Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

Gripping his knife, Beckham studied the subhuman faces of the enemy. Deformed mouths snarled and vertical pupils blinked back at him.

Beckham tightened his grip on his knife as the creatures surged forward in a distorted wave. His body tingled from the adrenaline coursing through his system. A hundred thoughts drifted across his mind, and none of them made any sense. His brain was working in overdrive, unable to focus in the face of inexorable death.

A bright flash from the west pulled Beckham’s gaze away from the creatures.

Crack, crack, crack.

Beckham knew that sound. Only an MK11 sniper rifle made that defining war cry.

More flashes lit up the rooftops of several buildings west of the road. Bodies dropped on the concrete, bones and gore splattering the pavement. Beckham kicked at a hand that came rolling toward him.

“Yeah!” Horn cheered.

Beckham watched the street fill with blood. The sight was surreal. Surely there were men and women he’d known amongst the dead, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. He wasn’t sure how long the gunfire lasted. When the sound of last shot waned away, he took a guarded step forward.

“Jesus,” Beckham muttered. He sidestepped around the corpses, jumping over some that were piled on top of one another.

“Freeze!” came a raspy voice.

A trio of silhouettes stood at the edge of the swirling smoke. They wore gas masks and the same ‘four-eye’ NVGs. All three men were covered in impact armor similar to what Horn and Beckham were wearing.

“Get on the ground!” the leader yelled. He pointed an M4 in their direction.

“Boss?” Horn said.

“Do it,” Beckham said.

Both of them dropped to their knees and put their hands on their heads. “We’re friendly!” Horn protested.

The soldiers didn’t reply. They walked cautiously, heel to toe. Beckham recognized their calculated movements and their equipment. These were no grunts. These were well-trained killers. And if their sharpshooting skills were any indication, they were probably Army Rangers.

A smiled dawned on Beckham’s face. He didn’t mind being rescued.

“Don’t move,” the leader said. His voice was stifled by the gas mask, but it sounded familiar.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” the man said.

“Rescue mission,” Horn said.

The two men behind the leader exchanged looks and the one on the right said, “Just the two of you?”

“Not just any two,” the other man said. He slowly slipped his gas mask off and leaned forward. “Delta Force Operators.”

Beckham blinked away the burn of the smoke and focused on the man’s face. “Chow? Is that you?” The operator was part of another team codenamed Titanium.

“Hell yeah, brother!” Chow said. He lowered his rifle and reached out with open arms, embracing Beckham in a strong hug.

“I figured you guys were dead,” Chow said.

Beckham shook his head. “Same here.”

Chow’s eyes darted to the ground. “There aren’t many of us left now. Just me and Jinx.” He pointed to the rooftop. “Everyone else was infected or killed. We teamed up with a squad of Rangers.”

“What about my family? Have you seen my family?” Horn asked.

Beckham’s heart skipped when Chow hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” Chow said, finding Horn’s eyes. “Sheila didn’t make it.”

Horn sucked in a deep breath like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He took a step backward, his hands clutching his chest. A deep groan erupted from his mouth.

Beckham felt the churning dread in his stomach. A powerful wave of anxiety took hold of his fatigued body. Sheila was gone. It was real now. They couldn’t save her. He walked over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m—”

“What about my girls?” Horn said, shaking. He pulled away from Beckham’s grasp.

“Alive,” Chow said. “Back in the tunnels with the others.”

“We don’t have much time,” one of the Rangers said. “Those things will come back. They always do.”

Chow nodded. He reached in his pack and tossed two gas masks to Horn and Beckham. Eying their weapons, he dug inside for magazines.

“You’re lucky, Beckham. I got some extra 10mm mags,” Chow said. He pushed three of them toward Beckham. “You can thank me later.” Then he pulled several M27 magazines from his bag and turned to Horn.

Chow held out the ammo and said, “Follow me. I’ll take you to your girls, brother.”

Asingle soldier stood guard outside the medical ward. He stiffened when he saw Kate and Ellis approaching.

“Good evening, Doctors,” the man said, glancing at their badges. “Lieutenant Colonel Jensen is waiting for you at the front desk.” He pulled the left door open and ushered Kate and Ellis inside.

They walked into the shadows of a sparsely lit hallway. A large metallic click followed as the guard sealed them inside. Kate hustled down the passage, anxious to get started. Every room they passed was dark, save for the one at the end of the north quadrant. That was where she was headed. Jensen stood behind a desk on the right side of the hallway, his arms crossed, staring at the locked door to Gibson’s room.

Kate rehearsed the questions she would ask the colonel over and over as she walked. The goal was to keep them simple. She wasn’t interested in linking him further to VX-99—that wasn’t her job. Some hotshot prosecutor would take care of that. Her job was to find out what had happened to Lieutenant Brett in that prison cell almost thirty years ago.

Jensen stepped out from behind the desk when they arrived. “We have to make this quick,” he said, tapping his watch. “The colonel’s primary doctor threw a fit about your visit.”

“Understood,” Kate said.

“He’s awake and knows you’re here to see him. But please , Doctors, don’t get him agitated,” Jensen said.

“I won’t,” Kate said.

“Me neither,” Ellis added.

The lieutenant colonel glanced at them in turn and then pushed the door open. “You have five minutes.”

Kate hesitated, suddenly unsure if they were making the right decision. She had no idea what to expect from Gibson.

Ellis nudged her. “Kate…”

“Sorry,” she replied, stepping into the room. The colonel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his blue eyes fixated on the white panels. Multiple tubes snaked under his sheets. A biomonitor displaying his vitals chirped in the corner of the room.

“Colonel Gibson?” Kate whispered.

The man’s eyes remained locked in place.

“It’s Dr. Kate Lovato. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

Jensen strode to the corner of the room as she inched closer to Gibson’s bedside. He watched her with hardened eyes.

“I would really appreciate your help, Sir,” Kate said.

Gibson tilted his head in her direction at last. “Good job on the bioweapon, Doctor.”

Kate took a step backward. She hadn’t expected the abrupt response. “I’d like to ask you… uh…”

“We’re here to talk to you about Lieutenant Trevor Brett,” Ellis cut in when she stumbled.

Gibson lifted his head off his pillow and looked at Ellis. He coughed deeply, fluid crackling in his chest.

Kate softened her voice. “We know he was given a dose of VX-99. And we know he was taken to a military maximum security prison after he was found ten years later.”

Gibson squirmed in his bed. The biomonitor chirped louder.

“Yes. This is all true,” the colonel said.

“We know that the lieutenant… evolved. Both physically and—” Kate began to say, but Gibson interrupted her.