Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

Sighing, Kate reached for a cup of cold coffee and slurped down a gulp. The bitter taste made her cringe. She shivered, goose bumps rising on her arms. It was so cold.

Her teeth chattered as she typed. She wanted to finish the report before going to bed. That way Cindy and Ellis could look it over in the morning. But when she got to the end of the document, she paused. The cursor blinked. She didn’t know how to finish the memo. She read it over for the fourth time.

CDC Report #21

Location: Plum Island

Author – Dr. Kate Lovato

RE: Variant Research

Overview

Reports from across the country indicate approximately ten percent of those infected with the Hemorrhage Virus are recovering from the virus after exposure to the biological weapon VariantX9H9. Scientists are calling these creatures Variants. The epigenetic changes caused by the VX-99 nanostructures from the Hemorrhage Virus have caused irreversible effects. The Variants continue to change, showing remarkable evolution.

Test Results:

* Glands are producing a consistent stream of hormones that in turn are causing stem cells to proliferate and circulate through the bloodstream. The result is faster than average healing.

* Microscopic setae, nails and flexible joints allow for increased speed and agility.

* Eyes have developed more cones and rods for increased ability to see in dim lighting.

* Cochlear hair cell growth and regeneration allows for hearing loss reversal and improvement.

* Remarkable concentrations of fibrocytes circulating in the bloodstream allow for rapid healing of dermal layers.

* Improved vascularization allows for expedited and improved growth of blood vessels to injured regions. This in turn restores physiologic nutrient and oxygen delivery as well as cell waste removal.

The epigenetic changes are all a result of the VX-99 nanostructures found in the Hemorrhage Virus. Amplified physical senses, rapid healing, increased agility and strength are transforming the Variant population into excellent predators with traits expressed from multiple species.

Treatment:

There appears to be no treatment, and epigenetic changes demonstrate no evidence of reversibility. The only significant known weakness is a sensitivity to light.

Kate palmed her forehead. The report told Command nothing that they didn’t already know, and the one weakness they had identified was embarrassing. Sensitivity to sunlight was hardly an Achilles’ heel. The Medical Corps staff had performed grueling tests on the creatures, some bordering on torture, but none of them had revealed anything substantial. It made sense, Kate thought, considering the Variants could heal faster and didn’t seem to be bothered much by pain.

After spending her entire adult life studying medicine, it pained Kate to admit there wasn’t anything science could do to save the human race. She bit her bottom lip and then finished typing the document.

Fitz paced around the small guardhouse marked L4 with a smile on his face. It felt good to have a rifle in his hands again and the vantage point was spectacular. The eight-by-eight box had a view of the entire island. A cool spring breeze gusted through the windows. It was intoxicating. Salty, fresh. Clean. An amazing improvement from the putrid scents back at Bragg.

He took in a long breath and swung the muzzle of his M24 over the window to the east. A maze of barbwire fences zigzagged across the beach. Yellow signs warning of electric shock hung every hundred yards or so.

No one was getting through that barrier without making a lot of noise and severely shredding some flesh. He swept his rifle to the south, scoping the domed buildings.

Industrial-sized light poles lit up the center of the hexagonal post. He could see several Medical Corps guards patrolling the circular concrete path connecting the buildings. The entire place gave him the creeps. It reminded him of the Area 51 books he’d read as a kid.

Given the chance, he would have picked an alien invasion over a viral outbreak. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. That’s what his mom had always said, and he was simply glad to have a roof over his head that didn’t stink of rotting flesh.

He turned away from the base and thoughts of his parents. They were gone now, but not because of the outbreak. They had died in a car accident several years before. A month later his brother had taken friendly fire to the chest in Afghanistan. His flak jacket had done little to stop the .50 cal round. A closed-casket funeral followed. Then Fitz had lost his legs in Iraq.

He was a survivor, or as he liked to refer to himself, an anomaly. The doctors told him he should have died when the IED blew off his legs. And the truth was, he had. Flatlined four times before some medic brought him back. He’d never forgotten the look on the face of the kid who saved him. It was a mixture of shock and awe.

Fitz was the lone survivor that day; the bomb had killed everyone in his Humvee.

He had come home to a different world, and with his family gone, those first few months of recovery at Walter Reed were mentally and physically grueling. He’d considered ending his life many late nights when the whiskey ran dry and he could no longer taste the cigarettes.

But he never gave up, and now he used his strength to help inspire others. When the outbreak hit, he had been giving a speech at Fort Bragg to wounded warriors just like himself.

Gripping the rifle tighter, he thought about the irony of his situation. After losing his legs, he’d found a new way to help save American lives by preventing vets just like him from committing suicide. Now he once again found a weapon in his hand—a weapon he could operate better than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population.

He stood in the darkness, listening to the breeze and slurp of the surf. A seagull swooped down toward the waves, its gray body shimmering in the moonlight. For a beat he felt like he was on vacation at some exotic island. Fitz caught a glimpse of a blinking red light on the horizon. He quickly shouldered his M24 and scanned the skyline. Holding in a breath, he zoomed in on the sleek object. A chopper filled his scope. The bird was long and wide, with double rotors. A Chinook by the looks of it. And it was in trouble. The military transport craft was flying at a low altitude, jerking from side to side.

Punching the comm, Fitz said, “Command, this is Tower 4. I have a bogey coming in hot.”

“Copy that, Tower 4. Eagle 9 has permission to land.”

Fitz magnified his optics. The nose of the chopper lurched toward the water and then corrected. Something wasn’t right. He watched for several seconds, studying the erratic behavior.

“Command, this is Tower 4.”

Static crackled over the comm. He tried again.

“Command, this is Tower 4. Do you copy? Over.”

A panicked male voice answered. “Eagle 9 reports hostiles. I repeat, pilot reports hostiles on board.” He sounded unsure, like he didn’t quite believe what he was saying.

Had the Variants suddenly learned how to fly? “Come again, Command.”

“Eagle 9 is carrying a load of Variants for research. Pilot reports—” The line cut out and Fitz dropped his jaw in shock as flashes of light lit up the porthole windows of the incoming Chinook. Bullets punched through the side of the craft.

“Oh my God,” Fitz whispered.

A new voice came online. “All towers, this is Major Smith. Eagle 9 has been compromised. Permission to engage target if they cross into home turf airspace.”

Fitz swallowed. Engage the target? Had he heard correctly?

“Command, this is Tower 4. Come again, I missed that last transmission.”