Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

“Wake me up when we get to Bragg,” Beckham said. “I’m going to snag a few minutes of sleep.”

“No problem,” Horn said.

Beckham tried to rest, but the ghosts of his past kept him awake. He had tried to leave them behind, but the flashbacks ambushed him whenever he closed his eyes. There was Spinoza lying on the floor in Building 8, a human bone jammed deep into his skull. There was the infected child they’d found in Niantic and there was Riley, his legs smashed, screaming on a New York rooftop. No matter what he did, his mind continued to flay open to those moments. Each time the dread caught him in his gut. He tried to do what operators were taught to do: compartmentalize and suppress emotions. Pain, both mental and physical, was a distraction that could result in death.

Crackling static in his earpiece yanked him back to the present. “LZ in five,” came the pilot’s voice. Beckham scanned the skyline. A dense cloud hovered over Fort Bragg to the east.

“Jesus,” Horn said. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to storm.”

“That’s no storm,” Beckham said. “That’s smoke.”

Horn shook his head. “Nah, man, can’t be…”

“Where’s it coming from?” Beckham asked.

The comm channel crackled. “Uh,” the pilot said, “I think that’s the Womack Army Medical Center.”

Horn and Beckham sat in silence, watching the vortex of smoke swirling above the north quadrant.

“Never thought I’d see the day where we bombed our own fucking posts,” Horn said.

The words lingered in the air like the black haze above Fort Bragg. The country Beckham had fought for, bled for, sacrificed everything for, had dropped bombs on their own men and women. The same soldiers who had sworn to defend her against enemies, foreign and domestic. He understood that they were trying to stop the Hemorrhage Virus, but this?

“Western wind at fifteen mph, would advise insertion south of the post,” the pilot said.

They circled for several minutes until Beckham found a suitable insertion point.

“Put us down in that field,” Beckham said into the comm. He grabbed a handhold and scanned the area. The knee-high grass whipped back and forth as the chopper descended.

“You ready to find your family, Big Horn?” Beckham asked.

There was a flicker of fear in Horn’s eyes that disappeared as he flipped his NVGs into position. “Ready, Boss.”

Beckham slapped him on the back. Horn jumped first, bolting away from the chopper as soon as his boots hit the dirt. With a breath, Beckham followed his best friend into the darkness, like he had so many times before.

Kate yawned and focused on her monitor. Data rolled across the screen. She studied every single line, searching for abnormalities in the blood samples from patient 12, the Variant that had attacked her several days earlier. The hours passed, leaving Kate more frustrated than she wanted to admit.

Colonel Gibson had been right about one thing. In order for her to learn more about the Variants, she needed a living, breathing patient. The mere thought of the colonel reminded Kate they were in this situation because of him. He’d ordered the development of the Hemorrhage Virus.

Kate massaged her temples and then reached for her empty coffee mug. A clock in the corner of the office read 9:45 p.m. If she was going to squeeze any more work out of her brain, she needed a refill.

She cracked her neck from side to side and got up to leave. The door to the office squeaked open, and Dr. Ellis peeked in.

“You’re still working?” he asked.

Kate sighed. “I keep thinking that I missed something in today’s tests.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Kate said with a smile. She was happy to have the company.

Ellis plopped down at his station. “I’ve been working on identifying the genes that VX-99 turned on. Maybe if we can figure out exactly which ones mutated, we can find a way to bring them back.”

With a few keystrokes, he logged into his terminal and brought up a myriad of data streams. Slipping on his glasses, he pointed to the screen.

“Take a look.”

“Ellis…” Kate said. “We’ve been through this.”

He didn’t reply. His fingers danced across the keyboard, and then he punched the enter key. A new image filled half of the screen. “Maybe this will interest you then.”

Curious, Kate stepped closer to his display.

“This is Marine Lieutenant Trevor Brett. His platoon was given doses of VX-99 in 1968. Every last one of those Marines died. Except for this lucky lieutenant.” He glanced up, his brows arched. “Or unlucky.”

Ellis moused to another image, enlarging it so it filled the other half of the screen. A picture of a pale, gaunt man popped onto the display. “He was found ten years later and over one hundred miles from his platoon’s insertion point.”

Kate picked at a hangnail nervously and said, “Is that…?”

“Yup. Same guy.”

Kate nodded. “You have my attention. Where did you find these images?”

“Beckham told me about the guy. It was part of the briefing they watched on their way to Building 8. Colonel Gibson had known about Brett for years. But what Beckham didn’t know is this.” Ellis hit the enter key again. A black-and-white video popped onto the screen.

The camera angle provided a view of the inside of a prison cell. A frail, naked man was stretched into an X supported by chains attached to the ceiling and floor. His chin slumped against his chest, his eyes downcast. The cameraman took a step back and swept the lens over the three military officers studying the man from the other side of the bars. One of them glanced at the camera, and Kate instantly recognized the young man.

“Colonel Gibson,” she said with a shiver.

“Yup,” Ellis said, turning up the audio.

“Lieutenant Trevor Brett,” Gibson said. “Can you hear us?”

The camera moved again and fell directly on the prisoner. He slowly raised his head as he became aware of his observers. He blinked repeatedly, his eyes roving, scanning. In an instant they centered on the soldiers.

Rattling chains filled the audio. Brett thrashed against his restraints. Joints cracked and popped. The man’s body twisted in a way that would have broken the spine of a normal person.

“Calm down, Lieutenant,” another voice said. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

Kate didn’t need to see or hear what came next. A snarl, followed by a high-pitched shriek. Inhuman rage. She’d seen it many times before.

Only Brett didn’t scream.

He spoke.

The words weren’t much more than a growl, distorted by his malformed lips, but Kate could hear every single one of them.

“I will—” Droplets of saliva burst from his mouth. “I will KILL.”

The soldiers flanking the colonel stepped away from the cell. The camera panned to the profile of a stone-faced Gibson walking closer. Gripping one of the bars, he asked, “What did you say, Lieutenant?”

“I WILL KILL YOU ALL!”

“My God,” Kate said. “He can talk.”

Ellis brought a finger to his lips. “Keep watching.”

Gibson tightened his grip on the bars as Brett fought his chains.

“It’s a shame,” Gibson said. “You were supposed to be a super soldier.”

The video fizzled out a moment later, leaving Kate in a state of shock. She ran a finger over her lips, back and forth, trying to process what she had seen.

“Why didn’t you show this to me earlier?” she asked.

Ellis shrugged defensively. “I just discovered it this morning.”

Kate stared blankly at the dark screen. “What’s the date of the video?”