Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

It was a small victory.

The vehicle commanders in the Humvees focused their fire on the approaching horde to the north as Black Reaper and Steam Beast kept their fire concentrated on the park. A thick haze loitered in the tree line. Packs of the creatures continued to charge out of the spray.

Only a few made it through.

They dashed across the concrete, swerving and navigating around the gunfire. The creatures were making a run for the convoy.

“Keep them off the Bradleys!” Beckham yelled.

One of the Variants leapt onto Black Reaper and tugged on the hatch. A sniper bullet took off its head. The body slumped over the hull and slid onto the street. Two more climbed onto the armor before more sniper fire erased them from the fight.

A beat later and the battle to the east ended. Variants stumbled from the wall of gray only to be dropped by the .50 cal fire from the third Humvee. Beckham couldn’t believe his eyes. The massacre had quickly reversed sides. 1 stPlatoon had prevailed. Maybe Command was right after all—maybe bullets could win this war after all.

The crackle of his headset pulled him back to the reality of the situation. A voice spluttered over the channel. Beckham clenched his fists when he realized it was Lieutenant Gates. The man was babbling, incoherent.

Sergeant Valdez cut in. “Vehicle commanders, hold your fire. Strike teams, hold position.”

“Delta, copy,” Beckham replied. He exchanged a nervous glance with Jensen.

“Charlie, copy,” the lieutenant colonel said, changing his magazine with a metallic click.

“Alpha, copy,” Peters replied.

Beckham waited for Rodriguez to respond. But the sergeant said nothing.

A small tremor suddenly rippled through the building.

“We need to leave!” Jake yelled. He pulled Timothy from their cubicle and hurried toward the Marines holding security at the exit.

“Wait!” Beckham ordered. But the man didn’t look back.

Pushing his mini-mic back into position, Beckham said, “Rodriguez, do you copy? Over.”

Another faint quake rattled the tower.

“Do you feel that?” Horn said.

“What the hell…” Jensen began to say.

The channel flickered and solidified, and Rodriguez finally came online. “Uh, copy, Delta.” He paused and let out a weak cough. “You got to fucking see this to believe it.”

“See what?” Beckham said.

“Grand Central Station,” Rodriguez replied, his voice shaking now.

Beckham hesitantly brought his MP5 to his NVG optics and glassed the station to the east.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jensen whispered.

Holy fucking shit was an adequate response, Beckham decided, watching as thousands of Variants flowed from the station. They fanned out in all directions, transforming the streets into rivers of white flesh. There had to be tens of thousands if not more, and the number kept rising as more spilled from the building.

Now he knew why Jake had insisted on leaving. New York City no longer belonged to the human race. It belonged to the Variants. And 1 stPlatoon had awakened the hive .

Beckham snapped into motion. “Lieutenant Gates, do you copy? Over.”

Static flickered over the net. He considered tearing the headset off and tossing it out the window. The fucking commander was worthless. Mastering his rage, he turned to the rest of his men waiting at the windows.

“Get to the street,” Beckham shouted. “We need to get the fuck out of here, ASAP. For all we know, that son of a bitch Gates is calling in an air strike!”

Jensen hopped to his feet. “I thought this location was supposed to be off-limits.”

Beckham pointed to the Variant army surging out of Grand Central Station. “They won’t worry about some library when they can kill hundreds of thousands of Variants in one strike.”

In seconds, the team was moving with unprecedented speed, scooping up gear and slinging straps over their shoulders. The doomsday clock was ticking.

Beckham caught up to Jake and Timothy. “You guys have to move fast, okay?”

Two nods.

Straightening his headset back into position, Beckham said, “Valdez, if you can hear me, hold tight. We’re on our way.”

The command center was guarded like Fort Knox. Radios crackled, buzzing with the voices of men hardened by war. White light flickered and spilled over the front entrance, blinking like a beacon calling a lost ship into harbor. Two Marines on the steps frantically waved Kate and the others to safety. She squeezed Tasha’s and Jenny’s hands, trying to ignore the screams reverberating from the other buildings.

“Let’s go! Get inside!” one of the men yelled.

She moved past him, catching a glimpse of his face. He was young and she almost thought he was Jackson. But no, she knew Jackson was dead. The Marine had sacrificed his life to buy them time to escape. They’d found his broken body a few feet away from the medical building. By some miracle, he’d still been alive, holding on for a final few seconds. When she’d reached down to help, he had let out his last breath.

Kate felt herself beginning to cry again as she walked into the command building. She let go of the children’s hands and held up fingers glistening with blood. She wasn’t even sure whose it was. Jackson’s? Rod’s? After watching the world hemorrhage, she thought she would be used to the sight. But the blood of strangers was different than those of people she knew. She hadn’t known Rod well, but the image of his sunken face would be deep-rooted in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be , she thought.

Kate added Rod’s death and Jackson’s to the list of billions she felt responsible for. The burden ate at her, overwhelming her. An enraged voice pulled her back to the present. It was Major Smith, and he stood in the middle of the atrium, surrounded by an entourage of Marines.

“Somebody give me a SITREP!”

No one immediately responded.

“You,” Smith said, pointing to a Marine who had followed Kate’s group into the building. “How many of those things are still on the loose?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” the man replied.

Fitz slung his rifle farther over his shoulders. He spoke in a rapid, confident tone. “Sir, I counted eighteen of the creatures. We killed six on the tarmac. Two were killed in Building 3 and another three went down in Building 2. I saw one other body in the concrete circle. So there could be another six out there.”

Smith swore. He flicked his headset to his lips and barked out new orders. “Six more hostiles on the loose. All strike teams proceed with caution.”

Kate followed his gaze around the room. Groups of frightened scientists and staff huddled in corners, some of them catatonic, others crying. There couldn’t have been more than seventy-five people in the room.

“Where’s everyone else?” Smith asked. When none of his staff replied, he looked to Fitz.

The Marine straightened and said, “This is everyone, sir.”

For the first time, Kate saw the major’s eyes soften. He was truly overwhelmed by the loss. His lips moved, but he said nothing, shocked into silence.

And for good reason , Kate thought, focusing on the packs of survivors. Half of Plum Island’s scientists were dead, and an unknown number of soldiers had lost their lives in the fight. With six more of the creatures on the prowl, the future of the facility was at risk.

Smith twisted his wedding ring around his finger, his thoughts clearly still elsewhere. He turned to the Marines and staff behind him. “Get all of these people to the end of the hallway and then secure the doors.”

A Marine with a Brooklyn accent motioned Kate and the others forward with two fingers. “This way, ma’am.”