Extinction End (Extinction Cycle Book 5) Read online

  Every soldier surrounding him in the troop hold had something worth fighting for.

  They had each other.

  Sergeant Thomas, Sergeant Garcia, and Corporal ‘Tank’ Talon sat against the bulkhead across from him. They were down another gun with Chow back on the GW in surgery. But Corporal Fitzpatrick was here. The wounded warrior sat next to Beckham, his dented blades still covered in blood, repeating the same mantra over and over again.

  “I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t fucking save them.”

  “It’s okay, Fitz,” Beckham said. “It’s going to be okay.” After a second glance, Beckham wasn’t sure if his words were true.

  Fitz had an MK11 between his legs, the barrel leaning against his chest, but his head was down and his fingers were laced together. Under the shadow of his helmet, his eyes were unfocused, like he had seen something he couldn’t unsee—the haunted look of a Marine that couldn’t save a friend.

  The Variant Hunters all stared at Beckham, waiting for something. Orders? A speech? Perhaps reassurance? He had nothing to offer them right now.

  He avoided their gaze by reaching down and patting Apollo’s head. Learning that Fitz and the German Shepherd were still alive had given him a small glimmer of hope. Miracles did happen. But they didn’t happen often.

  Especially in a world overrun by monsters.

  Apollo whimpered, and Beckham checked the dressing on his fur. A Variant had sliced him good, but the dog was tough as hell, and Apollo showed no sign of backing down from this fight.

  Beckham shot a glance toward the open door of the Blackhawk, where Staff Sergeant Parker Horn roved the M240 machine gun across the ocean. If they lost Tasha and Jenny, Beckham feared he would also lose his best friend. Horn would never stop fighting either, but a man could only stomach so much loss. With the death of his wife, Horn was already close to the edge. Losing Tasha and Jenny at the hands of the monsters would push him into oblivion.

  That’s not going to happen.

  Beckham gripped the strap of the M4 slung over his back. He rose to his feet and made his way next to Horn for a better look outside. The men were all loaded to the max with ammunition and weapons. They were going to need every round and grenade if they had any hope of rescuing Kate and the others.

  “Be advised, Stingers squadron are reporting a group of Variants in Manhattan with civilians in tow,” one of the pilots said over the comm.

  Beckham’s heart skipped. The F-18 Super Hornets couldn’t do anything to save Kate or the others, but hearing they had been spotted out there filled Beckham with new strength.

  “What’s our ETA?” he asked.

  “Three minutes, sir.”

  “Fly this tin fucking can faster!” Horn shouted. He angled the gun toward the water and looked over at Beckham, his freckled forehead scrunched together, his eyes smoldering with the pain of a father who was on the verge of losing everything. “We’re going to get ‘em back, right?”

  Beckham glanced back at Fitz and the Variant Hunters. These men needed him now, more than ever. Even Garcia looked frightened; his eyes wide in his bruised face.

  We’re coming, Kate. Just hold on, baby.

  No matter what he’d lost, Beckham knew he had to pull it together—he had to bury his fear in his guts, separate his personal feelings for Kate and the other prisoners from the mission at hand, and transform back into a Delta Force Operator. It was the only way he was going to rescue them.

  “We’re going to get them back or die trying, Big Horn,” Beckham said. He clapped his friend on the back and looked out over the water, ready to give every piece of himself to save those he loved.

  -2-

  There was no way for Meg Pratt to tell how much time had elapsed since the attack on Plum Island. In her mind, it could have been hours or days. She could only seem to focus on one thing—Riley was dead.

  It wasn’t fair.

  The kid had died in a battle against a monstrosity that shouldn’t have existed, a beast wearing a plate of human bones. The only consolation, if she could call it that, was the way his life had ended. Despite the wheelchair and the casts covering his shattered legs, he had gone down the way he had lived his life—fighting to the very end.

  Meg’s heart was bursting at the seams. Nothing made sense, and she couldn’t seem to escape her thoughts. But that’s what nightmares were. That’s why they were so terrifying. Nightmares didn’t end. Minutes earlier she’d given up struggling against the creature lugging her through the ash-covered streets. She had to conserve her last dregs of energy to try to save Tasha and Jenny. She told herself she was going to go down fighting like Riley, but how could she fight so many of the beasts without a weapon?

  In the glow of moonlight, she counted fourteen Variants of various shapes and sizes, with two human collaborators leading the pack into Manhattan. The creatures were so filthy and deformed she couldn’t identify their gender. She thought the beast carrying her might be a male, but its narrow shoulders and a few long strands of straw hair had her reconsidering. Whatever it was, it was strong.

  All around her, the beasts hurried through the streets with their human cargo slung over shoulders and scarred backs. Even those that were injured didn’t seem to slow their relentless pace. The monsters swarmed over the charred hulls of cars and scaled the toasted sides of buildings to scout for threats.

  A jet roared overhead, sending whirlwinds of ash into the air. Grit peppered Meg’s face and stung her eyes. The Variants darted toward the sidewalks, squawking in their evil language.

  Meg dug her fingers into withered skin as the beast carrying her leapt onto a curb and lumbered toward the protection of an awning. Bouncing up and down, she focused on the familiar green canopy.

  Could it really be?

  The creature hunched next to the cherry-wood frame of a door Meg had walked through hundreds of times. This was Mickey’s Irish Pub. The same bar where she had been known to slam down bottles of Jameson and Templeton Rye with her firefighter friends and her husband, Tim.

  A flashback from those days caught in her throat, and she couldn’t hold back the tears. It was all too much. First Riley, now the memories….

  Tears fell from her eyes as the jets came in for another pass. The sight did nothing to inspire confidence. In a few hours she and the other prisoners would be underground. Then there would be nothing Team Ghost could do, no matter how much blood they spilled.

  She couldn’t go back to those dark tunnels.

  I’ll die first.

  The rumble of the jets faded into the night, and the sounds of human engineering once again left the city, replaced by the sounds of monsters.

  Tasha and Jenny’s sobs were the only thing that kept Meg from giving up. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t a quitter. She was a fighter, just like Riley had been, and she wasn’t going to let those little girls die. With their protector Riley gone, she was all they had left.

  The thought of losing them sent a spike of adrenaline through her. She remembered her favorite quote:

  Firemen never die, but burn forever in the hearts of the people whose lives they saved.

  Meg was going to save Tasha and Jenny, even if she died trying.

  She grabbed at one of the poles holding up the awning and wrapped her fingers around it. Using all of her strength, she pulled herself up and kicked at the same time. Her injured legs burned as her shoes smacked the beast. It reared back in anger, shrieking. She swung free, then dropped to the ground. The impact sent a second jolt of pain ripping up her legs.

  The Variants in the street looked away from the sky and focused on her, apparently just as shocked as she was. Those that weren’t carrying human prisoners slowly dropped to the ground and skittered around her. The beast she had kicked squatted, hunched its back, and planted its fingers like a lineman waiting to strike. A large diamond on its left ring finger caught Meg’s eye.

  A female after all.

  The abomination stared at Meg with reptilian yellow eyes, the
lids clicking open and shut. There was no comprehension in the creature’s gaze. No memories of the fiancé that had put the ring on its finger, no empathy for the children the other Variants were about to kill.

  Only hunger.

  And rage.

  Meg took a step backward, her heart racing. The other beasts formed a perimeter around her. In the middle of the street, behind the monsters, stood the Alpha with Kate still slung over its back. The doctor was docile, her body unmoving.

  To the right, a half block down, the children were hanging over the shoulders of emaciated Variants. They’d taken not only Horn’s girls but the little boy, Bo, as well. Rain rushed down the creatures’ naked flesh, bones protruding under pale, stretched skin. If it weren’t for the Alpha, Meg was certain the starving creatures would have already devoured the kids.

  The female Variant in front of her popped its lips together and let out a high-pitched squeal that sent slobber splattering onto Meg’s shirt. She took another step back until she hit the shattered front door. A piece of glass crashed to the ground, breaking into jagged slivers.

  A pair of Variants dropped to all fours and skittered across the sidewalk, leaving tracks in the mushy ash. They stopped ten feet away, cracking their heads from side to side.

  What were they waiting for?

  For a fleeting moment, Meg considered retreating into the building. She knew the layout, and could possibly escape or at least hide, but the thought vanished as quickly as it had emerged. She couldn’t pull her gaze from Tasha and Jenny. The girls were still screaming for their dad and….

  “Help us, Miss Meg!” Tasha shouted. “Please!”

  Meg nearly choked on a surge of adrenaline. It was the same thing she felt before running into a burning building. Fueled by the rush, Meg bent down, scooped up a shard of glass, and lunged for the female Variant. She caught the beast off guard, jamming the tip into its right eye. The glass cut into Meg’s hand, but she continued driving it through the monster’s soft tissue.

  It unleashed a piercing howl as Meg pushed deeper. With a frantic swipe, the Variant knocked Meg’s hand away and scrambled into the street, squawking in agony.

  Meg limped after it into the road, gripping her injured hand in a daze, the adrenaline wearing out as the pain from the laceration and her legs took over. She shuffled toward the beasts holding the children, yelling in a voice she didn’t recognize, “Let them go!”

  “Please help!” Tasha yelled back.

  The Alpha directed a horned finger toward Meg. Before she could react, she was tackled from the side and pinned to the ground. Her head hit the pavement with a crack, and the air burst from her lungs. Stars crawled before her blurred vision. She sucked in a breath of air that tasted like rotting fruit and squinted to see past the curtain of wet hair hanging in front of her face.

  High-pitched wails amplified all around her. The sounds echoed and rose into a chorus that sounded like an army one hundred Variants strong.

  Closing her eyes, she let out a breath, took in another deep gasp, and tried to focus. She opened her eyes to the stars still floating across her vision. Beyond them, the Variant she had stabbed suddenly barreled toward her, the piece of glass still jammed in its right eye. It slashed at the creatures holding her down and then climbed up and straddled Meg, popping its lips.

  Meg had seen the look before. It was preparing to strike. She closed her eyes again, weak in her final moments, unable to watch. The adrenaline was gone, and with it her final shreds of courage.

  She wanted to fight like Riley had, but it was all too much, and when she tried to move she couldn’t budge. Her arms and legs were clamped down by the beast. The pain was agonizing. No matter how hard she pushed, she couldn’t get free.

  No. Please. No.

  She squirmed again, and again.

  “No!”

  The screeching intensified, filling the city with the cries of the monsters that had claimed it as their home. There were faint traces of adolescent voices. Tasha, Jenny, and Bo screamed for help that would never make it in time.

  Meg took in another long, deep breath. A final attempt to find the courage she needed—the courage that would make Riley proud. She forced her eyes open and looked at the shard of glass in the beast’s eye, and then to the row of gargoyles on the roof of Mickey’s Irish Pub.

  A drop of blood plummeted into Meg’s eye. She blinked it away, trying to focus on the stone faces she couldn’t remember ever seeing before. Squirming and kicking, Meg continued struggling under the beast’s powerful grip.

  The Variant snapped at her face. She met the strike with a head butt that broke its nose and drove the glass deeper into its eye. Meg used the stolen moment to gaze at the roof. There were dozens of pallid statues.

  Not gargoyles.

  Variants.

  All at once they skidded down the sides of the building, shrieking in a war cry louder than any Meg had heard. The beast rolled off her and darted toward the Alpha. All thirteen of the Variants in the pack surrounded their leader, abandoning their human prisoners in the street. The collaborators raised their rifles at the building, the muzzles roving back and forth like they didn’t know where to aim.

  Meg crawled toward Tasha and Jenny. They were sitting up on the concrete, sobbing and reaching out for her. Bo’s mom, Donna, scooped up her son and rushed over to the girls while the other human prisoners scattered.

  A gunshot rang out, and a few seconds later the world descended into chaos. It took a second shot for Meg to grasp what was happening. She glanced over her shoulder just as the first wave of monsters from the roof hit the sidewalk. The Alpha and its small army met the second group head on, their claws extending and needle teeth clacking.

  Meg pushed herself to her feet, blood dripping from her hand. She watched the two packs of Variants crash into one another with a force that sent some of the smaller creatures tumbling across the ground. One of the human collaborators continued firing, while the other took off running

  The Alpha with its bone armor plowed through the meat of the rival group, tossing Variants aside like ragdolls with its good arm, and stabbing others with its jagged stump.

  A female beast suddenly leapt into the air and latched onto the Alpha’s back. It bucked her off with ease and impaled it with the spear of its broken arm. The monster lifted the smaller Variant toward the sky, howling in her face through bulging lips. Using its remaining hand, the Alpha tore the creature’s right arm from its socket before moving on. The female Variant crashed to the ground, blood spurting from both wounds with the force of a fire hose.

  Meg could hardly move. She watched the battle in horror. At the edge of the street, the remaining collaborator emptied his magazine at the rooftop where more of the Variants were spilling over the sides. It didn’t take Meg long to realize that the group that had captured her wasn’t going to survive the battle. The coward struggling with a new magazine must have realized the same thing. He took off running after his friend.

  “Meg!” someone shouted.

  She looked over at Donna, a moment of comprehension passing over them. Meg had never been a mother, but she’d dedicated her life to protecting people, to saving children. She would sacrifice herself if it meant the kids had a chance of getting away, and she saw that Donna felt the same way.

  “Come on!” Meg shouted. She looked for a place to run and hide, but all she saw was the tide of diseased flesh. Meg found herself back at the beginning of her nightmare: trapped in the city she had called home and hunted by the monsters that had once been her friends.

  “I couldn’t save them,” Fitz whispered.

  His mind drifted from the attack on Plum Island to Iraq. Back to the room where his spotter, PFC Garland, had had his face blown off. The same shithole of a building where PFC Duffy had killed two innocent children and their grandfather.

  Fitz hadn’t been able to help them.

  He hadn’t been able to save his brothers the day he lost his legs to an IED.

&n
bsp; He hadn’t been able to save Riley, Kate, Horn’s girls, or….

  “Coming up on target, ETA five minutes,” one of the pilots said over the comm.

  Fitz heard the words, but he wasn’t ready to go back out there yet. What if he failed again? What if he couldn’t save Kate and the other prisoners?

  He sucked in a deep, raw breath that filled his lungs. Then he drew in another. After a third, he started hyperventilating. Someone was saying his name now, but he could scarcely make out any other words.

  A slap to his helmet pulled him back to the troop hold. Beckham was leaning out of his seat. Fitz was only halfway conscious, but he could still see deep creases and wrinkles on his friend’s face that hadn’t been there before.

  “You with me, Fitz?” Beckham asked. The Operator nudged him in the arm with a gloved finger.

  Fitz tried to nod, but inside his head the IED was exploding all over again, the blast filling his vision as if he was really back in Iraq.

  You’re still alive, he reminded himself. You can still fight.

  Fitz looked down at his blades. They were both dented, the right one bent, but he could still run. He could still fight.

  “Yeah,” Fitz sighed. “I’m good.” He pulled a magazine from his flak jacket and banged it on his helmet.

  Beckham caught his gaze and offered a small reassuring dip of his chin.

  “I’m with you, brother,” Fitz said.

  “I know.”

  The Blackhawk soared over the piers and above the destroyed New York skyline. Horn rotated the M240 toward the streets, searching desperately for any sign of his family. The other Marines Fitz had just met, the Variant Hunters, conducted their final gear checks. Their vests were decked out with extra magazines and M67 grenades. These men were professionals, with the lacerations and bruises to prove it.

  Beckham and Horn were covered in flesh wounds too. Both men were bleeding from multiple cuts where their body armor hadn’t protected them.

  The floor of the troop hold was covered in crimson, and not just from Fitz’s dripping blades or soiled uniform. Every man here was wounded. But there was no time for rest or medics.