Nicholas Smith - Extinction Horizon

Beckham felt several eyes on him from across the aisle, but he did not look up. He focused on his tablet. The smiling image of a soldier dressed in uniform appeared. Gibson continued his narration. “This is Platoon Commander First Lieutenant Trevor Brett. He was awarded a posthumous Bronze Star for his actions in a classified mission in Vietnam. His family believed he died a hero. His file simply says KIA. But this is far from the truth. Ten years after his last mission, Lieutenant Brett showed up in a rural village outside Son La, over one hundred miles south of where his platoon had dropped in and injected VX-99.”

A map appeared with a red line leading from the upper mountain area to the city of Son La. Beckham recognized the area instantly. He’d spent several weeks of leave there when he first joined the military.

“Remember that red line,” Gibson said.

Next, an image of a man in torn clothing emerged. Even though the picture was blurry, Beckham could tell there was no humanity left in him. He’d seen others like him in the slums of Mogadishu, the remote villages of the northern tribal areas of Afghanistan, and the filthy alleys in Fallujah. War zones tended to produce the look quite often.

“This was a photograph of the lieutenant taken by a British journalist in 1980. Take note of his appearance. His lips, eyes, skin.”

Using his fingers to pinch the screen together, Beckham enlarged the image. Brett had transformed into a monster with hair clinging to his head in clumps. His skin was almost translucent with blue veins crisscrossing his exposed flesh. His eyes had developed some sort of second layer or membrane that was reminiscent of a reptilian eye, and the pupil had morphed into a yellowish slit. But the most striking change were the man’s lips. They bulged into a grotesque sucker that reminded Beckham of a leech.

“And his necklace,” Gibson continued.

A new image filled the display. Some sort of cord lay across the surface of a metal desk. Beckham thought he saw dried pieces of flesh. But was that possible?

As the image magnified further, his stomach lurched. He’d never seen anything like this. He’d heard of men keeping ears and other trophies, but there were more than just ears on the lieutenant’s necklace. There were other things—unspeakable things. Now Beckham knew why Dr. Ellis wasn’t allowed to watch the briefing. If anything got out about this chemical weapon, the military would not only be paying out large settlements to families, but politicians would be hosting a barbeque on the Hill by grilling anyone connected to VX-99. Gibson would likely be the pig slow-roasted with an apple in his mouth.

“What you saw are the results of VX-99. Like I said earlier, the idea behind the serum was to create a super-soldier. What we got was Lieutenant Brett.” Gibson paused again and then said, “That red line on the map of Vietnam I told you to remember? That was the path Brett followed for ten years. Murdering and eating anyone he came across. VX-99 didn’t simply transform him into a monstrosity; it transformed him into a criminally insane soldier, one that stayed alive all of those years with a single goal—to kill.”

Once again Gibson’s tired face faded, replaced by a video feed of the ocean. Beckham found himself wondering what Brett’s fate had been. There was no way the Marine ever saw the light of day again. He’d likely died a long time ago after enduring the countless tests by the Medical Corps.

What a fucking way for a soldier to go out , Beckham thought as the camera panned to a beach.

“Your target is a sample of Dr. Medford’s research. My men will know exactly what they are looking for.” Gibson crinkled his nose. “I know what you’re thinking. Why not just bomb the place? We would if we could, believe me, but I need to know what Medford created. It could be invaluable for future Ebola research. I need that sample.”

Beckham mastered his anger with a deep breath, tuning Gibson out for a moment to think. This mission meant Team Ghost was cannon fodder. That wasn’t new or unexpected. He’d signed the papers. He knew from the beginning what he was getting himself into. But this? His team was being sent into a potential hot zone with no real intel besides some shitty briefing about events that had happened nearly fifty years ago.

Ghost had dropped into remote locations with less information than they had now, but those missions had never dealt with Level 4 contagions. This was a different type of enemy.

The tension in the troop hold lingered like a thick fog of humidity. Beckham didn’t need to scan his men again to know they all felt it. Never once had he questioned a mission before. Orders were always orders. And no matter how bad things were at Building 8, he still had a duty to his country.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he quelled another surge of anger.

“As I stated before,” Gibson continued, “The target is on San Nicholas Island. Everyone working outside Building 8 have been evacuated. When you arrive, the only personnel left within a twenty-mile radius will be the scientists locked beneath the surface.”

Beckham studied the screen. Sapphire waves crashed onto the shores under the moonlight. The video, taken by a low-flying chopper, gave a full view of the island. Snaking across a background of brown sand was a landing strip with a cluster of buildings nestled around the perimeter.

Gibson continued, his voice growing more anxious. “My men will have a GPS locator with them. They will guide you to Building 8. It’s off the beaten path, away from the rest of the facilities. They have never been there, and neither have I, due to the sensitive nature of the research,” he said with a slight pause. “It’s one of our smaller labs with a staff of only fifteen. Navy personnel on the island do not even know Building 8 exists. They’ve been told they were evacuated due to a toxic spill.”

The video transitioned into a building layout. Beckham assumed the prints were of Building 8, but with the dim lighting in the cargo hold he had to focus to get a better look.

Gibson continued to narrate. “My men will give you access to the facility. Your mission is to protect them and retrieve the sample of Medford’s work.”

Protect his men , Beckham thought. From what?

Gibson coughed deeply into his hand and very politely said, “Excuse me. There are three levels in the lab. Your target will be somewhere on the last level where Dr. Medford would have stored the samples. Level One is decontamination. You won’t need to worry about activating these chambers because you will be equipped with CBRN suits, but keep in mind that if there is a loose contagion, you are only safe inside your suit. A single tear will compromise you.”

Level Two popped onto the screen. “These are the personnel quarters. Navigate your way to the far end where a final hallway will take you to Level Three. There are four labs on the final level. Each is color-coded and represents a different toxic level. You are looking for the red one. That is where Medford would have been performing his tests.”

Gibson’s profile reappeared. “Make no mistake gentlemen, the likelihood of anyone inside being alive is slim to none. You may be walking into a morgue.” He paused briefly and then added, “In approximately one hour from this briefing you will land at Edwards Air Force Base. From there you will rendezvous with two men from our Emergency Operations Center: Major Caster and Major Noble. Noble is a virologist and a damn good one. You will then be fitted to your protective suits and further briefed. After securing your equipment, you will proceed to San Nicholas Island by helicopter. By this time tomorrow I hope to be congratulating you all via conference call after you acquire the sample. Good luck.”