Extinction Evolution (The Extinction Cycle Book 4) by Smith Nicholas Sansbury

Author:Smith, Nicholas Sansbury [Smith, Nicholas Sansbury]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Published: 2015-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

-13-

The sporadic drip of water pecked at the blood and grime smattered across Garcia’s face. He stumbled after Scabs and Frankie into the dark curving tunnels, his sleeve covering his nostrils. Somewhere behind them in the pitch blackness, a pack of Variants followed.

Insurance, Garcia thought. Insurance, and more evidence the White King had retained or developed an unprecedented level of intelligence. First the children, now this?

Scabs seemed to ignore the click-clack of joints and scratch of talons over the concrete. Perhaps he was used to it by now, or perhaps he was more focused on Garcia. He continued asking questions, his tone becoming more irritated each time Garcia didn’t answer.

“Where’s your base?” Scabs grumbled. “Where are the rest of your buddies?”

Garcia kicked at a human ribcage, the echoing rattle of bones interrupting Scabs. Garcia continued on, pretending like he hadn’t heard Scabs over the clatter. The distraction didn’t work.

“I asked ya a question,” Scabs said. He stopped a few feet ahead. “Where are your buddies? Wasn’t just the two of you out there, was it?”

And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.

Garcia clenched his fist, hoping the bastard didn’t see it in the dim light. “Dead,” he finally said. “But there are survivors not far from here. We passed them on the way in.”

Scabs picked at his chin. “Any soldiers?”

Shaking his head, Garcia said, “Not that I saw. Our mission was recon, not rescue.”

“Good,” Scabs said, peeling away a ripe scab. Pus leaked from the wound, dripping down his chin and dropping to the muck at their feet. He pulled his screwdriver from his waistband and poked at Garcia’s chest. “Don’t get any ideas topside. Got it?”

Garcia scrutinized the tip of the screwdriver, imagining driving it through Scabs’ neck.

“Got it?” Scabs asked a second time, poking Garcia harder this time.

Garcia simply nodded and staggered after Frankie. They worked their way through the passages until the reek of the Variants and human prisoners had faded to a tolerable stench. Ten minutes later and they reached the spot where Garcia and Stevo had been ambushed. Garcia’s helmet was still there, resting in a puddle of rancid water. He scooped it up as he passed, relieved to find the pictures of his family and praying the headset still worked.

“The fuck you doin’?” Scabs asked. He grabbed at the helmet, but Garcia yanked it from his reach.

“Got a picture of my wife and baby in here,” Garcia said, turning the helmet upside down for Scabs to see. “I’m bringing it with.”

The anger in his voice seemed to deter Scabs. A flicker of what could have been empathy sparked in Scab’s twitching eyes. It vanished in a blink. He spat in the water. “Fine.”

Garcia slipped the helmet on, buckling the strap. The earpiece hung loosely, but he didn’t dare re-position the mini-mic to his lips. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since his capture. It wasn’t likely, but Tank and Thomas could still be out there.

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