The Fourth Phase

by Adrian J. Smith

  Boss looked up at the clock, hoping for the end of his shift. It flashed back 18:03. Grinning, he reached over and grabbed his crutches. Hoisting himself up with a grunt, he looked down at where his lower leg used to be. The doctor had warned him about phantom pains. Boss still caught himself trying to use that leg. Embarrassingly, he had fallen over a few times. Grabbing his ledger, he headed over to the sergeant sitting at a desk in the far corner. It was a simple room; two stacks of radio equipment lined the left-hand and back walls, with the sergeant’s desk on the right-hand wall, next to the door as you entered. A couple of maps of New Zealand and the surrounding islands had been pinned to the sheetrock wall, white marker pins locating the pockets of survivors. Boss couldn’t help but glance at the mainland. Only three white markers remained there: Auckland, Wellington, and a pin in the South Island. Someplace called Waihopai. Not anywhere that he had heard of.

  A shiver ran up his spine, and he remembered all that he’d been through, just to reach this island. How he had hidden in the attic with his mother. His father’s return as one of the flesh-eaters. His flight. His rescue from the hounds of hell by Dee. Hiding in that stinky basement with her. She had become someone he cared about dearly and when he admitted it, had a huge crush on. He thought about the guilt he still felt for running: running to save himself, leaving his mother to his once-father. He liked to think that karma had been paid when he lost his lower left leg to that hideous Alpha.

  Frowning at the memory of that beast, Boss glanced over to the other RO. He waved at Signaller Geoff “Six” Austin, getting his attention. “Game later?”

  Six pulled one of his headphones off his ear, like DJs do when mixing dance music. “For sure. See you in a bit. You better bring it tonight.”

  Boss let out a bark of laughter. “I’m 10-6 up.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch up with you tonight, bro.”

  Boss shook his head as he walked the last few metres to the sergeant. Pool was his game. It was all about angles and placing the ball ready for the next shot. All those hours practicing at home, playing his dad, had paid off.

  Reaching the sergeant, he put his weight on his remaining leg and handed over his ledger. “Nothing new to report, Sir.”

  Sergeant Brian Haere looked up from the report he was reading and stared straight at Boss. Boss found it difficult to hold the stare. He knew it was the sergeant’s way of measuring one, to see what sort of man one was. Boss suspected he came from a hard upbringing, where being tough was normal. He hated that aspect of masculinity. Men and boys trying to prove to each other just how macho they were. Surely being here on this island was proof enough.

  He couldn’t hold the stare any longer and glanced away, looking out the window. He could see the few lights of the camp dancing on the water of the natural harbour. The sounds of children playing reached him, bringing a smile to his lips. He was looking forward to seeing George.

  Turning his attention back to the sergeant, Boss caught his stare again.

  “Nothing new in your report, Shepard?” he asked curtly.

  Boss looked down at his feet, heat rising up through his body, flushing his cheeks.

  “Look at me, Shepard. You look a man in the eye when you speak, you hear that? Especially to me.” The sergeant pointed at himself, and then back at Boss. “When an officer speaks to you, you look him in the eye. It’s all about respect, Shepard.”

  Boss ground his teeth together. He hated how the sergeant talked to him. He was still getting used to this chain of command thing.

  Letting out a breath, he glanced back up and held the sergeant’s stare. “Yes Sir, nothing new to report, Sir.”

  The sergeant raised his hand and rubbed his chin. “Very well, Shepard. You are dismissed. See you here at 0800.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Boss turned and caught Six’s eye, grinned, and raised his head in acknowledgement.

  He walked down a short corridor and into the common area that was once the lounge bar, back when the building was a hotel, back before the Variants ate everyone. Boss hobbled down the stairs and out onto the concrete boardwalk that hugged the shore of the bay. Max bounded over, playfully nudging his head into Boss’s leg. Boss reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears, savouring the familiar touch. Max had adopted them, in a way. He had started sleeping on the deck of the villa, and had never left. Jack had asked around the village, but nobody’d claimed him. Dee said that animals find their own forever home sometimes.

  Boss liked that. Forever home. That would be nice. He looked out at the small settlement he now called home. Before the Hemorrhage Virus, it had been a camping ground, hosting people over the summer months. A few cabins were dotted around the hills, some bigger summer houses mingled between, with the hotel — now Operations — in the middle of the bay. The large, older-style villa sat on the hill overlooking the bay and the mainland. It was the house he shared with Jack, Dee, George, and Ben. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered Jack calling it the Walsh Villa, from some movie back in the 80s. Jack and his movies. Boss reached the stairs leading down to the beach. The squeals of children reached him, snapping him out of his introspection. He glanced around, looking for George. Boss smirked to himself. Maybe Beth would be there too. He breathed deeply, enjoying the chilly salt-laden air as it filled his lungs. That radio room always felt stuffy.

  Boss sat down on the small concrete wall. A few of the kids had a game of touch rugby going. The last of the autumn light was fading fast. Boss searched out the red hair of George, and watched him dodging around a couple of older boys, heading for the try line marked in the sand. One of the boys slammed his shoulder into George, sending him sprawling.

  Boss leapt up, balancing on his foot. “Oi! It’s touch, you dickhead.”

  The older boy looked over at him. Laughing, he replied, “Oh look, it’s hopping Virgil. Come to save your little boyfriend, Virgil?”

  Boss squinted his eyes, staring at the older boy. “Just leave it out, Tyler. He’s only eight.”

  Tyler scoffed at Boss, laughing sarcastically. “Whatever, Virgil. Game’s finished anyway.”

  Boss glanced left and right, looking at the other players. A couple of them were shuffling their feet. He spotted Beth striding over to George. She bent down and hauled him up, brushing off the sand. Then she looked at Boss, smiling. Her sparkling blue eyes sending a flutter through his stomach.

  Beth turned to Tyler and whacked him on the arm. “He’s just a kid, Tyler. You always have to ruin the game, don’t you?”

  Boss watched as Tyler folded his arms, snarling at Beth. “Yeah, whatever, you guys are all soft anyway.”

  He was relieved to see Tyler storm off, his two cohorts following. They feinted a couple of punches at the other players as they left, their cackling laughter echoing out over the water.

  Boss shook his head, the vein on his forehead throbbing. What was Tyler’s problem, smashing into George like he was some big South African rugby player? Bullies always got on his nerves. Bigger kids throwing their weight around, physically and mentally torturing everyone around them. Did they have to make everyone’s lives as miserable as theirs? He had hated school. All the cliques with all their little rules and dramas! Always so much drama. Tyler was the only one who called him by his given name, Virgil. He cringed whenever he heard it. Boss often cursed his parents and their love of all things NASA. Named after a stupid astronaut! Sighing, he pushed himself off the concrete wall and made his way over to George and Beth.

  “Hey G-man, you okay?”

  George brushed some of the sand out of his hair. “He’s so mean.”

  Boss leant down and helped get some of the grainy gold sand off George’s clothes. “I’m sorry, G-man. Some kids are just like that. Probably best to stay away, okay?”

  He watched as George shuffled his feet, kicking some of the sand out from beneath them. “Okay, I guess. But I like playing rugby with the other kids.”

  “I know, mate. Le
t’s go get some dinner, eh?” Boss glanced up at Beth, and his heart fluttered in his chest. Plucking up his courage, he smiled at her. “Umm, do you like… I mean would you…ummm—”

  “I’d love to. Thanks,” Beth cut in, saving Boss from further embarrassment. She reached down and took George’s hand.

  Boss grinned at her. “Ah, thanks for your help back there, by the way.”

  “No probs. Can’t have that idiot doing that.”

  Boss reached down and grabbed George’s free hand, and the trio made their way over to the mess hall nestled next to the hotel. Boss could see the old restaurant name, “Obsidian”, painted across the facade. The smell of frying fish made his stomach rumble, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

  Boss leant back in his chair, stretching out his tired back muscles. Ever since he’d recovered from his injury, he found it difficult to sit for very long. Doc had explained that it was to do with him relying on his good leg all the time, and that once he fitted the prosthetic, it should improve.

  Prosthetic! Bugger.

  Boss glanced around the restaurant, looking for the doc. He was supposed to get his prosthetic fitted tonight. He waved at Beth, getting her attention. “Sorry, Beth. Can you watch George? I’m supposed to visit the doc. He wants to test my prosthetic tonight.”

  Beth looked up from her half-eaten fish. “Sure, no probs. See you in the games room after?”

  Boss pushed out his chair. “Yeah, definitely. I’ve got to keep my streak going with Six.” He glanced at George. “See you later G-man.” Not waiting for a response, he grabbed his crutches and hurried for the infirmary, a couple of buildings over.

  Boss hobbled along the boardwalk, his crutches clicking on the concrete. Movement out in the bay caught his eye. A large luxury yacht was churning its way past the moored boats, and he could see a dozen or so other motor boats strung out behind it. Survivors? Six must have found some survivors and directed them here. He stood watching for a bit, admiring the sleek lines of the luxury motor yacht with its silver and black colours. Serious cash there.

  Reaching the infirmary, he pushed through the door. The smells of antiseptic and disinfectant filled the air, their pungency causing him to cough.

  The doc turned around at the sound. “Ah Boss, there you are.”

  Boss smiled at the doc. He was a kindly man, with glasses perched on his nose and his receding hair combed back. A keen bird watcher, it was a crazy bit of luck that he was on the island during the early days of the Variant outbreak.

  “Hey Doc, sorry I’m late. Went to dinner and forgot.”

  Doc looked over his glasses at Boss, his hazel eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Beth?”

  Boss grinned at him and looked down at his feet. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  Doc patted him on the shoulder. “No harm, no foul. You’re here now, eh? Now let’s see if this fits.”

  Boss watched, intrigued, as Doc removed the bandage on his stump, checking his handiwork. “A little red, but that’s normal.” Then he rolled a soft, fluffy sock-like bandage over the stump, causing Boss to wince slightly. Then Doc grabbed the prosthetic, nestled the leather cup onto Boss’s stump, and tightened the straps.

  “How does that feel, young man?”

  Boss looked down at his prosthetic. One of the soldiers had welded a couple of metal pipes together off an old bike. Three smaller pieces of metal tubing were welded to it as support struts. “Okay, I guess. Can I try it out?”

  Doc nodded his head. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Boss slid off the examination bed and tentatively put weight on his new leg. The leather cup pushed into his stump, and tingles raced up Boss’s spine. He grimaced. “It’s going to take a while to get used to.” Pointing at his crutches, he added, “But better than those things!” He grinned.

  Doc smiled back at Boss, the warmth evident. “I think we’ll give your leg a bit more time to heal, then you can wear it for short periods. It will take a while young man.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Doc,” Boss replied.

  “You’re welcome. Boss, I’m proud of you, son. You’ve done a remarkable job recovering from such an horrific injury. I can only imagine the horrors you saw out there.”

  Boss pursed his lips together. “Thanks. Dee and the others have helped.”

  “Yes, yes. Good company and friends always help.”

  Boss made his way around the infirmary, gingerly testing his prosthetic. He glanced out the window towards the games room, eager to meet up with his friends. The bark of gunfire stopped Boss in his tracks. More gunfire answered, gathering in urgency. Then the boom of a shotgun sounded, and the wail of the siren wound up, echoing around the bay. A shiver ran up his spine. The camp was under attack! George! Beth! He exchanged a look with Doc. Boss could see the fear emanating from Doc’s eyes. “Get to the bunker, Doc. Go!”

  Doc nodded, and gathered a medical kit before racing out the back door. Boss flung open the front door and looked out at a scene of utter chaos.

  The luxury yacht had moored at the jetty, easily dwarfing the other boats in the harbour. Hundreds of Variants were pouring over the sides, flinging themselves at the soldiers, who were firing into the rolling mass of terror. He watched as more Variants swarmed off the smaller boats, fighting, tearing, scrambling over each other to get onto the yacht and beyond, to their human prey.

  They caught us by surprise. Ben is not going to be happy.

  Boss reached down and pulled the Glock 17 from his holster. He looked up at the villa, and cursed himself for sleeping in and forgetting his go-bag that morning. He glanced left and right down the boardwalk, indecision freezing him. Would Beth have taken George to the games room? Screams, gunfire, and the boom of a shotgun from the direction of the games room made up his mind. Boss hobbled down the boardwalk, his new leg clicking on the concrete as he gathered pace. Hold on, G-man. I’m coming.

  FOUR

  Dee stirred the soup in the aluminium billy, watching the thick red liquid bubble. The acidic smell of the tomatoes made her lick her lips. She hadn’t eaten a decent meal for a couple of days. She could hear Ben and the gunners Jones, Eric and Tony, rustling around as they packed up the rest of the camp. What were the odds of Eric and Tony having the same surname? Even at the end of the world, it was common. Well, at least I don’t have to keep up with them. Dee smiled to herself at her little joke. Jack would have liked that one. Thinking of Jack, she hummed a few bars of their favourite song, Freebird. On a normal Saturday, she and Jack would be settling in, watching a movie, with Jack adding little facts as she enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She loved watching movies with Jack; the sheer joy they brought him amazed her. His eyes would light up as each scene played out on the screen. He would grin and look at her, watching to see her excitement. He would cheer as Ripley swung her flamethrower over the xenomorph eggs, cooking them. He would cry as E.T. left Elliot and soared into the sky, leaving a rainbow. He would laugh as Baby learnt her dance moves. Movies were his thing, and now they were gone.

  Dee sighed and stood up, stretching. She was looking forward to getting some sleep tonight. The squawk of the radio reached her, and she turned and looked at Ben. He flicked his eyes up at her, a flash of confusion dancing across his face. Dee watched as he turned up the volume and raised it to his ear.

  Jack’s voice hissed out. “Ahh, Captain, receiving? Over.”

  “Receiving.”

  “Possible bogies spotted. Bearing north north east. Over.”

  Ben exchanged a look with Dee before turning and looking out to sea. She followed his gaze, and strained to peer through the falling drizzle. She gasped. Three ships were cutting through the choppy sea towards the island.

  What the hell?

  Ben spun around. “Dee, put that fire out, now! Jones, lights out!” Dee could tell from the stern tone that he meant business. Gone was the friendly, wise man. The official, hardened, former NZ SAS soldier took over. The joking and backchat from the Joneses vanished as
they quickly switched off all the lights and crouched down behind their gear. Ben raised the radio back to his lips. “Jack, do you copy? Over.”

  “Receiving.”

  “Go dark, Jack. And stay put. Maintain radio silence. Over.”

  “Wilco, out.”

  Ben crouched down next to Dee. “Eric, get me eyes on those ships. I want to know whose they are. They’re not allies, that’s for sure.”

  Eric nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  Seeing his acknowledgement, Ben turned his attention to Tony. “Tony, get the Colonel on the horn. Let him know what’s going on and tell him that damn radar still isn’t operational.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Then Ben looked at Dee, concern showing on his normally stoic face. “Dee, break camp. We’re going to have to hightail it back to the FOB.”

  She gave him a curt nod and started packing away the campstove. Seeing the soup, she shoveled a few spoonfuls into her mouth. She tipped out the rest of the contents of the billy. She hated seeing the food going to waste, as it had become an ever-increasing luxury. She listened as Ben spoke softly to Eric.

  “What do you see, Gunner? Give me details.”

  There was a pause, so long that Dee thought Eric hadn’t heard Ben.

  “Two frigates, and one cruiser, maybe a corvette. No markings, no numbers, no lights, Sir. They’re sailing dark. Bearing straight for us.”

  “Tony, give me that radio.” Ben walked the few steps to him and raised the long-distance radio to his lips. The drizzle made it difficult for Dee to hear the conversation, so she busied herself by packing away the remainder of the camp. Eric came over and helped take the tarpaulin down. Some of the collected rain tipped over Dee, running down the inside of her raincoat. The icy water making her shiver. Thoughts of standing under a nice warm shower, and a decent sleep, were now forgotten.