Extinction Horizon (The Extinction Cycle Book 1) Read online

  (Extinction Cycle, Book I)

  Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Copyright 2014 by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

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  Books by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The Orbs Series

  Solar Storms (An Orbs Prequel)

  White Sands (An Orbs Prequel)

  Red Sands (An Orbs Prequel)

  Orbs

  Orbs II: Stranded

  Orbs III: Redemption

  The Extinction Cycle Series

  Extinction Horizon

  Extinction Edge (March/2015)

  Extinction Age (Fall/2015)

  The Tisaian Chronicles

  The Biomass Revolution

  Squad 19: A Short Story

  A Royal Knight: A Short Story

  Copyright November 2014 by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Creative Paramita

  www.creativeparamita.com

  Edited by Aaron Sikes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Thank You

  About the Author

  “Life on Earth is at the ever increasing risk of being wiped out by a disaster, such as sudden global nuclear war, a genetically engineered virus or other dangers we have not yet thought of…”

  —Stephen Hawking

  -Prologue-

  July 10th, 1968

  Operation Burn Bright

  South Vietnam

  Operation Burn Bright started off with a smooth insertion. Lieutenant Brett and thirty-one other Marines jumped into the fray, fast-roping from the crew compartment of multiple UH-1 Huey choppers hovering fifty feet above the drop point.

  The stink of the jungle filled Brett’s lungs as soon as his boots hit the ground. They’d been dropped on the outskirts of a swamp, and the rot lingered in the sultry air.

  Brett gagged at the smell and promptly clenched his jaw shut. He moved with his lips sealed and was careful not to swallow any bugs when he was forced to open his mouth and bark orders. Vietnam was the worst place for someone that suffered from a borderline case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. There was simply no way to keep good hygiene in the jungle.

  Breathing through his nostrils, he led his men slowly into the knee-deep water in a wedge formation. Every few steps he would pause, scan the area, and then flash hand signals to advance. The men were experienced enough to know they should maintain combat intervals. Enough of them had seen buddies die from clustering together and forming double targets for the enemy.

  If he didn’t have his lips closed he might have even smiled at the sight of his well-organized platoon. But smiling was reserved for peacetime, not war. In Brett’s eyes, Vietnam was just a place for Marines to go and die.

  The further they moved into the muck, the deeper the swamp became. Stagnant water crawled up his legs, sending a cold chill through his body.

  Goddamn, he hated the fucking jungle and everything inside of it—the snakes, the bugs, and worst of all, the leeches. He stifled a curse when he saw a foot-long leech swimming in his direction. The last thing he wanted to do was notify Charlie they were coming. The slurping water was already loud enough to tell every Viet Cong in the area that a platoon full of fresh meat was on its way.

  As he slopped through the water, he wondered how he got so unlucky. The war had ruined everything. After graduating college, he had looked forward to a career in banking with a nice little cookie-cutter house, a gorgeous wife, and a warm dinner waiting at home for him every night. Instead, his girlfriend had left him and he was wading through water toward one of the most ruthless enemies the American military had ever faced. To make things worse, they carried an experimental drug that they were supposed to take right before reaching their target. Command said it would negate the effects of any chemicals lingering in the area, such as Agent Orange, but Brett had his doubts. It sounded more like they were being used as guinea pigs.

  “Shit,” he muttered as a fly the size of a peanut buzzed by his helmet. After batting it away, he swept the muzzle of his M16 over a clearing at the far end of the swamp. They weren’t far from their target—a remote village that Brass claimed was harboring support to the local VCs.

  Brett wasn’t so sure. He’d been down this road many times before. Most of the time they didn’t find shit.

  When they reached the edge of the swamp, Brett balled his hand into a fist. He jerked his chin toward the platoon sergeant, a stocky Texan named Fern. The man was built like a football player, with wide shoulders and tree trunks for legs. He approached with a toothy grin, revealing a wad of chew that bled a brown trail of juice down his chin strap.

  The two men were the exact opposites. Fern cared nothing for hygiene and seemed to thrive in the disgusting jungle. The thicker the muck, the more he enjoyed himself.

  “Lieutenant,” Fern said, squinting with a hand shielding his eyes.

  “The village should be just beyond that ridgeline,” Brett said, pointing toward an embankment across the field. “Tell everyone not holding security to pair up and take their dose of VX-99, and make sure they actually do it.”

  “Roger that, sir,” Fern replied. He spat a chunk of tobacco into the stale water, and Brett watched it vanish into the mouth of some small fish. His stomach churned at the sight.

  Brett followed Fern out of the water and onto solid ground. They stepped over rotting vegetation and slapped away sharp branches. When they got to the edge of the clearing, Brett dropped to his right knee and reached for his bag. He removed the small syringe of VX-99 and eyed it suspiciously. There was nothing he hated more than needles except the jungle and everything inside of it. If sticking the needle in his arm meant he would get out of here quicker, well then, fuck it.

  He bit off the plastic tip and spat it out, found a bulging vein in his wrist, and jammed the point into his arm. Slowly, he pushed the mysterious cocktail into his bloodstream. A sharp pain instantly raced down his arm. Brett tossed the syringe into the brush and placed a finger over the spot. The other men were taking turns; one man on guard with weapon at the ready, the other with his weapon cradled while jabbing the chemicals into a vein.

  Brett waited there, listening to the hum of oversized insects and the chirp of exotic birds for several seconds, wondering if the platoon would notice any side effects.

  After a minute, the tingling sensation in his veins passed. He stood, shouldering his rifle and leveling the muzzle over the field. So far there w
as no sign of the enemy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. Charlie was always out there, waiting to strike like the drugs in his veins.

  “Move out,” Brett said. Fern nodded and flashed a blur of hand movements to the men on their right. The Marines fanned out over the field at a brisk pace, their boots slurping through the mud.

  Before they’d made it halfway, Brett felt a burning. At first he wondered if the wind had carried Agent Orange into the area, but this burning wasn’t the type associated with the chemical. It wasn’t coming from the outside of his skin—it was coming from the inside of his chest, like he’d swallowed an entire bottle of Vietnamese hot sauce.

  Small jolts of pain raced through his body with every heartbeat. The agonizing burn spread to his head and lingered there. He blinked, tears welling in his eyes. He felt like he was being burned alive, only from within.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a PFC named Junko collapse to both knees, clawing madly at his skull. Then came the screaming. Wails of pain broke out as other Marines fell.

  What the fuck is happening to us?

  The pain was so intense Brett could hardly think. Shimmering arcs of bright light broke across his vision. The oranges, reds, and yellows swam before his eyes. The jungle faded behind the colors.

  Dropping his rifle on the ground, he cupped his hands over his ears to drown out the crazed, pained shrieks.

  Whatever was happening to the platoon wasn’t from some chemical lingering over the field. Brett could hardly form a cohesive thought, but he knew the pain was a result of the VX-99.

  A sudden surge of fire blasted through Brett’s body. It was followed by a sharp tingling sensation, like hundreds of bees were stinging him all at once.

  He fell to his back, itching the bare parts of his skin violently. There was no relief, only more pain.

  His mind responded by taking him away from the jungle to a place where there were no massive bugs, rotting vegetation, or men trying to kill him.

  A brick house with a stone path leading up to it emerged. At the front door, an attractive woman held a glass of ice water. She smiled. “Come in, honey. Dinner is almost ready.”

  Brett felt the distant pain diminish as he slipped deeper into this fantasy. He knew that the house and the woman weren’t real, but he didn’t care. He wanted to escape the godforsaken jungle. He needed to escape.

  When he got to the door, the woman was gone. The door was closed. He tried the knob. It was locked. Then the house was gone too. The bright colors returned. He could feel his body again. Fear replaced the pain.

  When his eyes popped open, he saw the cloudless sky and the brilliant white sun above.

  Where was he?

  He heard muffled voices, the rustling of gear, and the shriek of some exotic animal. There were other noises—distant noises.

  The world became exceptionally vivid. He could hear the bugs crawling through the underbrush; he could smell the stink of sweat on his uniform. He could taste coffee he didn’t remember drinking. His senses were heightened to a level he’d never experienced before.

  It was terrifying, but at the same time it was also oddly liberating. He clenched his fists, feeling his muscles contract and then tighten.

  He stared at his hands with grim fascination. He felt stronger than ever before, like he could take on an entire army. He felt…

  Invincible.

  Dazed but alert, Brett leapt to his feet. Tilting the front of his helmet up with a finger, he ran his sleeve across his face to clear the sweat dripping into his eyes.

  When his vision cleared, he instantly stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sloshed through the mud. Brett spun to see two dozen soldiers staggering across the moist dirt. They wore the same fatigues and carried the same gear he did. These weren’t soldiers. They were Marines. Several of the men walked off aimlessly in different directions, cupping their heads with their hands.

  He flinched at the sound of a woman’s voice. “Kill them,” she croaked. “Kill them all.”

  Brett spun again, his boots sinking in the mud as he searched for the woman. It was then he realized the voice was coming from inside his head.

  “You must kill them,” came the voice again. She snarled, “Do it before they kill you!”

  Brett smacked the side of his helmet.

  Who was this woman, and why did she want him to kill these men?

  Focusing, Brett narrowed his vision on the man in front of him. He was a short, stocky fella with a wad of chew jammed inside his lip. Brett could smell the tobacco juices dripping off the man’s chin.

  When the man saw Brett he held up his hands, balling them into fists. The Marine growled, “Get away from me. Y-you…” he stuttered, swallowing a chunk of the tobacco, “You fuck!”

  Brett experienced an abrupt wave of adrenaline. He reached for something to protect himself. His fingers found the warm metal handle of a blade on his belt. He pulled the knife from its sheath in one swift motion as if he’d done this many times before.

  The woman’s voice returned, booming inside his mind. “Stab him. Stab him right in his fat little gut.”

  “Get away from me!” the man yelled, a vein bulging in his neck as spit flew from his mouth. Brett narrowed in on the vein. He could see it pulsating. He imagined the blood flowing through the thin passage.

  The image sent a thrill through Brett’s body. His own blood tingled inside of him. In one rapid move, he jumped to the side with impressive speed. The stocky man moved quickly too, throwing a jab that whooshed through the air.

  Brett ducked and plunged forward, sinking the blade deep in the man’s stomach, just like the woman had told him to. The Marine let out a scream of agony, blood gurgling from his mouth. Brett wasted no time. He withdrew the knife, took a step back, and then jammed the blade in the man’s neck.

  The stout man clutched both wounds and dropped to his knees before collapsing face first into the mud.

  Taking a short, satisfying breath, Brett picked up a new scent. He could almost taste it.

  It was the taste of death.

  The sudden crack of automatic gunfire pulled Brett back to the rice field like a switch had been flicked. His gaze roved across the embankment beyond the field, noting each flash.

  An explosion went off a few hundred yards away. The deafening blast sent a red geyser of dirt and body parts into the sky. When the mist cleared, a bloody crater was all that remained of the Marine that had been standing there seconds before.

  “Run!” came the woman’s voice.

  Shocked into motion, Brett gripped the knife tightly in his slimy hand and took off in a dead sprint. The sound of his boots slurping through the muck faded against the sounds of war.

  More explosions rocked the dirt around him. Mud, water, and vegetation rained down. He ignored the burning sediment that landed on his bare skin and ran faster.

  The other Marines ran too. Some of them dropped as bullets tore into them. He saw a man to his right disappear as a grenade detonated under his feet.

  Brett felt nothing for the man. Nothing fazed him. There was only one goal, only one thing that mattered…

  Kill.

  Something nicked him as he ran. He looked down expecting to see a fly on his skin but instead saw a quarter-sized hole where a bullet had torn into his bicep. A second round tore into his side. The impact jerked his torso, slowing him momentarily. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Licking his lips, he continued running.

  He could see the faces of the men trying to kill him as he approached the embankment. They hid under straw hats and helmets, screaming in a language that he did not understand. He could smell the sharp scent of gunpowder and the salty sweat on their saturated uniforms.

  When he was ten yards away from the bottom of the hill, he dropped to all fours and galloped, using his back legs to spring forward. He leapt up the small dune of dirt in three rapid movements and landed on the chest of one of the Asian soldiers. Pulling hi
s knife from his teeth, he speared the unsuspecting man through the chest, penetrating his heart. The man’s eyes rolled up in his head, and Brett moved on to the next soldier.

  Every thrust sent a thrill through his body. A wide grin formed on his face. He felt insanely powerful.

  Minutes later, the ridgeline was filled with the mangled corpses of the Asian soldiers. Their limp bodies hung over the hill. A growing river of red seeped over the side.

  Brett pulled his gaze away to scan his own body. Blood oozed from his wounds, but there was little pain. He ignored the injuries and stepped over one of the bodies.

  The woman’s voice boomed inside his mind, “You’re not done!”

  Glancing up from a nearby corpse, he saw a slender African-American Marine glaring at him with crazed eyes from the bottom of the embankment. The man licked his lips and tossed a knife from his left hand to his right. His green uniform was soaked with blood from a bullet that had clipped his neck. Behind him, Brett could see the field. Pockmarks littered the ground where grenades had exploded. Dozens of bodies lay in the shallow water around the craters.

  Brett looked back and met the man’s dark gaze. Gripping his own knife tightly, he swung the blade toward the skinny Marine. The tip whooshed through the air, but it didn’t deter the man. He dropped to all fours and climbed the hill quickly, leaping with his hands curled into claws. His joints clicked with every motion.

  Before Brett could move, the Marine lunged toward him. They collided, tumbling across the blood-stained dirt. The air in Brett’s lungs burst from his mouth as he finally landed with a thud on the hard earth.

  Brett sucked in a deep breath and then pushed himself to his feet. In one rapid thrust, he caught the other man in the side of the face with his knife, lodging the blade inside his skull.

  Dropping to the ground, the Marine choked on his own blood and twitched violently. He clawed at Brett one last time before finally going limp.

  Gasping for air, Brett stumbled away. He dropped to both knees and squinted as a gust of wind swirled dust around him. Stars broke before his eyes. Dizziness set in. He was finally starting to feel the effect of blood loss, but there was still no pain.