The Fourth Phase

by Adrian J. Smith

  She had settled well into military life. She loved the routine and the sense that she was part of something bigger, a machine. A way to fight for their freedom, to not be afraid of the Variants.

  Perhaps we deserved it?

  Humans are like a virus. Feeding, devouring everything. Depleting all before moving on.

  It took a virus to destroy another virus. If that’s even possible.

  Dee shifted her weight, trying to relieve her cramped, tired muscles. She hadn’t had any sleep for the last twenty-four hours. And the persistent rain made this climb extremely perilous.

  She strained her ears for any sounds above the pattering of the dripping water, for any sounds of discovery. Satisfied, Dee glanced around one more time. She checked her rifle and secured it. Reaching up above her, she gripped her next handhold and hauled herself up another metre. After several more aching metres, she paused again. She was so close now.

  A couple of voices filtered down to her. She could just make out what they were saying.

  “C’mon. The All Blacks would have won the Rugby World Cup, for sure.”

  “I don’t know, bro. We’re good, but the Aussies always rise to the occasion.”

  “Maybe, but we won the last one, bro.”

  “True, too true cuz. ’spose we got that monkey off our back?”

  “One word, bro: Richie!”

  “Richie!” they chorused, their laughter echoing out.

  Dee grinned, her cheek muscles twinging with the effort. Man, I’m exhausted. Those idiots were at least giving her the chance she needed. Using the distraction, she gripped the wet rock above her and, with her last bit of energy, hauled herself up and over the shelf. Rolling, she looked up, expecting to see the yellow flag above her. Instead, Ben’s eyes stared down, dark and wide, his rifle held over her.

  A tight grin spread on his face. “Nearly, Dee. Very close.”

  “Damn it. How did you know?”

  “I knew these two were the bait you sent ahead, so I let them talk. Plus, this is the only other climbable route up here.” He reached down and gripped Dee’s hand, hauling her to her feet. “We’d better let Jack know. Do you want to radio him?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He handed Dee his radio, turned to his camp stove, and ignited it. Dee watched hungrily as the flame sparked to life. She dearly looked forward to getting some food into her growling stomach. She pressed the talk button. “Jack, this is Dee, over.”

  “Dee? How the hell?”

  “Thought you had it all covered, eh?”

  “Yeah I did. How?”

  Dee shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I came up the other side. Up the ravine. It’s okay. I didn’t get the flag. Captain spotted me before I could, over.”

  “Yeah, look, sorry Dee, I’m just tired. Congrats anyway. Should I come to camp, over?”

  Dee looked at Ben. He nodded.

  “Affirmative Jack, out.”

  “Wilco, out.”

  ***

  Jack slid the radio back in its pouch, and busied himself breaking camp. It didn’t take him long, as he had kept himself ready to go at a moment’s notice, per Ben’s orders.

  Be ready, at all times.

  He adjusted the pack on his back and secured the waistbelt so that some of the weight lifted off his shoulders. Jack glanced out at the grey Pacific Ocean, blanketed in rain. A silhouette looming on the horizon made him peer through the approaching gloom. It looked like a large ship, perhaps a container ship? He lifted his rifle to his shoulder so he could look through the scope. Scanning left to right, he couldn’t see any running lights on the port or starboard sides. On closer inspection, Jack frowned, perplexed: a large Navy vessel was steaming directly for the island.

  That’s too big to be one of ours! If it isn’t ours, then whose? Australia? America? Two smaller vessels slid out of the rain, looking more like NZ Navy ships. A cold shiver went up Jack’s spine, the tingles webbing across his head.

  He unhooked his radio and raised it to his lips.

  TWO

  Staff Sergeant Maggie Liontakis watched the dew drip off the wire mesh fence. The water formed droplets and then, with the pull of gravity, stretched off the metal and fell to the ground. She shivered, her body still acclimatising to these weird, back-to-front seasons she now found herself in. Sighing, she looked to the bush-clad mountains far in the distance, marvelling at the greens mixed with browns, the odd outcrop of rock jutting out into the early morning light. I need to get out of here. I need to go home.

  Maggie stared into the pine trees surrounding her prison. She focused on one particular tree, letting the corners of her eyes do the work, just like she had been taught in the Army. She waited patiently. There! The guard walked through her line of vision. Dressed in red coveralls like painters wear, she saw him stop and light up a smoke. The nicotine billowed out above him, and he glanced around before carrying on his path. Cursing herself again for not being more cautious a few weeks back, she leant back against the post, gritting her teeth.

  Maggie had been taken prisoner by humans, humans who were helping the Variants. She, along with several other women, had been brought to this makeshift prison. Children and men were also brought here, but neither stayed long. Maggie suspected something sinister was happening and she had a theory, something that frightened her to admit.

  “Hey, Maggie.”

  She turned to the source of the voice, and smiled when she saw the owner. “Morning Alice. Sleep well?”

  “Not bad, considering. You dreaming of freedom again?”

  Maggie looked down at the warm cup of coffee she held in her hands. Even after three weeks of being in this prison, she still had trouble with the Kiwi accent. To an untrained ear it sounded like the Australian accent, but to her it was totally different: not as nasal. The Kiwis tended to mash up their vowel sounds, so an “i” became a “u”, making “fish” sound like “fush”. The Aussies said “chance”, where the Kiwis made it sound like “Cha-r-nce”. Regardless of what she had learnt, she still had to give herself time to process what she heard. They also spoke rapidly, while Maggie was used to that Southern drawl of Houston, Texas.

  Her eyes glinting with memories of home, she looked back up at Alice. “That is an affirmative. It’s every captured soldier’s duty to escape.”

  Alice grinned, a small laugh escaping from her lips.

  Maggie indicated the seat next to her. Patting Alice on the leg, she lowered her voice. “How many guards have you seen?” Pointing into the trees, she added, “Out there, beyond the fence.”

  Alice stared out into the trees. “I’m not sure. Four, maybe five?”

  Maggie nodded, taking in the information. She took a sip of her coffee, savouring the bitter taste. “Yeah, that’s about what I think. Any luck with your guard friend?”

  “A bit. You said slowly, right?”

  “Yeah, we have to be subtle about this. We have to act defeated, compliant. But we need information. We need to know their movements. They’ll have a routine. It’s human nature. So just observe for now.”

  Maggie looked up from her cup, watching Alice’s face. She could see fear, real fear. But she could also see a determination to survive, and that was what she’d spent the last three weeks looking for. Someone willing to risk it all to get out of this place. To risk it for a chance at freedom. Maggie had already put a plan into motion. She felt a pang of guilt for not telling Alice, but she needed to wait until the time was right.

  Alice flicked her blonde hair back behind her ear. “Okay Maggie, I’ll keep on him.”

  “Thanks Alice. I better get to my garden before police baton Ian comes looking for me. See you after?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you after.”

  Maggie pushed herself off the bench and stretched out the kinks from her back. She gave Alice a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and headed off towards the gardens. All around her, the prison camp was coming to life. She estimated about one hundred people were here. M
ainly females, but a few children were allowed to stay. Maggie walked across the dew-laden grass between the weatherboard-clad buildings. The whole camp reminded her of a school, with the buildings laid out in two rows, an asphalt courtyard in the middle. To the east lay two huge machine sheds, and in the direction she was headed, she and the others assigned to gardening had created some large gardens. Winter was coming, so all they had planted were some lettuce, cabbage, and other winter crops. A two-metre-high chain link fence enclosed the complex. Maggie sighed. The fence wasn’t the problem, and neither were the red-clad guards. It was the monsters from hell. Variants, Alice called them. Variants of humans who had devoured all but a lucky few.

  Then why are we here?

  Maggie reached the gardens and collected the tools she needed for weeding. Waving to a few of the other women, she headed off to the next garden. She wanted to be alone today; she needed to think. She busied herself with the task at hand, running the hoe through the soil, being careful not to get too close to the vegetables they had planted. As she worked, she let her mind drift.

  She remembered the heat and sand of her two tours of Afghanistan and one of Iraq. Feelings of guilt took hold again. She had been a medic in the Army, and had learnt quickly that you couldn’t save everyone. She didn’t miss the heat of those sun-scorched dens of hell, nor did she miss the constant sounds of war around her. Explosions, screams, guns, shouting. Men bragging, trying to get her into bed one day, bleeding and dying in her arms the next. She didn’t miss the gore of trying to stem the flow of blood from missing limbs, soldiers screaming in agony, gripping her hand as the life left their eyes. No, she would never miss that. But she did miss the sense of belonging, the camaraderie. When she was enlisted, she had belonged; she was fighting for the greater good, to protect her homeland from the threats to democracy. She missed the night she had spent with that Army Ranger. She’d liked him; his wisecracking friend not so much. Maggie wiped away a tear that had formed in her blue eyes.

  Like all veterans, she’d struggled with life after the Army. She had decided to tick an item off her bucket list and travel to New Zealand. Visiting all the Lord of the Rings sites had been top of her list. As soon as she arrived at Auckland International Airport, she had fallen in love with the green rolling hills, the bush-clad mountains. As she travelled, there had been some new joy around every corner. A dazzling blue lake here, forests dropping down to a perfect white sand beach there, and snow-capped mountains rising up, poking into the clouds. She had enjoyed the rough and wild west coast of the North Island, and had travelled down to Wellington via New Plymouth, enjoying the friendly people all the way. She admired the Kiwi can-do attitude, which she attributed to their isolation. They were involved, but not. Not as heavily as her country was.

  Lost in her thoughts, Maggie ran her hoe through the rows of lettuce. The apocalypse would have to come now, and me without my rifle.

  Maggie paused from her work and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. The day had become warm but pleasant. Glancing around, she could see the other gardeners hard at work. No one wanted to look like they were slacking; the guards took pleasure in reminding them who was in charge. Maggie let out a laugh. They may guard us, but the Variants rule the world now.

  Stretching, she headed to the beach umbrella with the ice box — or Chilly Bin, as the Kiwis called it. Maggie smiled to herself as she drank the cool liquid. They certainly had funny words for things. She used the time to look at the main gate, watching the guards. During her time here, she had observed two things. One, they didn’t seem to be frightened of the Variants, and two, they were becoming complacent. A fact she intended to take full advantage of. Traitor bastards.

  The fall sun crept its way across a sky dotted with puffy clouds. Maggie worked tirelessly weeding her rows, enjoying the monotony of her work, distracting herself from her worries. Her stomach began to rumble just as she heard the dinner bell ring out. Packing up her tools, she headed to the courtyard, her mouth watering at the thought of food.

  As she walked between the buildings flanking the courtyard, a shadow loomed from behind the wall.

  “Hey, Yank!”

  Maggie stopped and stared into the brown eyes of Ian, the warden of the prison, the movement of his swinging police baton flicking in her peripheral vision. It looked comical, as his arms and legs were so skinny. Clenching her teeth at the insult, she stared at him. “What?”

  Ian glared at her, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your day in the sunshine?” His mocking tone was clear.

  Maggie forced herself to remain civil and not let him see her rising anger. Men like Ian purposely taunted and antagonised to get a reaction. When you did react, it was a victory for them.

  She glanced up and held his gaze. “Yes, I did. Reminded me of working on the ranch.”

  Ian’s mouth upturned into a snarl. “Ranch? Pfft. You Americans don’t know what a farm is. Anyway, I want to see you after your meal.”

  Maggie tensed her arm muscles. She wanted nothing more than punch him in the windpipe and ram that baton where the sun doesn’t shine. But now was not the time. “Okay, sure. In your office?”

  Her skin crawled as Ian reached out and stroked her arm. Holding it, he smiled, showing his teeth. “Yes, in my office. Don’t make me wait. I don’t like being made to wait. Anger me, Yank, and I’ll leave you out in the forest. I’m sure the monsters would like my offering.”

  Maggie forced herself to remain calm, calling on all her training. Keeping her face void of emotion, she looked at Ian. “Sure, see you there.”

  He released her arm and Maggie stepped around him, letting out a breath.

  Looking around the mess hall, food tray in hand, she spotted Alice sitting in the corner with a couple of other people, a male and a female. Newbies, by the look of their ragged clothes and the way they were shovelling food into their mouths. She walked down the centre gap, murmuring greetings to some of the women she saw. Many of the tables still lay empty, with everyone congregating to the middle ones, closest to the kitchen.

  Maggie stopped at a table and crouched down next to a little girl with red hair and sparkling green eyes. “Hey, Becs. Did you have a good day, kiddo?” she smiled, watching as Becs twirled her fingers, nodding her head. Maggie reached over and patted her on the leg. “That’s good, Becs. I’ll see you for story time, okay?” She stood up and leant over Becs, shaking the hand of the woman next to her. Feeling a piece of paper palmed into her hand, she turned and walked over to Alice, sliding the paper into her pocket as she did so.

  Reaching the table, she plonked herself next to Alice, and squeezed Alice’s hand. “Hey, so who are your friends?”

  Alice squeezed back and laid her fork down, nodding her head in the newbies’ direction. “Tracey and Dean, this is Maggie.”

  Maggie watched as the pair barely stopped eating to voice a greeting. Leaning in close to Maggie’s right ear, Alice lowered her voice, her eyes glancing at the four red-clothed guards watching the women and children eat. “I thought you might want to talk to them. They were brought in this afternoon. Unhooded.”

  Maggie furrowed her brow and leant against the backrest of her seat. “Unhooded?” she mouthed.

  Alice picked up her fork and started eating the rice on her plate. “Yeah, exactly.”

  Maggie looked over at the two newbies, who were eating rapidly, as if afraid that this was going to be their last meal. Tracey had dark hair and light brown skin, her broad nose typical of the people of Polynesia. She could see the traditional Maori koru-style of tattoo on her forearm and a smaller one behind her left ear. Dean was a fine specimen of a man. Muscular, tall, and dark-haired. He too had Maori tattoos on his arms. Brought here without a hood? Dean was the first male prisoner she had seen for over a week. They didn’t keep the men here. Some stayed to carry out physical labour, but they were all shipped off eventually.

  Maggie busied herself eating her meal. With this new information and the piece
of paper in her pocket, she didn’t have much of an appetite. But that old Army training kicked in. Eat when you can, sleep when you can.

  It was time to advance the last part of her plan.

  Rejuvenated by thoughts of escape and her long-term quest of getting home to Texas, Maggie ate the rest of her meal in silence. Better keep the peace with Ian and his baton.

  THREE

  Boss turned the detent dial, moving slowly through the frequencies, scanning for any chatter. He glanced at the clock to one side: 5:45, or 17:45 as he was supposed to say now.

  Yes! Not long to go.

  He had enjoyed learning all the details of Radio Operations, but for the last few days he had heard limited chatter. His orders were to continuously scan, searching for any survivors. His last success had been yesterday, when he had found a couple on a boat. After giving them the coordinates of Mayor Island, they had relayed that they were running low on fuel and were heading off to look for more. Since then, Boss had heard nothing. Worry was beginning to creep in. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the bandage on his stump. Hell, it was itchy. Glancing over at the ledger of contacts, he searched out the name of their boat. Sea You Later. Running his finger down the page, he read the frequency next to the name and turned the detent dial to the correct number. Boss adjusted his headphones, listening to the static hissing in his ears. Pressing down the talk button, he reached out.

  “Sea You Later, this is Falcon 7, over.”

  Hissing and static buzzed in his ear.

  “Sea You Later, do you copy?”

  Boss furrowed his brow, and tried a few more times with no success. He reached up and rubbed the ridges of skin on his forehead. Damn it! He looked around for his pen. Finding it, he made a note on his ledger. Turning his attention back to the radio, he dutifully turned the dial, listening for anything, any sign of more survivors. So few had made it to the outlying islands. Mayor Island had a population of just 120 souls, Motiti Island a few kilometres south, a mere forty-five. But, thankfully, it was a working farm with a thousand head of sheep and 350 dairy cows. Last Boss heard, the Colonel wanted some Army personnel sent there, to secure the island. Great Barrier Island, where Jack, Dee and Ben were, had just under eight hundred people. So few, from so many.