Free Extinction Age by Nicholas Sansbury Smith Page A

over
Plum Island. The only sounds were the sporadic chirp of a bird and the faint
rap of footsteps. Beckham heard everything, his senses still on full alert. He
hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours but couldn’t seem to shut off his mind. After
everything he had been through, it wasn’t going to be easy to let his guard
down enough to get some shut-eye.
    He sat with Kate on the steps of Building 1, watching the
cleanup crews carry bodies draped with white sheets into the medical building.
Neither of them spoke. Being next to each other was enough for now.
    Beckham wondered how long the quiet would last. He wanted to
reach out and put his arm around Kate, to pull her tight, but he feared her
soft touch could break him, so he pretended he didn’t need it. He tried to feel
something—wanted to feel something—but beyond the lingering pain of losing so
many of his brothers, there wasn’t much that seemed safe to feel besides anger.
    Anger was a dangerous emotion. Like a house built of cards,
the rage threatened to blow everything away. He’d gotten pummeled by a Variant
at Bragg and taken shrapnel to the shoulder in New York, but it was always the
mental wounds that hurt the worst. They went deeper than the bruises and cuts
that tattooed his skin. He was a Delta Operator, yes, but no amount of training
or experience could prepare him for the anguish that came with the loss of so
many of his brothers, not to mention the civilians they couldn’t save.
    “Will you stay now?” Kate asked, breaking the long silence.
    “I hope so,” he said. “Need to heal.”
    Kate scooted closer, just inches away from him. He almost
flinched. She read his body language with a single, critical look.
    Seeing her expression, Beckham said, “Sorry.”
    “No, don’t do that. You don’t apologize. You’re a
hero, Reed.”
    Beckham shrugged; he didn’t feel like a hero. Before he could
react, Kate brushed up next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. The fresh
stitches screamed at him, but instead of pulling away, he leaned closer.
    “I’m sorry about Jinx and the others,” Kate said. She stared
ahead now, her eyes following another white-draped body on its way to the
medical building.
    “He died fighting. Can’t ask for anything more than a soldier’s
death,” Beckham said. He looked to the north, toward New York City, and thought
of Jake and Timothy. The cop and his son they’d rescued from Manhattan during
Operation Liberty were safe on a destroyer now, sailing somewhere away from the
monsters. He took solace in knowing that Jinx’s death hadn’t been for nothing.
In the end, they had saved a few precious lives.
    Kate let out a sigh and said, “What comes next?”
    “Was about to ask you the same thing.”
    “Back to the lab.”
    Beckham shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his
wounded shoulder.
    “I’m going to design another weapon,” she continued.
“Something that will kill every last one of the Variants.”
    “That’s what we should have done a week ago,” Beckham said.
His anger and frustration bubbled just below the surface. “That son of a bitch,
Kennor. In some ways he’s no better than Gibson. If he would have just listened before Operation Liberty. And don’t get me started on Lieutenant Gates, that
piece of shit. Called in an airstrike and left us out there to fight an army of
Variants numbering in the hundreds of thousands.”
    Kate placed her hand over his and gently squeezed his
battered knuckles. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Reed.”
    Hearing those simple words drained the anger from him. It
flowed out with a breath and was gone. He pulled Kate toward him and kissed her
with a soft ferocity.
    Their lips parted and Beckham bowed his forehead against
hers. “You get to the lab. I’m going to go check on Riley and then sleep for a
day or two, if I can.”
    Kate smiled, flashing the dimples that made his heart race.
She gave him another kiss that kindled an