Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

The words hit Kate hard. She could taste the stomach acid churning in the pit of her gut. She couldn’t lose Beckham now. Not when they were so close to…

To what?

The world was dying. Command was gone and no one seemed to know who was in charge. There were much bigger problems in the world than losing Beckham, but she couldn’t bear the thought of fighting on without him.

The sound of heavy boots in the other hallway pulled Kate back to reality. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith rounded the corner and strode through the open doors to the holding cell corridor.

Jensen stopped to stare at the Variant and then faced the doctors. “Kate—Dr. Lovato,” he said, correcting himself. “Colonel Wood has requested to see you both when he returns.”

Patient 2 let out an abrupt screech that was so loud Kate clutched her chest. She could feel her heart thumping so hard it felt like it was going to burst from her ribcage and plop into her hand. And not just because of the monster dying on the other side of the glass. The world was crumbling around Plum Island, and Beckham was stuck out there, again, because of the weapon she had designed.

Beckham ran through a maze of mechanical equipment. The door to the facility rattled behind them as the Variants continued their unyielding assault on the steel. It sounded like a mad miner beating on a wall with a sledgehammer.

“Who knows this place?” Beckham shouted over the noise.

“Ted does,” Mikesell said.

Beckham halted in front of a row of generators and scanned the survivors as Chow, Lombardi, and Horn set up a perimeter. Six faces covered in grime stared back at him. An African American woman wearing a white dress shirt with a US flag pin and black trousers caught Beckham’s attention. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun, and when she saw him looking at her, she straightened her back. Her brown eyes flared with something Beckham couldn’t place. Was it confidence? Strength? He could tell she was important, perhaps a politician or a high-level bureaucrat, but he didn’t have time to find out right now.

“Which one of you is Ted?” he asked.

A middle-aged man wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses pushed his way to the front of the civilians.

“Me,” the man said. “I know this plant better than anyone.”

“Good,” Beckham said. “Because you’re going to show us a way out.”

Ted pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes before slipping them back on. He glanced at Beckham and then at the steel door the Variants were continuing to hammer. “I… I don’t…”

Beckham snapped his fingers. “Ted, I need you to tell me how to get out of here.”

Ted looked away from the rattling doors and said, “There’s an access tunnel carved into the rock that leads to the reservoir. It’s the only way that doesn’t take us back out to the inner roadway, but it’s also where those things built their nest.”

“Hopefully they’ve all left the lair,” Chow said.

Horn snorted and said, “You’re telling us that’s the only way around them?”

“Yes, that’s the only way,” Ted said.

“Show me,” Beckham said. “Big Horn, I want you on rear guard. Everyone else, on me.”

Ted waved the group deeper into the plant. Beckham shouldered his rifle and played the muzzle over the equipment as they ran.

“Stay close,” Beckham said. “And keep quiet.”

They passed through a room full of generators and into another one packed with pumps, air handling units, and boilers.

“This way,” Ted said. He crossed to a door with a sign that read Danger. Confined Space. Enter By Permit Only. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and thumbed through them. He picked a key and was reaching toward the lock when Beckham stopped him. The Variants had already flanked them once, and Beckham wanted to be sure there wasn’t anything on the other side of the door.

“Out of the way,” Beckham said. He placed an ear against the metal and listened. The pounding and shrieks of the Variants at the entrance to the plant made it difficult to hear anything else, but he heard nothing to indicate the monsters were waiting on the other side of the door.

“Unlock it,” Beckham ordered. He raised his M4 and aimed it at the door as Ted inserted the key. The engineer glanced back at the group uncertainly.

Beckham nodded, and Ted opened the door.

“On me,” Beckham said. He went first, arching his rifle over the space. The dimly lit corridor was empty. Nothing but damp rock the color of sand. A network of cables and evenly spaced lights snaked across the ceiling.

“Move,” Beckham said. He hugged the walls, using the orange glow from the lights to guide him through the narrow passage. Water dropped from cracks in the rock and collected in puddles on the ground.

Beckham’s heart rate increased with every step—each one closer to the lair. Memories of the nest he’d pulled Meg from in New York surfaced on his mind. He was moving on pure adrenaline, his actions controlled by experience and his internal processor. There was nothing he could do but count on it to keep him and his people alive.

He stopped at a crooked sign marking the reservoir, which hung from a door coated in rust and grime at the next corner. Standing and staring wasn’t going to get them home any faster. After a few seconds of silence, he motioned Ted forward.

“Big Horn, get up here,” Beckham said. If there were Variants still in the nest, he wanted the M249 on point.

Horn grunted as he made his way through the civilians. “What’s the plan?” he said when he reached Beckham.

“We stay frosty,” Beckham whispered. He faced the others and said, “Whatever’s on the other side of this door isn’t going to be pretty. No matter what you see or hear, you keep quiet, you keep calm, and you follow us. Got it?”

There were several nods and a couple whispers of acknowledgement.

“Open it, Ted.”

This time the engineer hesitated even longer before inserting his key. After sucking in a breath, he twisted it and pulled the door open. The metal scraped over the rocky floor.

Beckham cringed and followed Horn onto a catwalk that looked over a cavern. Greenish-blue water shimmered under the walkway. The calm freshwater lake was deceiving, Beckham knew there was nothing peaceful about this place. He followed Horn to the railing to scope the cave.

“There,” Horn whispered. He pointed to the west where a shelf had been carved into the rock.

Beckham clenched his jaw when he saw it had been transformed into a meat locker. Dozens of human shapes were plastered to the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. He focused on a man in fatigues, his body stretched into a T, crucified against the rock. Red ropes hung from the man’s stomach and piled on the ground beneath his feet. Beckham zoomed in to see it was the man’s guts.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“Think of any of them are alive?” Horn asked.

“I’d bet on it,” Beckham said. “The Variants prefer fresh meat.”

Beckham searched for the monsters, sweeping his aim from left to right, but he saw nothing besides their human prisoners.

“Looks clear,” Horn said.

After a third sweep, Beckham nodded and turned back to the others. He couldn’t save the poor souls across the cavern, but maybe he could still save those behind him. He waved them onto the catwalk.

Ted grabbed the railing and hurried over to Beckham. “We just take this all the way around to the entrance.”

“Let’s move, Big Horn,” Beckham said.

He put a hand on Horn’s shoulder and followed him across the walkway. No matter how quietly the operators were trained to move, they couldn’t mask the sounds the civilians made. The clanks from their footfalls echoed in the cavern. With each step Beckham expected a Variant to answer with a shriek. They made it about one hundred yards before a dull sound reverberated through the chamber.