The Fourth Phase

by Adrian J. Smith

  Jack clasped her hand. Thanking her with his eyes, he smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze.

  Right okay, a way out? Where are we? Karangahake Gorge. What’s here? Mines, trails, bush, and rivers. So, how’s that going to help? How? It’s just trees and more trees. Those things out there will catch us before we can get anywhere. Trees! Yes, that’s it! Trees!

  Jack spun around, looking at Katherine. “Do you have another entrance to the lab? Like a back entrance on the other side?”

  She looked at Jack, her brow furrowed. “Yes. A maintenance entrance, Why?”

  Jack flicked his eyes to Dee and Ben, smiling. “There’s a treetop zip-line in the next valley. It goes right across to Dickey Flat.”

  Dee smacked him on the shoulder. “Yes, of course! It’s new, though. Let’s hope they finished it before the chaos.” Katherine was staring at Dee, her mouth hanging open, gaping like a fish. Jack scratched at his temple and narrowed his eyes, watching. Dee had turned front on towards her. She shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

  “I can’t…I can’t believe it. Diana? Is it really you? After all these years?”

  Dee tugged on her ear, frowning. “How do you know my name?”

  Katherine let out a bark of laughter, a grin spreading across her face.

  “It’s me, Katherine. Katherine Yokoyama. Doctor if we are being formal. I’m a friend of your mother’s. I haven’t seen you since you were little. Look at you, all grown up!”

  Dee shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. I’m sorry I don’t remember you. Mum died a long time ago.”

  “Died?” Katherine took a few steps towards Dee. “Maybe now, after all this, but I spoke to her just as the Hemorrhage Virus took hold.”

  “What?” Dee backed away, reaching out for Jack.

  He grasped her trembling hand and gave it a squeeze.

  The shrieking, tearing sound of metal being torn apart preceded the desperate thumps of the Variants trying to get into the lab. Jack pivoted around, searching out the entrance. The door shuddered as the Variants slammed into it, rattling the hinges. He glanced around at the metal framing, praying that it would hold.

  “We need to leave, NOW! Renegades, combat retreat spacings. Let’s go!” yelled Ben.

  Jack gave Dee a reassuring embrace. She hugged him back, before breaking away and fiddling with her carbine, checking the magazine. He knew from experience that she would be troubled by the scientist’s revelation. It pained him to see her in distress, but right now they had creatures hunting them. Her eyes met his, and she gave a nod that she was okay. Satisfied, he took his place at the front.

  Striding up the long tunnel, he glanced back to the Renegades, comforted by their presence. A seed of doubt was gnawing at Jack. Where was everyone else? It seemed strange that Katherine was the only one here. This lab was huge. A place this size would require a large number of people. Not just scientists, but support staff too.

  Jack reached a T-intersection. A door labelled Stairs lay directly ahead.

  How many levels does this lab have?

  He swept his rifle around, searching for targets. Satisfied they were safe, he looked back at Katherine. “Which way?”

  Katherine pointed right, and Jack strode on, eager to escape the lab. He held his rifle up and walked heel to toe, eyes sweeping over the doors as he passed them. He read a few of the labels on the doors. Genetics. Bio security. Behavioral Lab. Staging Area. He shook his head. The names meant little to him. It struck Jack just how silent it was inside the lab. It was the perfect place for the government to build a lab: inside a disused mine.

  Where do you go if the pass is blocked? Do you dare enter the mines? He grinned. Always thinking in movies.

  They reached another sealed door. Katherine moved past him and punched in a code. Before she pulled open the door, Jack grabbed her arm. “Wait. There’s something bugging me. Where’s everyone else?”

  Katherine pulled her arm out of his grasp and turned her head to look first at Dee, then back to Jack. The ghastly sound of tearing metal echoed down the concrete tunnel, followed by the awful howls of the Variants. They had broken through. Katherine brushed past Jack, opening the door. “They all left, okay, to be with their families.”

  “So why not you?” he asked with a shake of his head.

  “To find a cure. Why else would I stay?” Katherine replied, a defiant look in her eyes.

  Jack let it go and concentrated on getting through the lab.

  Jack could see another intersection up ahead. He looked back at Katherine, his eyebrows raised. She indicated left, not meeting his gaze. Jack reached up and wiped the sweat off his brow. He was so tense. And the Variant screeches were getting louder. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He remembered what his grandmother had taught him: “Keep calm and carry on.” He had to do that now. Now was the time to stay calm. They had to escape with Katherine and whatever was in that case. The Colonel thought it more important than Mayor Island. Important enough to risk the Renegades, untried at combat as half of them were.

  Jack reached the end of the tunnel. Doors stood to his left and right, both marked with the bio-hazard symbol. A door directly in front of him was labeled Maintenance. The other Renegades jogged up behind him, then turned and faced back down the corridor. The Variants following them screamed out. Louder. Jack caught a whiff of the tangy, rotten fruit smell that always hung around them as it drifted down the tunnel. A sudden flashback of the corridor in the dam flickered through his mind. He shuddered, shaking away the memory.

  “Keep moving!” called out Ben.

  Katherine punched in the code and pushed the door open. A hideous screech rang out behind them. Jack turned with the others, searching for the source. Seeing nothing, he spun around, passing into the maintenance room. Movement to his left caused him to jolt his head up. Several Variants were scampering over the pipes lining the walls. Katherine let out a blood-curdling scream that rang in Jack’s ears. He flicked his eyes to Dee. “Go back! Hostiles!” He pivoted around, grabbing Katherine’s arm.

  “Multiple targets coming from our six,” yelled Tony.

  Jack watched as dozens of Variants poured down the tunnel in a wave of hungry terror. He pushed Katherine back into the maintenance room and raised up his rifle, getting a bead on the lead Variant.

  “Watch your backs. They’re on the walls,” he warned.

  Jack moved in front of Katherine, protecting her, and fired, aiming for the nearest creature’s head.

  “Inside!” Ben yelled.

  Jack fired and ran, heading for the door at the far end.

  The Renegades fought their way into the room. Ben slammed the door to the corridor behind him as the mass of horror slammed into it, shaking the door in its frame. He spun back around quickly, taking down a Variant running along the pipes.

  “Move it! Protect the Doc.”

  Dee pulled Katherine into the middle of the group, and the Renegades moved on as one. Firing, reloading, and firing again. Within a couple of minutes, they had dispatched the Variants.

  “Jack! Go, before these other bastards break through,” said Ben, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.

  Jack turned at Ben’s instructions. Tony was wrapping an arm in a bandage, blood seeping out. The body of a Variant stared up at Tony, its torso riddled with bullets. Jack jogged the short distance to a big grey door. It had several bolts and a keypad on it. He looked at Katherine.

  “Code?” he yelled as he started to fling back the various bolts.

  “NZLV-8675309,” she yelled back.

  Jack punched it in and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Doc?”

  She looked at him, eyes scrunched together. “That’s the master code. It should open everything.”

  Dee pushed him aside, racking her shotgun. “Fuck this!”

  She blasted the keypad, sending pieces of metal, wood, electronics, and plastic everywhere.

  Jack stared in admiration as she then kicked op
en the door. He grinned at her, and ran past into the rock-strewn tunnel beyond, running towards the pinprick of light.

  Emerging into the early morning glow, he glanced left and right, trying to get his bearings. He saw the Kaimai Mountains stretching away to the south. He could see Mt. Te Aroha peeking through some low clouds, its antenna soaring on top. Looking left, he could just make out the farmland stretching towards the Pacific Ocean.

  The thumping of boots on the rocky ground alerted him to the others’ approach. Ben caught up to him and grasped him on the shoulder. “Where’s this zip-line, Jack.”

  Jack nodded towards the farmland. “This way, about a kilometre.”

  Ben gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Keep going, Jack. Lead us to safety. I know you can.”

  Jack smiled at him, searching his face to confirm his words. Taking a breath, Jack turned and jogged into the awakening world as the hideous screeches of the Variants echoed around the Karangahake Gorge.

  NINE

  The chilled breeze blew off the sea. It did little to cool his growing frustration. James stared out into the darkness, watching the foreign ships. With each passing minute, his anger increased. He tightened his grip on the binoculars and planted his legs wide on the wet soil, trying to gain a better purchase.

  Every attempt to make contact with the vessels had failed. The three Indonesian Navy vessels had anchored in Port Abercrombie and were just sitting there, dark, silent, and confronting. Not a soul moved on the decks. It was as if three ghost ships had sailed themselves into the calm waters of the harbour and stopped.

  The warrior in James wanted to open fire and destroy these pesky invaders. He could think of no other reason for their incursion into New Zealand waters. If they sought refuge, wouldn’t they just ask, instead of all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? The Brigadier had ordered him to exhaust all possibilities of contact before responding with force. If there was a possibility of capturing the ships, then great. If not, then he was authorised to use deadly force. James struggled to remember if New Zealand had ever fired on a foreign ship? Maybe during World War Two? Well, now they might have to.

  The sound of boots crunching on the gravel road alerted him to Badminton’s approach. He turned and made eye contact. He glanced at the short, stocky man who strode alongside Badminton. James swept his eyes up and down, getting a better look at Lance Corporal Qasim Hassen. He had jet black hair and high cheek bones, and his muscular frame strained the buttons on his fatigues. Hassen met his gaze and stood to attention.

  “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

  James let the question hang in the air for a moment. With so few soldiers left, he had to be careful with how he approached what he suspected.

  “You were part of the communications detail, were you not?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What can you tell me about the mobile radar you set up?”

  Hassen paused and pulled on his ear. “Well, it was…I mean, we adapted it from one of the luxury yachts. It took us a bit to get going, but it was working fine yesterday.”

  James glanced at Badminton, getting the barest of nods in confirmation.

  “And you were the last person on duty, were you not?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Hassen stared at the ground and shifted his weight from foot to foot. James waited for him to look back up. He wanted to look this Benedict Arnold in the eye as he confessed to his transgressions.

  “So tell me, Lance Corporal, why didn’t you report any faults in the radar. Can you tell me why it conveniently happened to go dark just as these ships sailed within range?”

  Hassen furrowed his brow. “Is this because of my name? Have you just picked out the only Muslim-sounding person and brought him to trial? This is crazy! Bloody racists!”

  “Being Muslim isn’t a race, Lance Corporal, it’s a religion. The term you are looking for is sectarianism or religious discrimination. But the fact of the matter is, you were on the work detail that installed the radar. You, Lance Corporal, were on duty and failed to report a fault. Are you telling me it’s just coincidence that three Indonesian ships show up a short time later?” James could see Hassen’s cheeks flushing, and his left eye was twitching as he continued to hold James’s gaze.

  “No, Sir. I’m not denying those facts. But I’m not a traitor. My family have been in New Zealand for fifteen years. We love this country, but the racism I’ve had to endure, the hatred… People tell me to go home, go back to my country. They call me a terrorist. All because I’m from Kuwait. No, I didn’t report the fault in the radar, Sir. It’s been glitchy ever since we installed it. I don’t know who these people are. Why would I?” Hassen flung his arms out, gesturing wildly.

  James stood there watching, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re talking to me about racism? Let me give you a quick history lesson, Lance Corporal. My people have occupied this land for over one thousand two hundred years. Then the Pakeha show up with their ‘culture’, with their alcohol, tobacco, and guns. Once, my people were warriors. Once, we were a proud race, looking after the land, living with the land. Before them. The Pakeha turned my people soft. Oppressed us. Banned our language. Tried to beat our culture out of us. Stole our land. You dare stand here telling me about racism!” James glared at Hassen, daring him to retort, but the Lance Corporal refused to meet his gaze, his head lowered, eyes staring at the muddy clay underfoot.

  “You want to know something else, Lance Corporal?” James spat out between clenched teeth. “I’m from the East Cape of this country. My people were amongst the first to make contact with Captain Cook in 1769. His ship sat out in the bay, much like these ones are. Our elders had a meeting that night, to discuss this invader. He was allowed to carry on and trade. I often wonder what would’ve happened if the elders had decided to burn his ship to the waterline, how different it would have been for my people.”

  James looked to Badminton. Nodding, he said, “You may fire when ready, Lieutenant.”

  Badminton raised the radio to his mouth.

  James watched Hassen out of the corner of his eye. He saw his eyes flick to the three ships, saw the twitch on his cheek speed up rapidly.

  Hassen raised his hand. “Sir, please, they have women and children on board.”

  James let a smirk spread over his face. Letting out a breath, he eyeballed Hassen. He took the radio off Badminton and handed it to Hassen. “Get their captain on the line.”

  He turned, looking out at the ships.

  James could smell the slight scent of diesel over the salt air. It lingered in his nostrils, stirring memories of summers spent with his grandfather, hunting for lobster, kina, and his favourite, paua.

  I’m glad you didn’t live to see this, you silly old paka.

  He could hear Hassen chattering into the radio, speaking Arabic. James recognised the language, as he’d been to Iraq on a couple of peacekeeping missions. The heat, sand, and squalid conditions had made for an unpleasant experience. He’d spent most of his tour training new police recruits.

  It had stunned him when the Sunni fought the Shia over everything. They continuously blew each other up. James could never get his head around how, within a war-torn country, people of the same religion hated each other. Where was the working together? He had gladly left, despondent, not sure if he’d helped in anyway. Flying back into New Zealand, seeing the green land surrounded by turquoise water, his worries had evaporated. Now, staring back at him, were three ships full of Muslims. Yes, Muslims they may be, but still human. Still men, women, and children. If the Variants hadn’t taken over the world, his actions may have been different, but with so few humans left, they needed every possible one.

  James weighed up his options. Should he disobey a direct order and fire upon innocent people, people who he suspected would be trouble in the future? He sighed, forcing the darkness in him down. No, he was better than that. He turned. Holding out his hand, he took the radio off Hassen.

  “This is Colonel James Mahana of the New Zeala
nd Army. Who am I speaking to?”

  A slight pause of static and hissing crackled out of the speaker.

  “Colonel, this is Captain Arif Koto. We come in peace and beg your forgiveness.”

  “Then why all the smoke and mirrors, Captain?”

  “Smoke and mirrors? I’m not familiar, please, my English is limited.”

  James pulled the radio away from his ear, cursing inwardly. Of course your English is limited, it always is. He raised the radio back to his lips. “Why are you here, Captain, and why shouldn’t I just send some missiles your way?”

  “Please, Colonel, we just want refuge. These creatures are everywhere. And where they are not, it’s crazy. We are just peaceful Muslims wanting help.”

  “I can understand that, Captain, but why not radio ahead?”

  “We tried that around the Pacific, but were chased away every time. We reached out to our Muslim brothers. One heard, praise Allah, and led us here. We came in the dark, hoping, and prayed. He heard us.”

  James shook his head and glared at Hassen. He was going to have to deal with him later. He made eye contact with Badminton. “Take him out of my sight. Put him in the brig until I can deal with him.”

  He raised his binoculars up to look at the bridge of the Sigma-class corvette. He could see dim lights shining on the bridge, figures moving about. The decks remained void of any activity.

  “All right, Captain Koto, listen carefully. You are to remain anchored where you are. Any sign of intrusion, and you will be fired upon. Are we clear?”

  There was a slight pause before Koto answered. “I understand Colonel. But please, we are out of fresh water and have very little food.”

  James clenched his jaw. These Indonesians were really testing his patience. “I’ll get you some water, Captain. You can fish from your boat. And when it’s light, you are coming ashore to have a little chat.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. Peace be with you.”

  James clicked his radio off and hooked it into his belt. He turned and walked briskly to his vehicle, sitting waiting on the gravel road. He sat behind the wheel, staring at the bush-clad mountains rising up inland, mountains his people had lived on for generations. He turned the ignition. Revving up the engine, he jammed the accelerator down, spinning the tires in the gravel as he tore up the road.