Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

The teams separated and fanned out across the lobby. Several of the Marines clapped each other on the back amidst muffled chants of “Oorah!”

One of Jensen’s men was waiting for them at the stairwell, his shotgun leveled at the door. Beckham flashed a thumbs-up, and the man fired at the locking mechanism. Sparks and metal exploded from the door. It swung open. The Marine stepped away and a second Marine darted up the stairs. A beat later he yelled, “Clear!”

Beckham fell into line behind Horn. He pulled his scarf over his nose the moment he smelled the rancid reek of rot.

The teams filed up the steps slowly, clearing one corner at a time. On the third floor they came across a mangled corpse, crusted blood still surrounding the body where the victim had bled out.

Poor bastard , Beckham thought. Alone and afraid was a really shitty way to die. He focused on the men in front of him. It was quiet—too fucking quiet.

Ten minutes into the climb, fatigue set in. The numbness returned. He felt every step, the injuries from Fort Bragg dragging on him. He reached for his water bottle and popped a mild pain med into his mouth. Kate had given him a bottle before he left, but he’d held off using them as long as he could.

A sign for floor twenty rolled into view and recharged his muscles. Only a few more floors to go. He wondered if the Variants would show up in the park below before they were able to secure their sniping positions.

“Hold!” shouted one of the Marines from Charlie team. He crouched on the landing.

Horn hunched in a defensive position. Beckham strained to get a view, angling his helmet, but he couldn’t see shit. Static crackled in his earpiece. The concrete stairwell was screwing with the transmissions. Beckham’s hand crept toward his vest, and he ran a finger over the pocket where he kept the picture of his mom. The simple touch quelled the anxiety building in his gut.

The Marine on the landing finally stood and motioned the others forward. He disappeared around the corner.

The stench of sour fruit filled Beckham’s nostrils before he saw the dead Variant three floors up. The creature lay clutching a melon-sized hole in its chest. Vertical pupils stared up blankly at the ceiling. Beckham halted when he thought he saw it blink.

Of course it hadn’t blinked. Beckham wiped a hand across his face to clear the phantom vision. The creature was dead as a fucking doornail. He kicked it in the leg just to be sure and continued on.

The team came to a stop at floor twenty-six. Beckham stretched his legs and then shoved his way through the pack to the front. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen was crouched outside the door next to the Marine with the tactical shotgun.

“On me,” Beckham said.

Jensen nodded and backed away from the entrance. Beckham took his place and said, “Blow the lock.”

The Marine aimed and fired. He then pulled on the handle and swung the door open. Beckham rushed inside, his MP5 sweeping over a carpeted hallway, clear of any signs of struggle. The opulent space was like walking into a fairytale. Then the lingering rot reached his nose, and he fumbled for his scarf. He pulled it up and breathed out a sigh when he saw the bodies at the end of the hallway.

“We got corpses,” Beckham whispered into his mini-mic. “Lots of ‘em.”

He halted and balled his hand into a fist. Most of the dead were covered with tarps, but there were a few limbs exposed.

“Hold position,” he said. He angled his weapon at a wall of cracked glass that looked over a floor of desks and cubicles. There were no contacts, no movement. Nothing. With his weapon at low ready, he moved slowly toward the pile of dead.

He took a knee when he was several feet away.

“God,” he muttered, the reek burning his nasal passages. He clutched his MP5 against his chest and held his breath as he reached forward.

He shifted the tarp and uncovered a woman’s hand. The fingers were stiff but straight, not twisted like those of a Variant. He peeled back the tarp all the way to reveal the face of a woman, an obvious victim of the Hemorrhage Virus. A bloody beard surrounded her lips and crusted blood trickled from her eyes, nose, and ears.

He took up his MP5 again and swiveled on his heels to scan the area. Someone had survived both the virus and the Variants long enough to stack the corpses.

A soft scuffling noise pulled him away from the pile. He slowly rose to his feet and aimed his weapon at the glass. He almost fired, but then he saw the wild, frightened eyes of a young boy staring back at him from the other side.

The ticking of a wall clock was a grim reminder that they were running out of time. The last of the gunshots had faded away minutes before. Now there was only silence and the tick-tock of their fate.

Kate jumped as a hollow pounding filled the air. Then a shriek of strained metal echoed through the building. The creatures breached the first barricade before she had a chance to move. The doors gave way to the crunch of metal, sending Tasha and Jenny running for the nurses’ station.

Kate hurried after them. Bringing a finger to her mouth, she said, “Shh.”

Tasha looked up, her eyes filling with tears. She whispered in Jenny’s ear and then pulled her legs to her chest and buried her head.

“Where are they?” Ellis muttered. He stood behind the desk, his hair a disheveled mess. Kate peeked over the station and checked the door. Rod stood a few feet away, the gun shaking in his wobbly hands. The red from the emergency lights flashed, splashing him with bloody light.

A distant screech of metal rang out in the distance once more.

Rod looked toward the ceiling. “Where’s it coming from?”

For several minutes no one said a word or moved. The banging reverberated as the creatures tore through the building. Kate clung desperately to any shred of sanity she had left, knowing it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

Time crept by. The noises waned and then intensified, making it impossible to determine where they were coming from.

And then they stopped as if someone had muted the monsters. Kate slowly stood, her eyes roving back and forth. Had the Variants moved on?

Afraid to breathe, Kate crouched next to Tasha and Jenny. Glazed, swollen eyes stared back at her. Both girls were in shock. She corralled them to her chest, wishing she could do more to protect them.

Rod finally lowered the pistol to his side. In a low whisper he said, “Maybe they’re gone.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Riley said. He laid his gun in his lap and wheeled himself toward the desk. His features darkened, his jaw clenched. The fun-loving kid had vanished, replaced by a hardened Delta Force Operator.

He crinkled his nose and locked eyes with Kate. In a stern voice he said, “When those things come, you and the girls run.”

There was strength there. The same strength she saw in Beckham.

“You got it, Doc?”

“Y-yes,” Kate stuttered. She jumped as something rattled nearby. Riley scrambled for his pistol and aimed it at the ceiling. Rod hurried over and pointed his gun at the panels.

Kate’s heart raced at every noise. The clanging grew louder.

“They’re right above us,” Riley said. “Shit. They figured a way past the barricades. Up there.”

He brought a finger to his lips with his other hand, and Kate turned to the girls to mimic his gesture. The thumping continued as the creature scuffled through the ductwork. The team followed the sounds as they passed overhead. The Variant was working its way to the back of the medical ward.

Riley jerked his chin toward the doors. “Now’s our chance. We need to get out of here.”