Extinction Age Read Free Page B

globe. Now the base looked like a warzone. Overhead, two
blinking red dots worked across the darkness, and Kate heard the distant thump
of helicopter blades.
    Static broke from the radio on the vest of their soldier
escort. “Echo 2 and 3 incoming. All medical crews report to tarmac,” said a
female operator.
    The guard continued on as if he hadn’t heard the transmission
at all, but Kate paused. She crouched in front of the girls and pointed at the
sky.
    “You ready to see your dad?” she asked.
    “Is Daddy in one of those?” Jenny said, her voice hardly a
whisper.
    “Yup, he’s coming home.”
    “Is Reed coming home, too?” Tasha asked.
    Kate fought the growing dread rising inside of her and said,
“Not yet, honey. Not yet.”
     

-2-
     
    G eneral Richard Kennor hustled through an
underground tunnel on his way to Central Command. The sun wouldn’t rise for
hours, but most of his staff was already awake. Judging by their exhausted
looks, some of them hadn’t slept at all. He fell into the same category, and it
showed. His movements were sluggish and his eyes were swollen with fatigue. The
caffeine had worn off hours ago, and he was operating on pure adrenaline. Sleep
during wartime was like the first months of having a child: it came in short
intervals, if at all.
    An entourage trailed the four-star general as he continued
down the crowded hallway. The bunker, buried deep beneath Offutt Air Force
Base, was the same location former President George W. Bush had been taken
after the September 11 attacks. Now it was the temporary home of more than two
hundred people from every corner of the nation, ranging from congressmen to
Navy Seals. There was even an anchor from CNN who had managed to sneak in with
a senator’s political staff. When the evacuations began weeks ago, chaos and
pure luck had ensured that these few had lived.
    Kennor watched the flow of human traffic as he walked. In
most cases these were important people—people the government had believed
should survive an apocalyptic event. Kennor, however, could have done without
two-thirds of them. He needed military personnel, men and women who knew how to
fight a war. Fortunately, President Mitchell had given him a blank check to
wage the war against the Variants as soon as he had been sworn into office.
    He didn’t like the new POTUS, and not just because of his
political affiliation. The former President pro tempore of the Senate was weak.
That was the biggest flaw in a leader, to Kennor’s mind. The chaotic first few
weeks of the outbreak had proven Mitchell’s time in congress hadn’t qualified
him to lead a country, especially during a time of war. His only redeeming
quality was the fact he stayed inside his bunker at Cheyenne Mountain and kept
his mouth shut while Kennor handled the heavy lifting.
    “Sir,” came a voice that distracted Kennor from his thoughts.
    A pair of guards opened the double doors to the command
center, and Kennor hurried inside. He took the first left into a small
conference room. His personal staff—his three closest confidantes—were already
inside. They rose from their seats around the war table and stood at attention
as he entered. Their grave looks served as a powerful reminder that the human
race was losing the war. Operation Liberty had failed on a massive level.
    “At ease,” Kennor said as he took a seat. Most of them had
been with him the better part of a decade fighting the war on terror. To his
left was Colonel Harris, a man with slicked-back white hair and a mustache to
match. Across the table sat Marsha Kramer, a middle-aged lieutenant colonel
with crimson hair and a pair of dimples that rarely got any use. Kennor’s
oldest friend, General George Johnson, was on the right, his bald head shining
under the bank of lights overhead.
    His hand shook as he reached for the folder marked Confidential .
Breaking the seal, he pulled out a briefing and took a moment to scan his
staff.
    “Let’s get started.