Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (28 page)

“We have to help them,” Ringgold said. She turned to Kate. “We have to open that door!”

The lump in Kate’s throat hardened. She turned away from the window as Yokoyama pounded on the glass.

“Open the hatch!” he shouted.

“
Please
,” Carmen said. “
Please
let us in.”

Kate looked at the wheel handle of the hatch leading into the central lab. She couldn’t open it even if she wanted too. It was sealed off to prevent contaminants.

Yokoyama continued pounding on the glass, but Carmen twisted, his shoulders shaking, as the lack of oxygen took over. The creature continued to observe from the lab station, interested, but holding back. It cracked its head from side to side, then stretched its wrinkled neck like a turtle extending its head from its shell.

In the glow of the circling lights, Kate finally glimpsed the monster. It craned its head toward her. She gasped as the droopy, bloodshot eyes of Lieutenant Brett locked onto the window as if he was staring directly at her.

After nearly fifty years of captivity, the lieutenant had finally broken free. And he had come for his revenge on the scientists who had experimented on him in this very lab.

He leapt off the table and tore across the room, plucking something off one of the stations as he moved. Wild and deranged, Brett moved with surprising speed.

Kate’s heart hammered at the sight. She pulled Ringgold toward the exit door of the small office.

“We have to help them,” Ringgold repeated, resisting Kate’s grip. “Help me open the door.”

“We can’t—” Kate began to say. Her words were lost under a tormented howl. Brett leapt onto Carmen and wrapped his thin legs around the scientist’s waist. He plunged a shiny object into Carmen’s side, and blood squirted onto the glass. Hot, raspy breaths fogged his visor as he shrieked in agony.

Carmen flailed, then palmed the glass. He fell to his knees, Brett still wrapped around him and sticking him in the guts with a lab instrument the entire way to the floor. 

Yokoyama ran for the exit, but his oxygen cord yanked him backward. He crashed to the ground and quickly scrambled to his feet. Brett looked up as the doctor fled.

“President Ringgold, we need to leave. NOW!” Kate yelled.

Ringgold had her hand cupped over her mouth, but managed a weak nod. They crossed the small room, and Kate grabbed the handle of the exit hatch. The locking mechanism clicked and she pushed the hatch open, leaving Carmen and Yokoyama behind.

M
eg strolled across the lawn with Tasha and Jenny on each side. She wanted so badly to hold their tiny hands, but instead, she gripped the rubber of her crutches tighter. In a few days, if Dr. Hill agreed, she was going to toss the metal pegs into the ocean. Depending on her mood, maybe she would do it even if he didn’t agree.

“When’s my daddy coming home?” Tasha asked.

“I’m not sure, sweetie.”

“Is he fighting the monsters again?” Jenny asked.

Meg stopped a couple hundred feet from where Riley and Fitz were briefing a group of soldiers.

“No, he isn’t fighting them, but he’s helping others fight,” Meg explained.

“Like those guys?” Tasha asked. She pointed to the soldiers.

“Yes, like those men. Do you want to watch?” Meg didn’t want them overhearing anything scary, but they were bored. And besides, she missed Riley. He had been so busy with the troops, she’d hardly seen him recently. 

Both girls nodded, and Meg crutched over to the landing outside Building 3. Riley was talking about a mission to New York and explaining how the creatures moved and attacked. Something about pack behavior and other shit Meg didn’t care to know. She carefully took a seat on the concrete steps and put her arms around the girls. When she married her husband, they’d agreed not to have children, but spending time with the girls had shown her how much she really enjoyed kids. 

She gripped the girls tighter, her mind wandering like the Blackhawk patrolling the sky over the island. The briefing, or training, or whatever it was, continued for another fifteen minutes. Lieutenant Rowe and Major Smith were answering questions now. She had tuned out for most of it, but her ears perked up when she heard a Marine ask who would be leading the mission.

Rowe turned to Riley and Fitz. For a moment her heart skipped a beat. There was no way Riley could go back out there. Not like this.

“Corporal Fitzpatrick will be leading the squads into New York. Don’t let his appearance deceive you. I’m sure Fitz can outrun most of you, and he sure as hell is a better shot,” Rowe flashed the first grin—the first sign of
any
emotion—Meg had seen since she’d met him.

Fitz dug his right blade into the grass like a batter stepping up to the plate. He managed a grin and said, “I know you’re all scared. Heck, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t. But the Variants can be killed. I’ve killed more of the monsters than I killed insurgents in Iraq. And I’m not proud of it, but I killed quite a few insurgents.” He bowed his head slightly, his auburn hair blowing in the breeze, a memory surfacing on his mind.

He looked up again, the smile gone. “Be smart out there, stay frosty, and tomorrow we will return with a juvenile Variant. And God willing, in less than two weeks we will win this war.”

The words resonated with a few of the Marines.

“Oorah!” someone yelled.

“Oorah.” Fitz said in a deep voice.

Within a few seconds, all of the men had joined in. Rowe stroked his jawline, then held up a hand. “Thank you, Corporal,” he said. “That’s all for tonight, so get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

The Marines dispersed, but Riley didn’t move his chair. He glanced over at Meg, his features lacking enthusiasm. There was a frown on his face, and she knew why. He wanted more than anything to go out there with the other soldiers. Fitz patted him on the back, acknowledged Meg with a short tip of his head, then followed the other men across the lawn.

Both girls were nestled next to Meg on the top step, pointing out the shapes of clouds to each other. She didn’t disturb them, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to go hug Riley.

“W
hat do you mean Fitz is leading a strike team to New York?” Beckham said. There was no holding back the shock in his voice. He had suggested Fitz train a team, not lead it. He didn’t bother asking Lieutenant Davis why she hadn’t informed him of the decision earlier. He was too mad for that.

“Lieutenant Rowe thought he was the most qualified man on Plum Island,” she replied.

“Shit. We’re the most qualified teams left in the world, but we’re not being sent out there.”

“We should be,” Garcia added.

The Variant Hunters and Team Ghost were still on the deck of the
GW
. Behind them, Marines talked quietly during a short break. The gusting wind couldn’t hide the trepidation in their hushed voices.

“I specifically ordered Fitz to guard the island,” Beckham said. “We need him in Tower 4. He’s a sharpshooter the island can’t afford to lose.”

Davis blinked her crystal blue eyes as if she was considering a sharp response. After a pause, she said, “Corporal Fitzpatrick is no longer under your command, Master Sergeant. He reports to Major Smith. I’m sorry, but he is leading the men from Plum Island to New York.”

“And Smith authorized this?” Horn asked. He flared his nostrils. It was the same thing he always did before he blew a gasket. He was worried about Fitz and his girls. Beckham didn’t blame him. There were so few of them left that losing Fitz would be unbearable.

No. Fitz isn’t going to die.

Beckham took a knee in front of Apollo, scratching the dog’s ears. His nose sniffed at the air, and he leaned in to give Beckham a wet kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, Major Smith approved the orders,” Davis said. She blinked again and crinkled her nose, one eye on Horn. Beckham shot his friend a glare that said
back off
.

“If Fitz is going out there, then I want Apollo to go with him,” Beckham said. The dog wasn’t doing anyone any good cooped up on the ship, and he would protect Fitz with his life.

Davis twisted her lips to the side. “I suppose I can arrange that. We have a Blackhawk leaving for Plum Island in...” she looked at her watch. “An hour.”

Beckham stroked Apollo’s fur and bowed his head until they were touching. Apollo’s wet snout brushed against his forehead. He didn’t want to let the dog go, but doing so made him feel like he was helping his friend.

“You take care of Fitz, boy,” Beckham said. “Don’t let anything happen to him.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a notepad he had used to write notes on for Operation Condor.

“You got a pen?” Beckham asked Davis.

She pulled one from her pocket and handed it to him. Beckham tore out a piece of paper and scribbled a message to Fitz, then tucked the note into Apollo’s satchel. The dog wagged its tail as it licked Beckham’s cheek a second time. Rising to his feet, Beckham handed Davis her pen. “Thank—”

A shout from a ladder leading to the CIC cut him off. “Lieutenant!”

Captain Humphrey stood at the top of the stairs, his hair blowing wildly in the wind. “There’s a situation on the
Cowpens
.”

The rising fear of losing Apollo and Fitz shifted into full-blown panic. Kate was on the
Cowpens
, and so was President Ringgold. He reached for the .45 on his hip, unstrapping the buckle.

“Brett has escaped,” Humphrey said. “Get over there ASAP and kill that son of a bitch. Eagle Five is warming up right now.”

“Yes, sir!” Davis shouted back.

Beckham whistled at the sailor patrolling the flight deck with a German Shepherd. “I need you to watch Apollo!”

The man ran over and grabbed Apollo by the collar.

“If Master Sergeant Beckham isn’t back, make sure the dog is on Eagle Three in an hour,” Davis said.

The sailor nodded, holding Apollo tightly. The dog could sense something was wrong; he growled and fought in the man’s grip.

“You have to stay, I’m sorry boy. Protect Fitz,” Beckham said. He patted Apollo’s head and hesitated for a single second, looking at the dog one last time before yelling, “Let’s move, Ghost!”

Chow spat his second toothpick of the night on the deck and ran after Beckham and Horn. Apollo howled after them. Then came a pounding of boots, and when Beckham glanced over his shoulder, Garcia, Tank, and Thomas were following them.

“We need weapons,” Horn said.

Beckham pulled his .45 and raced after Davis, who was already halfway to the flight deck. “I’ve got the only one I need.”

On the horizon, a red light flashed from the satellite tower of the
Cowpens
like the beacon of a lighthouse warning ships away from danger. Most men would have run the other way, but like so many times before, Beckham led his men toward the threat.

The Blackhawk was airborne five minutes later. Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters sat on the gunship in silence, all of them sorting through pre-combat thoughts. None of them asked the obvious question of how Lieutenant Brett had escaped. All that mattered was killing him before he killed anyone else.

Before he hurt Kate or President Ringgold.

Beckham shut the thought down before it could do any more damage. He was going into battle. He needed his confidence, not his fear, driving him forward. He watched Apollo on the flight deck, still fighting his handler. The dog’s barking faded beneath the chop of the rotors. Beckham forced himself to look away, and turned back to the
Cowpens
.

He opened the cylinder, checked the six .45 rounds, and then snapped it back into place. The bird descended over the stern and touched down on the
Cowpens
’ helipad. Davis jumped onto the deck and ducked under the rotors. Beckham and crew followed close behind. A squad of sailors in tactical gear met them on the deck, M16s in hand. They distributed weapons to Team Ghost and the Variant Hunters.

“This way, Lieutenant,” one of the men said. 

They passed RIM-66 surface-to-air missile launchers and ran for a ladder that led to the next level. Two soldiers draped in shadow were waiting at a hatch.