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

momentum. He made it across without a single shot being fired. The insurgents were too busy tearing the rest of the platoon apart.
    Across the road, Fitz slammed his back against a wall and motioned for the others to follow. Garland came first, then Walters and Duffy. They crouched in the entrance to the hotel. 
    “I’ll take point,” Duffy said.
    “No,” Fitz replied forcefully. “Garland has point. You take rear guard. Walters stay close to me. Let’s move.”
    Catching his breath, Fitz waited for Garland to proceed. He slung his rifle and drew his Beretta M9. Then he put a hand on the back of Garland’s armor and followed him into the empty lobby. Bullet casings, trash, and splattered fruit littered the floor. Dusty tables and chairs decorated the small space. They cleared the room with a quick sweep and proceeded to a narrow set of stairs.
    The suffocating heat grew worse as they made their way to the second level. Garland and Walters took turns checking rooms while Fitz and Duffy held security in the hall. By the time they cleared the second and third floors, another Marine had been shot outside and the LT still wasn’t any closer to identifying where the shots were coming from. A battle was raging in the streets, and Fitz still hadn’t made it to the top of the decaying hotel.
    “Duffy, Walters, clear the fourth floor. Garland, you’re with me,” Fitz said. He knew it wasn’t the best idea to split up, especially if there were insurgents hiding out in the building, but they had little choice.
    At the fifth floor, sunlight streamed through a partially boarded-up window on the right wall of the hallway. Fitz flashed an advance signal. Garland slowly walked across the creaky floor. There were two doors on each side, and Garland stopped at the first one on the left.
    Fitz took up position on the other side and nodded at Garland. The freckled Marine nodded back, grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and swung the door open.
    A draft of rot assaulted Fitz’s nostrils. He choked back bile as he swept his pistol left to right, confirming nobody was hiding in the corners. Besides a soiled mattress lying on its side, the room was empty. The door across the hall led to an identical scene. When they reached the second door on the left, Fitz had them hold up. He thought he heard coughing. They waited several seconds before the sound came again.
    Fitz pointed at the door, then to Garland, and they followed the same process as before. Sweat crept down Fitz’s face, and he wiped it away the moment before Garland grabbed the knob and flung the door open. Fitz tightened his grip on his sidearm and followed his spotter inside.
    “On the ground!” Garland shouted.
    Fitz arced his weapon over the room, shifting from the face of a boy about five years old to a girl no older than eight, and finally to a man who might have been their grandfather. He had his hands up and was screaming something in Arabic Fitz didn’t understand. The man took two steps forward, reaching out at Garland. His face was hidden in the shadows of the scarf he wore, and Fitz couldn’t see his eyes.
    “ Ogaf bmkanek la tetharek !” Fitz shouted. He had no idea if they were the right Arabic words, but they were supposed to mean Stop where you are.
    “ Ogaf bmkanek la tetharek !” Fitz repeated.
    The children ran to the man, hiding behind him and peering out from behind his brown robe.
    “On the ground!” Garland shouted. He kept motioning for the family to get down, but they simply stared at him. The elderly man finally lowered his voice and dropped his hands to his sides. He raised them again when footfalls echoed from the hallway.
    “It’s okay,” Fitz said. He turned and shouted, “All clear here,” hoping that Walters and Duffy heard him before entering the room. The two Marines stopped in the entrance, weapons lowered toward the floor.
    “Pat this guy down, Walters. Duffy, you hold security here. Garland, let’s set up shop across the