Paua: Endemic species of abalone found around the New Zealand coast.
Pohutukawa: Species of large coast dwelling tree. Often found clinging to cracks and to the side of cliffs. Called New Zealand’s “Christmas tree” because its red flowers bloom in abundance during December.
Powhiri: A Maori welcoming ceremony involving, singing, dancing and finally the hongi.
Paka: An expression of annoyance or anger. Can be used in reference to a person as seen in the film Whale Rider.
Taiaha: A traditional Maori weapon. A close-quarters staff. Made from wood or whale bone. Used for quick, stabbing thrusts and strikes, with fast footwork by the wielder. Often found to have intricate carvings near its tip.
Tangi: A traditional funeral held on a marae (meeting place)
Ta Moko: Traditional tattoos of the Maori.
Tekoteko: Maori term for a carved human figure or head. Sometimes attached to the gable of a house.
Te Reo: The Maori language.
Whanau: An extended family or related community who live together in the same area.
THE FIVE PILLARS
Dedication
This one is for Nick.
Thank you.
Acknowledgements
When I set out to write these books, I never realised how many people help an author along the way.
First, I have to thank Nicholas for encouraging me in the first place. You have helped and inspired me from day one. I’ve had a real blast writing these three stories set in your Extinction Cycle world.
Frances, you have been there from the beginning, reading every single version of both books. I couldn’t have done this without you. I hope I can repay your kindness in some way.
Rodger, like you say, it’s probably good that we live far away from each other, otherwise we might cause a bit of chaos. Thank you for your encouragement and for keeping my spirits up with your humour.
To the Guardians of the Apocalypse, you are all wonderful people. Thank you for all your support.
A special thank you to Geoff Toni for helping me with the Maori aspects of this novel. Sadly, Geoff passed away before we could finish. I hope I got everything correct. Rest in peace, brother.
To all of my Beta readers: Col (Ret) Olson, Lisa, Shelli, Nathan, Frances, Cynthia, and Michael. Thank you for all your valuable advice and input. If you find any mistakes they are of my doing.
I tried to write these books from an everyman and woman point of view. Two people who find themselves in a crazy, chaotic world, each of them discovering new facets to their personalities.
Since the book is set in New Zealand, I’ve used UK spelling. I’ve also included a Glossary for any Maori terms that you may not be familiar. As always, I’m more than happy to answer any questions. You can contact me on the following platforms:
Facebook: Author: Adrian J Smith
Email: [email protected]
Website: adrianjonsmith.com
Come join our Facebook group: Guardians of the Apocalypse
Thanks again,
Adrian
Prologue
June 9th
Great Barrier Island
New Zealand
Colonel James Mahana leant back in his chair and let his eyes wander over the Milky Way that stretched across the night sky. Three months had passed since the Hemorrhage Virus had torn through the world. He had survived the initial outbreak, and now found himself on Great Barrier Island off the eastern coast of New Zealand. The mainland belonged to the beasts they called Variants, beasts that were once humans. Humans infected by the virus mutated into monsters.
He sighed and took another sip of his tea, the warmth from the cup keeping the biting chill of the early winter at bay. He cast his eyes down the road at the now empty streets. A week earlier, the armed forces and civilians, along with the Indonesian refugees, had enjoyed the festival of Matariki, a night when New Zealanders gathered to remember those lost and welcome in the Maori new year. James glanced skyward, caught sight of the group of stars the Maori called Matariki, and smiled. It had been a great night full of song and laughter. Full of merriment, but also tinged with sadness and loss.
The Brigadier had tasked him to begin the operation to take back the mainland from the Variants. After a lot of thought, he finally had a plan.
The radio crackled to life on the side table.
James groaned. Five minutes of peace. Just five.
“This is Badminton. Receiving. Over.”
“Go ahead.”
“You said to report anything suspicious. Over.”
“Well what is it? It’s late.”
“I’ve just received reports that Captain Koto boarded his ship and that all other crew members were ordered to come ashore. Over.”
James stood and took two paces forwards, his boots thumping on the wooden deck. He stared out into the harbour. Even from this distance, he could see the three Indonesian ships riding at anchor. Their own ship, HMNZ Te Mana, had returned and was a short distance away, closer to the shore.
“Strange. Get Captain Peart to quietly prime his weapons. Tell your men to be alert. Something is off. Who’s with the Indonesians?”
“Avery. Over.”
“Tell him to stay vigilant.” James paused. “And do it quietly.”
James clicked his radio off and dashed inside, grabbing his keys and rifle. He cursed to himself. He’d known something was off with these Indonesians from the beginning, but he had been playing the good diplomat and had followed orders.
The cool night air buffeted the rigid-hulled inflatable boat as it bounced over the swell, salt spray splashing on his face. James ignored the slight sting and kept his eyes focused on the Indonesian corvette-class ship. The crew had gone to great lengths to hide the ship’s markings. If it hadn’t been for some of his men having served in East Timor, they wouldn’t have recognised it as Indonesian.
James raised the radio to his lips. “Peart, light it up.”
Strong searchlights arced across the ocean from the Te Mana and lit up the ship. He signalled to his pilot to slow down, adjusting his balance in the swell. They were a good hundred metres away, but caution was best. It had saved his life many times during his tours of duty.
James raised his binoculars and scanned the deck. No movement. Broadening his search, he scoured the ship from bow to stern. James frowned. Captain Koto had acted so pleasant and been enthusiastic about the festival.
What was he up to?
The ship was devoid of life. He glanced at the other RHIBs surrounding the ship and raised his hand to signal them to board.
A flash of light shot out from the bottom of the corvette a split second before sound exploded in a deafening kaboom! The noise rumbled across the water like a thousand thunderclaps and echoed over the bay. Instinctively, James ducked below the gunwale and banged his hands over his ears to block out the reverberating blast. He only caught a glimpse of the central part of the corvette as it shot skyward and split in half. Hunks of metal as big as trucks soared into the air and splashed down into the sea around him like breaching whales. It was all over in a few seconds, but it seemed to him that time slowed down. The air surrounding him was awash with heat, which stung his flesh.
Above the explosion, a humanoid black shape tumbled in the air. A wing-like appendage spread out as it twirled down and plunged into the sea.
Once the din had subsided, James stood up to survey the remains of the Indonesian ship. Flames coated the water and the quickly-sinking bow and stern.
James turned to his pilot. “Get me to shore!” He thumbed his radio. “Peart. Surround the remaining two ships and get those RHIBs to look for any survivors. Out.”
“Wilco. Out,” came the reply.
James sniffed the air. Permeating above the stench of diesel, oil and burning metal was the unmistakable smell of rotten fruit mixed with burning flesh.
Koto had had Variants on that ship!
The pilot gunned the engine, lifting the
bow up over the swell as the boat skimmed across the water.
James shouted in his radio, “Badminton. Bring the Indonesian Lieutenant Commander to my office. Over.”
He was fuming. All along, he had known something was wrong with the picture. Smart move Captain Koto, coming here under the guise of refugees.
The boat nudged against the jetty and James leapt off, landing on the boards with a thump. Without waiting for his pilot, he jumped into the jeep and tore off up the road, flicking gravel up in a rooster tail. He clutched the steering wheel with one hand and held up his radio.
“Badminton! SITREP!” Hissing and static replied over the airwaves. Finally it crackled to life. Sounds of gunfire and shouting answered before Badminton’s voice drowned it out.
“The Indonesian COs are holed up in the main hall. We have them surrounded. We’re taking heavy fire. Over.”
“Fall back. Take cover. ETA five minutes. Over.”
“They have Mavis and Jenny. Over.”
James held the radio against his chest and cursed into the wind. Hostages! That’s all I bloody need. Civilians too.
“Understood. My orders stand.”
James clicked off the radio and swung the wheel hard right. He had a stop to make at the brig.
The “Main Hall”, as the residents of Great Barrier Island called it, was an old Masonic Lodge that had sat disused for over forty years, until the Variant apocalypse. The island had once been a thriving source of timber. James had tasked the civilians with renovating the old building, partly to give them a sense of pride and accomplishment, and partly because they needed a hall for town meetings.
Keeping low, James pulled the handcuffed figure of Qasim Hassen after him. With one eye on the dark building, he made his way to where Badminton and several soldiers were crouched behind their vehicles.
“SITREP.”
Badminton looked him in the eye and frowned. James could see him moving his tongue around in his mouth. “They’ve locked themselves in and are refusing to talk. Mavis and Jenny are being held hostage. We’ve exchanged gunfire, but no casualties, sir.”
“Are they alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
James hauled Qasim to his feet and handed him a megaphone. “Tell them to surrender and no one will be hurt. Tell them to release the hostages and come out with their hands up.”
Qasim glared at James before raising the megaphone to his lips and speaking rapidly in Arabic. A voice from the hall replied, and to James it seemed that Qasim and the speaker were arguing.
James ignored them and crouched down next to Badminton. “Take a five-man team, your best men, and enter through the cellar. Kill them all. There’s no way they’re going to surrender. I’m pretty sure Qasim is relaying our positions as we speak. I’ll give you a false order to disguise our true intentions.”
Badminton nodded that he understood.
James grabbed Qasim’s arm. “What’s he saying?”
“He doesn’t believe that you are going to let them go, so I was assuring them you would. You are, right, Colonel?”
“Ask them about Koto.”
James turned to Badminton and held up his hand to Qasim. “Lieutenant, take these five away and tell your men on the other side to fall back to show our guests our good faith.”
Badminton walked away, five men trailing him.
James pivoted back to Qasim. “Ask him about Koto.”
A quick-fire conversation between the Arabic speakers bounced back and forth. James waited patiently.
“He said it was Leyak. Leyak made them do it. They went from island to island, gaining the people’s trust before releasing Leyak and his horde to feed. It’s how they’ve survived all these weeks.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Leyak?”
“A demon from Indonesian mythology. Eats people. He said it is a large winged Variant.”
James rubbed his hand over his chin. Is that what I saw above the explosion?
“Qasim. Ask him to release the hostages, and they can go free.”
Qasim relayed the request, but no reply came.
James inched his hand towards his Glock 17 and unclipped the strap.
“Allahu Akbar!” screamed the voice, before two quick gunshots rang out.
James ground his teeth as the door opened and two bodies were thrown out. The door slammed shut behind them. There was no mistaking the grey hair of Mavis and Jenny as their lifeless forms thumped to the ground.
James looked back at Qasim, standing handcuffed, the megaphone held to his side. He was smiling at James. “Fuck you, Colonel, and fuck your racist country,” Qasim spat.
James sighed. He shoved the Glock under Qasim’s chin and pulled the trigger. The bullet exited through the top of Qasim’s skull, blowing pieces of bones and blood out in a fine mist. He shook his head as Qasim slumped to the ground. James thumbed his radio.
“Now, Lieutenant!”
Gunfire erupted from the hall. Flashes of light illuminated figures moving about as the heavy exchange between the Kiwis and Indonesians developed. It was over in minutes.
James smiled, satisfied, as his radio sparked. “All down. Over.”
“Pull the bodies out and line them up outside. I’m going to have a talk to the Indonesian civilians. Over.”
“Wilco. Out.”
James shook his head, saddened at the senseless waste of life. Spotting Mavis and Jenny, he groaned. He did not look forward to telling their families.
***
June 10th
James looked down at the report he had typed for the Brigadier. Satisfied, he stood and made his way to the head room. The Indonesian civilians and NCOs had quickly fallen in line after learning of Koto’s demise and the short gun battle with the COs. He now had the civilians under 24-hour guard, and still had to think what to do with them. One thing he knew for certain: the two Indonesian frigates and their helicopters were now the property of New Zealand.
James handed his report to the radio operator and turned, searching for Badminton, as the door opened. The muscular figure of Captain Ben Johns blocked the light. He saluted and grinned, the smile splitting his face ear to ear.
James frowned at the sight of the old soldier’s long wizard beard. “Captain. Good to see you. You’re early. Please take a seat.”
James waited for the captain to sit before taking his own seat. “No more rescues, Captain?”
Ben let out a short chuckle. “Not lately, sir. No more uprisings?”
James ignored the dig and sorted through the maps on the table. He had maps for the Bay of Plenty and the Hauraki Plains to the south. It was time to take back New Zealand from the Variants.
“Captain. I need your expertise to organise ground troops and recon teams for Operation Utu.”
“Utu. I like it. Revenge.” Ben met James’s eyes. “What’s your plan?”
James smiled and pointed at the map of the Hauraki Plains. “To wipe them from Earth.”
— 1 —
November
The man they called Pig wiped the sweat from his brow and shifted the coarse rope from one shoulder to the other, being careful not to scrape it against the burns that spread across his chest and up his neck.
As hard as he tried, he could only recall fractured memories of his previous life. Before his capture. Before his enslavement. Before the creatures took over the land.
One shard of his memory, he chanted in his head. It was accompanied by the image of a grey-haired, stocky soldier with brown twinkling eyes, standing over him as he did push-ups in the rain.
Righteousness…
Courage…
Compassion…
Respect…
Loyalty… The Five Pillars of the warrior.
Pig had no idea why those five pillars were so important to him. He reasoned that they had to be important, else why would his shattered mind play them over and over?
He may not remember before, but he recalled everything since the day the fanatics found
him draped over the small boat that had washed ashore, his skin peeling and seeping from the burns that covered his torso. Pig suspected the monsters they now served were responsible. Ugly insect-like humanoid creatures that stank of rotten fruit and moved with strange popping sounds as if their joints were dislocating with every movement.
“Hey, Pig! Move your arse!”
He squinted into the glaring sun at the sound of the voice. His captives called him Pig because he liked to soothe his burns in the mud any chance he got, much to their disgust.
“Sorry, Mac,” he replied before digging his feet into the uneven ground and hauling on the rope, inching the sizeable log farther up the hill.
Pig shuddered at the sight of the wooden pyre he and the other slaves were building. A large platform of logs had been raised several metres off the ground, with three poles standing vertical at even spacings.
Like the witch burnings of the Inquisition.
He frowned at the thought. He didn’t know his name or what his occupation had been. He did, however, remember facts and figures, how to read and write. And random stuff like this.
Pig glanced over at their overseer, Mac, whose rifle was slung carelessly over a shoulder. He knew it was an M4 carbine and it took 5.56mm rounds. Without looking, he knew from memory where all the other guards were located. That the tree line to the bush-clad mountain was 85 metres north, and two kilometres south was a swamp. From the slight tinge of salt in the air, he knew the ocean wasn’t far away.
“Pig! I’m not telling you again,” yelled Mac, jolting him from his musings once again.
With a last grunt of exertion, Pig lifted the log into place, locking it against the others. He wriggled it, checking it was secure, and pivoted towards his overseer. “That’s the last one.”
“Good. Go and get some food. The show’s going to start in half an hour. You don’t want to miss it,” Mac ordered, smirking.
Pig noticed a glint in the guard’s eye, like he was excited for tonight’s event. It took all his control to not lash out and punch him. He was certain he could get that M4 off the man. That wasn’t the problem, though. It was the other plebs he wasn’t so sure of.
Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 41
