Extinction Age by Nicholas Sansbury Smith Page A

carried her toward the bird.
Timbo beat them there. He placed Jinx inside and then grabbed Meg with his
massive hands.  
    Beckham’s eyes flicked to the door gunner. He saw then it was
Horn, his features raw with pain in the flash of gunfire. It was the look that
only seeing a fallen brother could produce.
    The whine of high caliber rounds intensified as Horn
channeled his rage into the assault. Beckham turned back to the battle and
cupped his hands over his mouth.
    “Fall back!” he shouted. Despite Horn’s efforts, the pier was
already being overrun. Hundreds of Variants flowed onto the dock. Some spilled
over the side to avoid the gunfire, splashing into the Hudson River. Others
climbed onto the vehicles and lunged over the spray of bullets.
    Waves ten thousand strong crashed down Twelfth Avenue,
fighting, clawing, and biting their way to the pier, hungry mouths starving for
human flesh. The army stretched across Beckham’s entire field of vision.
    “Beckham, gun!” Chow shouted. He grabbed an M-16 from the
chopper and tossed it. Valdez and Ryan were already retreating by the time
Beckham loaded and shouldered the rifle. Peters and Rodriguez had taken up
position halfway between the bird and the concrete barriers. Jensen,
unyielding, was still firing from the side of the truck.  
    “Fall back!” Beckham shouted. “FALL THE FUCK BACK!” His voice
cracked, the countless screams finally taking their toll.
    Chow and Beckham joined Peters and Rodriguez. There was no
need to aim when they got there. Everywhere Beckham lined up the iron sights,
he found a target.
    Jensen backpedaled with his rifle shouldered, squeezing off
burst after burst. Tracer rounds from the M240 whistled overhead, thumping into
the wall of Variants that had reached the abandoned Humvee. The rounds cut
through the creatures and peppered the vehicle with holes, punching through
metal. Air hissed out of the shredded tires.
    “Move your asses!” Beckham screamed.
    “Let’s move!” Chow shouted. He pulled Beckham away. “Come
on!”
    A flash of motion behind the chopper stopped Beckham’s heart
mid-beat. The Variants that had jumped into the water had flanked the team.
    “Behind you!” Beckham shouted.
    A half dozen of the creatures pulled themselves onto the
dock, water dripping off their veiny, muscular flesh. The pilot lifted off just
as two of the Variants launched into the air. One of them crashed back to the
ground, but the other grabbed the landing skids. The chopper jerked to the
right, the creature swinging with it.
    Jensen finally caught up and crouched next to Chow while
Beckham aimed for the Variant’s long arms. He held in a breath and squeezed off
four shots that cut through its wrists, leaving its hands still attached to the
skid while the rest of its body fell into the water.
    The chopper rotated in a circle, giving Horn a clear shot at
the remaining Variants. He opened up again, his gunfire marked out a perimeter
around Beckham and the other men, the large-caliber bullets kicking concrete
into the air. The rounds punched through flesh and shattered bones, splattering
the dock with pink chunks of gore.
    “Let’s go!” Horn yelled, waving them forward with one hand.
    The chopper lowered again, and the three men piled inside
next to Timbo, who had been firing from the doorway next to Horn. Rodriguez and
Peters jumped in a moment later, but Ryan and Valdez were still retreating.
    “Out of the way!” Beckham shouted. He pointed his rifle out
the door as soon as the men were clear and squeezed off covering fire for Ryan
and Valdez.
    They were only fifty feet away from the chopper. So close it
seemed like Beckham could reach out and touch them. Five seconds. Maybe ten.
That’s all they needed. To most people, the fraction of time would go
unnoticed, but for Valdez and Ryan, this was a matter of life and death. Both
of them had abandoned firing and ran like madmen, their arms pumping and their
helmets bobbing up and