Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“Looks like the kid was living here,” Horn remarked.

There was rustling at the opposite end of the floor from the teams setting up their weapons and gear.

Beckham shook his head. “Kid’s gone.”

“Maybe he’ll come back when he realizes we aren’t monsters.”

Beckham stepped out of the space and checked the passage to the right. “Did you clear these?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s go.”

They cleared the last row of cubicles and stopped at the emergency exit. Beckham took a guarded step forward, reaching for the handle as Horn aimed his rifle at the door. They exchanged a glance, and then Beckham twisted the knob. Horn went first, with Beckham on his heels.

“Don’t fucking move!” came a deep, panicked voice.

Beckham struggled to see around Horn’s bulky frame.

“I said don’t MOVE!” A bearded man with wild hair angled a mean-looking shotgun toward Horn. The boy Beckham had seen before cowered behind the man. It was then Beckham noticed the uniform.

He was a cop.

“We’re friendly,” Horn said. He lowered his rifle and raised his right hand. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Drop the shotgun, man,” Beckham added, pointing his muzzle at the floor.

The bearded officer’s hands shook, the barrel of the shotgun waving from side to side. Beckham watched his trigger finger. It was dangerously close to squeezing off a round that would take off Horn’s head.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said. “Just lower your weapon.” He realized what they must look like, with their NVGs and armored vests packed full of magazines. The passage was lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window behind them. Beckham imagined they looked a lot like something from the Terminator movies.

“You can’t get us out of here,” the man said. “There’s no way out of the city.”

Beckham wasn’t sure how to respond. He was too worried about the guy firing a slug into Horn’s dome.

“Listen,” Beckham said in his calmest voice. “There is an entire platoon of Marines on the street below. We’re here to clear the area, set up a base, and then evacuate any survivors.”

“You’re not fucking listening!”

Beckham’s earpiece flared to life. “What the hell is going on?” It was Jensen.

“Hold position,” Beckham whispered into his mini-mic. If the other strike teams showed up now, the officer would either run or start shooting.

“I’m listening,” Beckham said, trying to draw the man’s attention.

He raised the shotgun and pointed it at Beckham. That was fine; it kept Horn out of the line of fire.

“Those things are everywhere, man. Everywhere. There is no way out of the city. Everyone that’s tried has ended up in the nests.” He whimpered, the gun shaking again.

“That’s not going to happen to you. We’re going to get you out of here,” Beckham said.

The man burped out a chuckle, lowered his rifle, and slowly raised his chin toward the top of the stairwell. “You don’t understand, do you? No one can save you . Those monsters…” He paused and wiped saliva from his lips before adding, “Those monsters own this city now. Every single inch.”

Beckham wanted to reply, but they were running out of time. His earpiece came to life again. “In position. Where the hell are you, Beckham?”

Jensen again. He was agitated.

“Hold position,” Beckham replied, trying to conceal his own frustration. He flipped the channel off and then took a step down the staircase.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But either way, you have a better chance with us.”

The kid peered out from behind him. “Maybe we should go with them, Dad?”

Beckham’s heart leapt at the word.

“Fine,” the officer said. “But I sure hope there are shit-ton of you guys.”

“There are,” Horn lied.

Beckham moved out of the way and walked back down the wall of cubicles. The view of the destroyed city shocked him again every time he looked. It was remarkable that anyone had survived, let alone a father and his son. It was a true testament of what people did when faced with daunting odds. Some ran for the hills. Others held their lover’s hand and committed suicide. And there were a few like these two that fought to survive.

“What’s your name, sir?” Beckham said as they walked.

“I’m Jake. This is my son, Timothy.”

“Good to have you with us,” Beckham said. “We’re going to get you guys out of here.” It was yet another promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. But he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t break it. Gripping the handle of his MP5 tightly, he led the trio through the rows of cubicles back to where the members of Charlie and Delta were waiting, their rifles aimed at the park below.

They were trapped in the second medical wing. Kate wanted to cry. She wanted to break down and give up. But she’d come this far, and she had others to think about. She had Tasha and Jenny.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Rod said. He jerked his pistol around frantically, searching for the source of the screeching. It was coming from everywhere. Above, behind, even through the vents on the floor.

The Variant ripping through the ICU wasn’t the only one in the building. There were others, too.

An agonized scream broke out from the intensive care wing—a human scream. A mixture of pain and terror so deranged she couldn’t place the voice.

Ellis paced back and forth. “So what do we do now?”

Riley shook his head. “There isn’t anything to do but wait.”

“Great, just great,” Rod said.

“Would you rather have stayed in the ICU?” Kate asked.

He seemed to think for a moment. Before he could answer, another screech rang out. His eyes wild and wide, Rod played the pistol over the hallway. The screams from the ICU had faded, replaced by the sporadic sound of the other Variants deep inside the building.

Her heart racing, Kate hunched down to hold Tasha and Jenny. Both girls were in a state of shock, their eyes glazed, tears flowing freely down their rosy cheeks. Never before had Kate felt so alone. She’d lost almost everything in the past three weeks, and now Reed wasn’t here to protect her. She choked up at the thought of him. He was out there somewhere, fighting, doing what he did best.

What did she do best? She’d created a weapon that had killed billions.

The doors to the ICU suddenly crunched. The burned Variant dented the metal with his skull as he rammed it.

Another thump came from the ceiling.

Furious scratching followed, like a dog digging for a bone.

“Stay close to me,” Riley whispered. He waved Ellis, Kate, and the girls over with his free hand and kept his pistol aimed at the door. “Rod, you shoot anything that comes through that door.”

A short nod from the toxicologist. But Kate could see he was hardly listening. The man was beyond his breaking point. She was starting to worry he would shoot one of them by accident.

“You with me, man?” Riley asked.

Another short nod.

Pounding rattled the door as the creature continued to charge the metal. The scratching above stopped.

There was a cracking sound in the distance. Gunfire. Short, controlled bursts.

Kate looked up, filled with hope at the sound. There was still someone out there!

The door to the ICU shook again, tremors rippling through the floor from the force. The scratching in the vents above amplified. The Variants were growing more desperate.

More gunshots. These were closer. The crack echoed through the building. Then there were footsteps in the medical ward. Heavy boots.