned the horizon and saw a cluster of red and white radio towers. A multi-layered fence surrounded the main building and several adjacent structures.

“Make a pass,” Beckham said into the comm.

They circled the area for several minutes, allowing Beckham to sync his mental map with the one he held in his hand. He could see the access roads that connected a series of concrete portals leading into the hills. There were four in total, marked A through D. According to the map, Beckham was looking for portals C and D. The inner road would take his team south, past a ventilation control room, a domestic reservoir, and even a bowling alley. From there the underground passages curved to the west and connected with portals A and B. In the middle, there were two power plants, a second industrial reservoir, and five buildings that included living quarters and the Presidential Command Center.

The complex was essentially an underground city. The thirty-ton blast doors were built to withstand a nuclear attack. Unfortunately, the engineers hadn’t planned on stopping a weapon like the Hemorrhage virus, or the monsters it created.

A red circle on the map marked the approximate location of the FEMA facility Beckham was looking for. It was next to the domestic reservoir. He flicked the map with a gloved finger and slipped it back into his vest as Echo 1 veered off toward their landing site. They set down next to a security building while Echo 2 and 3 continued on another pass.

Beckham scanned the access roads for a second time. There was a mixture of abandoned civilian and military vehicles clogging the pavement. Most of them were parked near the C portal. He flipped his mini-mike to his lips. “Bravo 1, Charlie 1. You copy? Over.”

“Valentine,” came the reply. Beckham wouldn’t waste his time reminding the man he was subordinate, but he’d be damned if he’d call the guy by name.

“Your team takes portal C, we’ll take D. We’ll meet at the domestic reservoir,” Beckham said. “And maintain radio discipline once we’re inside.”

“Roger that,” Valentine said.

Beckham stifled another urge to give Valentine a dressing down. Wood’s man would either help or hinder on this mission, but Beckham was betting on the latter. And if he got in the way of doing what was right, or worse… Beckham shook the thought aside and searched the area for a potential LZ, focusing on an empty stretch of road.