EMERGENCE Extinction (Emegence Series Book 5) Page 2

  In the days since they left Georgia, he had felt an affinity with the insect life around him, making him realize that his transformation from the parasite-borne virus had nearly purged any vestiges of his former human morals or emotional restraints. Roland’s mind was so infused with the instinctive tendencies of the parasite wrapped around his cervical region that he knew his actions were driven by primeval urges that often blotted out his normal intellectual reasoning. This melding of approaches had initially created confusion in his psyche, like two great forces were battling for control. But now, he found himself floating between mental abilities, and a steady flow of endorphins in his system served to reinforce whether he was pursuing the correct course of action.

  Roland knew that what he was undertaking was without precedent in nature—but then even his existence and that of his brood throughout the world was an anomaly. He smirked at the very thought while clenching his fist and feeling the power over so many of his kind. Maybe this is no mistake. Our presence in the scheme of things came about because of the meddling of the human race. Perhaps my kind are the ones meant to correct the mistakes made by the world of men by eradicating that abomination from the planet.

  As rays of sunlight stabbed through the morning fog, he instructed his alphas to relocate to the greenhouse, then to set up a perimeter of sentries along the garden grounds. Roland knew the shoulder bag hanging by his side only contained enough vials of the synthetic hormones to last them for another two days, since they had run out of captives. He told four of his alphas to head east towards the smaller towns and procure a small group of humans, but not enough from one region to raise suspicions with the military outposts in the area.

  Roland bent forward, his sinewy arms plucking up the slumped figure of the woman. He turned and marched through the muddy water towards their new abode, relishing the presence of so much insect life. As he strode forward with great vigor, he felt a massive burst of endorphins in his body as the large parasite at the base of his neck writhed in pleasure.

  ***

  That evening, with the rosy-red sun setting over the swamps surrounding the gardens, Roland sat inside the spacious greenhouse, not far from his sister, who was watching over the young woman asleep atop a desk. He had been filtering through the relayed images and intel of his alphas spread throughout the Southeastern U.S. as he kept track of the movements of soldiers scouring the nearby states for signs of his presence. The vision in his mind’s eye was jolted by a sting of pain, causing him to wince and sit upright. He tried to ignore the feeling, but another wave of disconcerting agony in his ribs severed the mental connection between him and his alphas, this time shooting him to his feet. It came again, accompanied by the sensation of another life in pain. He felt himself being pulled towards Rose and heard her voice inside his head, shouting then screaming, her words gouging at the lining of his skull like a chisel. He staggered forward, holding his hands to his head. As he approached the woman’s still figure, he saw her chest heave then shudder with a violent exhale. Her anguished voice ricocheting off the walls of his psyche suddenly went silent. Roland clutched his sides, falling to his knees. He felt like a hole in his sternum was dilating then violently closing. He gasped, collapsing forward on both hands as his sister rushed to his side.

  What is wrong, my brother?

  The pain trickled away as he looked up at the lifeless figure of Rose, knowing his hopes had been extinguished. Something went wrong. Roland stood up, then tottered over to a chair and slumped into it. He spoke into Kat’s mind but still found himself pausing from exhaustion between words.

  Don’t understand—why didn’t this work? She had the right blood type. Seemed to accept the transfusion initially, and she lasted this long. He heard the steel door opening to his right and shot a surprised look at the smooth-skinned alpha with flossy strands of black hair entering, realizing just how abruptly his mental connection had been terminated with the rest of his brood. He glanced one last time at the body of Rose before standing. Must find another way. A feeling of primal rage began flooding over him, and he kicked over a heavy steel desk.

  The alpha motioned to the three other creatures to bring in their quarry. Roland watched four bedraggled humans enter, their faces marred by fresh cuts and abrasions while their hands were bound behind them with rope. Roland’s insides swelled with fury over his failure, and he lunged forward, yanking the tallest man at the front into the air and flinging him against the wall. Then he leaned over and tore into the soft flesh around the kidneys as the thick parasite darted out from his mouth and buried itself into the adrenal glands.

  When he was satiated with fresh hormones, he leaned against the cement wall and glanced at the other humans cowering in the corner. He didn’t bother wiping away the slurry of clear adrenal secretions and blood as he boldly strode towards them. He examined their faces, noting how most of them were in their twenties and thirties. Then he looked at the clear vials of synthetic hormones resting on the table near his shoulder bag. His mind felt razor sharp at that moment, as if the future was made clear. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fresh adrenaline coursing through his veins or from his sudden insight into a daring approach at subverting the laws of nature. He turned to his sister by the door, the parasite in his neck throbbing with delight as he thought of his next move. Find me some young ones—the children themselves may be the answer.

  Chapter 2

  U.S. Coast Guard Patrol Ship Tempest

  Four Miles North of Key West, Florida

  “Five more minutes and we’ll be in range for the Zodiacs to depart,” said the stocky boat captain to the two teams of operators standing on deck, the faint hue of red light from the command center above illuminating their lithe figures in the dark. Ivins handed the night-vision binoculars to Reisner and leaned in closer so he didn’t have to shout above the choppy waters slamming against the hull.

  “The port near the naval station looks empty—no drones anywhere in sight.”

  Reisner glassed the distant beach adjacent to the Key West Naval Station, then scanned the cluster of buildings and the derelict airfield. “And the people we are extracting are still holed up inside the commissary on base?”

  “The last report from Dorr indicated they were in the rear of the building—just two of them left out of their original crew of five.”

  “I didn’t think there were any drones left in Florida,” said Connelly, who was standing on the other side of Reisner, adjusting her vest.

  “That’s what the refueling crew that came here thought too—we all did.” Ivins waved his hand out towards the northern peninsula of Florida. “This cluster of islands down here must have been too far for these creatures to join in with the main fighting force that headed to MacDill. They’re stragglers.”

  “Damn, only two of them survived the assault,” said Nash, shaking his head while staring towards the inky waters ahead. “Hell of a thing, seeing your compadres go down before your eyes.”

  The captain slowed the engines while his crew hastily lowered the Zodiacs over the side.

  “Dorr has a few dozen local ships from our armada scouring the Gulf for potential refueling sites—mostly former Navy guys familiar with their own sailboats who know these waters. The skipper on this particular boat was a retired engineer’s assistant who served on a navy sub, which is why he was out inspecting this port.”

  “So, we can’t afford to lose him—not many people around these parts with his skills,” said Murph, who had begun climbing down the rope ladder leading to the Zodiac.

  “Shit, we can’t afford to lose anyone, period—it’s a sheer numbers game now. Survival isn’t about geography, currency, or political ties any longer—it’s all about how many of us are left to wield a sword,” said Reisner.

  Porter patted him on the shoulder as he descended the ladder. “But we don’t have to worry on this mission—we’ve got the Navy SEALs with us, and I hear they’re real bad-asses.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” said
Murph. “Got that right. You Agency types are gonna be just fine with us plowing the road ahead.”

  Ivins nodded at Reisner, then they both chuckled. “See, you’re all in good hands,” said Ivins, grasping the sides of the rope-ladder. “We’ve got your back—again.”

  Reisner glanced over the edge at the rest of the SEALs, who were settling into the first Zodiac, then he slung his AR over his back as he inched down the wobbly ladder. “What the hell—I thought you guys would be swimming, given your reputation. Now I’m really disappointed in you swabbies.”

  Reisner heard members from their respective teams continue the banter as he descended, knowing that, given their plethora of harrowing missions together, they were joined by a rare camaraderie that made him feel like he was amongst family. He also knew that their days together on extended operations were numbered, given Dorr’s plan to reconfigure the remaining special operations personnel into new strike teams.

  Once he had dropped down into the second Zodiac, he secreted himself against the side, hunkering down as the rafts disembarked from the Coast Guard vessel. Reisner lowered his night-vision goggles, his world shifting to a familiar green hue as he scanned the approaching shoreline.

  Ivins killed the engine a half-mile out from the beach, and they drifted the rest of the way on the waves until they hit ground. Everyone bailed out, grabbing the fixed ropes on either side of the raft and trotting with the Zodiac onto the sand. Once the raft was secure, they joined the other team and moved up to a small storage shack overlooking the port. When they were certain the area was clear of paras, Lemley, the designated sniper on Ivins’ team, jogged fifty yards towards a lookout tower, bounding up the stairs with his Barrett .50 caliber rifle as if it was an extra appendage.

  “The commissary is a half-click to the northwest,” said Ivins. “The two guys inside have their walkies, but there’s been no communication with them for the past three hours.”

  Reisner swept his head to the right, looking at the fine blanket of gray fog moving in from the north shore. “Let’s hope we get to them before we lose any more of our visual capabilities.”

  “No time like now,” said Ivins, motioning with his hand for the group to break up into their designated teams. Reisner split off to the right, with Connelly, Nash, Porter, and Murph following behind, while Ivins skirted along the beach towards the port then veered to the left towards the main road leading onto the base.

  Reisner and his team darted between abandoned homes, arriving at a two-lane intersection across from the commissary while the fog continued rolling in unabated. He raised up his fist for the group to halt then scanned the disheveled grounds ahead. The mangled front end of a white Cadillac was rammed into an ice-cream shop to the left, the interiors of both covered with mold and spider-webs as nature fought to reassert itself. He heard a rattling sound beyond the store and watched a few dozen drones ambling through the street as if they were unsure where they were heading. They paused in the center of a large park, their heads swiveling around at the ground then up at the air. One of them took a few clumsy steps forward then suddenly veered to the right, heading towards the ice-cream shop. It paused again, this time glancing up at the bare stubs of defoliated palm trees as it sniffed the stale sea air.

  These things seem lost. He’d seen this behavior before on a mission to the Presidio in San Francisco and later in Los Angeles, after he’d killed an alpha female. Once the drones had become leaderless, they lacked focus and seemed easily distracted. Maybe we’ll have some luck on our side on this op—luck is always welcome. Reisner looked down at the pavement, wondering how he had missed the splatter of recent blood stains, their outline a whitish-blue color in his night-vision goggles. He followed a trail of viscera to the right until it disappeared into some bushes, noticing the remnants of a severed foot still in its boot. Damn, this is where the other sailors must have been torn apart. He looked down the street, which was lined with homes and nightclubs, imagining what it was like when the island was filled with locals basking in the vibrant nightlife as the sound of music cascaded out of the bar-fronts. No beaches to walk on at sunset—now, they’re all filled with monsters.

  He turned his attention back to the drones then crept slowly in the opposite direction. Reisner kept his profile low, the barrel of his AR nearly touching the ground while the others followed. Once they were clear of the creatures, they sprinted across the trash-littered street and made their way behind the buildings. Once they arrived at the side of the large commissary, he motioned for Porter to use his lockpicking skills on the metal door. Reisner would have preferred a thumb-sized wad of C4 to do the job, but a surreptitious entry was necessary to avoid alerting all of Key West to their presence.

  Once Porter opened the door, they all filed inside, clearing the small supply rooms on either side as they flowed down the hallway. Reisner was surprised at the sheer volume of canned goods and made a mental note to relay this back to Dorr during the debriefing.

  “Echo One is in position,” came Ivins’ voice through his earpiece.

  Reisner paused at the terminus of the hallway and scanned the large dining room ahead. To the left was the kitchen where the two men were supposed to be hiding. “Bravo Team in position,” he whispered back into his mic. He said it with a hint of reluctance, wondering why the building was so quiet. The earlier SOS call from the two sailors indicated they were being pursued by hundreds of drones after the escape route back to their sailboat was cut off. So why haven’t all the creatures surrounded this place?

  “Bravo Team, be advised—there are upwards of forty or more tangos heading towards the west entrance of the commissary. They’re acting like they are disoriented, shuffling around in circles.”

  “Copy that.” They must be without an alpha. “Can you create a diversion nearby to draw them away from the building?”

  “My thought exactly. Give me a few minutes until the fireworks.”

  Reisner had his team stack up behind him in the hall, preparing for their sprint across the dining hall followed by an explosive entrance into the shuttered kitchen. He didn’t have to wait long before the windows illuminated with a whitish-orange flash as a fireball from an explosion ripped through the base a few blocks away. He momentarily averted his NVGs down to avoid any optical disruption. A few seconds later, he slowly moved his head up, seeing the room again in the familiar green glow.

  “Let’s go!” He bounded into the dining hall, his rifle trained on the opposite hallway while he veered to the left, weaving between smashed tables. The kitchen door sprung open, and Reisner subconsciously swept his index finger up to the trigger of his AR just as two figures staggered out. They made it—they’re alive. Then their approaching faces were suddenly obscured by another blast of bright lights flashing in through the windows. Reisner froze in his tracks, his sense of sight ripped from him. Shit, I think those were actual people.

  When the optical abilities of his NVGs returned, he saw that there were now dozens of figures pouring out of the kitchen, their opaque faces covered in dried blood and open sores rife with tiny worms. Reisner immediately swerved to the right of the first advancing creature as its yellow hands pawed at his face. He pulled his AR in close to his vest and fired off a flurry of rounds, striking it in the jaw and ear. It was soon replaced by another para that leapt over the crumbled body. Jesus, so much for these things being unfocused. Reisner fired a more controlled volley into that creature’s head and the one behind it, then he shuffled back, slamming into someone next to him, praying it was a fellow operator. He heard gunfire ring out from either side; this time the room lit up from constant muzzle flashes as his team engaged the swarm of drones flocking into the dining hall.

  Reisner shot a rotund creature waddling in from his right, then he yanked a biocanister off his vest and tore out the pin, flinging it into the crowd. A fine yellow mist swept over the kitchen entrance, once again obscuring his visual perception in the already trying conditions. He hated to use the bioweapon,
given how depleted their main stockpile was back on the Lachesis, but it would level the playing field, maybe even obliterate the field in their favor, which meant reducing the risk to his team.

  He heard a thunk to his right. He turned, thinking it was a drone collapsing, but saw Murph getting tackled to the ground by two creatures. Reisner ran up, sending a vicious kick into the head of the largest drone, its ebbing strength from the effect of the aerosol causing it to collapse to the side. Murph shimmied away from the other maniacal creature, which was gagging from the yellow mist, then he swiftly withdrew his 1911 pistol and fired a single round into the forehead.

  “Clear,” said Connelly’s voice to his left as he helped Murph up. He heard the same word uttered again by the rest of his team as he glanced around the spacious dining hall, which was littered with the bullet-riddled corpses of nearly thirty drones.

  Reisner kept his rifle steadied towards the kitchen entrance as he moved forward. He cautiously proceeded inside, making his way towards the back of the room, following the sound of the repetitive thumping of metal on metal. Arriving at a heavily dented steel door that led to a walk-in freezer, he motioned for his team to be ready for another assault. Reisner made a fist then shook out his tense fingers before reaching for the handle. Yanking it open, he saw two figures again, only this time their faces were clearly human. The men had a look of terror that quickly melted away to an expression of relief. A foul odor wafted out of the freezer, causing Reisner to step back. Reisner flipped up his NVGs and removed the flashlight from his pocket, shining it onto the men, who appeared unharmed.

  The two pale figures inside lowered their pistols. “We knew you’d make it,” said the older man with a salt-and-pepper beard as he helped his friend get up. “Those things have been pounding on the door ever since we made it in here, but we figured it would hold.”