Extinction Age

Начало книги

The tunnels below Manhattan reeked of death, but Master Sergeant Reed Beckham blocked out the stench of decay in the sultry air. Injured, rattled, and down to only his sidearm, his focus was on keeping his men alive.

He pulled his shemagh scarf up to cover his nose and burst around another corner, following the sound of clanking gear and labored breathing through the underground sewer system. Light danced across the green-hued view of his night vision goggles and bent eerily in the darkness. The graffiti-covered walls seemed to narrow as he ran, the artwork distorting like he was in some sort of carnival fun house.

Breathe, Beckham ordered himself. Breathe.

He ignored the burn in his lungs and concentrated on the six helmets that bobbed up and down ahead. The loyal soldiers had followed him into the tunnels to escape the firebombs and the Variants, but Beckham feared he had only delayed the inevitable for these brave men.

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