Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) (35 page)

He ran faster, leaping into the second circuit. The strike teams were in trouble, but he was almost to the platform. He prepared to pull his tranq gun when a Marine somersaulted out of the smoke and landed between the tracks with a thud. He skidded to a stop, his body twisted and broken.

Fitz flinched as a second man came flying out a second later. The Marine smashed into the side of the train with a crack. Fitz squared his shoulders, and planted his blades. He raked his gun back and forth, waiting for a target, heart rising in his throat.

Two more Marines flew out of the smoke as he strained to see through the polycarbonate visor. One of the men landed just in front of Fitz. The injured Marine tore off his mask and tossed it away. Then he crawled forward, glancing up with wild eyes that locked on Fitz.

“LT,” Fitz said. He crouched next to Lieutenant Rowe.

Rowe coughed. “Kill it,” he croaked.

Knapp stopped a few feet away, his rifle aimed at the churning vortex of gray. Something was moving in there—something big.

Fitz reached down to help Rowe up, but the lieutenant shook his hand away.

“No! Leave me. You have to kill that thing.”

The lieutenant’s right leg was snapped, the bone sticking out of his thigh. His eyes bulged. “Fitz. There’s a Variant in there unlike the others. An Alpha—”

Knapp fired into the cloud at something Fitz couldn’t see.

“It’s protecting the little ones,” Rowe said. He dragged himself closer, coughing as he moved.

Fitz looked up at Knapp. “Help him and get the hell out of here. I’ll complete the mission.” He was running toward the smoke before Rowe had a chance to protest. He could only hope that Knapp would stay and help the lieutenant before fleeing the concourse.

The whistle of suppressed rounds caught Fitz’s ear. There were still Marines in the fight. He climbed onto the platform. With his MK11 out in front, he carefully worked his way through the dissipating screen of smoke. He could see bodies, but nothing was moving. At least he didn’t have to worry about the Marines maintaining their zones of fire.

The high-pitched shrieks had quieted now. There was only the rattle of dying monsters and shouts of Marines. Fitz pivoted to the right as a meaty hunk of flesh darted by. The curtain of smoke continued to lift the deeper he moved. His blades bumped into one of the grenade canisters. It clanked noisily across the ground. He cursed and took in deep breaths of filtered air that tasted like rubber, his heart kicking the shit out of his ribcage.

Focus, Fitz. Focus. You can do this. You have to do this.

The screech of nails over concrete came from above. Fitz raised his rifle toward the ceiling just as another flash of movement raced toward him. The Variant above scampered away, but the one in front smashed into Fitz. A second of shock overwhelmed him as he hit the ground.

“Help! You have to help!” someone shouted.

Fitz struggled to get up, reaching for his bayonet and preparing for hand-to-hand combat with a Variant. Instead, he stared into the visor of a Marine covered in blood.

“We have to get out of here!” the man shouted.

Another second of shock jolted Fitz as the man was yanked backward. Fitz scrambled for his MK11 and scooped it off the ground. By the time he had it, the man was gone. A scream rang out in the distance, the awful, guttural wail of a man who knew he was going to die.

Fitz ran toward the outline of a concrete pillar. He stopped there to catch his breath. Blinking, he peered around the side.

There were two sets of stairs leading to another level to the north and east. That’s where the other strike teams had entered. A ring of bodies, both human and Variant, lay on the platform at the bottom of the stairs. Through the thin smoke, he glimpsed a pair of Marines firing on a pack of armored juveniles. The beasts were circling the men, swatting at the rounds like they were nothing but pebbles. He had just raised his tranq gun when he heard Knapp’s high-pitched scream. 

Behind Fitz, a monster of a Variant was dragging Rowe and Knapp across the ground. Four other creatures hung from the ceiling. Farther back, two men, filthy and bearded, stood on the platform. Fitz recognized them. These were the same men he had seen scoping out Plum Island from the boats days before.

Son of a bitch!

The meaty beast dropped both Knapp and Rowe. It raised its hulking arms as it released a tortured howl. Fitz resisted the urge to cup his hands over his ears, focusing instead on the cord hanging from the creature’s neck and the plates of human bone covering its flesh. He blinked to make sure it wasn’t an illusion, but his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Ears, noses, and hunks of unidentifiable flesh hung from the grisly necklace. All but the beast’s head was covered in armor made of human bones. It twisted to look at the collaborators, exposing a dehydrated cloak of flesh hanging from its back. The bones making up its armor were all held together using the same dehydrated skin.

Fitz knew right away this was the monster responsible for the massacre back at their insertion point at Bryant Metro Station. It was the Alpha—the king of this lair. And his Marine squad-mates had made it very fucking angry.

In his peripheral vision, Fitz saw the other Marines still firing on the Variant offspring. The beast towering over Knapp and Rowe extended a clawed hand and pointed with a single horned nail at the two men. The roar that burst from its mouth echoed through the entire concourse, repeating over and over like a skipping record.

The four Variants on the ceiling raced over the concrete, and the beast barreled for Fitz. He already had the monster’s colossal head in his sights. The reptilian irises came into focus, and Fitz squeezed off a shot that missed by a fraction of an inch.

He pulled the trigger twice more; both of the rounds shattered femur and sternum bones making up part of the plate covering its swollen chest muscles. The Alpha shrieked in agony and jerked to the side as Fitz shot it a third time in the gap in bones covering its right shoulder. This time the round punched through flesh, splattering the human hipbone it wore as a shoulder pad with crimson.

Before he could fire a fourth time, the beast bowed its veiny skull and plowed into Fitz, spearing him in the chest. The impact sent him flying backward. He landed hard, skidding across the concrete and flipping ass over end. His helmet strap snapped open and his helmet tumbled away. 

Gasping for air, Fitz grabbed his tranq pistol and rolled to his back. He pulled the trigger three times as the beast of a Variant lumbered toward him. One of the darts penetrated the nose hanging from its necklace. The other two sunk into the muscular collar of flesh just above its plates of bony armor.

The darts only enraged the creature more. It grabbed Fitz by his right blade and tossed him into the air. He landed on the ground a few feet from Rowe. The man’s neck was twisted like a pretzel. He was dead, killed by the hands of the human collaborators.

The two men towered over Knapp to the right. They were babbling about someone called the Bone Collector. Fitz knew exactly who they were talking about.

First the White King, now the fucking Bone Collector. I’m stuck in a nightmare.

Fitz sucked in a breath, pushed himself up, and pulled out his knife. He spun back to the gargantuan beast, but it was staggering now. Blood streamed down the femur and fibula bones making up the breastplate of its armor. Reaching up with a needle-sharp nail, it plucked the darts from its neck and tossed them away. Then it twisted to check on its precious children.

Across the concourse the remaining two Marines fought for their lives. They had killed one of the Variants, but the other three beasts had the men pinned to the ground, slashing, ripping and tearing relentlessly at them. The juvenile Variants circled the slaughter, swiping at one another and hissing, each wanting to be the first to feed.

Fitz hunched his back, raised his knife, and prepared for hand-to-hand combat. The Alpha turned and moved awkwardly in his direction. Bulging lips opened, and a strangled voice came from the blackness of its gaping maw.

“K-ill.” It angled a horned claw toward Fitz as it dropped to both knees, joints clicking. It blinked long and slow, struggling to fight the powerful sedatives. Then it crashed face-first to the ground.

The Bone Collector was down.

For now.

Across the concourse, one of the Marines was still fighting the adult Variants. He managed to pull his sidearm and execute the beast on top of him. As he squirmed away, the other two monsters sunk their claws into his flesh. The children clambered forward, their scaly bodies washing over the two Marines in a wave of mutated flesh.

Fitz closed his eyes for a second before snapping them open, anger taking hold as he turned his attention to the human collaborators. They were pulling Knapp toward the staircase. The Marine was either unconscious, or in shock.

Behind Fitz, a growl came from the circuits. Apollo bounded over the tracks toward the platform, barking up a storm.

“Get out of here!” Fitz shouted.

He searched the ground for a weapon. An M4 lay five feet in front of the tranquilized Alpha. Fitz had just scooped it up when the rattling started. Pounding steps and shrieking voices echoed down the stairwells. Dozens of shadows flickered into the dim passages.

The Variant Cavalry had arrived.

Fitz raised the M4 and aimed it at the two collaborators. He didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, but even as he did, he knew it was pointless. He could tell from the weight that the magazine was dry.

Apollo leapt onto the platform and nudged against Fitz’s right blade as if to say,
let’s go
!

By the time Fitz had grabbed extra magazines from Rowe’s corpse, the stairwells were crawling with Variants. He slammed a fresh mag into the M4 and shot the first collaborator in the back of the head, but the other man pulled Knapp around a pillar. Shifting the muzzle toward the offspring, Fitz saw there was no way he could grab one in time. The beasts were all retreating toward the reinforcements.

Apollo nudged Fitz’s blade again, and after a final moment of hesitation, he turned to run with the dog. The mission was a failure. All he could do now was try and escape with his life.

R
iley bowed his head and cupped his hands around his head. He dragged his fingers through shaggy blonde hair that would have broken regulations not long ago.

It seemed like ages had passed since those days.

Riley dropped his hands to his wheelchair and pushed toward the edge of the stairs. For a moment he considered throwing himself down them. He wanted to feel something besides despair, even if it was pain.

Fitz, Apollo, and every other member of the strike teams were gone. So many of his brothers had died. And he had been forced to sit back and watch. The worst was being cooped up in the CIC as the Marines were pulled apart by the largest Variant he’d ever seen. Part of him was glad he hadn’t seen Fitz or Apollo die. But that felt like a betrayal to their memory.

The despair dug at Riley like a knife, working its way deep inside of him, relentless and sharp. Meg and Horn’s girls crossed the lawn, hair blowing in the soft breeze. It was quiet, the silence embracing the island. This time, Riley didn’t embrace it back.

Major Smith closed the door to Building 1 and put a hand on Riley’s shoulder. Ellis strode out a second later, releasing a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Smith said.

Riley nodded and raised a hand at Meg. She had been fond of Fitz. Hell, everyone was. And Horn’s girls had loved Apollo. The thought of telling them the news made him sick.

But he had to. They had to know.

“Kate is on her way back to the island,” Ellis said. “She’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

Meg slowed as she limped toward the landing. Tasha and Jenny walked by her side, their tiny hands gripped in Meg’s. She had finally ditched the crutches, and judging by the grimace she made with every step, Riley figured it wasn’t by Dr. Hill’s orders.

Her gaze met Riley’s a moment later. She was a smart woman, and it didn’t take words for Riley to convey the failure of the strike teams in New York.

“Did anyone make it?” Meg asked, her lips trembling.

Smith lowered his head, shaking it from side to side. “Every mission has failed.”

Meg dropped Tasha and Jenny’s hands and brought a hand to her mouth. “What happens now?”

“Vice President Johnson will send more teams. That’s my guess, anyway,” Smith said.

“So they can be slaughtered?” Meg asked. Tasha and Jenny looked up quizzically. Meg lowered her voice. “Who will they send now? Ghost?”

Smith didn’t immediately reply. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger. “I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Riley looked down at his casts. He had to get out of them. If Team Ghost was going on what would likely be their last mission, he had to be there with them.

“I better get the girls inside,” Meg said. Smith and Ellis walked over to help Meg and the girls up. Riley sat in his chair, watching helplessly. That was all about to change. The storm on the horizon wasn’t the only one coming, and this time he was going to fight.