Extinction Age (14 page)

“Reed, people are starting to gather outside. Are you…”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Beckham said. He ran a hand over his
shortly cropped hair and faced her.

“Wow, you look a little bit different. But I like…”

Beckham stopped her mid-sentence by striding over and pulling
her to his chest.

“We’re going to get through this. And when it’s all over,
there’s going to be a place for us,” he said.

She leaned her head back and found his eyes. “You have no
idea how good it feels to hear you say that, Reed.”

Kate leaned in to kiss him and made a face. “Why do you smell
like a daiquiri?”

Beckham felt a smile starting. He didn’t let it finish. Now
was time to honor his brothers. He turned one more time to look at the mirror.
The man staring back looked like he was ready to go to war, not stand in a
ceremony.

-14-

A
shelf of clouds drifted across the moon, but the
sky was alive with stars. Beckham and Kate stood on the steps outside Building
1, hand in hand. The perpetual glow of cities that had polluted the sky just a
month ago was gone. The once great metropolises were now home only to Variants.

Beckham pulled Kate away from the door to make room for Horn
and his girls. Both operators wore the uniforms they had been issued when they
arrived at the island. Missing were the medals they had earned in distant
lands, in a time when Beckham’s biggest fear had been terrorists. He never
thought he’d feel nostalgic for his time in Iraq and Afghanistan.

He shook the thoughts from his head as Horn led his girls
onto the landing. Beckham’s heart ached when he saw Jenny and Tasha in clean
white dresses they must have gotten from another family on the island. Their
curly red hair was neatly braided, and their small faces were solemn.

“Ready?” Horn asked. He grabbed Tasha and Jenny’s hands and
helped them down the steps. The wrinkles in their dresses disappeared in the
soft breeze.

Halfway down the path, Beckham saw the silhouetted outline of
a wheelchair. The only other remaining original member of Team Ghost waited
outside the barracks. Fitz and Chow flanked Riley on both sides, their arms
crossed.

Beckham squeezed Kate’s hand tighter.

Their group grew in size as Fitz, Riley, and Chow fell into
line behind Beckham and the others. He walked alongside Kate, his pace slow but
purposeful. It felt a lot like marching. Beckham considered saying something
but decided to save his words for the service.

The garish flicker from a bonfire glowed over Building 3,
urging Beckham and the others onward. Besides a few patrols, the base looked
deserted. The remaining population had gathered on the beach.

 “Girls, you wanna help push?” Riley asked, cutting
through the silence. “I’m not going to be in this thing much longer. Might be
your last chance.” He twisted in his chair and gestured to Tasha and Jenny with
a hand.

The girls looked up for their father’s approval. He offered
it with a nod, and Jenny grabbed the back of Riley’s chair.

“Not too fast!” Riley said, as Tasha gripped the other
handle. The girls put all of their strength into pushing Riley, giggling. The
kid had always been one of the bright spirits that helped Team Ghost through
the darkest of times.

Beckham checked the guard towers as they walked. Each had two
soldiers inside. The long muzzles of their rifles looked out over the island.

“Better let me, girls,” Chow said when they reached the
gravel path that wrapped around Building 3. He took over and guided Riley’s
chair, rock crunching under the wheels.

The leaves of trees rustled softly overhead. Beckham squeezed
his way out in front and pulled Kate ahead. He halted at the edge of the shoreline,
his breath stripped away by the sight of the white crosses in the dirt
separating the beach from the trees.

“Daddy, is Mommy buried over there?” Tasha asked.

Horn bent down and scooped her up. His features tensed in the
glow from the bonfire raging on the beach below.

“No, sweetie,” Horn said, cupping the back of her head with a
large, gentle hand.

Beckham said a mental prayer for those civilians and soldiers
buried in the fresh graves. Jinx was the only soldier they’d managed to recover
during their missions outside of the island. The rest of Team Ghost and the
Rangers and Marines from Fort Bragg were lost. Building 8, New York City, and
the
Truxtun
had claimed them. He still hated himself for leaving Timbo
behind, but he understood the reason.

Kate squeezed his hand as they continued walking. Beckham’s
heart swelled in his chest when he saw Jinx’s body resting on a cot draped with
a US flag. A shovel marked the spot where they would lay him to rest. They
would not erect a tombstone or lay flowers at Jinx’s grave. It was Islamic
tradition, one Jinx had asked them to honor long ago when they’d shared their
plans for how they wanted to be buried.

Jinx had been a jokester on the outside, but beneath that he
had also been a deeply spiritual man. Beckham had always respected him for
that. Team Ghost had been the only ones who knew their brother was Muslim, but
it hadn’t mattered to them, even in a time where the War on Terror had brought
a wave of anti-Islamic sentiment. He was their brother, in life and in death.

Jensen met them on the sand and said, “I’ll give you a few
minutes to honor Staff Sergeant Jinx.”

Beckham appreciated Jensen’s display of respect and nodded.
He dropped Kate’s hand and felt a little tug on his sleeve. He looked down and
saw Jenny’s questioning face turned up to him.

“Is that Mister Jinx?”

“Yes,” Beckham replied. He leaned down and gave her a hug,
glancing up at Kate as he embraced Jenny. “Stay with them, please.”

“Come here, girls,” Kate said, her arms outstretched.

“Let’s go, Team Ghost,” Beckham said, jerking his chin toward
the graves. Chow, Riley and Horn followed him, but Fitz hesitated as if he was
unsure if he was welcome.

Beckham waved the Marine onward, a small gesture to tell him
he had earned the right. He was their brother now, just as much as Jinx had
been.

Fitz trudged through the sand, his blades sinking with every
step. Chow struggled, too, grunting as he pushed Riley’s chair.

“Help me up,” Riley said. “I’m not sitting down for this.”

“You sure, kid?” Horn asked.

“Yeah, Big Horn,” Riley said. He grabbed the arm guards to
hoist himself up.

Horn shrugged and looked at Chow. Together, the two operators
pulled Riley from his chair and carried him under his arms to the gravesite.

“Fitz,” Beckham said. “Can you help Riley keep his feet?”

The Marine nodded and took Riley’s weight from Chow, who
joined Beckham beside the cot. Together they lifted the flag, revealing Jinx’s
body wrapped in the traditional funeral shroud of his faith.

Beckham and Chow stepped to the side and folded the flag in
silence. When they’d finished, Chow carried the banner and handed it to Riley,
who cradled it against his stomach. Beckham took a knee next to Jinx’s body.

 “Rest in peace, brother,” he whispered.

“Hope you’re in a better place, bro,” Chow said. He crouched
down and placed a hand on Jinx’s chest.

“Help me with him,” Beckham said. He grabbed Jinx under the
arms and Chow picked up his feet. They gently hoisted his body off the cot.
 

“Careful,” Chow said.

They lowered him into the wooden box already in the grave
with exaggerated care. Chow bowed his head and whispered a prayer under his
breath. He let out a deep sigh, tore the shovel from the dirt, and began
filling in his best friend’s grave. Beckham and the other men watched in
silence, the crimson glow from the fire glimmering over Chow’s silhouette as he
worked.  

No color guard stood ready to offer a volley of shots. Jinx
wasn’t receiving a burial at Arlington, just an unmarked grave on the beach,
surrounded by what was left of his brothers in arms.

When Chow finished, he pulled his sleeve over his forehead
and jammed the shovel back into the dirt. The breeze rippled their uniforms as
they stood and paid their final respects. After a long silence, Riley held out
the folded flag to Chow, who took it and held it over his heart.

The sound of a barking dog came across the wind as Beckham
led his men back down the beach. Several figures were making their way through
the trees behind Building 3. Apollo darted toward Beckham the moment he saw
him.

“Apollo,” Beckham said. “Come here, boy.”

The dog stopped and sat a few feet away, looking up with
obsidian eyes and wagging his tail. Beckham patted his head and then snapped
his fingers. Apollo quickly followed him down the beach toward the bonfire.

A crowd was gathered around the flames, watching embers shoot
into the night sky. Jensen met Beckham at the edge of the beach.

“I’m not much for speeches,” Jensen said. “But I need to
inform everyone about the change in command. Hate to do it now, but I’m not
sure when General Kennor will send my replacement.”

“Best to do it when everyone is here,” Beckham said.

Jensen offered a rueful nod that told Beckham the officer was
doing his best to keep it together. After the massacre in New York and the
horror on the
Truxtun
, he looked like he’d aged fifteen years.

“Mind if I say a few words after you?” Beckham asked.

“I was hoping you would,” Jensen said. He patted Beckham on
the back and they joined the crowd. Kate and Ellis stood next to Horn’s girls.
Beside them was a woman on crutches whom Beckham didn’t recognize at first
until Riley called out, “Hey, Meg!”

It was no wonder he hadn’t recognized her. Meg was still
covered in bruises and cuts, but her dark eyes were lively instead of haunted
and her hair was neatly swept into a ponytail. She cracked a smile and waved
with a crutch. The smile widened when she saw Beckham.

“Master Sergeant,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to thank you
for saving my life.”

Beckham didn’t mean to frown, but felt his brow forming one
anyway. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. If it weren’t for you, I would have died in
that awful place.”

Jensen cleared his throat across the bonfire, interrupting
their conversation.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Tonight we pay our respects
to those that we’ve lost in this war. Mothers, fathers. Sisters and brothers.
Children…” He paused and bowed his head. “I want to take a few minutes for
those of us who believe in a higher power to pray.”

Beckham grabbed Kate’s hand. Apollo leaned against his legs
and whined softly. The fire crackled and popped as the crowd paid their silent
respects.

“Thank you,” Jensen said after a moment of quiet. “I also
want to inform you of some changes. General Kennor has revoked my command. He’s
sending his own men to take over this post.”

A few whispered conversations broke out, civilians turning to
one another in confusion and alarm.

“I hope you will all show our new commander the respect you
have shown me, and I thank you for your support during my tenure. There are
difficult days ahead, but together, we can—we will—get through them,” Jensen
said. He spotted Beckham in the crowd and waved him over.

“Sit,” Beckham said to Apollo.

Beckham tugged on the sides of his uniform to straighten it.
He walked over to Jensen, saluted, and waited for Jensen to return the salute.
The formalities done, Beckham shook the officer’s hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Beckham said. He faced the crowd and
exhaled. He wasn’t a man of many words, but tonight he had a few. He shifted
his gaze from face to face, stopping on Horn’s.

“Sheila Horn was a good mother and wife to Staff Sergeant
Parker Horn. We lost her at Fort Bragg, along with so many of our Delta
brothers. We lost even more in New York and then on the
Truxtun
.”
Beckham paused, his voice cracking. As he scanned those in front of him, he
knew that they’d all lost brothers and sisters in the war. He didn’t want to
single out his own men. “Tonight we remember everyone who has fallen.”

“Amen,” said someone in the crowd.

“I know you’re all scared. You have every right to be. I’m
scared, too. But I’m also certain that the human race will overcome,” Beckham
continued.

He looked at Kate, her face bathed in the orange light of the
bonfire. She smiled back at him.

“I promise you that my men and I will do everything in our
power to keep you safe while Dr. Lovato develops a new weapon,” Beckham said.
“Our future begins here, and together we
will
defeat the Variants and we
will
retake our cities.”

The clapping and cheering of the small crowd was drowned out
by the sound of an approaching helicopter. Several of the civilians pointed at
the sky, and Beckham threw a glance over his shoulder. The outline of a Chinook
exploded from the clouds. It circled the island and then disappeared over the
trees to land on the tarmac beyond.

Jensen stepped up to Beckham’s side. “General Kennor moves
fast.”

“Yes, he sure does, sir,” Beckham replied.

“Thank you all!” Jensen shouted. “If you’ll follow Major
Smith to the gravesites, we will continue the service.”

The crowd had started to disperse when raised voices sounded
from the main campus. Half a dozen men decked out in black fatigues and body
armor emerged from the trees. They jogged onto the beach carrying scoped SCAR
rifles.

“Lieutenant Colonel Jensen,” one of the men shouted.

“You didn’t waste any time,” Jensen said.

 Beckham stood his ground next to Jensen as the team
approached. The officer leading the group halted and balled his hand into a
fist. Then he pushed his black helmet up, revealing a face pockmarked with acne
scars and a pair of striking blue eyes.

“Colonel Wood. It’s been a while,” Jensen said. “I haven’t
seen you since, what? That joint project with Colonel Gibson?” He placed
careful emphasis on the words, as if wanting to make sure that Beckham heard
them.

“Sounds right,” Wood replied dryly. “Wish I was here to give
you good news, but as you know I’m here to relieve you of your command. If you
would please come with us, we have a lot to discuss.” He stretched out an arm,
fingers pointed back toward the buildings. 

Jensen hesitated. “Sir, we are having a service for our—”

“Now, Lieutenant Colonel,” Wood said. He turned away and
flashed a signal to his men. They circled around and waited for Jensen to fall
into line.

I
t took everything in Beckham to watch Colonel Wood
and his team escort Jensen away.

“Reed,” Kate said. She placed a hand on his back, helping
calm the anger that threatened to boil in his gut.