Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

“How many are there?” Beckham asked.

“We found six survivors,” Sawyer replied. “A scientist, a—”

“How many Variants!” Beckham said, his voice raised. He watched Sawyer’s reaction in the rear view mirror.

The soldier shook his head. “I don’t know. A hundred, maybe.”

Beckham caught Horn’s gaze in the mirror as he pulled his skull mask over his face. When it was in position, he hefted his M249 out the open window.

“Mikesell, do you copy?” Beckham said into the comm. “Mikesell, where the fuck are you?”

A few words weakened by static made it through.

“In… West power…”

Beckham didn’t need to look at the map still tucked into his vest to know where he was going. Pushing the pedal harder, he accelerated through an open stretch of tunnel.

“Get ready,” Beckham said. “We’ll pick up the survivors and evacuate through Portal A or B. Whichever is clear.”

“What if neither are clear?” Lombardi asked.

Beckham kept his eyes on the road. “Then we fight our way out.”

They still had some outs, but Beckham didn’t like his poker hand. Five men against an army? It didn’t matter how many bullets they had. The odds of making it out alive were dismal.

At the far end of the tunnel, Beckham saw a flurry of movement. He flicked on the brights that cut through the shadowy passage. In the glow of the beams, a sea of Variants swarmed. They covered every square inch of concrete: the ground, walls, and even the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Beckham whispered.

“There,” Sawyer yelled. “That’s the plant.”

Beckham eased off the gas as they approached. He used the stolen minute to think of a plan. Sawyer had been wrong—there were more than one hundred.

The Variants on the edges of the mass scampered on all fours, some of them stopping to crouch and claw their way through the throng. As the Humvee coasted toward them, the Variants turned and centered their gaze on the truck.

“Boss, you got a plan?” Horn shouted.

“I’m working on one.”

The Variants caught in the rays of the vehicle’s lights broke off from the pack, squawking and leaping out of the way. Beckham had almost forgotten how much they hated light.

“Horn, get on the gun and turn on that spotlight!” Beckham shouted. “Everyone else, train your fire on the mob when I give the order.” He pushed the mini-mike back to his lips and said, “Mikesell, we’re almost there. I’ll get as close to the doors as possible. Be ready to roll.”

“Roger,” Mikesell replied.

Horn pulled himself into the turret, and a beam of light hit the swelling army a moment later as the Humvee rolled to a stop.

“Open fire!” Beckham shouted.

Streaks of red lanced through the tunnel. The rounds tore a hole into the swarm and sent body parts spurting in all directions.

Beckham’s heart climbed into his throat when he saw the entire army shift like it was a single clump of flesh. They certainly had the monsters’ attention now. He leaned out the driver’s side window and fired his M4. The crack of gunfire was deafening. Beckham could hardly hear the primal screeches of the creatures as the rounds cut them down.

The spotlight seemed to deter the Variants even more than the 7.62mm rounds Horn was unloading into the mass. A dozen of the monsters attempted to gallop toward the Humvee, but they only made it fifty feet before they vanished in the spray of gunfire.

Beckham pulled himself back into the truck and waited for an opportunity to break through the army. The mob was dispersing now, retreating from the lights and gunfire. He seized his moment and sped toward the power plant.

“Get ready, Mikesell!” Beckham yelled into the comm. They passed a series of doors that led to the living quarters, Presidential Command Center, and all of the other offices.

Beckham kept his foot on the pedal as they hit the minefield of bodies. Skulls and ribcages snapped under the weight of the tires. The shocks jerked up and down as they ran over the fresh corpses. A female Variant missing her legs dragged her torso across the pavement and reached up at the beams of the Humvee. Beckham flinched as the truck sent her spinning into a wall, where she splattered and slumped to the ground.

The meat of the army continued retreating ahead. Those that stayed behind were mowed down by Horn’s unwavering barrage of fire. He was a genius on the heavy gun. Beckham let up on the gas and pulled right up to the front door of the power plant.

“We’re here!” he shouted. “Keep them off us, Big Horn.”

The door to the plant swung open. Mikesell emerged and hurried toward the truck. There was a small group of civilians huddling in the shadows cast by the mechanical equipment behind him.

Mikesell stopped suddenly, staring with wide eyes at the Humvee. Beckham’s eyes flicked to motion in the rear view mirror. A slow moment of confusion passed before Beckham realized Mikesell wasn’t staring at the truck but through it. The monsters were streaming out of the doors they had passed earlier.

“Horn! Behind us!” Beckham shouted.

The spotlight rotated to their rear, and Beckham watched in horror as the army of Variants that had been retreating now turned and broke into a crazed run toward the truck. That left Beckham with only one option. There was no way they could hold off both waves of creatures.

“Everyone out!” he shouted.

“Boss, I can—” Horn began to say.

“Get out of the fucking truck!”

Beckham opened the driver door and waved Mikesell back inside the power plant. He hurried to the backseat and helped Horn pull Sawyer out. When everyone was inside the plant, Horn slammed the door.

They were stranded, trapped underground for the second time since the sewers of New York. And this time, Beckham didn’t think they’d ever see daylight again.

Kate looked through the window cresting the door to Holding Cell 2. I did what you said, Michael, she thought, remembering her mentor’s final words back in Atlanta. I created a weapon to kill every last one of the monsters.

The Variant lying chained to the floor was nearly dead. Rashes and open sores decorated its skin like polka dots. A wall of pink vomit had formed on the concrete where it had thrown up what looked a lot like stomach lining. The creature was nearing the final stages, and in a few minutes it would join the other two Variants that had already died. Plum Island would be monster free.

Ellis nudged Kate softly. “Ever wonder who these things were before the outbreak?” Ellis asked.

“I have tried very hard not to think that way.”

“Me too.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I think we did it, Kate. I’m feeling pretty good. The Variants are dying. All we have to do now is—”

The door to the hallway burst open, and Cooper and Berg rushed inside.

“Doctors,” Berg said, stopping to catch his breath.

Cooper continued down the hall, speaking as he walked. “Dr. Lovato, Dr. Ellis, we just got word from Colonel Wood that Central Command has fallen. General Kennor has been killed.”

“What? How?” Kate spluttered. “Who’s in charge now?”

“Not sure,” Berg said. “Things are chaotic over the net. All we know is that Colonel Wood is en route to the island. He should be here in a few minutes and will be able to provide a full report.”

Kate’s heart skipped a beat. If Wood was in charge now, she wasn’t sure what would happen.

“There’s something else,” Cooper said. “Bravo team just reported in. They’re on their way back to the island with a full supply of chemotherapeutics. Alpha and Charlie, however, are trapped inside Raven Rock Mountain Complex. Their status is unknown at this time.”