The Fourth Phase

by Adrian J. Smith

  Dee snapped the last clasps shut on her pack and checked that her rifle was loaded and safety on. She patted her side, feeling for the Glock and knife. She looked at her Katana tucked into the back webbing of her pack, and smiled. There was no way she was going anywhere without it. That Katana had saved her life many times over. Something deep down inside told her that it had a bigger role to play. She sat on her haunches, awaiting news from Ben.

  Ben turned to her, Tony, and Eric, and lifted the short-distance radio to his lips. “Jack, do you copy? Over.”

  Static buzzed over to Dee.

  “Receiving, over.”

  “Right. Listen up, Renegades. Radar is down. We have unfriendly ships coming in. I suspect, from the class, that they are Indonesian. Why they are here, we don’t know, so for now they are to be treated as hostile. Colonel Mahana has ordered us down the mountain. We are to proceed to Kiwiriki Bay, where a chopper will extract us. We shall then proceed to Mayor Island, where we are to improve the fortifications in case of hostilities. Jack, stay put. We are coming to you. In the interim, plot the most direct route to the LZ. We have 90 minutes. Understood?”

  A chorus of “Yes Sir” answered. Ben’s eyes meet Dee’s, concern showing in his usually twinkling eyes. He grasped Dee’s shoulder. “Move out, soldier.”

  Dee gave him a tight-lipped smile as she hoisted her pack onto her shoulders and positioned her weapons. She tried to adjust her raincoat to keep the cold drizzling rain from dripping down her neck, but after a few attempts she gave up and concentrated on keeping her feet from slipping on the rocks scattered on the mountain pass.

  Here we go again.

  ***

  Jack stretched out his tired legs as he waited for the other Renegades to reach his position. He watched the approaching Indonesian Navy ships warily, their silhouettes looming ever closer to island. The whole situation bothered him. If it was indeed the Indonesians, why the hell were they here in New Zealand? The mainland was gone, overtaken by the Variants. He had heard rumours of failed operations the Americans had attempted in eradicating the Variants hordes from the vast landmass of continental United States. Jack tugged on his ear and wiped some of the rain off his neck.

  Musing over his concerns, Jack pulled out his map of the mountain and double-checked the route he had found. He remembered a hiking trip to Great Barrier Island some years ago. Some gloriously sunny days had been spent exploring the old timber trails. The island had a rich history in logging kauri trees, and the hardy loggers had left some long-forgotten trails snaking their way down rocky valleys. The kauri tree was a much-prized piece of timber. Tall, straight, and strong, it soared above the other trees in the forest. Now only a few pockets remained, standing as they always had, sentinels, watching the world. Jack could just imagine when Captain Cook and his crew first saw the majestic trees. They’d immediately valued them for masts on their tall ships. He shook his head at the short-sightedness of the early settlers and their relentless pursuit of the timber.

  So few remain…a bit like us.

  Jack risked a quick flash of his light to check he had the correct compass bearing. He secured his map away and took up a covering position, overlooking the trail. A faint scrape over the light patter of the rain alerting him to the approach of his fellow Renegades. His heart skipped a beat as he recognised the petite frame of Dee emerging out of the darkness, her Katana poking out from her pack and her rifle slung on her shoulder within easy reach. Their eyes met, and Jack couldn’t help but grin. Those eyes gazing at him always softened his mood, picking him up when he needed it most.

  Dee reached out as she came up beside him and grasped his hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” Jack placed a hand on her waist and drew her into an embrace, kissing her on the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry about being a grumpy.”

  Dee kissed him back, her warm lips lingering on his cheek. “Thanks, Jack. It’s us till the end, remember?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Till the end.” He smiled at her as he disengaged from the hug. He gazed back down the track, watching as the Joneses joined them. Ben brought up the rear, his long beard slinking out of the night like a glowworm waiting for its prey. Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement, meeting his gaze.

  “What have you got for us, Jack?”

  “I found us an old logging trail. It cuts down through the valley before meeting up with that river we crossed. That should take us to Kiwiriki Bay and the LZ.” Jack indicated with his arm the direction he was talking about.

  Ben took his hand off his rifle and clasped Jack’s shoulder. “Nice work, Jack.”

  Ben then turned to face the other Renegades. “All right. We maintain radio discipline and keep our torches off. When we get to the valley floor, we can switch them on. Tread carefully, Renegades, I don’t want any injuries or delays. And be ready for any hostiles, human or Variant.”

  They all answered with a quiet “Yes, Sir.”

  Jack caught Tony smirking at him holding Dee’s hand. “Do the love-birds want to get a nice room first?” said Tony.

  Dee reached out and punched him in the arm. Tony grabbed her arm and twisted it. Dee pivoted around, sweeping her leg out. The muscled soldier tumbled to the ground, surprise etched on his face. Standing over the now-prone gunner, Dee replied, “I know you and Eric want one, but it will have to wait.” She turned back to Jack, grinning from ear to ear. He couldn’t help the laugh barking out. The other Renegades joined in. The muscled Tony was no match for Dee’s speed.

  Still chortling at Dee’s witty remark, Jack adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and moved past the Joneses to the front, with Dee following behind. He turned his head, looking Ben in the eyes.

  Ben gave him a quick nod. “Lead on, McDuff.”

  Jack turned, wiping at the rain dripping down his temple, and trudged into the gloom. The Renegades followed silently.

  FIVE

  The chaotic sounds of the battle bounced around between the buildings as Boss raced towards the games room. He glanced left and right, searching for Variants, his Glock 17 held up like Ben had taught him. He reached the corner of the building and peered around it. A square of light shone on the ground in front of him. Shadows of figures danced in the open window. He peered through the darkness towards the front of the building. The constant gunfire was rattling him. He took some deep breaths and adjusted his new leg, trying to find a comfortable spot. It was throbbing after only a few moments. He should have grabbed his crutches; now was really not the time to test out his prosthetic. Boss looked once more at the window and went through the actions in his mind. He pushed off with his good leg and ran to the window. He knocked the gun against the glass and peered in. One of the figures turned and, seeing him, ran over. Boss mimed for her to open the window, but the girl looked back at him, terror plastered across her cherub face. She shook her head. Peering deeper into the room, he saw the blonde hair of Beth shining. He rapped louder on the window, praying she would hear.

  Boss was struggling to come to terms with what was happening. After a month of peace and solitude, his world had come crashing down again. He thought he had left the monsters behind on that mountain. He had paid for his escape with his lower leg cruelly ripped away. If the chopper hadn’t arrived, and if courageous George hadn’t stabbed his little screwdriver into the Trophy King, he wouldn’t be standing here now. He needed to repay his life debt to George.

  The rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns reached him. Boss looked up and slammed his gun against the glass, cracking it. Beth turned at the noise and stared at Boss. Wide eyed, she nodded her head and grasped the shoulders of the children next to her.

  A screech echoed out, and Boss turned to the noise. Three Variants scampered down the small alley, their reptilian eyes glowing in the night. Boss raised his gun, aiming for the head of the middle one. It glared back at him, as if daring him to fire. Boss squeezed the trigger. A black arc of gunk sprayed out behind it as the bullet tore through its sk
ull. The other two Variants sprang off the ground in opposite directions. They used the buildings on either side like springboards and bounced off, leaping at Boss. He raised his Glock at one and got off a round, dropping it. Pain raced up his good leg as he was lifted off the ground and slammed into the building behind him. The children inside screamed. The Variant on top of Boss howled, and spat thick gobbets of sludgy goo onto him. He desperately tried to bring his gun up and fire it, but the Variant knocked it aside, howling.

  The force of the blow stunned Boss, stars and colours swirled in his vision. Trying to focus, he looked into the eyes of the beast, waiting for its sucker mouth to latch onto him and tear at his flesh. He flicked his eyes towards the window of the games room, hoping to get a last glimpse of George so he could apologise for failing him. Boss furrowed his brow. The window was open. The Variant hissed at him and dug its claws under his shoulders to pull him away. Boss shut his eyes and waited for death. Then he heard a wet thumping sound, and opened his eyes. The creature on top of him stared past him, its eyes bulged out. It looked down at the jagged piece of timber spearing through its torso, before reaching up with clawed hands to grasp the spear. It let out a muted gurgle and blinked rapidly. With one last look at Boss, the Variant slumped to the ground, dead.

  Beth stood to one side, looking down at the dead beast. She flicked her eyes to Boss, her mouth opening and closing. Boss pushed himself up and kicked out at it with his prosthetic. He knelt down and retrieved his Glock. Raising it, he put a round through its grotesque skull. Grinning, he looked at Beth. “Thanks. I thought I was a goner for sure.”

  Beth stared down at the beast. “I killed it.”

  Boss reached out and grasped her hand. “You sure did. C’mon. We have to get these kids to the bunker.” He turned back to the window, and saw George staring out at him. “G-man? C’mon, let’s go.” Balancing on his good leg, he reached up and lifted him out. The crushed shells on the path crunched under his feet. He handed Beth his Glock. “Cover us, just like Ben taught us. George, you keep watch up that way.” He pointed up the hill towards the villa. They both nodded.

  He turned back to the open window and lifted out the remaining kids. His muscles strained with the exertion. The sweaty smell of fear permeated the smaller children. He got a few wafts of urine too as he lifted the two youngest down.

  The gaggle of frightened kids huddled around Boss and Beth. Gunfire smoke hung in the air, the constant flashes and bangs strobing through the night like some crazy discotheque. He crouched down next to the kids. “All right. We’re going to run as fast as we can up this path to all those tents up there, okay?” He indicated the shell-strewn path he was talking about. A couple of the kids nodded at him. Boss did a quick head count. Five, including George. “Good. And then we are going to run for the bunker, just like we practiced, okay?”

  He reached down and grabbed a couple of hands, then hobbled up the path. He turned his head slightly, checking to see if Beth was following. She pushed a few of the kids in front of her, and the little gang raced for the tents.

  They ducked down behind the first tent just as a huge explosion boomed out around the bay. The concussion wave caused the tent to buffet like in a gale. Boss pulled the kids down, covering them with his body. Several of the children started to cry as his ears began to ring. Shaking his head, he hauled up a few of the kids, urging them on. He crawled behind the row of tents, hoping the thin nylon fabric hid their flight. At the last gap, Boss got a glimpse of the harbour. The luxury yacht was a raging ball of fire. He paused, stunned.

  Someone had managed to fire an ATGM at the yacht. Variants writhing in flames leapt into the ocean. The remnants of the Army left on this outpost were fighting their “Gallipoli”. They were mowing Variants down in their dozens, but Boss could see more pouring out of the boats behind the burning yacht, filling the jetty with a rolling black wave. The machine gun nests and gun placements were fast becoming overrun by the Variant horde. Soldiers, mothers, fathers, and children were being torn apart. He could hear their terrified screams, even over the gunfire. Many of the adults had guns, and were doing their best to stem the flow of beasts tearing through the camp.

  Boss looked at the old hotel, to where the bunker was. Ben had commandeered the old cellar and repurposed it. He had run the camp through drills, getting them to practice again and again. Children and the medical staff were to be evacuated, everyone else was expected to fight. Boss peered into the chaos. He could just see the stocky figure of Sergeant Haere moving guns into position to protect the bunker. Seeing this gave Boss new hope. He took some deep breaths and checked that his gun was loaded. He ran his hand around his belt, feeling for his extra magazine. This is just like a raid in WOW.

  Turning to Beth, he caught her eye. “You lead them to the bunker, just like we practiced. I’ll bring up the rear with George, covering you. Run, and don’t look back.”

  Beth grasped his hand. “Okay.”

  He moved to one side and ferried Beth and the four kids in front of him. “Go!”

  Boss pushed up, getting his good leg under him. But his new prosthetic caught on the ground and he stumbled and fell, landing heavily. George turned at the noise, glancing down to him. Boss waved him on, but George stopped and ran back to help Boss balance on his good leg while he adjusted his prosthetic. Bloody thing. He nestled his stump back into the leather cup and tightened the strap. Boss looked at the entrance of the bunker and saw the soldiers ushering the kids in. He let out a sigh of relief. Beth stood at the door, beckoning.

  Screeches and howls tore through the night above the chaos. A group of a dozen Variants prowled into the gap, screeching and hissing at the retreating humans. Damn it! They were cut off. The soldiers at the bunker door pushed at Beth, but she spun out of their grasp and sprinted up the hill and into the bush. Beth, NO!

  Sergeant Haere and the soldiers brought their rifles up and opened fire on the Variants. Haere turned and screamed at Boss, “Take George and go!”

  Boss indicated that he understood. He grabbed George’s hand and hobbled up the path, heading for the Walsh Villa. If we’re going to survive, we need our go-bags and better weapons.

  SIX

  Maggie paused outside the yellow door, her hand raised ready to knock. Absently, she read the sign stuck on the door. Manager. The guard posted outside stood a few metres away, his gaze lingering on her athletic figure. She narrowed her blue eyes as she followed his gaze sweeping over her curves. He didn’t even try to hide it. She pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear and rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” called out a muffled voice.

  Maggie took a deep breath to calm her building temper and pushed through the door. The skinny frame of Ian waited, leaning against his desk, his brown eyes watching her, a smirk planted on his face.

  She returned his gaze, a sour tang forming in her mouth. “You wanted to see me?”

  Ian motioned to the free seat on her side of the desk. “Please, sit. Would you like a drink? Some tequila arrived today.”

  Ian moved around the desk and eased himself into the chair behind it.

  “No thanks. Can we get to the point? I’d like to see Becs before turning in.”

  Ian swivelled in his chair, turning his back to her. He reached out and grabbed a bottle of tequila from the shelf, the glass clinking against the tumbler as he spun back around. His eyes narrowed. “I know you hate me, Maggie, but I want to offer you a job. Better rations for you and Becs. I might even spare you both. Look at this like an opportunity.”

  “Spare us?”

  Ian placed the tumbler down and poured out some tequila.

  Maggie ground her teeth. Tequila? In a tumbler? Sacrilege.

  He smirked at her. “What? Did you think this was a nice little holiday camp where you could all live out your lives and the creatures would leave you alone?”

  Heat rose through her stomach and up her neck. She clenched her fists under the desk, her nails cutting into her palms.
“Of course not. Tell you what. You tell me what’s going on here and I’ll consider it.”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not? Is it that bad?”

  “Listen, Maggie. We all did what we had to do, to survive. I can’t tell you. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ve worked it out. Some of it, at least. I might tell you later. When you are on board with the programme.”

  Maggie stared at Ian as he sipped on his tequila.

  He swirled the liquid around in the glass, watching her through the sloshing liquid. “So, do you want to know what the job is?”

  Maggie thought about her work, about how most of the children never stayed long. Her suspicions regarding their fate angered her.

  “Whatever the job is, you can shove it up your ass!” Maggie pushed herself out of her chair.

  Ian followed her up and slammed his glass down on the desk, spilling the tequila. “You’re going to regret that, Yank! And your little friend Becs? I’ll send her out on the next tribute. Oh, and Alice? They have special plans for her. Yes. Special plans for her.”

  Maggie could see spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. She cast her eyes down to the tequila bottle. It was within easy reach. She could grasp it. Break it. And jab it into his throat.

  Ian barked out a laugh. “Go on, Yank, do it. You’ll be dead within moments, and your friends too.”

  She spun around and flung open the door. Ian’s cackling laughter followed her down the hall.

  Maggie exited the building and strode out over the grass, heading for the gardens. She needed some space and time to calm down. Breathing in the cool night air always helped. She reached the gardening shed and sat down on some bags of potting mix. So many questions swam through her mind, each bobbing to the surface, demanding answers. Questions she didn’t have answers to. Why were they here? What was Ian talking about? Tributes? To succeed at warfare, you need intel. She had very little of that. She remembered reading The Art of War. It was full of wise quotes. The plan she had put into motion for their escape was based around her favourite: “In the midst of chaos, there is opportunity.” She smiled. Yes, Ian. I have a special plan for you. But first, I promised a little red-haired girl a story.