Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

“You okay, Kate?” Ellis asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I did,” Kate said. “Billions of them.”

Fitz spat from the side of Tower 3. He watched the glob plummet and then whip away in the breeze. For the past three hours he had been on sentry duty, watching Apollo chase seagulls on the beach.

He brought the scope of his MK11 to his eye and glassed the post, stopping on Building 4. Kate and Ellis stood at the bottom of the steps with two Medical Corps soldiers dressed in all black. Fitz centered his crosshairs on the guards. Both had the same emotionless expressions, and, weirdly enough, the same mustaches.

Why the fuck would Wood’s men be trailing Kate and Ellis? There was plenty of security on the island, but it still seemed like a waste to assign two soldiers to guard Kate and Ellis. Unless that wasn’t their primary mission.

Fitz made a mental note to keep an eye on them. He was bored as all hell anyway, and doing some recon wouldn’t hurt anything.

A yelp pulled Fitz’s attention to the grass below his tower. Apollo glanced up with a ball of fur struggling in his mouth.

“Bad!” Fitz said. “Drop it.”

The dog spat out a live bunny, which darted away the moment its feet hit the ground, vanishing into a bush. Apollo wagged his tail as Fitz pulled a piece of a granola bar from his pocket and tossed it down to him.

Fitz chuckled and maneuvered his rifle back to Building 4. Kate’s group had gone inside, but there were several others on the sidewalk. Riley wheeled his chair down the path with Meg hopping behind him. Fitz couldn’t help but smile. The two made a cute pair. He wished he had someone to share the final days of mankind with, but he was happy Riley and Meg had each other.

Grabbing the bipod of his rifle, Fitz then repositioned the sight and zoomed in on the beach. He didn’t have time for romance anyway—he had a promise to uphold. His job was to protect the island and his friends on it.

Beckham used the glow from strategically placed ceiling lights as he followed Horn into the complex. A breeze coming from vents on both sides of the tunnel brushed against Charlie team as they moved. The air was cold and stank of mildew, but it meant the ventilation system was still working. Beckham was no longer worried about suffocating or not being able to see—he was worried about what they would find as they got deeper into the complex.

Beckham sidestepped around a puddle and saw a sign that read Ventilation Control Room with an arrow pointing to a tunnel on their left. He could just see the last of Valentine’s men disappear down that passage and hear the distant tromp of their boots on the concrete.

“Which way?” Horn asked.

Beckham flashed a hand signal to the south. They continued past the tunnel Valentine had taken, passing doors on both sides of the narrow corridor. He noted the marks of tire treads and scrapes along the walls, as though vehicles had squeezed through side by side. His heart hammered as they moved deeper into the mountain, part of him expecting to see Variants come clambering across the walls. There was no question they were inside the complex—but where?

“We’re going to carry those drugs all this way?” Horn whispered.

“Was hoping we’d find a vehicle inside after we cleared the complex,” Beckham replied. He hustled to catch up with Horn. Another sign and arrow indicated they were close to the domestic reservoir. The FEMA warehouse wouldn’t be far.

A draft of rotting fruit hit Beckham’s nostrils halfway down the corridor. He halted and balled his hand into a fist. There were two more doors along the wall up ahead, and one of them was open a few inches.

Pointing first at his eyes, Beckham then pointed to Chow and then to the open door. Beckham made his way over to the wall in a half crouch. The stench was coming from inside the room. He waited several seconds, listening for anything moving inside.

“You take high. I’m low,” Beckham said. “Sweep right to left. I’ll go left to right.”

Chow nodded and stepped forward, putting his foot against the rusted bottom of the open door.

“Execute,” Beckham said.

Chow pushed the door open with his left hand and burst inside. Beckham followed close behind, arching his M4 across what looked like a mechanical room. Dozens of boxy machines, each six feet tall, were situated throughout the space, blocking Beckham’s view and dividing the area into a maze.

Beckham gritted his teeth and sidestepped around the nearest machine with his rifle trained down the first aisle. Chow started down the right side and disappeared from Beckham’s peripheral vision.

The left side was clear, but as Beckham continued, the potent smell increased. He halted when he saw four mangled corpses at the end of the room. Bones glistening with blood protruded from the sacks of flesh.

“Found something,” Beckham whispered over the comm. He felt a presence to his right a moment later. Chow stood there with a sleeve over his nose, his gaze locked on the twisted corpses.

“Better check it out,” Beckham said. He pulled his shemagh over his face and then led with his rifle. The bodies were so badly disfigured it took Beckham a moment to realize they weren’t human.

Chow swiped a sweaty strand of black hair from his face, shook his head and whispered, “If the Variants are eating each other…”

“Then they must have already eaten their way through any survivors,” Beckham replied.

Their comms flared as they retreated from the room. Valentine’s voice surged over the channel. “Charlie 1, Bravo 1, eyes on the objective. It’s in a tunnel just to the left of the reservoir. You better get over here. Place is fucking huge.”

Beckham pulled the scarf down and looked away from the gore. “Copy that, Bravo 1,” Beckham said. “We’ll be right there.”

Kennor snatched the picture of his grandkids off his desk and stuffed it into his pack.

“Hurry, sir!” Harris said, his voice just shy of a shout.

Wood was already gone. He had taken off with several of his men a few minutes prior, and they were on their way to the tarmac.

I’m too old for this shit , Kennor thought as he followed Harris into the command center. The room was packed with his staff. Most of them shouted into headsets as they stared at the wall-mounted monitors, where a security feed played in real-time on the screens.

“My God,” Kennor said. He gripped his bag tighter when he saw what they were watching. The display on the left showed a battle inside one of the hallways. A trio of Marines fired at a pack of Variants flooding the tunnel. Fire erupted from their rifles as they emptied their magazines into the mass.

Several of the monsters flopped to the floor, but the meat of the pack surged forward, consuming the Marines. A female Variant with wispy hair dangling over her forehead took to the walls. She dashed over the concrete on all fours. Her naked flesh came into focus as she skittered closer, like a subject under a microscope. The bulging veins crisscrossing her skin seemed to pulsate under the banks of LEDs. She slowed as she approached the camera, tilting her head and narrowing her yellow eyes at the lens. Her lips opened into a black void and she released a roar that only the dying Marines in the tunnel would hear before she trampled the wall-mounted camera. The feed went black, and Kennor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

“How the fuck did they get in!” he shouted.