Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“Do you know why I haven’t completely lost my mind?”

She shook her head again.

“Because I direct my anger toward Colonel Gibson and Dr. Medford. Those bastards created the Hemorrhage Virus. And the way I look at it, we destroyed that virus.” Ellis pushed his tray aside, focusing on Kate with a stern look. “We can defeat the Variants. We can take back the country. I believe that. I do.”

Kate pulled her hands away from her face and sat up. Straight. Professional.

Ellis reached across the table with his right hand. “Kate.”

The gesture took her by surprise. Ellis wasn’t an emotional man, but the end of the world had a way of changing people. Things that didn’t seem to matter before were important now. She gripped his hand in her own.

“You can’t continue to blame yourself for the death of Michael or Javier or anyone else. You did your job,” Ellis said.

“But I couldn’t save them,” she said.

“You tried your best.”

“I know,” Kate whispered.

He pulled out of her grasp and then patted her hand. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

She smiled and brushed the residue of a tear away from her eye. “I will. Same goes for you.”

“Shit,” Ellis said. “Look who’s coming.”

Lieutenant Colonel Jensen was striding across the cafeteria.

“What now?” Kate said. Her stomach churned when she thought of Beckham. Did he have news?

“Dr. Lovato, Dr. Ellis,” Jensen said. “I want to apologize for losing my temper with Colonel Gibson. That man… At any rate, I’m sorry.”

“We understand,” Kate said.

“Secondly, I need to share some intel with you,” Jensen said. He threw a glance over his shoulder at a table of Marines. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in my office.”

Kate’s legs tingled. “Is it Beckham?”

Jensen looked uncharacteristically confused. “I don’t know. We haven’t heard from him yet.” He checked the Marines again and said, “Meet me in the CIC in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be there,” Ellis said.

Kate stood, grabbed her tray, and hurried over to the trash bins. Jensen knew something—something he didn’t want to share in front of the Marines—and she was anxious to know what it was.

The weight pressing on Beckham’s chest lifted the moment he spied the freckled faces of Horn’s daughters. Relief flooded through him, the burden vanishing as the girls burst from a pack of civilians huddled together in the middle of the tunnel.

“Tasha, Jenny!” Horn shouted.

“Daddy!” the girls yelled simultaneously. For a moment they stood there, as if they weren’t sure what to do.

Horn held out his arms and dropped to both knees. His girls came running toward him then, and he scooped them up and kissed them each on the cheek in turn. He cried with joy as he pulled them closer.

Beckham gave them some space and walked over to Chow and Jinx.

“First happy ending I’ve seen in weeks,” Chow said.

Jinx laughed. “Man, I could use a happy ending.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Chow said, slapping the back of his hand on Jinx’s shoulder.

“Cut it out,” Beckham said. “Do you know what Horn has been through, Jinx?”

“Look what you did now,” Chow said to Jinx as Beckham snorted and walked away.

“Reed!” both of the girls screamed as he approached.

“Hey, Tasha. Hey, Jenny!” Beckham said, his smile widening further. Horn set his daughters down and they ran to Beckham, nearly tackling him. “Have you two grown?”

Tasha, who was eight, shook her head.

“I have!” Jenny said enthusiastically.

Beckham agreed. She looked older than five now. It had only been a few weeks since he’d seen them, but the gray soot covering their faces made them both look older. “You’re going to be as tall as your dad soon,” Beckham said, taking a knee in front of them. He reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out a surprise he’d been holding onto since they left Plum Island. “Got you something.”

Both girls grinned. They knew what was coming. He always gave them Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bars. He pulled it from a bag and looked up at Horn for his approval. He nodded, and Beckham handed over the wrapped bar.

“Thanks!” the girls said.

Beckham stood and patted the girls on their heads. He found Horn’s eyes. They were brittle. He hadn’t had time to grieve at all for Sheila. The time for that would come soon, but first they had to get the girls back to Plum Island.

Focusing on the narrow hallway, Beckham realized it was going to be more difficult than he thought. There were at least fifty survivors. Some needed medical attention, and there were multiple children that would slow the group down. That meant three Black Hawks and a support crew. Jensen wasn’t going to be happy, but Beckham knew exactly how to sell the mission. Jensen needed boots for Operation Liberty. Looking around him, Beckham saw something even better—two more Delta Operators and a handful of well-equipped Army Rangers.

“Chow, get over here,” Beckham said.

“Whatch’a need?” the man asked. He placed his pack on the ground and stood as tall as he could manage. Strands of jet-black hair glistened on his forehead. The trim Chinese-American operator was one of the most decorated Beckham had ever worked with. His experience and his skill in countless martial arts made Chow one of the best.

“You guys got a working radio? I can’t get a signal down here,” Beckham said.

Chow nodded. “Yeah, this way.”

Beckham smiled at the girls and patted Horn on the back one more time. Then he followed Chow through the crowd of survivors. Men and women of all ages stared at him, their eyes pleading for reassurance and hope. He focused on a young man with auburn hair lying on the ground. Two metal blades jutted out from under a filthy blanket in place of his lower legs. He was probably a veteran of the war in Iraq or Afghanistan. The irony wasn’t lost on him the soldier was now hiding in a tunnel in a much different type of war. The sight sent a chill down Beckham’s own legs. He stopped and waited for the man to look up. When their eyes met, Beckham gave the man a nod of recognition.

A smile streaked across the soldier’s dirt-stained face. He instantly sat up and returned the gesture. “Good to have you here.”

“Good to be here,” Beckham replied. “Sit tight. We’re going to move soon.”

The man nodded and tossed the blanket aside. Putting his palms to the ground, he pushed himself to his feet as Beckham pushed on. At the end of the hallway, another Ranger stood guard over a makeshift desk. Radio equipment and ammunition sprawled across the surface. Chow nodded at the man and then pulled a chair up to the table.

Plucking a piece of paper from his vest pocket, Beckham handed it to Chow. “That’s the encrypted channel for Plum Island.”

“Hold up,” Chow said. He fidgeted with the dial, white noise crackling from the speakers. “Think I got it.” He handed the receiver to Beckham.

“Plum Island, this is Delta Team Ghost, do you copy? Over.” Static surged through the narrow hallway, catching the attention of several children and a nurse handing them packets of food.

A female voice said, “Ghost. Echo 1, Lieutenant Hickman at Plum Island. Good to hear your voice.”

Beckham exhaled and brought the receiver back to his lips. “You’re telling me,” he said. “Echo 1, requesting extraction at the following coordinates.”

Chow handed him the GPS location that he’d scribbled on a piece of paper. “That’s the location we saved your ass,” he said.

Beckham read the numbers off. “We need three Black Hawks and medical support. Evac zone could be hot. Extraction team should come locked and loaded.”