Mac grunted and whacked Pig in the head with his free hand. He ignored the blows and reached for the Ka-Bar. With an instinctive thrust, he stabbed Mac in the jugular, twisting and slashing the knife down. A gush of warm blood arced out, coating his hand.
Mac forgot all about hitting him, He dropped the M4 and reached up to his throat, desperate to stem the flow of blood as his life leeched out of him, soaking the earth.
Pig stepped away and left Mac to slump to the ground. He glanced left and right, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw no other plebs running towards him with rifles firing. He wiped the bloody knife on Mac’s vomit-stained shirt and looked in the car. Sitting on the back seat was a small backpack. He allowed himself a small smile. Perfect! He wouldn’t need the mess hall now.
Pig crept along the line of cars, keeping the bonfire to his right. The plebs were still drinking and chanting. He cringed at the sounds of women screaming as the plebs raped them.
Pig tightened the grip on his stolen M4. He wanted to unload all his ammo on the depraved scum, but now was not the time. He was no good to any of these poor souls dead.
Courage.
Breaking into a slow jog, Pig weaved his way through the vehicles, aiming for the six-foot chain-link fence. The fence was not to protect them from the beasts, but to stop the slaves from escaping.
The plebs had forced them to construct guard towers every thirty metres along the fenced perimeter. They were constructed from aluminium scaffolding to a height of ten metres. Enough to see over the camp.
Keeping to the shadows, Pig ducked under one of the two towers that flanked the gate. He could hear the two guards, one in each tower, chatting across the gap. He grinned. The guards had become complacent over the last few months, but the slaves dared not attempt escape. Out there in the wilderness lived the beasts. Out there meant certain death.
Pig knew why Duke and the plebs used fear. It was the best way to control any population. Make them fear something, make them scared. Make them know what happens if you don’t toe the line. A truly pious person would not want the power, adoration and pleasure the plebs sought. No. The plebs fed on hate, destruction and fear. Like the Nazis. You went along with them in order to survive.
Pig inhaled the cool night air, filling his lungs. He calmed his breathing, focusing on the next part of his plan. His mind was clear, and he could hear the blood pumping behind his ears. Searching out the steel knuckles that supported the pipes, he found the one with red tape, dropped to his knees and began digging in the soil. When he’d helped construct these towers, he had purposely dropped a spanner in the mud and covered it up. The beating from Mac for losing the tool had been worth the pain.
After a few minutes digging, the tool gleamed in the light from the still-blazing bonfire. He went to work loosening all the nuts around him, pausing every few seconds to check on the guards. Thankfully they were still talking. He caught a glimpse of glass sparkling as they passed a bottle of booze between them, using a sliding plank to get it across the three-metre gap. Chanting and singing still filled the camp. Pig smirked; exactly what he needed.
With one last twist, one nut dropped into the mud. After a three count, he pulled the pipe free. The tower creaked and listed to one side; Pig had selected the supporting brace. The remaining pipes groaned with the strain and weight of the tower.
“What the hell?!” shouted the guard above him. The other guard bent down and looked under the platform. His eyes widened at the sight of the slave standing there, covered in filth.
Pig smiled at him and squeezed the trigger of his M4. The guard’s head snapped back as the bullet entered the centre of his forehead and travelled through his brain before smashing a hole out the back of his skull to coat the railing behind with gore.
Two plebs down. Twenty left? Maybe.
Pig quickly pulled another three poles free as the other guard fired at him. Straining, he shoved at the tower with his shoulder. It groaned and creaked before it tilted. Clattering, it slammed into the other tower, blocking both the gate and road.
Pig heard a grunt as the guard tumbled to the ground. Poles and wooden planks crashed around him. The guard did his best to cover his head and torso, but the debris rained down, whacking him. Raising his stolen carbine, Pig shot the man once through the head. Spinning away, he ran for the fence. The collapsing tower had pushed over a small section, leaving enough room for him to manoeuvre through.
Without looking back, he turned south and ran. Part of him was screaming to head north, head for the tree line and the mountain. But a small fraction of his mind told him that the swamp was a better option. The plebs had excellent trackers, and their dogs could sniff out anyone. With one last look at the mountain, he shouldered his stolen pack and rifle and headed into the swamp.
Courage.
— 5 —
The Variant mutant beetle screeched and spun around, searching out the humans. Dee stared. It was the size of a horse, with a shiny, hard exoskeleton. But that wasn’t what scared Dee. What scared her were the two spiky mandibles that protruded from its head.
“Dee! Open fire!” screamed Simpson from the other side of the roof, snapping Dee out of her paralysis.
Her survival instincts kicked in. They had saved her countless times since the world turned to chaos, since the Variants took over.
Dee flicked off the safety of her AR-15 and squeezed the trigger. Bullets from her, Simpson and Chang’s weapons streamed out, peppering this new abomination. They bounced off harmlessly, but the beetle shrieked and turned to find the source of this new annoyance.
Dee risked a quick glance at the other beetle. It was beneath the shop where Jack was. The beetle below Dee shrieked again and opened its mouth, flashing its mandibles. She held her trigger down, unloading her magazine into it. None of her bullets had any effect.
Her radio blared. “Hostiles, two hundred metres and closing fast. Time to leave, Renegades. Sir?” said Yalonda.
“Hold your positions,” answered Simpson.
Dee reloaded and swept her AR-15 over the side again. The beetle had begun to climb up the building. It was digging its feet into the brickwork and using its mandibles to pull itself up.
“Kill it!” screamed Simpson.
“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” yelled Dee.
The beetle reached the edge of the flat roof.
Dee back-pedalled. The rotten fruit smell coming off it threatened to overpower her and render her unconscious. Chang and Simpson were several metres behind her, taking cover behind a ventilation duct.
She stared at the mouth and eyes of the beast through the scope of her carbine.
You are one ugly bastard.
The mandibles opened wide. Gore, dirt and saliva dripped down onto the roof, the bitumen sizzled as the gunk came into contact with it. Dee pulled the trigger, putting all her bullets through its ugly, tooth-lined mouth. The beetle swayed before its grip loosened and it tumbled off the building, slamming to the ground with a crash that shook the earth.
Dee thumbed her radio. “Aim for its mouth!”
“Copy,” answered Yalonda.
Dee ran to the metal ladder that hugged the back of the service station.
“Corporal! Hold your position,” screamed Simpson.
She ignored him and scuttled down the ladder. Reaching the ground, she slammed in a fresh magazine and fired at the second beetle, aiming for its legs. Her rounds found their mark. Bits of black gore flung out and the beetle shrieked in agony, raising its head to search for the cause of its pain.
Dee glanced up. Yalonda stood up over the edge and fired her L96 into the beetle’s open mouth. The beetle fell silent and toppled over towards Dee. She jumped to one side, landing in the camellia bushes lining the lawn as the monster crashed down and rolled on its back.
Dee gawked at the size of it. Until now they had only battled humanoid Variants. Humanoid, but with insect-like features and capabilities. This new form of monster chilled her. It
was a beetle with one thought: kill. She shivered at the idea of these beasts getting loose on Mayor Island.
Since the Trophy King had attacked and been annihilated five months ago, Mayor Island had been peaceful. It had become a symbol of the human spirit and courage. A symbol of hope. With Ben’s leadership, they had achieved an ordered and determined community. Jack and others had worked tirelessly, rigging up a solar power system as well as clean water and sanitation. Gorse that had once plagued the only flat land had been cleared, and livestock introduced. Like anyone, Dee dreamed of returning to the mainland, back to the country she loved; had fought for, had bled for. She dreamed that one day the Southern Cross on New Zealand’s flag would once more fly proudly overhead.
She looked up at Tama’s outstretched hand and accepted it. “Time to go, pretty lady.”
Dee didn’t reply as she brushed herself off and checked over her gear. Her katana had slipped out of its webbing, so she righted it before wriggling back into her pack. She smiled at her Japanese sword, Kingslayer, knowing that before this day was out, she was going to need it again.
Chang’s voice broke over the radio. “Multiple hostiles. East and northeast!”
Dee looked over to the stairs, happy to see Jack, Yalonda and Boss clambering down. She heard the rev of an engine as Hone screeched around the corner, driving a flat deck ute.
Jack helped her onto the deck and she took a covering position. The mist had lifted significantly, allowing her to clearly see the approaching wave of horror.
Bloody Variants!
Gunfire erupted around her. Dee sought a target and went into the killing zone. It was as if the world darkened and she shut out everything else. She focused on the Variants she could see and took them down with well-placed shots. Dee felt the ute move under her, but she kept on killing any Variant that came within range.
The ute screeched to a halt outside the service station for a few seconds, picking up the last of the Renegades. Hone spun them round and drove over the bridge, heading south towards the town of Te Aroha. The Variants charged after them.
Hone gunned the engine, speeding down the road and leaving the pursuing beasts behind. Dee knew the monsters would chase them until they caught up, though. Hone had only bought them some time.
Rough hands grabbed Dee, forcing her to turn around. She found herself facing an irate Simpson. “Never do that again, soldier! You understand me? I ordered you to stay put.”
Dee tried to push Simpson away. “Get your hands off me, coward! I saw you hiding behind that vent, too scared of those beetles to do your job!”
Simpson maintained his grip on her shoulders, and then Jack was there, grappling with him. “Get your hands off my wife!”
“Don’t fucking touch me, soldier,” Simpson yelled. “I’m your CO.” Spittle flew as he finally relinquished his hold on Dee to push Jack away. Yalonda and Chang stepped up to keep them separated.
The sergeant wiped his face on his sleeve and raised his finger at Jack and Dee. “I don’t know what kind of shit outfit Captain Johns ran, but I’m in charge of this unit now. You two need to damn well accept that and follow orders. Understood?”
Jack stood facing Simpson. He clenched his fists at his side. “Dee just saved us. We would have been overrun back there. We’re no good to anyone dead.”
Dee would have burst out laughing at her tall husband towering over the diminutive angry sergeant, but she was still shaken from his attack and could only watch on, silent.
“Is that one of Ben’s little sayings?”
“Yeah. And it works.”
Simpson shook his head at them. “I’ll court-martial both of you for this.”
Hone swung the ute around a corner, tyres squealing. Simpson, who wasn’t holding onto anything, struggled to maintain his footing and went down, windmilling his arms before crashing onto his backside.
Jack, who’d caught hold of the top of the cab in time, stood tall over him. “If we make it through this day, do whatever you like, Simpson!”
“That’s Staff Sergeant Simpson, soldier.”
“You don’t deserve the title!”
“Guys! Enough.” said Yalonda, shushing Jack and Simpson. “Leave it alone. We’ve got a mission. For, you know, humanity and shit. Kill each other later, for all I care. I kinda want to live. I’d quite like to eat a meat pie again one day.”
Dee smiled at Yalonda and grasped Jack’s hand. She pulled him into a hug. “It’s me. Just me.”
He relaxed within her embrace. She didn’t blame him for his anger. Simpson was way out of line. Sure, he had been hard on them ever since taking over a couple of months ago, but this was something different. Something crazy.
Dee pushed aside her misgivings and looked out at the countryside whizzing by. Fields that had once been thriving dairy farms stretched out in all directions. A slight peaty smell carried on the wind, coming from the swamp to the west.
Dee brought her carbine up and squinted through her scope, searching for the ever-present Variants. After only a few seconds, she spotted the dust cloud of the chasing pack.
She shouldered her rifle and sat down with her back to the cab of the ute. Hone was keeping the speed steady. Any vehicles that had blocked the road had been cleared by the army in preparation for Operation Utu.
Dee looked around at the other Renegades. Chang and Simpson had taken up positions at the back, while Yalonda, Jack and Boss sat alongside her against the cab. Max had nestled himself between them, his tongue hanging out, flapping in the wind.
Simpson saw her looking and sneered. “Listen up, Renegades,” he said, then paused, looking at each of them in turn. “I know tempers got the better of us back there. Let’s put it behind us and finish the mission. Colonel Mahana has given us the important task of providing reconnaissance and retrieving this logbook. There’s a saying my old drill sergeant often said: ‘What happens on the battlefield stays on the battlefield.’ We’re fighting these demon bastards. We shouldn’t be fighting each other.”
Simpson looked directly at Dee, holding her gaze as he continued. “Whether you like it or not, I’m in charge. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. Without question. Do I make myself clear?”
The Renegades answered, as one, “Yes, sir.”
“Good, now let that be the end of it, or else you can all go and farm on an island.”
Yalonda, Boss and Jack all glanced at Dee. But she held her tongue and stared out at the horizon.
“Dee, tell Hone to slow it down. I don’t want to miss the turn off,” said Simpson.
“Turn off?”
“For the survivors.”
“Oh, we’re still doing that? With the Variants chasing us?” said Dee.
“It was an order, soldier, not a suggestion.”
“I still think it’s a bad idea,” Jack butted in.
Dee looked up at Yalonda, pleading for her to help convince the sergeant. She just shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t care either way.”
Simpson scoffed at them. “This isn’t a bloody democracy!”
Dee shook her head and reached up with her left hand to grip the metal bar that framed the back of the cab. She leant down, poking her head through the sliding window set in the back wall of the cab. “Simpson says to slow down. We’re answering that distress call.”
Hone arched an eyebrow at her, but she felt the ute slow down.
Simpson moved over to crouch by Jack. “Find us this Hidden Rock place.”
She saw Jack nod before she turned to Boss. “You okay?”
Boss smiled at her and adjusted his headset. Dee grasped his shoulder to reassure him. Both she and Jack had been reluctant to have him join the Renegades, but Boss had insisted, pleaded and begged. He had proven himself to be an adept soldier and a capable RO, only she still thought seventeen was too young. But did they really have a choice, with so many gone?
The fight for New Zealand was being fought by the remains of a once thriving multi-cultural society
. Jack, Ben and Dee had tried to work it out in numbers one evening as they sat around the kitchen table.
New Zealand’s population BV (Before Variants): 4.5 million.
Estimated survivor population: Between 9,000 and 10,000 scattered on islands.
That left an estimated 4.49 million Variants.
Dee shivered at the thought. No one had any idea how many Variants had been killed in the war to reclaim their land or, for that matter, before.
The ute slowed down further before making a left turn. Dee looked up at the Kaimai Ranges towering above the farmland. Thick forests of beech, conifers and ferns covered the rugged hills, which were often blanketed in a thick layer of mist. She smiled to herself.
Jack was right calling them the Misty Mountains.
— 6 —
For seven months Derek Compton had served them. He had watched them tear apart human after human, lapping up the blood as it spurted out time and time again. Tearing flesh off bones and sucking down the marrow. Smacking their strange sucker mouths together, long snake-like tongues mopping up every drop.
He trembled at the thought. It made him watch the one he called Clubber. A large Variant with a deformed arm, which from a distance looked like it was carrying a club. Thinking of it stirred a memory in the back of his fractured mind, a place he reserved for pleasant memories. Yes, the club looked like it was out of a Saturday cartoon, something about a caveman who was a captain.
Derek shook his head and made his way through the tunnel. The beasts allowed him to use a weak flashlight to see his way.
The volume of the shrieks grew louder as he neared his destination. It was a long journey through the tunnels. If Derek looked closely enough, he could see the scratches from the beetle monsters that had dug these tunnels. For the last few months, the Variants had hidden underground, digging and waiting. Waiting for the humans to move back to the mainland.
Extinction NZ (Book 3): The Five Pillars Page 4
