Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“Let’s move! Get inside!” Jinx said.

Two of the Rangers trailed him into the dark building. The other two stayed outside, monitoring the perimeter with their MK11s.

“Clear!” came a voice from inside the building.

Chow, Horn, and the other Rangers hustled inside, but Beckham hung back to stare at a magnolia tree towering over the one-story building. Half of the branches were twisted and burned. Ashes and burnt leaves littered the grass. The other half of the tree was still healthy, the blossoms still vibrant.

Half dead and half alive , he thought as he followed the team inside.

Jensen stood with his back to the makeshift war table and stared out of the observation window. He watched the sapphire waves below, wondering how it had come to this. Colonel Gibson, the man he’d followed for a decade, had deceived him. The truth behind his actions was heartbreaking. He had succeeded where Hitler, Stalin, Genghis Khan, Xerxes, and so many other men had failed—he’d created a new world, albeit a world of monsters and death. Gibson had been obsessed with saving young soldiers like his son, but in the end he’d doomed them all.

The revelation was like a knife to the gut. Jensen’s body burned with anger. Every muscle strained and tightened as he approached the window. He wanted to scream, to jump through the glass and drop into the cool water below. But he had responsibilities. Men and women under his command to protect. Good men like Master Sergeant Reed Beckham and Staff Sergeant Parker Horn, and good women like Dr. Kate Lovato. At the end of the world, they were the most valuable assets the military and the country could have at their disposal.

With a deep breath, he cleared his mind and mastered his temper. He took a seat and swiped the monitor. A map of the country emerged on the table’s display. Central Command was sending him projections of the Variant populations every few hours. Red blotches covered every metropolitan area.

He scooted the chair closer. The images had changed since he had looked earlier that morning. Hundreds of recon units were set up in cities across the United States, watching and monitoring the Variants. And every single satellite the military had orbiting the planet was now focused on tracking the new enemy. Analysts in bunkers buried deep beneath the surface were studying the data, looking for trends and sending the intel out to remaining posts like Plum Island.

Surely they’d seen what he had. The Variants seemed to be gathering. Forming in clusters. Hunting in packs. That would make Operation Liberty run much more smoothly, he imagined. The Air Force would weaken the enemy and the troops would clean up the rest. No matter how cunning or strong the Variants were, they were no match for missiles, tanks and good old-fashioned bullets. Even if they had evolved like Dr. Lovato thought they would.

The door slid open and Smith walked into the CIC. “You get the updated projections?”

Jensen nodded. “Find me any chew?”

Smith chuckled. “I don’t think there’s a single can on this island. Maybe Beckham will bring some back from Fort Bragg.”

“Can’t get a message through to him,” Jensen said. “Must have turned his comm off for stealth.”

Smith pulled a chair up to the table. “I hope that’s the reason. Losing those guys would—”

Raising a hand, Jensen cut off his second. “They’re Delta Operators, and Beckham has proven he can survive out there. Besides there’s still another twenty hours before extraction. I’m not going to worry yet.

“Talk to me,” Jensen said, changing the subject. “What do you make of this?” He swiveled the monitor closer.

Smith slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Looks like the Variants are gathering in clumps. But why?”

“Hell if I know,” Jensen responded.

Smith put a thumb under his chin and scratched at his skin. “I don’t know. Seems odd, don’t ya think? Maybe there’s a reason the Variants are flocking to these areas.”

Jensen sighed. He swiped the map of New York and enlarged the image, focusing on a red blotch of Variants in the Bronx. For several minutes he stared blankly, trying to make sense of their migration. But no matter how hard he tried, he just didn’t get it. Why would these creatures swarm? And where were the rest of them?

The team rushed down the first-floor hallway. Emergency lights flickered, casting an intermittent red glow over the corridor.

Chow took a single knee and balled his hand into a fist. “Beckham, get up here.”

Jogging past two Rangers, Beckham crouched next to the operator.

“There’s a tunnel entrance through there.” Chow pointed to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. “Thing is, we haven’t been using this access point. The other one is about a mile to the north. I didn’t want to risk it.”

The roof groaned and several ceiling tiles fell to the floor, where they shattered. Chow bowed his head as dust rained down. When it cleared, he brushed the powder off his shoulders and helmet. “You hold rank, Beckham. It’s your show now.”

Beckham adjusted the strap of his empty MP5 and checked on the team. Horn, Jinx, and the Rangers hung back in the shadows. The blinking red light illuminated their armored bodies. Covered in ash and smoke, they looked like they’d just survived a nuclear holocaust.

“You said the other access point is through those doors?” Beckham asked.

Chow nodded.

After a brief pause Beckham said, “Okay. We proceed through the tunnels.” He stood and walked toward the doors with his 10mm aimed in front. The team fell into position, and Beckham flashed an advance signal to Horn, who approached at a careful trot. At the double doors, Horn snapped his night vision back into place, nudged the right door open with his M27, and strode into the darkness.

Beckham went next, his pistol aimed tightly. The passage curved and a sloped floor ran to a pair of doors so far away he could hardly make them out. Horn had already covered a good chunk of the hallway.

Shit , Beckham thought. The man wasn’t thinking with his head. His only concern was for his daughters.

Increasing his pace, Beckham flicked the mini-mic on his headset closer to his lips. “Hold up.”

No reply. Horn was either ignoring him or the channel wasn’t working.

Grunting, Beckham fell into a run, the rifle on his back clinking. The sound would let any Variants know he was coming, but the time for a gear check was behind them. The noises of his equipment mixed with the sound of footfalls reverberating through the passage.

By the time the team reached the other end of the hallway, it felt like they had descended a couple floors underground. The concrete leveled off at two heavy steel doors. Horn waited there, panting. Beckham shot him an angry glare. This time he nodded at Chow to take the lead. Horn fell into position behind the Rangers.

As Chow slowly pulled the door open, Beckham heard a click. It wasn’t the locking mechanism. In one swift motion, he grabbed Chow’s flak jacket and yanked him away from the door. Then he dropped to one knee and aimed his pistol through the gap. Wide yellow eyes stared back at him. The creature coiled, ready to spring.

Beckham squeezed the trigger before it could move. One of the bullets found a home in its right eye socket. The other took off the bottom of its chin. The monster screeched and retreated.

The bank of emergency lights flickered on the other side of the open door. A dozen of the nightmarish creatures skittered across the walls and the ceiling, their joints clicking as they powered forward.