Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“So this is where you created the bioweapon?” Horn asked.

Kate nodded and paused in front of a glass wall. “They’re still studying the virus.”

Horn approached the window. “What’s the point?”

Kate smiled politely. “The epigenetic changes that the Hemorrhage Virus—”

“In layman’s terms,” Horn said.

“Sorry. Before scientists mapped the human genome, they believed there were one hundred thousand or more protein-coding genes. In reality there are closer to twenty or twenty-five thousand. But approximately thirteen thousand of those genes are what we call pseudogenes. In other words, they’re protein-coding genes that we inherited from our ancestors, but they’re ‘turned off’,” she said using her fingers to trace quote marks.

Horn dragged his sleeve across his nose. “Let me guess. VX-99 turned on a bunch of those genes.”

“You got it,” Kate replied. “The nastiest ones, too. The ones that date back to the primordial ooze, when life was just starting. Think of parasites or spiders—that’s why we see the epigenetic changes in the Variants.”

“And that’s what makes them violent?” Beckham asked.

Kate focused her concentration on the lab. “These are genes dating back all the way through our evolutionary history. To a time where we were just like wild animals with predatory instincts.”

“Like the State of Nature,” Beckham replied.

Horn raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Thomas Hobbes wrote about it in Leviathan in the seventeenth century. He deduced there was a time before civilization where man lived by the sword, relying on predatory instincts to survive.”

Kate twisted from the window and gave Beckham an elevator-eyes look. “Didn’t know you studied philosophy.”

“We don’t just put bullets in bad guys.”

“I know,” Kate said. “I was… Never mind.” She turned back to the observation windows.

Horn placed a hand on the glass, his jaw clenched. Wrinkles formed around his eyes as he squinted and then dropped his gaze to the floor. Beckham knew he was thinking of his wife and two daughters.

A blur of motion caught Beckham’s eye. Several of the scientists moved to the center of the first chamber. They huddled around a monitor and pointed at the display. Under other circumstances, the view would have fascinated Beckham, but something about the end of the world made science seem less important to him. He had other concerns now, and two of them were right next to him.

“We better get moving,” Kate said. “We’re already late.”

Beckham waited for Horn to move away from the glass. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Beckham whispered in a voice low enough that Kate couldn’t hear him. “We’re going back to Fort Bragg.”

Horn stiffened. “You serious?”

Beckham ran a hand over his facial scruff and winked.

“Hell yeah,” Horn said, his voice enthusiastic but reserved. He slapped Beckham on the back, and they walked side by side down the hallway.

Beckham’s heart swelled with pride. The moment of camaraderie reminded him he had the best job in the world. His philosophy was simple: He was only as good as the man standing next to him.

The momentary rush vanished when they entered the conference room. The weak lighting matched the darkened features on both Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith’s faces.

“Take a seat,” Jensen said. He gestured at the chairs across the table and rolled up both of his sleeves. “General Kennor with Central Command has issued a message to all remaining military assets across the country.”

Jensen regarded each of them in turn.

“I wanted to personally inform you of Operation Liberty before anyone else hears about it. In approximately ninety hours the military is sending boots into every major city. The first objective is to defeat the Variant threat. The second is to rescue any survivors.”

“Do you have numbers?” Kate asked.

“Of survivors?”

“No. Variants.”

“Hundreds of millions,” Jensen replied grimly.

Her eyes darted toward the ceiling as if she was mentally double-checking the math, but Beckham knew she was testing the soldier.

“That’s why we invited you here, Doctor,” Smith said. “Command has asked us to research the Variants. We want you to head the team.”

“Absolutely,” Kate said. “Whatever you need.”

“Excellent,” Jensen said.

“So why are we here?” Horn asked.

“Because we have also been asked to provide military support,” Jensen replied. He crossed his arms and exhaled. “Command wants us to send teams to New York to join a Marine company of five platoons piecemealed together from surviving units. Each platoon has been assigned a borough. We have been asked to support 1 stPlatoon in Manhattan. I’ve been told 1 stPlatoon is a mechanized unit with at least two Bradleys and multiple Humvees. The Air Force will provide support, too.”

Beckham could feel Horn studying him. He held Jensen’s gaze, anticipating what came next.

“We want you to lead a team,” the lieutenant colonel said. “It breaks every rule in the book, but I don’t give a shit. You’ve been out there. You two know better than anyone.”

“Half of the men and women stationed at this island haven’t even seen combat,” Smith added. “We need you two.”

Beckham considered his next words carefully. He still didn’t trust Jensen. He wasn’t Colonel Gibson, but he had worked with the disgraced man for years. He talked a good game, but he had yet to prove himself. Beckham knew from experience evil was most dangerous when it was hard to see. Gibson was the perfect example of that. Unfortunately, the new commander controlled the aircraft on Plum Island. Beckham needed him, just like he’d needed Gibson.

“I can give you some time to consider,” Jensen said.

Beckham exchanged a glance with Horn. He could see the pain in the man’s hardened eyes. Horn needed resolution. He deserved to know. One way or another, Beckham and Horn were going back to Fort Bragg.

“I’ll lead a team back into New York,” Beckham finally said, “but there’s something I need to do first. Something we need to do.”

Jensen formed a triangle with his hands, concentrating. “You want a ride to Fort Bragg?”

Beckham nodded; the man was smarter than he gave him credit for. “And a ride back. With any survivors we find.”

Smith shook his head. “No fucking way. We can’t risk a chopper.” He looked up for support from Jensen. The lieutenant colonel held up a hand.

Jensen scanned Beckham and then Horn. “I know what you all must think of me. But I am not Colonel Gibson. I’m not going to make the asshole excuse and say I was just following orders, but I did not know the complete truth behind the development of the Hemorrhage Virus.”

He bowed his head, shaking it side to side. “If I had known, I would have stopped the project. I swear to you.”

Beckham remained still, listening and sizing the commander up as he spoke.

“You have thirty-six hours,” Jensen said. “That enough time?”

“Plenty of time,” Beckham said. He reached across the table and secured the second deal since arriving on the island with a firm handshake. This time he was finally going back home to Fort Bragg.

The sunset glowed on the horizon like a fire raging on the water. The beauty lost its appeal as Beckham’s watch ticked. He could feel every second passing. Each one represented another potential life lost.

“Where is she?” Horn grumbled.

Beckham stared at the cluster of dome-shaped buildings. “She’ll be here,” Beckham said. He dropped his rucksack on the edge of the tarmac and adjusted the strap of his MP5.