Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

Ellis muttered as they walked, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Dr. Kate?” asked Jenny. “Where’s my dad?”

“He’s with Reed in New York, sweetheart.”

When they got to the end of the hallway, the Marines locked the door with a loud metallic click. Three of them remained behind with the group.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Tasha asked. “What if he dies like Mommy?”

Kate knelt in front of the girls. Releasing a deep sigh, she pulled on the last drop of strength she had left. “Don’t worry. Your dad and Reed are coming home soon. They are going to be just fine.”

She hoped it wasn’t a lie.

Fitz bolted out of the command center. The last time his body had hurt so much had been when he was still in rehab. Running like a madman across the island and killing Variants had taken a toll on him. But that’s what Marines did. They kept going.

To the end.

A hundred feet ahead, two Medical Corps soldiers stood guard under a light pole. Beams from tactical lights crossed the base as strike teams searched for the six missing creatures.

An evil shriek cut through the night. Several cracks from a rifle followed. The shots stopped abruptly—another soldier, lost.

“Follow me,” Fitz said.

“Our orders are to hold this position,” one of the men protested.

Fitz snorted. “Did you hear that? We just lost another man.”

The two guards exchanged a glance and then nodded.

“Let’s go,” Fitz said. He charged toward the noise of the last gunshot with his weapon shouldered, his eyes probing the underbrush and trees for the creatures. A voice crackled in his earpiece as he ran.

“Command, Charlie. Four hostiles down. Repeat, four hostiles down.”

Only two left, Fitz thought. He imagined the damage the creatures could do if they made it inside the command center. He and a handful of other men were all that stood in their way. Fighting the pain, he ran harder.

Budding tree branches whipped back and forth overhead as he rounded the corner of Building 4. Balling his hand into a fist, he stopped and took a knee next to the trunk of a tree. The other two men propped their backs against the side of the building, waiting for orders.

With the memory of Cole’s death fresh on his mind, Fitz hesitated. The stocky Medical Corps soldier had died entering the first ward, his throat slashed by the claws of a Variant.

Fitz wasn’t used to giving orders and finally understood the burden that came with leading men into battle. Exhaling, he rose and said, “Stay sharp.”

After one final scan of the underbrush and the trees beyond, he pushed on. Thorns shredded his pants as he moved deeper into the bushes. Through the tree branches he should see the electrical fences and a guard tower.

He emerged from the brush and hurried over to the closest tree for cover. A scan of the beach revealed a mangled body on the ground in front of the tower, its neck twisted in a way that left no room for question. He zoomed in with his scope and flinched when the body disappeared into the bushes.

“Contact!” Fitz yelled. He managed to fire off three shots before something hit from above, knocking him to the ground with such force his lungs emptied in a guttural huff. Red blossomed around the sides of his vision as the Variant he hadn’t seen in the tree above beat his body with a flurry of punches. With each powerful blow, he imagined his organs liquefying.

A gunshot answered before the creature could do too much damage. It slumped off his body and landed with a meaty thud in the dirt.

“You okay?” the medical guard that had saved his life said.

Fitz fought to refill his lungs, gasping for precious air. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so… Thanks, man.”

He rubbed the stars from his vision and then glanced down at the Variant. Its face was gone, nothing but a scrambled mess of flesh and bone where the bullet had exited. Remembering the other Variant, Fitz scrambled across the dirt and grabbed his rifle.

“Looks like it’s dead,” yelled the other soldier. Fitz watched the man drag a corpse from the bushes.

“Nice shot,” the solider said.

Fitz collapsed with his back to the dirt. The stars in the cloudless sky sparkled with an intensity he hadn’t seen. With the cities of the old world dark, the stars had a chance to truly shine. The beauty of the view was the perfect reward for the tiny victory.

Smiling, Fitz pushed his mini-mic to his lips and said, “Command, Fitz. All hostiles eliminated.”

“Move!” Beckham shouted. His voice echoed through the concrete staircase. He had taken point, leading the strike teams down the twenty-six floors of the Bank of America Tower as fast as possible. He was flying down the steps, bounding two or three at a time. His muscles groaned and his injuries ached, but he ignored the pain. He had to get them the fuck out of here before the convoy took off without them.

It wasn’t a question if Lieutenant Gates would leave; it was just a matter of when.

Beckham didn’t have a single ounce of trust left for the man. Their only hope rested in Sergeant Valdez. He wasn’t the type of leader to leave men behind, especially fellow Marines.

The decaying body of the dead Variant lay across the next landing. Beckham held his breath, but the rancid stench of rotting fruit invaded his nostrils anyway. He shoved the corpse to the side with a swift kick to the midsection.

Two Marines brushed past him, the magazines tucked into their vests scraping against his own weapons. The sound of labored breathing and the pounding of heavy boots saturated the narrow space. Every man moved with urgency fueled by fear. The same fear raided Beckham’s own thoughts.

He ground his teeth, praying and pleading they wouldn’t emerge from the tower in the midst of the ravenous mass of creatures.

Beckham ran faster when he heard the faint crack of heavy gunfire outside the building.

Shit.

The Variant army was getting close.

A frantic voice called out from above, asking them to wait up. Beckham snorted and twisted his helmet to look up the next stairwell, narrowly avoiding Timbo’s massive frame from crashing into him.

He signaled for Chow, Jinx, and Horn to proceed without him. Jensen and Ryan came next. Then a handful of Marines. Finally he saw Jake and Timothy. With only a small beam from a flashlight to guide them, they were lagging an entire flight of stairs behind the group.

“Come on!” Beckham yelled.

Jake grabbed his son’s hand. “We’re doing our best! I told you this would happen, I freaking told you!”

Beckham wanted to offer reassurance, but what could he say? The man was right. The Variants were closing in.

His anger spiked as he followed the police officer and his son down the stairs. How many soldiers had to die for Central Command to realize the creatures weren’t mindless animals? This wasn’t the same type of war generals like Kennor had spent their life fighting. This wasn’t the same enemy.

Beckham spied a sign for floor five. They were almost there. He flipped his mini-mic back to his mouth as he ran and attempted another transmission. “Lieutenant Gates, Delta Team. Do you copy? Over.”

Static crackled in his earpiece.

“Shit! Come on!” Beckham shouted. He tried again. “Gates, goddammit, if you can hear me, you better not fucking move that convoy!”

More white noise.

Beckham stifled another curse. There were so many people counting on him right now. Kate was waiting at Plum Island—worried sick, he was sure. And Horn’s daughters…