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

his helmet. For fifteen minutes, he remained in the same prone position. He wiggled his boot to keep the blood flowing when he couldn’t stand it anymore. Stevo didn’t seem to move at all. He remained completely still a few feet to Garcia’s left, his SAW angled at the field. Garcia could see the man’s features in profile. The other Marines teased Stevo for his big ears, lack of facial hair, and perpetual grin. They were all rough men with scars and bad skin from bad habits. Stevo had the type of honest face that made them all jealous. But he did blow at poker; the man couldn’t tell a lie.
    Garcia almost smiled. Instead, he ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed the sour taste of coffee and canned fruit. He moved his shoulder a fraction of an inch and pressed his eye back against the scope to check a flicker of movement coming from the third row of bleachers behind home plate. In the first gate opening to the concourse, a contorted figure emerged. It stood in the moonlight and scanned the stadium before clambering over the first two rows of seats. The beast perched on the final row, tilting its head toward the sky and sniffing the night air. 
    After a few minutes, the Variant leapt onto the field and dropped to all fours. Garcia could hear its joints popping from his position. It moved with its back hunched to the pitcher’s mound, where it stopped and sat on its hind legs like a dog. Sniffing at the air again, the creature slowly turned and focused on the top row of bleachers behind home plate.
    A lump formed in Garcia’s throat when he followed its gaze to the approximate location of Tank and Thomas. He centered the crosshairs on the monster, waiting to see if it had made their position. If it had, he wouldn’t hesitate to blow its diseased face off.
    Moving slowly and with care, Garcia twisted the scope and zoomed in. This Variant was unusually large. Instead of the lean forms he was used to seeing, this beast was built like a linebacker with wide shoulders laced with bulging muscle. Scars that looked like whip marks crisscrossed its body. There were fresh lacerations on its legs and arms. Crusted blood and scabs surrounded the gashes.
    The monster suddenly stopped sniffing, but continued to stare at Tank and Thomas’s position. The Variants had an amazing sense of smell, but from this far?
    Two beats passed—it felt like an eternity. Garcia flicked the selector to single shot and moved his finger back to the trigger. The creature let out a shriek that echoed through the entire stadium. Garcia’s heart hammered against his ribcage. In the blink of an eye, Variants exploded out of the gateways onto every concourse in Turner Field. A cacophony of wails morphed into a horrifying, high-pitched chorus. Flickering movement filled the sky as thousands of black birds soared away from the trees surrounding the ballpark. 
    Over the otherworldly screeches, Garcia heard another noise—a human scream. Female or male, he wasn’t sure. The Variants streamed from the concourses and emptied into the bleachers behind home plate. In the chaos, he saw human prisoners as the monsters dragged them down the stairs toward the field. There were smaller figures tucked into the mass of pale flesh, but Garcia didn’t dare move his rifle again for a better look.
    Stevo fidgeted in Garcia’s peripheral vision. The scene had the man spooked, and Garcia didn’t blame him. The stadium had transformed into a nightmare, but this is what they were here for. To observe and document. The Variant Hunters were not to engage unless they had no choice.
    Garcia gritted his teeth in an effort to block out the raucous screeches. He reconsidered reaching up to reposition his NVGs. He wanted to capture every second of this, but any fast movement could send the entire Variant army on them. This time, there was no way his squad would survive a mistake. They were trapped in their positions.
    Sitting. Fucking. Ducks.
    A cloud rolled overhead, the