Nicholas Smith - Extinction Horizon

“She’s right, isn’t she, Colonel?” Beckham said.

Gibson very calmly took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and placed it on the wood surface. In the same calm voice he said, “Yes, she’s right.”

Silence filled the room. A cricket chirped outside, and then the noise faded away.

“You’re right,” Gibson said again. He stood and looked at them in turn. “I never meant for any of this to happen. When I sent Team Ghost to Building 8, I was trying to stop this from happening. Doctor Medford’s last message said he created something that was too contagious.”

“But it got out,” Kate said. Her breathing was steadier now.

The colonel nodded. “I ordered Doctor Medford to create a bioweapon that could be used in hot spots around the world. I wanted to end the need for American soldiers on foreign soil. Too many of our sons have died in sandboxes that aren’t worth a fucking shit. My son died…”

Beckham narrowed his eyes at the failing man in front of him. Saliva webbed across the colonel’s open mouth. He tried to speak, but only a croak came out. His eyes fell to the floor, his head downcast. The blood of so many was on his hands, including three members of Team Ghost.

Beckham felt his right fist moving at his side. He wanted to strike the colonel. God, it would feel good, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The sobering truth was that Gibson had been motivated by the death of his only son in Iraq. His justification of the bioweapon program wasn’t much different than the missions of other weapon programs. The Manhattan Project was designed to save American lives and force the Japanese to surrender. It sounded insane, but the broken man in front of them now wasn’t much different in Beckham’s eyes than anyone that had created a weapon of mass destruction.

“Why?” Kate whispered. “Why didn’t you tell us what we were dealing with?”

“I didn’t know!” Gibson said, his voice snapping. He looked to Beckham. “That’s why I sent his team into Building 8. If I had known, I would have handed you the info on a silver platter!”

There were footfalls from the hallway. Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith burst into the room, shoving Ellis out of their way.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jensen asked.

Colonel Gibson bowed his head in defeat and in a low voice said, “Doctor Lovato can tell you.”

Jensen scratched his chin and eyed Kate. After a brief pause he said, “Well, is someone going to fill me in?”

“The Hemorrhage virus is a bioweapon,” she replied. “And your boss was the engineer.”

The lieutenant colonel’s eyes shot up to meet Gibson’s. He nodded confidently, a final moment of strength in a career that had spanned decades. “You’re in charge now,” Gibson said. He held out his wrists and said, “Lock me up and destroy the fucking key.”

“Sergeant Singh,” Jensen said without taking his eyes off of Gibson.

One of the guards from earlier stepped into the room. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Take Colonel Gibson into custody.”

Singh hesitated.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” Jensen snapped.

Beckham scrutinized Gibson as the guard grabbed him under one arm. Flashbacks tore across his mind. The briefing on the Osprey, the pile of bodies in Building 8, and finally Tenor’s terrified face as the bioweapon consumed him. In a blind fit of rage, Beckham placed his right foot forward, twisted, and threw a punch that landed square on Gibson’s jaw.

The colonel collapsed. Sergeant Singh faltered trying to catch Gibson’s limp body and both men ended up on the floor.

“That’s for my men,” Beckham snarled.

Gibson whimpered out a reply. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry for everything. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Jensen shot Beckham an angry glare that overshadowed what looked like a smirk. The two men shared a moment, something passing between them that only a soldier would recognize—an understanding. Beckham had done exactly what Jensen had wanted to do.

“Get him out of here,” Jensen said.

A second guard bent down and helped Singh drag the colonel out of the room. As they were leaving, Gibson paused and looked at Kate with a pair of glazed eyes.

“Find a cure,” he said. Then he looked at Beckham and said, “I’m sorry, but Fort Bragg is gone. I just heard an hour ago.”

And then he was gone, leaving Beckham and Kate standing in shock at the news.

Beckham stormed out of the building, the weight of the news about Fort Bragg and the source of the outbreak tearing him apart. He rushed back to the barracks, his boots sloshing in puddles left over from the afternoon’s storm. He wasn’t sure how he would break the news to Horn. How do you tell a man his family is dead? The burden he carried was unlike any he’d ever had to endure. He felt responsible; he had told Horn to bring his family to the post, arguing they would be safer there.

His heart ached with every beat, the pain tugging at every muscle. He’d learned a long time ago how to suppress these feelings, but none of that worked right now. The end of the world had broken him. Beckham had had no one left besides his men and Horn’s family. Now they were almost all gone, stripped away in a little over a week.

He suddenly felt the same overwhelming dread that had devoured him when his mother died. There was no mistaking the awful sensation. It was a darkness that he’d worked so hard to shake, and now it was back. He couldn’t let it consume him. He wouldn’t let it consume him.

Flooded by a surge of emotion, Beckham broke into a jog, the anger growing as he thought about Gibson and what he had done. His knuckles ached from where they had connected with the man’s jaw, but goddamn, did it feel good.

As an operator, Beckham had seen the worst the human race had to offer. Warlords in Africa and religious sects who kidnapped children and raised them as soldiers, dictators who crushed their opposition by murdering their opponents, terrorists who didn’t care how many innocent civilians they killed. Bioweapons took evil to an entirely new and horrific level, and Beckham didn’t care what the colonel’s motivations had been.

He stopped outside the barracks to gather his thoughts. He still wasn’t sure how he would break the news to Horn.

“You okay?” came a voice behind him. He spun to find Kate standing on the circular concrete drive outside the building, her hands in the pockets of her white trousers. She approached him slowly, regarding him with glazed, dull eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Beckham said.

“Needed to see a friendly face. Especially after what just happened back there.”

“The man will burn for his crimes,” Beckham replied. “I’ll make sure of that.”

An abrupt hollow roar shook the ground. Beckham felt it in his bones, knowing the sound instantly. He scanned the horizon and saw several bright flashes on the mainland.

Kate gasped at the sight. “They’re bombing again?”

“What the hell’s left to bomb?” Beckham said, shaking his head.

Another succession of flashes burst across the dark skyline. Deep booms followed. Beckham caught a glimpse of several jets racing away from the city. They were just specks, their blue exhaust trails fading into the night.

The concussions steadily increased, the ground shaking around them. Beckham felt every blast. He flinched with every flash.

“How did it come to this?” Kate asked solemnly. She backed away from the view and stood next to him.

“Gibson,” Beckham replied. “I always feared something like this would happen, that someone higher up would do something stupid and send the world to hell. I just never thought it would happen on our doorstep.”