Nicholas Smith - Extinction Edge

Beckham’s shots were more accurate. And with every squeeze of the trigger he felt the rage of war building inside of him. It wasn’t bloodlust; it was his internal processor. Like a computer, it controlled his every movement. He knew what to do by instinct, and his body simply took over. His movements were automatic. Robotic.

The first shots caught the female by surprise. The bullets tore into her stomach and sent her wailing into the darkness. He whirled to the right and fired on the male galloping toward him. The bullets peppered the side of a Jeep Cherokee as the creature dashed for cover.

Horn was already on the move, his M27 leveled at the vehicle. Both men opened fire at the same moment. Dust and shrapnel exploded into the air as the bullets raked the concrete. The Variant zigzagged between the rounds. Using its back legs, it sprang into the air. With hands morphed into claws, the creature flew toward Beckham. He sidestepped and squeezed the trigger without restraint.

Gore plastered Beckham’s clear shooting glasses, but he didn’t flinch. He wiped the slime away and watched the monster flopping on the pavement, the large holes in its chest gushing blood.

“Got ‘em,” Horn said. “You good, Boss?”

Beckham ran a sleeve across his forehead and nodded. He let out a breath, remembering there was only a remote chance of infection. Still, he waited in anticipation for the hallucinations to set in. A flashback to Building 8 raced across his anxious mind. He vividly remembered finding Staff Sergeant Will Tenor’s broken body as the Hemorrhage Virus rapidly took control. He had turned in just minutes.

“You’re fine. Kate said this area was part of the first drop zone,” Horn reassured him. “We need to move.”

Beckham fell into a run and changed his magazine in mid stride. The rap of his footfalls was the only response Horn needed. Together, they advanced through the empty streets, navigating around vehicles until they came to the on-ramp of the All American Expressway.

Magnolia trees lined the right side of the ramp. Even in the dim night, Beckham could see the beautiful blossoms, and the breeze carried their sweet candy scent. He took a moment to soak it in, enjoying the ability to breathe freely.

“Looks clear,” Horn whispered.

The moonlight vanished under dense clouds and darkness reclaimed the road. Both men snapped their night vision into position and sprinted down the ramp. They were completely exposed in the graveyard of vehicles. It was a goddamn minefield of places the Variants could hide.

He flashed a signal toward the shoulder of the road, and the operators melted into the shadows. The depression provided them the vantage of both the road to the left and the hillside thick with trees to the right. They were still visible, but this way they weren’t forced to clear every vehicle. Beckham took a moment to scan the crowded road of FEMA trucks, Humvees, police cruisers, and civilian cars.

Not everyone had made it out. Beckham’s gaze locked onto a minivan with its doors still closed. Three small bodies were curled up in the backseat.

The numbness returned. The loss of innocent life was difficult to understand, even for a Delta Force Operator. He’d seen war most of his life. He’d lived it, breathed it. He’d killed in order to keep the war machine going. But never had he seen this much death. These children were only three among billions.

Billions, he thought. How was that even possible? How could billions of people have lost their lives?

Horn stood a few feet away, staring at the dusty windows of the minivan. Beckham saw the tear crawling down Horn’s face. He gave the man a moment as he swept the area for contacts.

They were still alone.

“Those aren’t your girls,” Beckham said. “Let’s move.” The sight, while awful, reminded him of their mission. They were here to find Horn’s family. Dead or alive, he would find them.

After a few minutes of jogging at a brisk pace, Beckham saw the checkpoints on the highway. Barbed-wire fences and the metal rooftops of buildings protruded over the dense ridgeline to the right. He didn’t need to read the wooden sign up ahead to know what it said:

They were home.

“I’m coming,” Horn whispered. He shouldered his rifle and continued jogging toward the post.

Beckham eyed the skyline again. There was something odd about the cloud of smoke. He sucked in a breath. The humid air stank of barbeque. The wind was shifting.

“Shit,” Beckham said, pointing to the north. “Wind is changing course.”

“I know, I can smell it,” Horn said. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t want to get caught out here if the wind shifts completely.”

Horn nodded. “You’re right.”

A rustling sound from the forest shocked both men into action. They spun simultaneously to scope the trees on top of the hillside. Beckham scanned each one for motion. Limbs rattled in the wind, but otherwise… nothing.

“You got anything?”

“Negative,” Horn replied.

More rustling and snapping twigs pulled Beckham’s gaze up to the canopy. The leaves shook and fell to the ground.

“Contacts,” Beckham said, realizing how crazy it sounded. The movement had to be from something else. Variants weren’t monkeys. They didn’t swing from branches or climb trees.

Did they?

“Holy shit,” Beckham muttered as the treetops rustled to life. The canopy swayed as if in a torrential wind. Leaves and twigs rained to the forest floor. And then he saw them. His heart rate went into overdrive. There were dozens of Variants scaling the trees on all fours with their claws. Jumping from tree to tree, the pale creatures swarmed toward Beckham and Horn.

“Run,” Beckham choked. “Jesus Christ! Run!”

“You can’t see him. I’m sorry,” Lieutenant Colonel Jensen said.

Major Smith nodded. “Sorry, Doctor.”

Kate scrunched her eyebrows together. “Listen to me very carefully. Colonel Gibson has information that I believe can help my research.”

Crossing his arms, Jensen frowned. “What kind of information?”

“She’s right,” Ellis said. He stepped forward to stand beside Kate. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Lieutenant Trevor Brett?”

Jensen’s features remained unchanged. If he had heard of the man, he wasn’t giving off any clues.

“Even if I wanted to let you see Colonel Gibson, I wouldn’t be able to,” Jensen said. “He’s been admitted to the ICU.”

“What?” Kate asked.

“Turns out the bastard has degenerative heart disease. Been a smoker his entire life. Doubt he’ll even make it to stand trial.”

Kate stared at the ceiling, wrestling with her anger. If he died, then the secrets of VX-99 would go to the grave with him. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Sir,” Kate said, in her most businesslike tone, “Colonel Gibson has been studying VX-99 for decades. We have to know more about his research.”

Jensen’s right eye twitched. The man was nervous, and if her suspicions were correct, he already felt guilty for the part he played in all of this. She would use that to her advantage.

After a short pause to let her words sink in, she continued. “You are a natural leader. I can see that. Master Sergeant Beckham sees that. But you were part of Colonel Gibson’s entourage. His confidant. You played a role in the end of the world, even if you didn’t know exactly what was going on.”

Jensen dropped his arms to his sides. “Dr. Lovato—”

“Please let me finish,” she said. “All I need is a few minutes of Colonel Gibson’s time. He may have information that could help us find a way to fight the Variants.” She looked over at Ellis and added, “Or possibly bring them back.”