Moon had seen enough to make up his tactical mind. If that had been his first time engaging Carriers, he probably would have waited longer, allowing even more time to be that much sure. But with what he had experienced, he knew the time of waiting was past due, and all that was left now was for him to act.

  He tapped his mic open and casually transmitted just before he fired. “Echo Six, this is Moon, contact six o’clock, a mass of Carriers in the open.” That was all he needed to do. Now, even before he fired, the rest of the team could bolster his position with the impending horde that was now running in the open field toward his position.

  Moon let that last bit of air slip from deep inside his lungs and pulled the trigger. In the blink of an eye, his firing pin ignited the chambered round, sending a 5.56 lead projectile down his ten-inch barrel, and within a half a second, it found its target, impacting the lead female in the bridge of her nose, blowing brains out the back of her head, snapping it backward at an odd angle.

  The fight was on.

  Moon shifted his fire to the other Carriers as they sped up. Even though the tall grass was causing them to slow and stumble, some falling to the ground but jumping up to continue their aggression nonetheless, he fired his rifle. Each round went downrange in a cacophony of pain that seemed to force time to slow down. In the back of Moon’s mind, he knew it would take no less than ten minutes to fuel their aircraft. But also, he knew that with a ten-man team comprised of special operations warriors, they could kill every Carrier that dared challenge them.

  Unless the flood gates opened up, like they had at Camp Tanaka, then they would all be fucked, and Moon knew it.

  From thirty yards off the left wing of the aircraft, Ghost was using his bolt-action FN .308 from a tripod he had brought with him. Of all the men, he stood with ice in his veins, as parts of his ghillie suit waved in the air like a symbol of freedom. The man had his well-tuned sniper rifle attached to his custom-painted and robust tripod, by way of a picatinny rail. The weapon was so steady and locked in, Ghost could literally step back from it, and the rifle would be perfectly balanced and stay locked in place.

  “Three minutes!” Stroud called over the radio. His tone was stern, like the bird would leave everyone if they weren’t ready to load up at the drop of a hat.

  Ghost smiled as he pulled the trigger, and his .308 boomed a one-hundred-and-fifty-five grain, polymer-tipped round across the open ground and nearly split a man’s head in half as that man’s momentum tripped his lifeless body up and drove it into the ground, never to get up again.

  With his left hand, Ghost manipulated a lever that allowed him to rotate his rifle and quickly acquire new targets. In his mind, he had to keep score. Not of the infected he had killed, but of where, around him, those Carriers had been engaged. With his eyes living in his 10x20 variable-powered Nightforce scope, he could only use his ears and brain to keep himself safe from his surrounds.

  Driving the edge of his barrel to his left, Ghost noticed a man in the distance, maybe a thousand meters away, off the grass and hunched over something along a paved area that he thought might have been a taxiway.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked through the scope, its integrated night vision and thermal overlays allowing him to better view of what he thought was occurring. Huffing, after just a quick two seconds, he understood the man was hunched over and eating the intestines of a bloated corpse.

  Exhaling, he waited for the natural pause in his breath, and after adjusting for the distance and wind, he let a round fly. At a thousand meters, Ghost knew that round would take just under two full seconds to impact the target, so he watched and waited. It was a hit, but he missed the man’s head. Instead, he hit him in the shoulder, and the man fell over but quickly regained his composure and went back to the body, feasting once again.

  Ghost half smirked and adjusted for where the last round struck, then pulled the trigger a second time. The bullet again flew true, and this time, after its two-second flight, it hit the man in his ear, killing him instantly.

  Ghost smiled and started to pump a quick fist in the air, a sure victory in a field of violent chaos. Licking his lips, he slipped a fresh magazine into his FN, racking a new round into the chamber. His mind was clear, and just as his eye fell back into his scope, he was tackled from behind.

  Ghost hit the grass and rolled, his rifle separating from him and from his tripod, tumbling back toward the plane, across the concrete. Instinctively, Ghost drew his secondary weapon, his Sig P320. As he searched for the assailant, his stomach started to pain. Looking down, he noticed a gash the size of his hand just under his arm, and the Carrier that caused it was just beginning to right himself three feet away.

  The Carrier bared its jagged teeth to him, black ooze slipping from its tongue, and Ghost shot the infected man right between his eyes. Skull and brain blew out the back of its head across the concrete helipad as Ghost turned to hobble his way back toward the plane’s cargo ramp. Then he stopped. Suddenly he looked up at the load master, and with blood pouring from his insides, he wasn’t sure he could make it another step.

  Ghost dropped to his knees and pulled his free hand away from holding his guts inside of himself. They spilled out across his pants as his eyes stared at his blood-soaked glove. During his entire time as a SEAL, Ghost had been a force to reckon with, and now, he was lost at just how fast he had been sliced open from hip to hip.

  Ghost slowed. His dexterity was slipping, and the pistol he held in his right hand also slipped from his grasp and fell to the concrete. His eyes narrowed and then widened as the last vision he saw was of the crew chief running to his aid.

  Jonah “Ghost” Mercedes fell dead on the helipad, having bled out from an injury caused by a Carrier. He would die never having figured out if he had been stabbed, sliced, or ripped open by the hands of that barbaric, inhuman creature.

  Chapter 28

  No Hope in the End

  Doctor Peter Halbrook

  Inside the Bunker

  4704 Falstone Avenue

  Chevy Chase, Maryland

  Sweat beaded across his brow as Doctor Halbrook held the final answer in his hand. He lifted the clear vial to the light and stared at it as he had the vaccine sample brought to him from Doctor Carter’s lab. This time the liquid wasn’t just blue, but a brilliant and almost arctic blue that when the light hit the vial just right, he thought he could see small flecks of world-saving, life-changing elements shimmering in the liquid.

  In his hand he held the answer, and his heart beamed with pride. His excitement was unmatched, and all he wanted to do was shout it from the rooftops…but he was still underground. He shifted his eyes around the room; he had lost all track of time. It had been days since he first began his work. Now, he was ready to make the call.

  “Where’s my phone?” he yelled out to himself with glee. Stepping around his chair, he bumped it and sent it flying toward the wall; the wheels squealed almost as loud as he was talking to himself.

  He thought about his cat again but took a deep breath when he again realized that the cat was long gone. No matter, he thought. I have the world’s solution. It’s time to go topside, if I can just find the phone.

  Moving into the living room, he scanned the couch and coffee table and the side table, and scratched his head as to where he had left the phone. In his left hand, he still held the vial, and now he was wondering if that was a good idea.

  Halbrook quickly moved back to his lab and secured the vial inside the stainless-steel canister that he had received Doctor Carter’s sample in. After, he placed the canister into the small fridge he used to keep samples cool, and he wiped his brow. Then he went back to searching for his phone, just as the lights went dark.

  In the back of Doctor Halbrook’s mind, he didn’t have time for the lighting issues. That breaker box with the smart panel had always been a pain, and when the world righted itself, he would fix the glitch. But until then, he needed a flashlight and the sat phone.

  Using his hands to find the wall, he turned left and then right as the coarse concrete block led him into the kitchen area, where he opened a drawer and fingered through the junk until he found a small metal flashlight, which he could hold entirely in the palm of his hand.

  As the beam turned on, Doctor Halbrook began to step toward the utility closet, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed the satellite phone resting on the countertop.

  “Bingo!” he said. He pivoted and scooped the phone in his free hand and ran straight for the main door but then stopped in the middle of the living room walkway. In his mind, he thought about the trouble with traversing up into the basement of his house, but then he would have to exit to the clear sky in order to make the call. Sat phones only worked with unobstructed access to the satellites.

  Standing motionless, he thought about the risk factors involved, but he knew he had to make the call. That was when he decided to use the air shaft exit, just like he had in the past. It was off the kitchen and opened to the shaft where he would climb roughly thirty-three feet to the surface, pop the hatch, and make the call. He had only done it once before, but in the moment, Halbrook felt it was his best solution. He would simply step out into the yard, make the call, and retreat back to safety. No big deal. Easy peasy.

  He shuffled back into the kitchen and unlocked the door leading to the shaft. With his flashlight and sat phone in hand, he stepped from the quiet of the bunker into the darkness of the unknown.

  The door closed behind him with a whoosh, causing him to jump. The air vent was wide enough for him to move about, but not by much. It was maybe four feet wide, with the ventilation pipe running behind the ladder rungs protruding from the concrete wall.

  Slipping the phone in his jacket pocket, Halbrook shined the flashlight up the shaft and stared at the hatch three stories above him, wondering if it was day or night up top. He felt that it should have been close to dark, but only time would tell.

  Stepping up on the first rung, he placed the small flashlight in his mouth, holding it with teeth skyward. Then he began to climb. Feelings of excitement raged through his blood, prickling his skin the closer he came to the surface. His life’s work was about to come to fruition, and the doctor could not wait to tell the world he had arrived, that in the end, it was he and his colleagues who had saved mankind.

  At the top of the ladder, he took a moment to glance back down to the floor, his flashlight still between his teeth. Then he unlocked the hatch and slowly pushed it up as he peeked under the edge.

  The sunlight had given way to night, with just a hint of orange still in the sky. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the three sides of the hatch as he pushed it up another foot. His back yard appeared clear, and all he had to do was step out and make the call. The number was pre-set; he just had to send it and talk. In his mind, it would take no longer than a few minutes.

  “One more look,” he told himself softly, almost whispering it to the world. His eyes were wide, peering out for of any signs of movement. All he saw was the tall grass gently rolling over with the easterly wind. Nothing else caught his eye nor his ear.

  It was time to take a leap of faith.

  Doctor Halbrook shut the flashlight off and pushed the air shaft’s lid up and stepped out, placing his feet firmly on the ground he had hidden underneath for so long. Looking around, he stepped over to an old oak tree and took a knee by it. He listened and took in deep breaths through his nose. Nothing. All was as quiet as a mouse. Not even as much as a night bird called out from far-off trees.

  Licking his lips, the doctor thought he could taste a hint of coppery blood, as if it were traveling along with the gentle breeze. He ignored it and powered on his phone. The face lit up and glowed a yellow hue as he thumbed through the call history, and there it was, the last call received from Command.

  From around the side of the house, the sound of a tin can skipping across concrete echoed into the late evening air.

  Doctor Halbrook ignored it, being laser focused on the call. He pushed send on Command’s number.

  He placed the phone to his ear, and the dial tones echoed in his mind like a Christmas jingle, full of pride, happiness, and pure joy. He could hardly contain his excitement.

  “Hello,” a man answered, his voice familiar but seeming distant. Maybe it was the doctor’s heart pounding inside his own ear that caused him to question who was on the other line, but regardless, he spoke to the man.

  “This is Doctor Peter Halbrook. Who am I speaking with?”

  The wind shifted, and all of a sudden Halbrook heard the latch slam shut behind him, the loud, booming metal echoing through the calm night and bringing the doctor’s attention back to the hatch. He had forgotten to prop it open, and now that it was shut, he knew the safety feature automatically locked it from the inside.

  His eyes widened with the reality of the new situation at hand. He was now locked out of the bunker, and he would be forced to enter the house and code his way in through the main entrance.

  Suddenly, as the voice on the other line spoke again, he then noticed a hint of black smoke beginning plume from inside the air shaft’s pipe. He closed his eyes and turned from the hatch, internally telling himself he was only imagining things. But then as he began to speak again, he could smell the caustic odor of synthetic material burning.

  He turned to look at the house and then back to pipe sticking out of the air shaft that, when the emergency hatch was closed, was hidden by an attached faux boulder.

  Stinky, black smoke was now rolling from the pipe, and he immediately knew the bunker was on fire. Sliding the phone toward his mouth, he spoke. “Captain Protach, this is Doctor Peter Halbrook. I have found the cure…but there’s a major problem. My bunker is on fire!”

  Chapter 29

  To the Sky

  Mark Moon

  Undisclosed Location

  Two Hours From Raymer, Colorado Silo

  End of Evening Nautical Twilight—EENT

  Moon heard the call over the radio.

  “Collapse in and load up!” Stroud transmitted.

  Moon fired again and again and again, then changed magazines, dropping his empty mag to the ground as he shuffled from his position in the tall grass, slowly backpedaling to the loading ramp.

  The bird was fully fueled and ready to take flight. He could feel the rotor props pulling power, the hum, ground vibrations, and noise. The rotor wash pounded the concrete, creating a vacuum of sorts that forced him closer to the ramp. That was when he first saw Ghost, face down on the concrete, motionless.

  Bending down, Moon leaned over to help his fallen comrade to his feet but quickly noticed that his intestines were hanging from a massive void in the man’s stomach cavity. His free hand had suddenly slipped to the wound while he attempted to help the man, and it covered his glove in thick, dark-red blood. He knew the SEAL was dead, but then Moon’s eyes caught the hand motion of Senior Chief Stroud waving him back away from Ghost, gesturing for him to load the bird.

  Moon shuffled away from the body, and then Stroud used his M4 to shoot Ghost in the back of his head. Moon knew why he had done it, and oddly, it didn’t come to him as a shock. It wasn’t the first time he had seen or heard of men making sure that the dead stayed dead. In the back of his mind, he heard the old saying, Don’t let me turn. And he was okay with what the chief did for his warrior sniper. It was out of love and respect that the chief couldn’t allow a fallen warrior to turn into one of the monsters they fought almost daily.

  Stroud waved him onto the chopper, and Moon pushed himself to his feet and did just that. He hustled aboard, stepping up the ramp, but not too far into the belly of the machine. He remained near the ramp’s edge so he could dispatch any Carrier that dared try and climb aboard as they took off.

  It hadn’t been more than a few seconds when the other men followed Moon’s actions and ran aboard, all huffing and puffing, some sweating profusely, while others were even keeled. A pair of SEALs, Moon thought them to be O’Neil and Cole, dragged their fallen comrade’s body onto the bird, leaving behind a wide and grotesque path of blood and entrails.

  The Osprey pulled power, and the crew chief and Senior Chief Stroud were the last men to step onboard as the massive twin rotors lifted the hybrid chopper into the night air.

  Moon looked out over the ground, still using his NODs, and noticed in the distance the ground looked like a moving carpet, but in actuality, what he saw was a stampede of hundreds of Carriers, all hell bent on finding their next meal. The men were lucky to have only lost Ghost and make it back into the air.

  The sky was now as dark as it could be without city lights to ruin a beautiful starlit evening.

  Moon collapsed to a bench seat and realized they were now down by at least one man. He leaned forward and counted heads. One, two, three… His mind reeled with what had just happened and how many Carriers they had killed. Four, five, six… His eyes landed on Allman and Rico Tag. Instantly, he felt a bit of relief knowing that they were still alive. Seven, eight, and he made nine. The crew chief was actually ten, but for mission purposes, they were at nine living souls, missing one hell of a sniper.

  Leaning back against the internal skin of the aircraft, Moon took a breath and thought about what he had to do before they landed again. He needed water and to resupply his ammo. In that short ten-minute fight, his adrenaline had spiked and then dumped, just as if the fight had lasted two days. He yawned and then oddly laughed.