He now knew that he had been a soldier of some sort. There were flashes of military training, fighting enemies in a sandy desert filled with caves, a stocky captain with salt and pepper hair and the beginnings of a beard. He remembered wondering how he got away with having facial hair.
Thoughts of the captain jolted another memory free.
Johns. Yes, that was it! Captain Ben Johns.
Pig still couldn’t think of his own name, but this new information gave him renewed determination to kill these psychotic monster worshippers and free everyone.
He shovelled the food into his mouth, gulping down the watery mashed potatoes, and held up the reddish grey meat and sniffed it. Deciding that any protein was better than none, he swallowed it and licked his plate clean.
Eat when you can, sleep when you can.
With his hands free, Pig hauled himself up to get a better look around the barn. He was in the front left-hand stall of ten. The stalls were in two rows of five. The others held his namesakes and, judging from the bleating sounds at the back, goats. He looked desperately for an escape route and tried to recall the camp layout around the barn. But he had never been in this area, so could only go by glimpses he’d had.
Pig cast his eyes down to his shackles. He wasn’t going anywhere with these on.
The metal spork glinted in the sunlight.
Strange utensil, the spork.
Pig frowned. Why had Steph said that to him? With the argument and his goading of Todd, he had ignored the remark. Dismissed it as Steph being nice. He sat back down, lifted the spork into the light and felt the weight in his hand. It was unusually heavy. He grunted a laugh and pulled the spork apart. Steph had stuck two together. Clever girl. He separated them.
Pig shook his head in amusement. It was a glimmer of hope. If he could keep it hidden, he could escape when the moment was right. Leaning back, he enjoyed the sunlight on his face. His hunger satisfied, and the spork tucked away in his boot, he allowed himself to sleep.
“Wake up, sunshine!” The barn door crashed open, sending the animals into a panic of bleats and squeals. Pig pulled himself up, using the wall for support. Duke stood in the doorway, staring at him.
Daylight was fading, and he caught a glimpse of Venus rising behind Duke.
“C’mon, Pig. You’ll like this. Tonight we’re hunting.”
“Hunting what?”
“Heretics, of course.”
“How can you call them heretics? You don’t give them a chance to believe in your religion.”
Duke strode over to him, his long-handled machete knocking on the concrete. Pig stared him down, refusing to cower anymore.
Duke placed the sharp cutting blade under Pig’s chin and lifted it up. “Do you know what I did before the infection took over?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
Duke ignored him. “I was a professional hunter. Killing deer and goat for the government. And I didn’t believe in any of that religious crap. Weak-minded fools, I called them. All those wars fought over which son of Abraham to follow! But when the creatures appeared, and they let me live as long as I provided them with food, I seized the opportunity.” He jiggled the blade under Pig’s chin.
“Do you know the best way to control the population, Pig?”
“If people are happy and healthy, they don’t need controlling,” Pig answered.
“Absolute crap! You make them fear death. Fear it so much they’ll do anything to stay alive. Christians and Muslims make you scared of hell. People become so afraid of hell that they do as they are told, all so they can go to heaven. Control, Pig. Control.”
“You sound like some Nazi scumbag.”
Duke roared with laughter. He drove the handle of his machete into Pig’s stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Pig doubled over, gasping for breath.
Duke leant down so his mouth was level with Pig’s ear and lowered his voice. “I’m not going to kill you, because that would be too easy. Nor am I going to sacrifice you. I’ve got a fate worse than death for you.”
Pig drew in lungful’s of air, trying to calm his spasming diaphragm. He kept his face devoid of emotion. The soldier in him was crying out to grab the spork and stab Duke in the jugular. But he remained calm and focused on his breathing. Then he followed Duke out into the yard, his shackles clinking.
Since he’d last seen the ute, someone had welded the bed frame to the back of Duke’s F350. Two men ran forwards and chained him so that he was looking over the cab. Beyond the addition of the bed frame, the F350 had been heavily modified. Metal spikes had been welded all over the bodywork, giving it the appearance of a porcupine. There were even spikes on the wheel rims. The windscreen had been removed and bars secured in its place.
Pig turned his head left and right. Four other vehicles sat idling. Seeing him, the drivers revved their engines. He shook his head at the absurd sight, because these vehicles had been modified too. One had giant bull bars on the front and back. Another, a whale-hunting harpoon. The last two had no roofs, and .50 cal. guns poked through, a man on each.
Duke blared his horn and the strange convoy began to move, V8 engines roaring as they tore out of the camp and onto the sealed road.
Pig clamped his mouth shut and squinted as bugs slammed into his face and body, coating him with gooey sludge. With nothing else to do, he concentrated on looking at the landmarks as they whizzed by. Committing the camp’s location to his memory. The heavily forested mountain to the east would be easy to recognise again, as would the range of hills to the north, with their wind turbines spinning in the breeze. The road dipped and curved, following the natural contours of the farmland spread out on either side of the road.
The modified vehicles finally screeched to a halt on the rise of a small hill. Pig spat out a bug and tried to rub some of the gunk off his face with his shoulder before he finally took in the scene.
Houses and trees poked out from dark water, a submerged city that stretched away as far as Pig could see in the gathering darkness. To his left, on the side of a hill, were untouched houses. Duke opened his door, stood on the road, and glanced back at Pig.
“I present to you the once-crappy city of Hamilton. Bit of an improvement if you ask me.”
Pig smiled inwardly. Thank you, idiot. Now I know exactly where I am.
Duke kept talking. “Once a city full of food and medicine, but thanks to our genius army, now a watery wasteland.”
He returned to the vehicle and the F350 lurched forwards. With the clearance of the big American pickup, they easily kept above the water, which was only a few inches deep. Thankfully the road carried on in a straight line.
Pig stared at the submerged homes as they passed, the full moon glittering off the windows, and he prayed no one had been inside them when the floods hit.
They continued along the road, heading east. On either side of the road stood single storey houses, their yards covered in water and the bottom metre or so of their walls coated in thick, stinky mud. The dwellings soon gave way to an industrial area, with factories and warehouses lining a railway. He spotted the central city in the distance, with its towers of glass glinting in the moonlight, as if standing silently, waiting for office workers who would never return.
Far in the distance, a large collection of square buildings stood atop a hill. He had a vague recollection of visiting it.
A hospital? Yes, a hospital.
They drove on and over a bridge. Here mangled cars and trucks had been pushed aside, their shells torn open, seats exposed to the elements. Pig took note of everything. The weeds and trees above the floodwaters growing out of control. The lack of skeletal remains. Houses burnt out. And everywhere he looked, signs of violence and struggle. Broken glass strewn across the road, barricades set up down side streets. Bullet casings littering the asphalt.
Pig clenched his fists by his side and let his mind wander to the only concrete memory he had.
Captain Ben Johns standing above him, counting as
Pig willed his body to do one more push-up. His hands were blue from the cold, and pouring rain dripped down his neck and forehead, running into his eyes.
“What do you want, soldier?”
“To be the best.” Pig chanted back.
“You’re not going to be the best if you can’t finish. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Four ninety…”
Pig focused on the happiest moment of his life: being accepted to have a shot at the SAS. He had struggled at school and fought with the social cliques, never fitting in anywhere. But he thrived in the army. It was as if this was his calling. He had loved it from the first second, and now was his chance to succeed. Just ten more pushups.
10…9…8…7…
His arms began to shake, and his vision blurred.
…6…5…4…
His stomach spasmed.
…3…2…1…
Pig collapsed onto the concrete, every muscle in his body screaming at him, but he felt none of it. Cheers erupted and Captain Johns hauled him to his feet. Johns saluted him, and he saluted back.
He would never forget the feeling.
The convoy safely navigated the rest of its way through the half-submerged city. Pig had to squint again as they sped up beyond it. He sighed. At least the night was clear and crisp, and the moon full. If this was going to be his last night on God’s green earth, he was going to enjoy the view. He caught glimpses of a tall mountain to the east, which they appeared to be heading towards. A tall antenna rose above it, obscured by clouds.
Duke guided the convoy through intersections, never once slowing. Pig deduced that he knew where he was going, that he had a mission.
After another thirty minutes of traveling, Duke hollered out the window, shouting above the passing wind. “Are you watching, Pig?”
The convoy screeched around a corner and down a steep hill as the road dropped into a ravine. On the other side, he saw it.
Three vehicles, travelling in single file. Even from this distance, he could tell they were military. Duke and the plebs roared down the road and caught up to the slower 6WD all-terrain vehicles.
The men in the back truck saw them and opened fire on the convoy. Pig said a prayer that no stray bullets found their way to him.
The vehicle with the harpoon raced forwards, bullets pinging off its steel-plated shell. A figure manned the harpoon. He fired it at the rear 6WD. The projectile raced out, a heavy chain dragging behind it, and slammed into the cab.
The harpoon vehicle slammed on its brakes and dropped a spiked metal plate from its undercarriage, which ground into the road. The attached army vehicle swerved and fishtailed out of control as the pleb manning the harpoon disengaged the chain. The 6WD slammed into the ditch.
Pig jolted his head left, watching in horror as it rolled over.
Another of Duke’s vehicles peeled off from the back of the convoy, screeching to a stop.
Soldiers from the second 6WD rained bullets on the convoy. Pig gasped as he recognised a grenade being lobbed. It bounced under the F350 and exploded under the vehicle behind. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could clamp his hands over his ears and find cover.
The pleb vehicle to Pig’s right sped up and lowered its bull bar. Pig hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a bulldozer-like scoop attached to it. The vehicle rammed the truck, digging in under its back wheels. The soldiers inside fired their guns desperately. One soldier leant forwards and dropped a grenade into the vehicle. Metal and glass exploded inside the cab and the two vehicles careened off the road.
Pig looked up at the last 6WD rumbling along the road. The driver was trying his best to avoid capture but had to slow down as the road ended in a “T” intersection. A man from the F350 stood and fired an RPG. The projectile whooshed through the air and exploded into the 6WD.
Duke swerved around the truck and slammed on the brakes, spinning in a 180 so they faced the remains of the vehicle.
Pig tugged on his chains and stared back down the road at the destruction.
What a waste.
As he shook his head in disbelief, he recalled something Captain Ben Johns had taught him.
True warriors have no reason to be cruel. Warriors are not only respected for their strength in battle, but for how they treat others.
Respect.
— 14 —
Dee crept forward, deeper into the wine cellar. She kept her AR-15 wedged against her shoulder and swept it from side to side, seeking any hostiles. Having Jack with her helped settle her building nerves.
The whole mission and the last few hours had been insane. Ben had sent them off this morning on a simple mission: Go back into the lab where they had rescued Dr Yokoyama and retrieve her logbook. The scientist had, strangely, left it out of the case. Dee wondered if she hadn’t noticed the omission in her haste to leave.
She glanced at Jack. “All this for a logbook. Couldn’t they just figure it out from her other notes?”
“You would think so, I guess, but we’re not science people. What was it Ben said?”
“The thing about soldiers?”
“Yeah.”
“‘It doesn’t matter why. Just get it done.’”
“That’s it. Not that it matters now. Let’s just get out of this alive.”
Dee nodded and continued to check for hostiles. Talking to Jack made her think of the overall mission. To take back New Zealand.
Operation Utu was going full steam ahead and Colonel Mahana was not taking no for an answer. Move inland. Kill Variants. Move on. Behind the army, a legion of engineers and builders were following, building fortifications and providing an FOB.
Dee sighed. She liked the fact that they were being proactive and out in the open. On the flat plains of the Waikato, they had managed to progress to within a few kilometres of Hamilton and as far as the Bombay Hills that surrounded Auckland. She shivered at the memory of flying over that city. Fires had raged, destroying vast swathes of real estate. Then the winter storms had lashed it, clogging the drains. With no one left to clear away the debris, the city had quickly become a muddy, stinking wasteland.
What concerned Dee more was where she and the Renegades found themselves now. Rugged bush-clad mountains filled with ravines and valleys, abandoned mines and littered with caves. Plenty of places for Variants to hide.
After five minutes, she and Jack had reached the back of the cellar. Dee trained her flashlight over the barrels that had been stacked here, ten to a shelf. The whole shelf reached up about fifteen metres she reckoned. Checking that Jack was covering their position, she shone her light up. Movement in the beam caught her eye. Dust and dead leaves were drifting down to the concrete floor.
Following the leaves, her eyes widened at what she saw. “Look. Up there, about three metres.”
Above them, someone or something had broken through the concrete blocks and created a large opening. She estimated it was two metres in diameter. Casting her eyes down, she searched for discarded concrete or soil, but, surprisingly, the floor remained clear of debris.
“Woah. Is that how they got out?” asked Jack.
“Must be. The girl pointed in this direction, and here we have a tunnel. But where is the dirt?”
“Maybe they dug it before the Variants showed up, as a just in case?”
“Yeah. You must be right. But it doesn’t make any sense. Where are the survivors? First, this whole factory was fortified, then the vat, and now this cellar. And that girl?”
“Why did she get left behind? I think you should try talking to her. She might respond better to you.”
“Okay.” Dee nodded as booms echoed down the cellar.
“I’m going to take a look before we become the menu,” said Jack.
“All right. Be careful.”
Dee helped Jack up onto the first cross strut and watched him climb. He reached the opening and stuck his rifle through, shining his flashlight into the darkness.
“Well, the good news i
s that I know what happened to the blocks.”
“Yeah?”
“They’ve used them as a support structure. This tunnel was definitely built by the survivors.”
Dee helped him down and held his gaze. “So, if they built all this and had time to remove the soil and use the blocks to hold up the tunnel, why build it so high off the ground?”
Jack shrugged. “I think it’s an escape route. Like in a TARFU situation.”
“TARFU?”
“Totally and royally fudged up.”
“That’s a new one.”
“Yalonda taught it to me.”
“That girl.” Dee walked around in a circle, trying to get her bearings. “It must be up high so it’s closer to ground level? Less soil to shift?”
Jack nodded. “We need to find out what happened.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s hole up here for the night. We all need rest and something to eat.”
“Good idea.”
Dee listened to the thumps of the Variants as she and Jack re-joined Boss, Yalonda and the girl. They filled Yalonda and Boss in on what they had found. As Jack talked, Dee glanced down at the little survivor. Since they had arrived in the cellar, she had kept still, her eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of her. She hadn’t spoken a word.
Dee recalled Maggie telling her about finding Leela in a similar state. She grimaced. Watching someone so young who had been traumatised by such horrors haunted her. Children should never face such an ordeal. She now understood the looks on the faces of children from war-torn countries that got splashed across the news. Shock and disbelief.
Heat rose through Dee, tensing her muscles. Seeing the girl properly gave her renewed motivation to help her and get her back to Mayor Island. To give her the life she should be having. One of laughter. Of fun. Of learning. And, most important, one of love. She groaned in frustration. With so few left, every life saved was vital.
Dee refocused on Jack’s voice.
“…we take shifts. Four hours each. One in front, one at the tunnel. That way we all get sleep. Let’s all have an MRE and keep your liquids up. Stay frosty, Renegades. We don’t want to lose anyone else. I’ll take first shift at the tunnel. Who wants the roller door?”
Extinction NZ (Book 3): The Five Pillars Page 9
