Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (25 page)

One by one, the group took turns looking through the thick glass window. Horn, Chow, Garcia, and even President Ringgold glimpsed inside. The sight seemed to revolt her the most. She stepped away, shaking her head.

“How?” Kate whispered.

“Why?” Beckham asked at the same time.

Johnson clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m not sure why Colonel Wood kept Brett alive over the years. All of this happened before my time. I didn’t even know until I was evacuated from Offutt AFB. If it were up to me, we would have put Brett out of his misery decades ago.”

“He’s a tough son of a bitch,” Davis said. She leaned next to Kate, peering through the window.

Dr. Yokoyama took his turn at the hatch. “I’ve been studying him for weeks now. That dose of VX-99 in 1968 killed the man he was, but ironically, it gave him the closest thing to immortality. As you can see, Brett doesn’t have all of the adaptations the other Variants have, but his healing abilities are truly remarkable. Over the years, Colonel Gibson and Colonel Wood tweaked the chemical formula to make it even more potent.”

Kate studied the scars. Some looked fresh.

“Have you been experimenting on him?” she asked.

Ringgold shot Yokoyama a glare. In the corner of her eye, Kate saw Beckham tense his right hand into a fist.

“We have been studying him,” Yokoyama replied, hesitation in his voice. “I was under strict orders from Colonel Wood.”

“And now you’re under strict orders from me,” Kate said. “No more tests. No more torturing him.”

Yokoyama looked to Johnson for support, and Kate was relieved to see the Vice President nod in her direction. He earned a little more of her trust in that moment, and she hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

Kate stepped back to the hatch. “Can he still speak?”

Davis motioned for one of the guards. A Marine with a key stepped up behind Kate without hesitation.

“Please move, Doctor,” the man said.

Kate did as instructed, but Beckham grabbed at the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-stride.

“What the hell are you doing?” Beckham asked.

“It’s okay,” Johnson said. “We’re not opening the door, just the window. Besides, chains like that have held him for over fifty years. They’re not going to break now.”

Beckham’s jaw moved, but no words came out. He looked at Kate, but curiosity prompted her to nod. She needed to see this—she
wanted
to see this.

The Marine unlocked the window and slid back the glass. Lieutenant Davis moved up to the hatch and cleared her throat.

“Lieutenant Brett. Can you hear me?”

The chain holding Brett’s right arm rattled, but he didn’t look up.

“Lieutenant,” Davis said, her voice raised.

Brett struggled to raise his head. He slowly looked up, blinking like he couldn’t focus. A groan escaped his mouth, and his head slumped back against his scarred chest.

Davis shook her head. “He’s probably coming off the tranquilizers.”

Johnson joined her at the window. “Lieutenant!” he shouted.

This time Brett’s head shot up, but instead of the crazed, bloodshot eyes Kate remembered from the video Ellis had uncovered, there was only the sad basset hound face of what had once been a man.

And then Kate knew.

Brett wasn’t just different from the Variants physically. Somewhere over the years, all that rage and bloodlust had drained out of him. Now he looked sad and almost afraid.

“Lieutenant,” Johnson continued. “How are you feeling today?”

Brett cocked his head to the side, groggy but comprehending. He pulled weakly at his chains.

Turning to Davis, Johnson said, “When’s the last time he spoke?”

“A few—”

A tormented howl cut her off. Everyone took a guarded step backward as Brett let out a second roar and stiffened in his chains. His eyes widened as they explored the dark room. He pulled at his restraints, every lean muscle in his body flexing. The veins in his neck bulged like the thick roots of a tree in dry soil.

“
Ka
,” Brett said, coughing. He pulled harder at his chains, staring at his observers now. The wild look Kate had seen in the video was returning. She froze, for one horrified moment thinking that the monster was trying to say her name.

“Ka-i-ll,” Brett choked. He twisted his wrists, the chains whipping back and forth. 

Kate felt Beckham’s hand brush up against hers.

“KILL ME!” Brett shouted.

Ringgold glared at Johnson, her jaw set with rage. “I don’t know what the hell you have been doing here, Johnson, but unless Dr. Lovato can give me a good reason to keep this man alive, I want him put out of his misery.
Now.
”

Yokoyama raised his hands, “With all due respect, Brett has provided us with valuable insight into the Variants. We need him.”

“No,” Kate said. “No, we don’t. He can’t tell us anything we don’t already know. What we need is a juvenile Variant.”

Ringgold was already walking away. She paused to glare at Johnson. “You heard Dr. Lovato. I want Brett put down and given a proper military burial. After all, this man was the creation of the government, was he not?”

Johnson opened his mouth to argue, but Ringgold stopped him with a look. “That’s an order, Mr. Vice President.”

B
eckham skipped lunch after seeing the atrocity that was Lieutenant Brett, but by dinnertime he finally had his appetite back. He carried a fully loaded tray to an open table in the mess, and took a seat next to Horn. The man was wolfing down a pile of orange slop that was supposed to be carrots. Chow slid his tray onto the table a few minutes later and sat down facing Beckham and Horn.

“Looks like shit,” Chow said. “I figured they would have better food than we did at Plum Island.”

“Me too,” Beckham said. He finished chewing a piece of rubbery chicken and scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes. The cold mush went down easier than the meat.

“What you think, Boss?” Horn asked. “About this White King?”

Beckham shrugged. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Horn shoveled the last of his carrots into his mouth and looked over his shoulder. Satisfied no one was listening, he said, “And what do you think of Johnson?”

“Still trying to get a read,” Beckham replied. “So far, I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“Yeah, me too,” Horn said. “I’m more worried about these Variant kids. Those things can really fuck?”

Chow laughed. “Apparently.”

“Kate’s right; it changes everything,” Beckham said. “Means the enemy can increase in numbers, and the rate they are growing is even more fucked up.”

Horn held a spoon in front of his mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left my girls on the island after all.”

Beckham patted Horn on the shoulder. “They’re safe with Meg and Riley. Fitz will keep an eye out for them too. Try not to worry. There’s more firepower on that island now than ever.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, man,” Horn said. “We can’t trust anyone.”

Beckham sucked in a long breath, let it out, and said, “We’ll be back to the island in no time, brother.”

Chow took a swig of juice and wiped his mouth. “Got something else on your mind,” he said to Beckham. “I can tell. And I don’t think it has to do with the war.”

Beckham thought he had done a better job of hiding his emotions, but Chow was an expert on picking up on the little details. Before he had time to think about it, Beckham came out and said it.

“Kate’s pregnant.”

Horn dropped his spoon in his mashed potatoes, and Chow’s black brows arched.

“Holy shit,” Horn said. He patted Beckham on the shoulder. “Congratulations, brother.”

Beckham snorted. “Pretty shitty timing.”

“Hell, man, it could be worse. I mean, at least she’s on the ship. Think about if this happened out there. She’s going to have the best medical care left in the world.”

“He’s right. It’ll be okay, Boss,” Chow added. He reached across the table. “You’re going to make a good father.”

Beckham shook Chow’s hand and cracked a half grin. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“That seat taken?” came a coarse voice.

Beckham shot a glance over his shoulder. Garcia stood there, his tan skin bruised and battered.

“Be my guest,” Beckham said, scooting over.

“You guys know Tank and Thomas,” Garcia said. The two Marines took seats on both sides of Chow.

Tank was bald with a rough face and a bit of a beer gut, but his arms were bigger than Horn’s, and that was saying something. Thomas, on the other hand, was built a lot like Garcia. Trim and lean, the type of body that took hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups a day to maintain. They both had thick brown mustaches and olive skin. If it weren’t for Garcia’s longer hair, they could have passed for siblings.

Horn regarded them with a half nod, and sized Tank up with a quick glance. He rolled up his sleeves to expose the tribal tattoos on his forearms, then went back to mowing through his green beans.

The operator wasn’t the only one with ink. Garcia had a cross on the underside of his right arm that Beckham had noticed when they first shook hands. At a closer look, Tank and Thomas had the same tattoo. There were names etched there that Beckham couldn’t make out.

“I figured we should break bread before we start training whoever Lieutenant Davis throws at us,” Garcia said.

Beckham exchanged a glance with Horn and Chow. Neither of them trusted the Marines. Hell, Beckham didn’t even trust the cook who had slopped food on his tray. The Variant Hunters, and everyone else assigned to the strike group, were all under Johnson’s umbrella.

Garcia seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Beckham was just fine letting the Marine run the conversation from here.

“So you guys have been out there?” Thomas asked. He picked at the right side of his mustache.

Chow grinned. “Really, man?”

“Yeah,” Horn growled. “We’ve been out there.”

“How many Variants you killed?” Tank asked. He swallowed a hunk of chicken without even chewing.

Beckham bit back a retort. What the fuck kind of question was that? Sure, he remembered every human hostile he’d ever killed, but it wasn’t something he bragged about. He never liked or understood men who did.

Horn and Chow remained silent, and Beckham continued to scrutinize the Variant Hunters. Every soldier had a mannerism that Beckham looked for; it could tell him a lot about the man. Some were harder to spot than others. Most were physical, but some were mental. Thomas’s was the nervous tick, and Tank’s was the same as Horn’s—they both wanted to be the biggest badass on the block. Sometimes there wasn’t room for two.

“Last time I checked, this wasn’t a contest,” Beckham finally said. “But we’ve done our fair share of killing. That’s not really what you want to discuss though, is it?” He directed the question at Garcia. The Marine still hadn’t touched his food.

“Nah, it’s not. But before I do, I wanted to let you in on something,” Garcia said. He lowered his voice and leaned over the table.

Beckham didn’t like that. The Marine was too close, and Beckham could smell the coffee on his breath.

“You’re heroes in our eyes,” Garcia said, to Beckham’s surprise. “You all deserve a fucking medal, if you ask me. From what I hear, Colonel Wood was a piece of shit, and you helped rid the world of one more asshole.”

Beckham used his tongue to pick at something stuck in his teeth, unsure what to say, yet still scrutinizing Garcia. Was this a ploy? He still hadn’t discovered what made this man tick.

“Anyway,” Garcia said, softly slapping the table with his right hand. “Those things have gotten smarter, and they will continue to get smarter. This White King,” Garcia said, grimacing. He stabbed at the plastic-looking filet with a fork. “And those collaborating pieces of shit. You ever come across anything like that?”

“No,” Horn said. “But if I did, I’d snap their fucking necks.”

Garcia nodded. “I’m with you. If it weren’t for Frankie.” His eyes glazed over for a moment, a memory clearly surfacing.

“The dynamics have changed out there. As food gets harder to find, the Variants are going to be looking for new resources. And they’re going to use whatever they can to survive,” Beckham said.

“Stevo’s still down there,” Tank said. “What if they try and turn him?”

“I told you he’s dead,” Garcia whispered, almost as if he didn’t really believe it.

“I’m sorry,” Beckham said, but he thought,
Never leave a man behind
. The phrase didn’t apply here like it had on battlefields of the past. Jinx’s was the only body Team Ghost had recovered.

Beckham gritted his teeth, fending off the rage rising inside of him. “Look,” he said. “We’ve all seen what’s out there. We know how bad it is. And we all know that this is basically a suicide mission, no matter how well we prepare the soldiers Davis assigns us. They’re going to have to survive hell to capture one of those things.”

“That’s why we should be the ones to do it,” Garcia said.

Beckham held his gaze. Now he understood what made Garcia tick. He wanted to go back out there and get his man. Beckham could relate, and deep down he knew the Marine was right. They were the most qualified for this mission. Even deeper, past the grit and conflicting emotions, Beckham wanted to go back out there, too. He struggled with his commitment to his country and his commitment to Kate. In the past, he had never let a man do a job he could do himself. But in the past, it had just been him and Team Ghost. He had a bigger family now, and he would be damned if he put those he loved in jeopardy.