James handed his report to the radio operator and turned, searching for Badminton, as the door opened. The muscular figure of Captain Ben Johns blocked the light. He saluted and grinned, the smile splitting his face ear to ear.
James frowned at the sight of the old soldier’s long wizard beard. “Captain. Good to see you. You’re early. Please take a seat.”
James waited for the captain to sit before taking his own seat. “No more rescues, Captain?”
Ben let out a short chuckle. “Not lately, sir. No more uprisings?”
James ignored the dig and sorted through the maps on the table. He had maps for the Bay of Plenty and the Hauraki Plains to the south. It was time to take back New Zealand from the Variants.
“Captain. I need your expertise to organise ground troops and recon teams for Operation Utu.”
“Utu. I like it. Revenge.” Ben met James’s eyes. “What’s your plan?”
James smiled and pointed at the map of the Hauraki Plains. “To wipe them from Earth.”
— 1 —
November
The man they called Pig wiped the sweat from his brow and shifted the coarse rope from one shoulder to the other, being careful not to scrape it against the burns that spread across his chest and up his neck.
As hard as he tried, he could only recall fractured memories of his previous life. Before his capture. Before his enslavement. Before the creatures took over the land.
One shard of his memory, he chanted in his head. It was accompanied by the image of a grey-haired, stocky soldier with brown twinkling eyes, standing over him as he did push-ups in the rain.
Righteousness…
Courage…
Compassion…
Respect…
Loyalty… The Five Pillars of the warrior.
Pig had no idea why those five pillars were so important to him. He reasoned that they had to be important, else why would his shattered mind play them over and over?
He may not remember before, but he recalled everything since the day the fanatics found him draped over the small boat that had washed ashore, his skin peeling and seeping from the burns that covered his torso. Pig suspected the monsters they now served were responsible. Ugly insect-like humanoid creatures that stank of rotten fruit and moved with strange popping sounds as if their joints were dislocating with every movement.
“Hey, Pig! Move your arse!”
He squinted into the glaring sun at the sound of the voice. His captives called him Pig because he liked to soothe his burns in the mud any chance he got, much to their disgust.
“Sorry, Mac,” he replied before digging his feet into the uneven ground and hauling on the rope, inching the sizeable log farther up the hill.
Pig shuddered at the sight of the wooden pyre he and the other slaves were building. A large platform of logs had been raised several metres off the ground, with three poles standing vertical at even spacings.
Like the witch burnings of the Inquisition.
He frowned at the thought. He didn’t know his name or what his occupation had been. He did, however, remember facts and figures, how to read and write. And random stuff like this.
Pig glanced over at their overseer, Mac, whose rifle was slung carelessly over a shoulder. He knew it was an M4 carbine and it took 5.56mm rounds. Without looking, he knew from memory where all the other guards were located. That the tree line to the bush-clad mountain was 85 metres north, and two kilometres south was a swamp. From the slight tinge of salt in the air, he knew the ocean wasn’t far away.
“Pig! I’m not telling you again,” yelled Mac, jolting him from his musings once again.
With a last grunt of exertion, Pig lifted the log into place, locking it against the others. He wriggled it, checking it was secure, and pivoted towards his overseer. “That’s the last one.”
“Good. Go and get some food. The show’s going to start in half an hour. You don’t want to miss it,” Mac ordered, smirking.
Pig noticed a glint in the guard’s eye, like he was excited for tonight’s event. It took all his control to not lash out and punch him. He was certain he could get that M4 off the man. That wasn’t the problem, though. It was the other plebs he wasn’t so sure of.
Twenty-six heavily armed and psychotic men. To them, women were property. There for cooking, cleaning and pleasure. Only Pig and his fellow thirty-two captives were considered below them.
Keeping a passive expression on his face, he looked up at Mac. “Who are the unlucky ones tonight?”
“Unlucky? You better watch your tongue, heretic, ’less you want to join them.” Mac unslung his rifle and jabbed Pig in the chest. Pain lanced into his brain. He squinted and gritted his teeth, fighting through it. “Get out of my sight, slave!” the man yelled before poking Pig again.
Pig turned away from Mac and winced as he trudged back down the hill, smells from the kitchen enticing him to the captives’ mess hall.
The sun was kissing the horizon as the plebs began their chanting and whooping. Pig and the other captives were penned in front of the sacrifice pyre they had spent the day building. The plebs had formed a semicircle around them with the motley assortment of vehicles they’d acquired. They were standing on the roofs, the bonnets or the decks of their utes and banging metal pipes, yellow paint streaked across their faces. They were making an awful noise. Even after all his time as a slave, he still couldn’t get used to the idea that the plebs worshipped and served the beasts. As long as they provided them with fresh meat, animal or human, the beasts left them alone.
The chanting and banging increased in volume as the six unfortunate souls were led to the platform. They had been stripped naked and had their hands tied behind their backs. Three women and three young girls. The plebs jeered and spat as they passed the vehicles, a couple of them making vulgar thrusting motions with their hips.
Pig ground his teeth and clenched his fist. Seeing this treatment of his fellow human beings cut at his soul. He regretted his cowardice and reluctance to act. To fight back.
Mac and three other guards led the females to the poles. A woman and a girl were tied to each. None of them struggled. They had vacant stares, were looking at nothing. He suspected they had been drugged.
A dark smudge passed in front of the sun. Pig lifted a hand and squinted. He gasped as the object drew nearer, its features becoming clearer. A beast flew towards him, its leathery wings beating in the fading light. Two smaller winged creatures screeched as they flew beside the huge beast, flanking it. The large beast cried out. The high-pitched screech was what he imagined a banshee would sound like.
This monster’s new. Where did it come from?
His fellow slaves cried out in panic and fear as the winged beasts swooped down, landing with a thud on the platform. Pig gawked and took a step back. The logs shuddered under the weight of the creatures but held firm. The large one turned towards the plebs and the captives, ignoring the offering for now. It stretched out its wings, exposing rippling muscles. It had the same insect-like eyes and sucker mouth as the other beasts. Pig furrowed his brow at the sight of blackened flesh. He looked down at his own burns, then back to the beast.
It’s been burned.
Duke, the self-proclaimed saviour and leader of the plebs, raised a microphone to his lips. He was dressed in white robes decorated with yellow slashes of paint haphazardly shaped into arcs.
“Behold, heretics! Behold the power of Abezi! He has risen from his watery prison. Bow before his presence, you worthless heretics!”
All around Pig, the other slaves pressed their heads to the ground. Pig hesitated before following suit, but kept his eyes on the winged beast that Duke called Abezi.
Abezi cried out, the banshee wail silencing the plebs. In a barely recognisable, guttural croak, it said, “Food. Alive.”
Its message was clear. Keep me fed, you stay alive.
The plebs cheered and banged their pipes. With a wave of his wings, Abezi turned and ripped the head off th
e woman closest to it. Blood gushed out in a spurt, coating its body. It lapped up the flowing blood, drinking it until the stream fizzled out to a dribble.
For the next twenty minutes, it tore flesh off the poor woman, and finished by crunching on her bones. The girl tied behind the pole stood passively, awaiting her fate.
Pig stood through the morbid feast, seething inside. He was tired of being a slave, tired of serving the monsters. Both human and beast. He was going to act tonight. After a sacrifice, he and the other slaves were locked in their quarters while the bulk of the plebs drank themselves into oblivion, chanting and screaming late into the night.
He checked his belt. He’d wedged a nail into it. A nail that was going to help him escape. He grinned to himself.
Just a nail.
Abezi wailed its awful banshee cry and with a flick of its front claws, cut the girl free. It beat its wings and lifted off into the night, the girl clasped firmly in his claws. As the winged beasts left, the plebs revved their engines, the throaty sound of the V8s drowning out their whooping. Pig let his head drop and focused on the ground in front of him, waiting to be taken to his sleeping hut.
Righteousness…
Courage…
Compassion…
Respect…
Loyalty… Five pillars of the warrior.
— 2 —
“Tell me again.”
“Boss, we are not having this discussion.”
“C’mon, Jack. We haven’t talked about it in months.”
“It’s pointless, though. You can’t see reason. You’re just trying to wind me up. Besides, we should be keeping silent.”
Jack shifted the weight off his left leg. His gammy knee from a long-ago football injury had been giving him a lot of grief since winter. All this waiting around in the mist and cold didn’t do it any favours either.
He glanced over at Boss and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “All right. Tell me your theory.”
Boss smiled back. “Well, if Frodo and Sam did take an eagle to Mordor, couldn’t Frodo have dropped the ring into Mt. Doom?”
“Look. Sauron would have seen him coming a mile away and sent the Nazgul after them.” Jack paused, collecting his thoughts. He decided to take a different approach. “Boss. Have you ever heard of the term ‘divide and conquer’?”
“Yeah. Military thing, right?”
“Right. Basically, to defeat your enemy, you have to divide their forces. The British were excellent at this until they came up against a united America, or when the Waikato Maori united against the British. We did it against the Trophy King too. So, the fact that the fellowship disbanded was a blessing in disguise. Sauron and Saruman had to divide their forces in order to hunt the fellowship, fight the Rohirrim and fight Gondor. That allowed Frodo and Sam to sneak in and destroy the ring.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Will you two nerds shut up! I can’t hear myself dreaming of meat pies.”
Jack looked over to the third person waiting with him and Boss on the rooftop, Lance Corporal Yalonda Caro. She was leaning against an air-conditioning vent, chewing on a twig. Her L96 sniper rifle rested on her knees, its barrel towards the ground. Yalonda looked relaxed and casual, but Jack knew she could spring into action in a split second. Yalonda was an expert marksman and had chalked up over 1,000 confirmed Variant kills. Poking out from behind her back were two hatchets, accessible and ready to use. Completing her arsenal, she, like all of them, carried a Glock 17 at her hip. Max, the heading dog, nuzzled Jack’s hand. He absent-mindedly rubbed the dog’s ears. Max had become a valuable member of the Renegades. He was perfect for sniffing out Variants.
After the deaths of both Eric and Tony, Captain Ben Johns had added Yalonda, Staff Sergeant Colin Simpson and Gunner Robert Chang to the Renegades. The Colonel had then ordered Ben to stand down from active duty and coordinate from Mayor Island and the FOB, which was near the town of Thames, twenty kilometres north of their current location.
Jack raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You’re always dreaming of pies.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t.”
“Well sure. I miss that buttery pastry and gravy-drenched meat with all that cheesy goodness. Damn it. Now I’m thinking of them.”
Yalonda barked a laugh. “Okay, nerds. Just stop it with the bloody Lord of the Rings theories. It’s driving me crazy.”
Jack exchanged a look with Boss, who winked at him. “So. The star destroyer in Star Wars.”
Yalonda groaned and turned away from them.
Jack’s radio crackled to life. “Keep it down. We can hear your voices,” chastised Dee. She, Simpson and Chang were across the street, holed up on top of a service station. They were all in the tiny town of Paeroa, waiting for Hone to join them on their mission.
“Okay. Sorry.” Jack waited for a reply, but his radio remained silent.
He was eager to carry on with his theory but knew that he should be following protocol. He signalled Boss to return to watching for Hone and his Children of the Mist.
Two hours earlier, the Renegades had been sent on two missions. The first one, the important one, was to retrieve Dr Katherine Yokoyama’s logbook from the complex beneath Mount Karangahake. The scientists trying to develop a cure for the Hemorrhage Virus apparently needed whatever lay within its pages. Jack had argued against going back to the lab, but Ben and the Colonel had ordered him to go. Ben had also reassured him that he and Dee were vital to the success of the mission.
“You two are key, Jack. Locate the logbook and get back to us. It could end this madness.”
Jack sighed and shook his head. Going back to the lab was insane. At least the recon mission was simple: scout out the towns of Paeroa and Te Aroha for any threats, Variant or human, and report back to HQ.
“Still thinking of Lord of the Rings, nerd boy?” asked Yalonda.
“Nah. Trying to make sense of this mission. Dee and I have been in that complex. We barely made it out alive. Now we’re going back for a book?”
“Welcome to the army.” Yalonda winked at him. “Just do as you’re told. Everything is always FUBAR.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You got that right, soldier.”
He glanced south, spotting the rocky cliffs of Karangahake before turning and looking west towards the FOB at Netherton where the Colonel was coordinating the effort to take back the country.
Operation Utu was what he had called it. Little by little, the humans were reclaiming the land. Jack smiled as he thought of Utu. It was one of his favourite New Zealand films about the Maori concept of reciprocation, revenge and balance.
Utu — to bring balance back to the land.
“How did you survive, Jack?” said Yalonda. “I’m just curious.”
Sighing inwardly, he thought back to all that had happened since the Hemorrhage Virus had swept the world.
“Well, seven months ago I was hiking in the wilderness enjoying the solitude. A desperate message from Dee alerted me to the virus.”
“You missed all that?”
“Well, yeah. I’d turned my phone off.”
“And then what?”
“We decided to head to our cabin, not far from here, but the bastard Variants got me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this meat locker, stuck to a wall. Somehow, I escaped, and found George in the process.”
“Karapiro?”
“Yeah. George and I jumped into the river to escape the Variants. Miraculously, we found Dee, who was with Boss and Ben.”
“Dee saved your nerdy ass, huh?”
Jack nodded and smiled. “Not for the last time either. We made it to Maungatautari and a chopper picked us up. That’s where Boss lost his lower leg.”
“Ouch. What about this Trophy King I keep hearing about?” Yalonda flicked her head around and peered through her scope. Looking back at Jack, she raised an eyebrow. “Dee killed him, right?”
“While we were on the mission to rescue the scientist, the one with a
possible cure. The monster invaded Mayor Island, killing dozens and capturing Boss, George and Beth. There was no doubt in my mind when we went after him. I wasn’t going to rest until either I was dead or we rescued them. Dee used that katana of hers and sliced him open. And we blew his nest to hell.”
“Ah. So that’s why you call it Kingslayer. You guys are such geeks,” Yalonda said. “Your wife is a badass, Jack.”
“Total badass. And beautiful.”
“Aw, the nerd love.”
Boss nudged him on his arm. Raising his scope, Jack spotted movement on the street below. Several figures were moving along the grass verge. He admired the graceful way the Maori warriors flitted behind trees and bushes, used the abandoned cars as cover.
Jack felt a cold touch on his shoulder, just below his neck. Whipping his head around, he found himself staring into the grinning tattooed face of Hone. The ta moko covered his entire face, from forehead to chin. Jack couldn’t help but stare at the black curving lines, even though he’d seen them the last time they’d met Hone. Ta moko were reserved for only the most highly respected Maori.
“You white fellas make so much noise a moa could sneak up on you.”
Jack gave a short laugh. He looked down at Max. “Fat lot of good you are.”
Max wagged his tail and licked Hone’s hand.
“Hone, you sneaky bastard. How?” Jack glanced over at Tama who had arrived just after Hone. Tama flashed his bright white teeth at him.
“Years of practice, Jack.” Hone said, smiling.
“Well, it’s good to see you.” He embraced Hone, exchanging the traditional Maori greeting of the hongi with him. “It’s been too long.”
“So, you crazy Pakeha want to go back into the mountain, huh?”
“Yeah, crazy is the right word.”
Hone slapped him on the back, laughing. Then he frowned before grimacing, his features darkening. “There’s something you guys need to see. A few hours hike from here.”
Extinction NZ (Book 3): The Five Pillars Page 2
