Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“Fall back!” Beckham yelled. “Get away from the doors!” Horn, Jinx and the Rangers formed a wall, standing shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the hallway, where they opened up on the Variants.

Beckham’s senses amplified as he dove for the ground. Every movement the creatures made resounded in his ears. He could see the sweat and blood trickling down their pale flesh, could smell the scent of rotting fruit bleeding from their pores. His processor was working at full capacity, his body now a killing machine.

He hit the deck and continued firing as his mind went into overdrive too. He saw his mom, his dad, Spinoza, Edwards, Tenor, and Sheila. Every shot was for them. The animalistic screams of the Variants waned under the heavy pop of gunfire. Flashes of red and orange crisscrossed the corridor. Chunks of concrete exploded from the walls and ceiling, raining debris on the floor.

Beckham reloaded, closed an eye, and aimed from his prone position. A female Variant leaned around the open door. Big mistake , Beckham thought as he squeezed off a shot.

The creature grabbed her stomach, squealing in pain. It was just a flesh wound. Beckham fired again, this time aiming for her throat. The woman slumped forward, blood gurgling from her mouth.

In seconds the passage clogged with bodies, a twitching mound of flesh. But more of the creatures came, leaping from the darkness and through the door. A Variant, still dressed in a ragged janitorial outfit, managed to make it through the gunfire. He had lost an arm, but he was still moving. He growled and leapt into the air.

Two voices called out simultaneously. “Changing!”

Beckham kept firing, watching the ex-janitor’s hands morph into claws. He fired off the rest of his magazine into the man’s distorted body. Blood splattered across Beckham’s visor as the creature collided with him, knocking him on the ground with an audible thud.

“Boss!” Horn yelled.

“I’m fine,” Beckham replied, pushing the corpse off him. He jumped to his feet, ran back to the blockade, and slid through a gap between Jinx and Chow.

Empty shells rained down, pinging off the concrete. The gunfire was so loud he could hardly think. Beckham had trained in conditions like this, but the effects of the smoke inhalation had screwed with his senses. A minute earlier he could hear every agonizing movement, now he couldn’t even focus.

Beckham caught a glimpse of movement at the team’s rear. He changed his magazine and angled his night vision toward the far end of the hallway, the same way they’d come in.

“Contacts on our six!” Beckham shouted.

Chow turned while the others kept firing at the Variants coming through the doorway.

“Rich, Timbo, Jinx, cover our ass,” Chow said. “Beckham, Horn, Steve, Ryan, you’re with me.”

The men repositioned themselves in the center of the hallway, their backs together. Both ends of the hallway were crowded with half-naked monsters.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t follow us into the smoke!” Horn screamed in between bursts.

“They never have before!” Chow yelled.

Beckham winced. If the Variants were swarming the tunnels, then how the hell were the others supposed to hold them back? “Are there more guards protecting the survivors?”

Chow hesitated between shots. “Only a few. They’ve never come in this far!”

Beckham gritted his teeth. He knew what Horn was thinking as his fire became more rapid, less controlled. The floor filled with a river of blood, empty bullet casings plopping into the slimy red.

The Variants were getting closer now, many of them hurtling from wall to ceiling back to the floor. It made finding a target incredibly difficult even in the narrow space. Beckham counted a total of a dozen of the creatures coming from his side of the corridor. They were using one another as shields, streaming forward in a mass.

“Changing!” Chow shouted.

Beckham concentrated on the lead Variant and fired off two shots. The first caught the monster in the kneecap, the second in its chest. It slid down the wall, blood tattooing the concrete scarlet. Another clawed its way across the ceiling like some demented spider. Beckham blinked, wondering if he was in some sort of suspended nightmare, as if he would wake up suddenly and find himself on a beach in the Florida Keys.

The creature dropped from the ceiling and dashed down the hall. It didn’t make it very far before it was torn apart by bullets, blood splattering the walls. Beckham regained his stature and reached for another magazine. Last one , he thought as he eyed the rest of the pack.

He got off three shots before it was all over. Chow moved ahead of him as soon as the gunfire stopped. He kicked several twitching bodies and double-tapped every one with his rifle.

“Clear,” Chow said, nonchalantly.

Beckham held his 10mm by his side and focused on the heat from the muzzle of the gun. He wondered how many lives he’d taken over the past few weeks. Looking at the dozens of bodies and the pooling blood, Beckham wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. His gaze focused on the face of one of the creatures. Its features were hardly recognizable, so deformed by the bulging lips and transformed eyes that it no longer looked quite human. Yet he saw a trace of a person he remembered. Beckham couldn’t recall his name, but he had seen this man several times around the post.

Beckham shivered and ran a sleeve across his visor to remove the blood. This wasn’t the type of war he was used to fighting. This enemy had once been their friends and family. He pushed past the corpses with the rest of the team. He didn’t want to know who they’d killed.

Chow paused in the doorway ahead.

“How far to the others?” Horn asked.

Chow pulled out a tattered map. He studied it for several minutes.

“A right, a left, and another right,” Chow said, tapping the sheet with a gloved finger.

“Then let’s move,” Horn said.

“Hold up,” Beckham replied. “How do we know the other tunnels aren’t full of hostiles?”

“We don’t,” Jinx said.

“You guys better have sealed the doors to the place where my girls are hiding,” Horn said. His voice was just shy of a growl. His chest surged. Beckham knew he was about to blow a gasket.

“Don’t worry. Your girls are safe. Only one way forward,” Chow said, pointing down the hall. “Unless you guys want to go back outside.”

Horn jammed a fresh magazine into his M27. “We’re wasting time.”

“Check your ammo and take a drink,” Beckham said. “We move in two minutes.” He walked over to Horn and pulled the man to the side.

“Look,” Beckham said. “I have no idea how you’re feeling right now.”

Horn glared at him, his breathing fast and raspy through his mask.

“But you can only help your daughters if you’re alive. Get it together, Big Horn!” Beckham smacked the wall with his palm. “We made it this far. You need to slow down and do things the right way. The way we were trained.”

The man sucked in a breath, his shoulders dropping as he calmed down. “You’re right, Boss. Wasn’t thinking back there. It’s just…” He formed a fist as the anger returned. Shaking his head he said, “Fuck! Sheila’s dead.”

Beckham patted the armor above Horn’s heart. “But your girls are alive . And we’re almost there, man. Almost fucking there.”

They embraced. Just like old times. For the first time that day Beckham felt a sense of pride, of friendship. The small act reminded him, again, that he was only as good as the man next to him. Horn was his best friend, his brother. And they were going to find his daughters.

Together they trailed Chow and the rest of the team into the next hallway, moving cautiously this time. Moving as one.