Boss had been lucky. He had survived. Well, most of him had. No. Why? wasn’t the right question either. He knew why. They all knew why. Besides the obvious What did they hope to gain? Boss paused and peered ahead.
He could just make out George in the dim light a couple of meters away and took a careful step forwards, wishing again that he could turn on his flashlight. But the fear of discovery stayed his hand. No, it was better to stumble in the dark than to alert the creatures to their location like a lighthouse warning ships.
In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of gunfire, some single shots, a few rapid, close together. And the occasional boom of a shotgun. Checking that his own Mossberg was loaded, he hobbled along, his makeshift prosthetic clicking on the rock floor.
Boss strained his ears listening for them. A faint scurrying sound reached him, like a rat scampering across a wooden floor. With every sound his heart beat faster. Boss paused and took a moment to try to bring his nerves under control.
Something warm and soft nudged his good leg, pressing against him. Looking down, he saw Max, the New Zealand heading dog they’d adopted.
A conversation he’d had with Dee flashed in his mind, bringing a faint smile to his lips.
“A heading dog? Don’t you mean herding?”
“No, Boss, it’s heading. Google it.”
“Google?” Boss laughed. “How?”
“Just believe me for once, then,” Dee said, smiling at him.
Max pressed his nose into Boss’s hand and gave him a quick lick, as if to reassure Boss that he was doing the right thing. Seeing Max calmly padding alongside helped him focus.
“How much farther?” he whispered. George pointed down the tunnel. Boss could see a faint silvery patch of light in the distance. He hurried towards it, eager to leave the twisting and turning caves behind. At least out in the open he could see the Variants coming. The open would give them a chance to survive.
They exited the tunnel and Boss looked over at the dark patch that was the small island on the side of the crater lake, nestled against the eastern edge of the caldera. A lone pohutukawa tree stood, a ghostly sentry over the low scrub covering the island. Like some Maori guardian, it spread its twisting gnarled branches across the little island, protecting it. Beyond the island, the rim of the crater had eroded almost down to the height of the tree, allowing the sounds of the surf crashing on the rocks to reach him.
“Can you swim, G-man?”
George nodded.
“C’mon then, quick, dude. Take off your pack and push it in front of you. It’s not far.”
Checking to see that George followed his instructions, Boss took his own pack off and cradled it in his arms. Edging into the water, he was shocked at the cold that quickly numbed his foot.
A horrifying screech reverberated through the tunnel. Boss shrank inwardly. He hated that sound, and for the last few weeks he had been spared from it. He had thought he’d escaped from the horror that was the new world, fighting through hell to reach this island sanctuary. He’d even lost a leg to that evil abomination, the one with the severed heads spiked on each shoulder. He’d nicknamed him the “Trophy King”. He’d said it so much the name had caught on amongst the other survivors. Shaking away his thoughts, he prodded Max ahead of him into the frigid water.
Boss looked over his shoulder. George was still standing at the lake’s edge. “G-man!”
George had his head turned, looking back down the tunnel. Boss treaded water, his teeth beginning to chatter. “George, c’mon!”
“I’m scared.”
His heart sank at hearing those words. George had been so brave. Maybe he had reached his breaking point. They had all been through so much together. Dee had told him they were all suffering from something she called PTSD.
Boss remembered the conversation he’d had with Jack about the three phases of PTSD after a disaster.
“ Phase one: Impact. Phase two: Recoil and rescue. Phase three: Recovery.”
“So, what’s this fourth phase that you talked about?”
“We fight back.”
Looking at George, he knew Jack and Dee were right.
Another terrible screech echoed around, its pitch slamming into Boss’s head, sending chills down his back.
Hell. That was really close.
He swam back to shore and hauled George into the chilly embrace of the lake. “I know you’re scared. Shit, I am too.”
George blinked rapidly but let Boss pull him out into deeper water. Soon he was swimming the few metres to the scrub-filled island alongside Boss, with Max paddling beside them.
Immediately, he searched for a place to hide from creatures. The island was covered in flax and manuka, offering limited cover. Boss groaned and looked up into the night.
Protect us now, Kaitiaki. We need you more than ever.
He rarely thought of his Maori ancestry, because his mother had tried to instil in him that ethnicity didn’t matter. What mattered were your actions and your courage, the courage to fight on, fight for whatever you needed to fight for. Right now, he had to fight and protect George from the Variants.
He glanced over at Max, who was panting, his tongue hanging out, water dripping onto the earth, his tail wagging. Max was looking up at Boss, his eyes watching his every move as if to say, “What now, human?”
Boss continued his search. The only option he could see was the flax; it had grown together, creating a natural cave.
Sighing, he pushed George and Max inside and they nestled together, shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the cold or from the fact that the Variants pursued them, wanting to tear the flesh from their bones.
Boss listened as the shrieking and howling intensified. He pumped his shotgun, ready to make a last stand, ready to fight until he drew his last breath. He peeked through the flax and up into the tree above.
Maybe I can get George and Max to the coast that way.
A booming bellow pulsed around the lake and Boss’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to shut the sound out. His left leg spasmed at its stump. He knew that bellow; he’d heard it as the Trophy King tore off his leg, nearly adding Boss’s life to the millions of lost souls. That sound haunted his dreams and tormented his thoughts.
Now it was here, harassing him again. Boss flicked the safety off and tried to calm his nerves.
All right, you ugly bastard. Come and get it.
Well, Jack. So much for your four phases.
First phase: Impact.
Second phase: Recoil and rescue.
Third phase: Recovery.
Fourth phase: We fight back.
— 1 —
Jack tried to keep the cold autumn rain out of his eyes, but was failing miserably. Looking through the scope, he searched the dark bush, looking for any sign of Dee and the soldiers. After only a week of training with Captain Ben Johns, Jack, Dee and two others had flown with Ben to Great Barrier Island, located 140 kilometres north of Mayor Island off the northern tip of the Coromandel Peninsula. Colonel James Mahana had moved his Forward Operating Base here a week earlier as it had greater strategic value, more space and a larger natural harbour.
Ben had wanted to test what they had learnt in the thick bush and mountains that covered the island. The island was secluded and had a small population, vital factors for escaping the notice of the Variants. Ben called them his little Recon and Rescue team. Mahana had named them “The Renegades” after their rescue of Jack from the nest.
Jack adjusted his cap in a fresh attempt to stop the rain dripping into his eyes. So far he hadn’t spotted anybody, and his patience was beginning to wear thin. The combination of little sleep, little food and this persistent rain was really testing his temper. Jack had worked hard over the years to keep his temper under control. It was only in times of great stress, and when he was tired, that it erupted these days. He took some calming breaths, practising the technique a Buddhist monk had taught him on his tri
p to Thailand. He concentrated on letting go of his anger and focusing on the task at hand. He could feel his muscles relax with each deep breath.
Jack glanced over to where Ben had set up camp. Ben had dumped Dee and the other two soldiers at one end of the island, and Jack at the other. Then he had set up camp at one of the trig points, high up in roughly the middle of the island, on Mt Hirakimata. Dee and the two soldiers’ task was to reach the camp and claim the flag by midnight. They had been at this task for twenty-four hours now. He looked at his watch: 22:54. Just over an hour to go. His task was to find them and report their positions to Ben.
Where the hell are they? This is the only way to reach the camp.
All the hours of solitude for the past three days had made Jack think a lot about his lucky escape from the Variant nest. Subconsciously, he rubbed the scars on his leg. He wondered again, for about the hundredth time, why he had woken from his coma? No one else had. Well, apart from George. Why them? Everyone else stuck in that meat locker had been in a persistent state of unconsciousness. Back on Mayor Island, he had asked the doctors and nurses if they had a reason. No one had any idea. The not knowing annoyed him immensely. He hated not understanding something. With no Google or books to reference, it bugged the crap out of him. Not that it will make any difference. This is a new kind of terror.
Trying to focus his wandering mind, Jack scanned the track leading up to the camp. Ben had set his camp up well. It was high, on a rocky bluff, and out in the open, with only one way up or down. Jack had hiked through the interior of the island for eighteen hours straight to reach this spot. Most of the training he had received from Ben involved weapons. Guns — rifles and handguns. A small amount of knife work. Ben had thought Jack’s bush skills and fitness were satisfactory to not need any other training.
A flash of red streaked across his scope. Scanning the area, Jack couldn’t see anything. Great, now I’m hallucinating as well. His mind often played over the killing of the man in the red trucker cap back in that Variant nest.
Jack shivered at the memory. At the time he’d shrugged it off, but when everything had calmed down, it had made him sick to his stomach. That he had taken another human’s life so easily, as if it meant nothing to him. Killing the Variants was a breeze, especially when they were trying to kill him or anyone he cared about. The doctor called it PTSD. Jack knew that he had it, but then everyone who’d survived had it. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel so alone? He’d discussed it with Dee. She seemed to be handling it better. She had been supporting him and talking about it with him.
“Time, laughter and meeting you is what healed me,” Dee had said. “You shared your love of nature, your love of movies, books, trivia and fun with me. You helped me forget about the monsters in the world. Sadly, now there are real monsters to deal with.”
Jack agreed, but he was struggling. He took some more deep breaths, wiped the rain from his forehead, and focused on finding Dee and the two soldiers.
Fourth phase: We fight back.
Seeing movement, Jack swung his AR-15 around and looked through the Nikon P-223 BDC 600 scope. Adjusting it slightly, he could see the two soldiers creeping up the track. They were about one hundred metres below Ben’s camp. So, where the hell is Dee?
He reached for his radio. “Ben? Do you copy? Over.”
“Receiving. What have you got for me, Jack? Over.”
“Two bogies approaching from the north. It looks to be Eric and Tony. Approximately eighty metres out, over.”
There was a pause. Jack assumed Ben was searching the area.
His radio crackled back to life. “Got them. Good work, Jack. Now find me Dee, over.”
“Wilco, out.”
Jack watched Eric and Tony for a bit before turning his attention to the hillside below.
***
Dee squirmed her way up the steep ravine, under rotting logs and through thick vines. Metre by metre, she crept on. She had spent the last day and a half slowly wriggling her way around the rocky bluff, and now she was heading up towards the camp. Her small frame was suited for this type of exercise. She leant against the rock and risked a glance up. The bright yellow flag that was her goal fluttered above her in the chilling sea breeze. Inhaling, she savoured the pungent but pleasant smell of the forest undergrowth. Dee pulled her woollen cap down over her ears. The cold May air was stinging her exposed flesh. Cupping her hand around her watch, she checked the time: 22:58. She had just over an hour to reach her goal.
It hadn’t taken her much to convince Eric and Tony to follow the obvious route up to the camp, allowing her to circumnavigate Jack’s position.
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 to hear 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 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, to one side.
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, as per Ben’s orders.
Be ready, at all times.
He adjusted the pack on his back and secured the waist belt so that some of the weight lifted off his shoulders. Jack glanced out at the grey Paci
fic Ocean, blanketed in rain. A silhouette looming on the horizon made him peer through the 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 ran up Jack’s spine, the tingles webbing across his head.
He unhooked his radio and raised it to his lips.
— 2 —
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’d 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 a cigarette. The smoke billowed above him, and he looked 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 its owner. “Morning, Alice. Sleep well?”
Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 19
