Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (29 page)

Davis paused there. “What’s the situation, Sergeant?”

Beckham slung the rifle and pulled back the hammer on his .45, one eye on the dark-skinned sergeant at the hatch.

“Lieutenant Brett killed both technicians preparing him for execution about thirty minutes ago. He then proceeded to kill the guards stationed at the brig. The blood trail leads to the lab next, where he killed Dr. Carmen. From there, we’re not sure where he went. We have two teams searching for him. Fortunately, Dr. Yokoyama escaped. “

Davis cupped her hand over her earpiece. “Yes, Mr. Vice President, I’ve just landed...I’m not sure, sir. Stand by.”

“Where’s President Ringgold?” Davis asked the sergeant.

“And Dr. Lovato?” Beckham added. He could hardly hold himself back; his muscles ached to move.

The sergeant shook his helmet. “I’m afraid we don’t know.”

“W
e can’t stay in here,” President Ringgold whispered.

Kate continued searching the storage room for a weapon in the faint light. The room was lined with shelves, but there was nowhere to hide. And Kate saw no weapon in sight. “If we go back out there, we risk running into Lieutenant Brett,” she whispered. “We need to stay here. Wait for soldiers.”

She quietly rummaged through a box of supplies. They had locked themselves in the storage room after escaping the lab. What they’d witnessed defied everything Kate knew about the Variants. The creatures didn’t use weapons, but Brett had killed Dr. Carmen with a knife. Then again, Brett wasn’t really a Variant. His platoon was infected with VX-99 in 1968, not with Dr. Medford’s hybrid version from 2014. That meant he was even more dangerous. If he could use a knife, he could open doors, and Kate suspected he’d even used one of the dead guards’ keycards to get into the secured lab.

Kate grabbed a broom and jammed it through the wheel handle of the hatch.

Where the hell are all the soldiers?

As if in in answer, the pop of gunfire echoed from the passage outside. A flurry of rounds pinged off the bulkheads. Kate put her ear up to the hatch to listen. A muffled scream followed, but it wasn’t Brett’s hoarse voice. This was a sailor.

Two more shots rang out, silencing the scream.

Kate found President Ringgold’s haunted eyes in the dim light. Another screech reverberated through the passage outside. Kate backed away from the door and retreated several steps to stand by the President, her hands cupped over her mouth.

A torrent of gunshots ricocheted off the overhead outside the storage room.

“No, please... NO!” someone shouted.

There was another shot, and the wet crack of a bullet breaking through a skull.

Then only silence.

Not a lucky shot. An execution.

Kate staggered backward, her fears realized. Brett could use a gun.

Over the blare of emergency alarms came a scratching of a blade over metal. Kate took another step away from the hatch, inadvertently ramming a shelf and knocking several boxes onto the ground. The clanking reverberated through the room.

Heart lodged in her throat, Kate held in a breath and froze, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth. The scratching grew louder and closer, until it stopped just outside the hatch to the storage room.

“Kate,” Ringgold whispered.

Kate held up a finger as the hatch rattled. The thin broom handle shook violently, clanging against the steel.

Voices called out somewhere in the bowels of the ship, muffled and distant. Reinforcements were finally coming. Kate hurried to the corner of the room with Ringgold. Together, they tipped over one of the shelves and crouched behind it. The President gripped Kate’s hand tightly in her own and began to mouth a prayer.

Kate knew Beckham was out there somewhere, searching for her. It was only a matter of time before they found Brett, but it was also only a matter of time before Brett—

The broom handle snapped in half, the splintered pieces dropping to the floor.

Kate was still holding in a breath as the wheel twisted and the hatch clicked open. Light streamed into the room, spreading a blanket of red that crept toward Kate and Ringgold.

In the doorway stood the emaciated frame of Lieutenant Brett. Shoulders hunched and torso withered, his awkward posture sent a chill through Kate.

He explored the room with deranged eyes as if everything he was seeing was completely new to him. The circling red lights illuminated his droopy skin, sagging muscles, and the pistol he gripped with brown, horned fingernails.

Ringgold grabbed Kate’s arm as he craned his neck toward the shelving unit. Brett swept it aside almost casually. He slowly aimed the barrel at the President. Kate held up her hands and shifted her body in front of Ringgold.

“Please, you don’t have to do this, Lieutenant Brett!” she cried.

He tilted an ear ever so slightly as if he didn’t quite remember his own name. Gun trembling in his hand, he croaked. “Th-ey...”

The pounding of footsteps echoed down the hall, but Brett didn’t turn.

“They,” he coughed. He rotated slightly to look into the passage, veins stretching across his pale skin. In a rapid movement, he turned back to Kate and Ringgold, eyes wide and wild. “Hurt me... Destroyed me!”

Kate held her hands in the air. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you, but the killing has to end. You can stop it, Lieutenant.”

“Medic!” someone shouted down the passage. The soldiers had found the sailors Brett had already killed.

Kate winced as he pushed the gun at her.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kate whimpered. “Please. You don’t have to kill anyone else. I’m...I’m pregnant.”

Brett’s eyes centered on her stomach. His wrinkled face twisted in a grimace and he tilted his head slightly as if he was trying to understand.

Kate dropped one hand to shield her stomach. “Don’t do this, Lieutenant. I know there is a good man locked inside you. They didn’t destroy all of you. Lieutenant Trevor Brett would not kill an innocent child.”

A croak escaped Brett’s mouth as he attempted a reply. His next strained words were lost in the crack of gunshot. Kate closed her eyes on reflex, her muscles tightening to prepare for the bullet that would end her life. In that fraction of a second, she realized the irony: in the end, her life would be taken by the man that had started it all—and by a bullet, not by the claws of a monster.

There was a second shot, then a third.

Ringgold shrieked in pain. Kate’s eyes snapped back open to a sight she didn’t understand. Brett slumped to his knees in front of her. The top left side of his skull was blown away and there was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should have been. What was left of his insides slopped through the exposed rib cage and onto the ground with a wet plop. The pistol fell from his hand, and clanked next to Kate. A soldier kicked it away from Brett’s reach and rushed to Kate’s side. Her heart was kicking so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Kate!” the man said. “Kate, are you okay?”

The voice was familiar, but her vision was blurry as though she was looking through thick glasses. She blinked away the stars, and the room came into focus. Beckham was staring down at her, his lips still moving.

“I’m okay,” Kate said.

Horn, Chow, and Lieutenant Davis ran into the space. Sailors and Marines waited in the passage, radio chatter echoing. Kate gasped for air, her hand still on her stomach. Beckham joined the other soldiers surrounding the President.

“She’s been hit,” someone said.

“Get a medic!” yelled Lieutenant Davis. 

Brett’s mangled corpse was sprawled a few feet away, pooling blood surrounding his withered body. His eyes were locked on her, and he blinked one final time before they rolled up into his ruined skull—finally at peace after a lifetime of living in a nightmare.

Kate looked to President Ringgold. Her white blouse was covered in blood. Horn pressed his hands over the lapel pin on her collar. Beckham was on her other side, holding one of her hands.

“Where’s the medic?” he shouted.

“On the way,” Davis said.

Beckham glanced over at Kate. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She managed a nod, and reached out to grab Ringgold’s other hand. It was limp. There was so much blood, but she couldn’t tell if it was from Brett’s exploded rib cage or the hole he’d blown in Ringgold.

“Stay with me, President Ringgold,” Beckham said. “Fight.”

Red light churned around the small room, panicked voices and crackling radios filling the tiny space. Ringgold’s eyelids fluttered. She caught Kate’s gaze for a single heartbeat before they closed.

C
louds the color of aging bruises drifted across the horizon. It was mid-morning, but Plum Island was already humid. The temperatures would easily rise into the upper nineties today. Fitz didn’t mind the heat; he just hated the high humidity. He was sitting on the tarmac gluing rubber pads on the bottom of his blades when Lieutenant Rowe strode toward the four strike teams heading to New York City.

Everyone, including Fitz, stood to attention. Most of the men looked well rested despite the fact they had trained into the late evening hours the night before. Riley sat in his chair a few feet away, maps draped over his knees, still going over the plan with several other soldiers. The kid was meticulous, never overlooking a single detail.

“Alright, listen up!” Lieutenant Rowe shouted. “Check and double check your gear. Everyone should have three smoke grenades and two suppressed weapons. Try on your gas mask to make sure it works. Check your buddy’s gas mask to make sure theirs does too. I don’t want any surprises when we get out there.”

The three men in Fitz’s strike team circled around. They were all Marines, but none of them had any combat experience with Variants. Lance Corporal Cooper, a thirty-year-old with thin lips and a crooked nose, had served in Afghanistan, but PFCs Knapp and Craig hadn’t fired their weapons outside of training. He didn’t trust them for shit. Hell, he hardly knew anything about them. But this was what it had come to—heading into battle against an overwhelming force with inexperienced men.

Fitz finished applying the rubber pads. He jogged in place for a few seconds, and to his surprise, there was little to no impact.

“Looking good,” Cooper said. His lips stretched into a long grin that reminded Fitz of a gator.

Knapp and Craig continued prepping their gear without saying a word. When they pulled on their gas masks, Fitz checked to make sure they worked. Then he screwed the suppressor on his MK11. It only added five and a half inches of length to the barrel, but he had a feeling it could become unwieldy maneuvering through the tunnels.

“Staff Sergeant Riley is going to explain the final details of the mission,” Rowe said when all of the soldiers had finished their gear checks.

Riley looked up from his map. “The Air Force has identified Grand Central Station in Manhattan as the primary target to lure the Variants above ground. We know there’s a huge hive there. How many of them survived the firebombing of Operation Liberty is anyone’s guess.”

“I heard there were over a hundred thousand,” Knapp said.

Riley shrugged limply. “That’s why we have two bombing runs, to burn any of the fucks that crawl out of their nests. You know the rest. Once you’re inside the lair, you will turn on your UV lights, deploy your smoke grenades, kill any adult Variants, and use your tranq guns on the juveniles. Remember to watch your zone of fire. The last thing we need is a casualty from friendly fire.” He paused to straighten the kinks out of the map. “This entire area is a war zone. Prepare for bodies and debris. Any questions?”

“Lieutenant, a word please,” came a voice. Major Smith came hurrying across the asphalt. He stopped and whispered something to Rowe. The lieutenant cursed.

Fitz slung his rifle over his back and strode over to the officers while the other soldiers asked Riley questions.

“Something wrong, sir?” Fitz asked.

Rowe continued chewing on a piece of something, his square jaw moving, but he didn’t reply.

“President Ringgold has been shot,” Major Smith said.

Riley folded the map and exchanged a worried glance with Fitz, both of them likely wondering the same thing. Had Vice President Johnson betrayed her? Were Beckham and Team Ghost okay?

“Apparently, Lieutenant Brett was being held prisoner aboard one of the ships,” Smith said. “He was supposed to be executed, but escaped and killed a scientist and several sailors last night, shooting the President in the process.”

Riley wheeled over. “Who the fuck is...wait.” He blinked, realization setting in. “The lieutenant from Vietnam?”

“Yeah,” Smith said. He narrowed his eyes at Rowe.

“Shit, don’t blame me for what the lab jockeys do in their chop shops,” Rowe said.

“Is President Ringgold going to be okay?” Fitz asked. He didn’t give a shit about how it happened or why they’d had Brett on the ship. But he did care about the President. She had been kind to him, and she was an intelligent, honorable woman. The country needed her. The human race needed her.

“I’m not sure. She’s still in surgery,” Smith said.