Nicholas Smith - Extinction Horizon

Reluctantly, she pulled out of his grip and wiped the tears away. She didn’t want Beckham or the other men to see her like this.

He searched her eyes. “You’re going to make it through this.”

A short nod and she wiped away a final tear. “Promise me you’re coming back.”

“I promise, Kate. I’ll be back before you know it.”

A soldier Kate didn’t recognize interrupted them. “Master Sergeant Beckham, the lieutenant colonel wants to see you before you take off.”

“Before you go, I have something for you,” Kate said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small envelope, handing it to Beckham. Before he could open it she was already walking away.

Kate listened to the Blackhawks take off in the distance. The thump of the blades slowly dissipated until they had faded completely. She watched the final chopper disappear on the horizon.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

When she reached Building 4 Ellis was waiting at the entrance, flanked on both sides by guards.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she approached.

Kate had forgotten she’d been crying and wiped at her eyes. “Yes. I was told there is something we should see.” She opened the door and gestured for Ellis to go first.

One of the technicians waited inside for them. Kate recognized him as the one who had given Patient 14 the lethal dose of VariantX9H9.

“Thank you for coming, doctors. I thought you both should see this.”

Kate followed him from room to room, pausing to peer through the small oval windows above each door. The sight through the glass was grotesque. The patients all lay in puddles of their own blood.

“They’re all dead,” Ellis said. “A good sign.”

“Not all of them,” the tech replied.

Kate’s heart fluttered when she heard the words. The modified virus should have killed all of them by now.

The man stopped in the middle of the hallway and pointed to the door on his left. “Take a look for yourself.”

Before Kate had a chance to look through the window a man pressed his face against the glass. He stood there staring at Kate, studying her. Yellow slits stared back at her, blinking rapidly. Red swirled around his sclera, but they were no longer the bright rose-colored eyes she was used to seeing.

After a short scan she saw there were no signs of fresh bleeding from his eyes or nose and the rashes on his skin looked like they were scarring. The patient curled his fingers into a claw and scratched at the wall, growling.

“This is Patient 12,” the tech said. “As you can see he is far from dead.”

Kate watched the man purse his sucker lips on the other side of the window, revealing a set of broken and jagged teeth. She didn’t understand. How could this man have recovered? There had to be some sort of mistake.

“Have there been other reports of infected victims recovering?” Kate asked.

The tech quickly shook his head. “No, I just looked over the reports we got from a team in Chicago this morning. There has not been a single documented case of recovery.” He paused and then very confidently said, “Ever.”

“And you are sure this man was given VariantX9H9?”

He nodded. “Yes, I administered it myself earlier this morning when Major Smith ordered all of the remaining specimens to be put down.”

Kate felt her mind spinning in all directions. It had to be something about the synthesized virus she’d engineered, but none of it made any sense. The weapon was designed to ensure the victim would bleed out quickly. So why was this man still alive?

“Maybe this guy was just—” Ellis began to say.

“Keep an eye on him, and get me a sample of his blood,” Kate said, hurrying down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Ellis shouted.

“Back to the lab.”

Team Ghost endured the short ride to New York in silence. They didn’t discuss Colonel Gibson or Kate’s bioweapon. They simply sat there listening to the human engineering of the Blackhawk. Each man was still and stoic, lost in his own thoughts.

Beckham unsealed the envelope Kate had given him. A simple note fell out onto his lap. He picked up the piece of paper and read it under his breath.

I hope this brings you some luck.

He turned the envelope upside down and a picture of his mom fell out. It was different than the one he normally carried, but it was her smile, her face.

“That Kate is one hell of a woman,” Riley said.

“How did she know…” Beckham said, his voice trailing off. He remembered telling her about the picture in the mess hall but nothing more.

“She asked me if I could find a pic of your mom,” Riley said. “Apparently the CDC still has access to the Internet.”

“Damn nice of her,” Horn added.

Beckham wiped away what felt like a tear. He kissed the picture and unzipped his CBRN suit, sticking the image inside his vest pocket. “Thanks, kid,” he said.

“Least I could do for keeping me alive all these years,” Riley replied with a wide grin.

The chopper banked hard to the right and swept across the smoke-clogged skyline. Beckham couldn’t believe his eyes. The Air Force had hit New York City hard.

The twisted outlines of ruined skyscrapers protruded out of a lingering cloud of smoke. Through the gaps, Beckham could make out the ruined city below. He had to clear his visor of dust just to ensure the sight was real.

It was, and it extended as far as he could see.

“Never thought I’d see one of our own cities like this,” Riley said. His normally chipper voice was cold and solemn.

“Better get used to it,” Horn replied.

“Stay focused,” Beckham said. “This is just another mission.” He said it, but couldn’t deny he was having doubts now. After telling Kate they would be safe, he wasn’t so sure. The destroyed city would harbor danger every step of the way. Unstable buildings, gas leaks, desperate survivors, and possibly even infected.

Gripping his MP5, Beckham chinned his comm. “What’s our ETA?”

The pilot responded after a brief crackle of static. “Five minutes. LZ is in Astoria.”

“Copy,” Beckham replied. He craned his neck for a better view. They flew over the harbor, moving southwest toward the city. Beckham twisted, his CBRN suit crunching as he looked out the side windows. He could see Manhattan now. Where dozens of skyscrapers stood only weeks before, there were now only piles of rubble. From the sky, the buildings looked like models.

Smoke crawled across the heaps of metal and brick, hiding the street level from view. Beckham clenched his teeth and checked Riley and Horn. They were staring intensely at the same view, their visors hiding their features.

“This is Gibson’s fault,” Horn grunted.

“Motherfucker’s going to pay,” Riley added.

Beckham didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything he could say to lessen the shock of what waited below. It was good that they had someone to blame—it made the difficult orders easier to justify.

The chopper descended as they approached Queens. Dense smoke hung over the harbor. Beckham held his breath and watched the water disappear as the smoke consumed the chopper. He mentally counted the seconds.

One.

Two.

In between blinks the Blackhawk emerged from the gray. Beckham flinched. The outline of the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge exploded into view. The landmark had taken a missile to the midsection. Support beams sagged around the missing chunk of bridge.

“Watch out!” he yelled.

The pilot jerked the nose of the chopper toward the water and slipped under the ruined bridge, narrowly missing the jagged metal protruding under the concrete and stone.