Simpson brought his arms up and slammed Hone in the chest, breaking his hold. Jack saw him reach down for his Glock. Before he could intervene, Dee jumped between the two men.
“Enough!” She placed a hand on each of their chests and glared at Simpson. “We have a mission to complete. Hone is here to help us.”
“Corporal Gee, take your hand off.”
Dee pulled her hand away, but held the sergeant’s gaze, her eyes bright.
Hone glanced from Jack to Dee, and then to Tama. He grinned and patted Dee on the shoulder before turning away from Simpson. “You’re right. Sorry, Dee.”
Jack shook his head at the whole exchange. What the hell was that all about? He understood Hone’s reaction, but Simpson?
He sensed Boss shuffling next to him and, grabbing his elbow, nudged him towards the shop front. “Hold the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Okay?”
Boss nodded, turned and unslung his carbine.
Jack looked back to find Simpson smoothing down his fatigues. He could see the sergeant was struggling to keep his temper in check.
The Renegades, Hone and Tama stood around the lone desk in the back office of the service station. No one sat, as there was only one old roller chair. Simpson pulled out a map and smoothed out the creases. He looked at each of them before pointing down at the surrounding area. “Right. We’re here in Paeroa. The 2nd and 3rd battalions are west of us, pushing towards Hamilton and the feeder towns of Morrinsville and Cambridge. Our recon mission is to provide intel on the towns of Te Aroha and Waihi.” Simpson paused and looked at Jack. “I understand you know this area. Is there a route we can take to the laboratory through the Kaimais?”
“Yes there is. Several, in fact. Long hikes, but achievable.”
“Good.” Simpson pointed down to the map. “Taking the cycle trail, we’ll march through to Te Aroha and report in before heading over the mountains to the complex. Once we have the logbook, we are to rendezvous with 1st Battalion. If all goes well, they’ll take back Waihi and push through Karangahake Gorge, meeting us at the old railway station.”
“Hone, what’s your intel on Waihi?”
The Maori chief stared at Simpson for several seconds before answering. “There are pockets of Rewera here, here and here. And I’m certain that there is a nest in the Martha mine.” Hone indicated the location on the map.
“How can you be so sure?”
“The stench.”
Jack smirked at Hone’s reply and swept his eyes over the map. He didn’t like the mission. It was messy. Too many things could go wrong. Hiking through the Kaimais to the complex, that was at least six to eight hours. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“There’s an entrance to the lab through a farm. Wouldn’t it be quicker to drive in through there?” Jack tapped the spot he was talking about—the same entrance they had used previously.
Simpson raised an eyebrow at him and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Maybe so, but we are doing it my way. I don’t want those creatures knowing we are around. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Well, no. I was—”
“Good. Let’s move out.” Simpson went to thumb his radio.
“Sergeant. There’s something we need to discuss first,” interrupted Hone.
“What is it now?”
“Our people have been going missing. Captain Johns assured me that you would investigate.”
“Listen, Hone, I have more pressing concerns than some missing people.” Simpson flung his arm out, pointing out into the mist. “There’s a Variant apocalypse going on. People go missing all the bloody time.”
Jack saw Hone’s brow furrow as he shook his head. “Well, before you go charging off to Te Aroha, you should know something.”
“What?”
“We’ve been seeing three winged beasts at night. Always in the distance, but you can hear their wails. On clear nights, some of my whanau have seen them perching on the antenna on Te Aroha.”
“Have they ever attacked you?”
“No. So far they’ve kept their distance.”
“Riveting. Thanks for the intel.” Simpson turned and walked from the room, grabbing his gear.
Jack stood dumbfounded at the sergeant’s behaviour, and at the revelation of the winged beasts. He looked at Dee. Her expression reflected his concerns. The Indonesians had called it Leyak. On Matariki night, Captain Koto had blown himself and the corvette-class ship sky high. Rumours had surfaced weeks later of a winged Variant terrorising the land. After questioning, the Indonesians had revealed what had been in the hold: the beast they called Leyak.
There was only one?
Jack reached out, taking Dee’s hand. She squeezed it, comforting him. He looked up at Boss, who stood a few feet away, Boss still had the radio headphones on, and a worried look on his face. He made eye contact with Jack before glancing at Simpson. Jack made his way through the store. Its shelves lay empty, the food and supplies long gone. He didn’t like the look on Boss’s face.
“Sir. Jack. I was scanning the airwaves while you had your meeting and found something. What do you make of this?” said Boss, holding out his headphones to the sergeant.
Boss carried the combat net radio in his backpack. It was light enough not to be a burden, and it had a long range. They all carried a personal com system to communicate with each other.
Boss reached into his pack and unplugged the headphones. He turned up the volume. Dee, Hone and Tama joined them.
Hello. This is Steve Murray. We’re holed up at Hidden Rock Winery and Station. We are located on Rawhiti Road, Tirohia. near Te Aroha. We’ve held them out for months now. I don’t know how long we can keep them out. Please, if any army, navy, air force, anyone can help. Please, we have children here. Please help…
Jack wrinkled his brow, listening as the message began again. After the fifth time, he reached out and switched off the CNR. Glancing at Dee, he turned towards Simpson. “I don’t like it, sir.”
Simpson lifted his cap off his head and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “We’ll check it out on the way through. It’s on the way. If they are still alive, we’ll call in the chopper to airlift them out.”
“It’s too convenient. We’ve scoured the airwaves for months and what? Rescued thirteen people at most. That’s all of New Zealand.”
Dee and Boss murmured in agreement.
Simpson turned fully around to face Jack. “We’re checking it out, soldier. That’s an order.”
“I think it’s a trap. In Aliens, every time they answered a distress call, bad stuff happened.”
Simpson’s face turned bright red. “Wake up, Jack! This isn’t one of your bloody movies! It’s real life! Those thirteen survivors were rescued because of distress calls. We know of thirty or so on an island on Lake Tekapo. Move out. Now!”
Jack cast his eyes down to the floor and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He felt Dee nudge him towards the door, which Boss held open for them.
Suddenly, the glass door and windows began to rattle and shake. It sounded like a thousand champagne glasses rattling as a train goes past. Max began to howl and tucked his tail between his legs.
Their radios crackled. “Renegades, heads up. Movement coming our way. North and west. Six hundred metres and closing fast. Looks like Variants. Over,” warned Yalonda.
Simpson turned and thumbed his radio, looking at Jack. “Roger that, Caro. Keep us updated. Chang, what have you got?”
There was a pause, which seemed like minutes to Jack.
“Nothing. I got nothing. I can’t see a damn thing through this mist. Over.”
“Copy that. Stay at your posts.”
Simpson turned to the remaining Renegades. “Boss, get on the horn to HQ. Give them a SITREP. Jack, join Caro. Dee, with me. Hone, do…” Simpson waved his hand dismissively. “Do whatever you do.” The sergeant stormed out of the store.
Jack glanced at Dee and nodded. “Be careful. I love you.”
“And I you.�
��
Max wagged his tail as they approached the building Yalonda was on. Reaching down, Jack scratched the dog’s ears. Max tilted his head to one side and whimpered, his tail bending down before he sniffed the air and growled.
“It’s all right, boy, we know.” Turning to Hone, he said, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s time to leave, Jack. You don’t want to get stuck on this roof, surrounded by Rewera.”
“You’re probably right. But orders.” Jack shrugged.
“Orders. You white fellas and your orders. We’ll be nearby, and Tama is with Dee.”
“Thanks, Hone.” He nodded. “Did you say you saw three winged creatures?”
“Yes, we’ve seen three. A large one and two smaller. Why?”
“We had reports of there being one, but now there are three?” The ground shook again. “We’ll talk later.”
Jack whistled for Max before turning and following the dog up the metal stairs. He pulled the first two sections up after him and locked them into place. Reaching the roof, he made his way to Yalonda and Boss. “What’s happening?”
“Still approaching. Four hundred metres out to the north and…” Yalonda swung her L96 sniper rifle ninety degrees. “Five hundred metres to the west. Looks like your standard Variant scum.”
“Alphas?”
“None that I can see.”
“Then what the hell caused that shake?”
“Earthquake?”
“Maybe. But we’re too far north for that.” Jack pivoted to Boss. “Take south. Report any movement and what you’re seeing.” Boss moved into position.
Jack jogged to the northern side of the flat roof and squinted through his scope. It didn’t take him long to see the Variants scurrying over the farmland. Thankfully, the mist had begun to clear, the November sun shining through in pencil-thin beams, highlighting the green fields.
Bloody Variants!
Jack reached around and clicked the safety off, taking a deep breath to calm his building nerves. A low rumbling sound reverberated around the buildings before the ground began to shake, building in intensity until Jack was thrown back from the edge.
That has to be an earthquake!
Jack looked over to Boss, who was scrambling behind one of vents that peppered the building. Just as quickly as the shaking started, it stopped. A ripping, tearing sound replaced it, testing Jack’s already ragged nerves. He glanced down into the street. A black mass was rearing up from under the street, smashing through the asphalt as if it were soft as jelly.
A beetle-like animal burst through, screeching. Jack stared at its mouth. Protruding from the sides were mandibles. Huge jagged spears, they were. This beetle Variant gnashed its mandibles and screeched again. More rumbling answered it, and another beetle broke through, joining the first.
Jack switched his carbine to full auto.
What the flippin’ heck?
— 4 —
Courage…
Pig shivered under his thin woollen blanket as he lay in his cot. At this time of year, the days were warm and the nights cold. He flexed his muscles, trying to get the blood flowing. He had allowed himself three hours sleep.
Duke and his plebs were still partying, the occasional blast of a V8 engine cutting through the thin cladding of the slaves’ sleeping quarters.
By his reckoning, he had been a slave for six months. In that time, they had made their way around the country, finding pockets of survivors, befriending them, handing out food, medicine and clean water. Then they had betrayed them, stealing the women, killing the old and infirm. In the first month, the children were given to men wearing red coveralls. He smiled at the good memory of the day the convoy sat waiting for the red coveralled men to turn up. Distant booms had echoed out over the trees. It was the only time he’d seen Duke scared. Now, any children were given to the women to look after.
Pig let out a calming breath and felt along his belt for the 50mm nail he had hidden there. Straining his ears, he listened to the steady breathing of his bunkmates. Satisfied they were sleeping, he eased himself out of bed and crept to the door. Pulling the nail free, he reached down and grabbed one of the many boots that lined the wall next to the door. He placed the nail under the door pin that held the hinge together. Waiting a moment, he listened to the plebs’ drumming to get the timing right. When the loud bass drum sounded, Pig hit the nail. Slowly but surely, he tapped the hinge pin out until it dropped free.
One down, two to go.
After a few more minutes, Pig had all three hinge pins free. Pausing, he glanced around the room. Thankfully no one stirred. He placed his ear to the door, checking for guards. With a quick glance outside, he decided it was now or never. Grabbing the handle, Pig lifted the door a few millimetres and pulled it towards him. The hinged side pulled free and swung inwards. He moved out into the night and stood on the steps.
Pig looked around and quickly replaced the door so that to any guards passing by everything would look normal. Sighing with relief, he turned and jogged away, heading for the mess hall. To survive the first few days, he needed food and water.
Bursting around the corner he slammed into a figure crouched over, vomiting against a car. The figure scrambled up and swung his rifle at Pig as Pig shrank down to a crouch.
Pig grimaced. His burns were screaming. He pushed down the pain and ignored it.
The figure grinned at him. “Pig! What the fuck?”
Mac! Just my bloody luck.
Pig flexed the muscles in his legs. He saw everything clearly. The M4 pointing at him. The Ka-Bar knife strapped to Mac’s thigh. He saw the safety switch flipped on. The stench of Mac’s alcohol vomit invaded his nostrils.
Pig clicked his fingers to his right. Just as he’d hoped, Mac’s drunken eyes swivelled, seeking out the sound. Pig pushed off the balls of his feet, making up the couple of metres in a second. He dropped his shoulder into the guard, knocking him back against the car. In the same movement, he pushed the M4 away and up.
Mac grunted and whacked Pig in the head with his free hand. He ignored the blows and reached for the Ka-Bar. With an instinctive thrust, he stabbed Mac in the jugular, twisting and slashing the knife down. A gush of warm blood arced out, coating his hand.
Mac forgot all about hitting him, He dropped the M4 and reached up to his throat, desperate to stem the flow of blood as his life leeched out of him, soaking the earth.
Pig stepped away and left Mac to slump to the ground. He glanced left and right, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw no other plebs running towards him with rifles firing. He wiped the bloody knife on Mac’s vomit-stained shirt and looked in the car. Sitting on the back seat was a small backpack. He allowed himself a small smile. Perfect! He wouldn’t need the mess hall now.
Pig crept along the line of cars, keeping the bonfire to his right. The plebs were still drinking and chanting. He cringed at the sounds of women screaming as the plebs raped them.
Pig tightened the grip on his stolen M4. He wanted to unload all his ammo on the depraved scum, but now was not the time. He was no good to any of these poor souls dead.
Courage.
Breaking into a slow jog, Pig weaved his way through the vehicles, aiming for the six-foot chain-link fence. The fence was not to protect them from the beasts, but to stop the slaves from escaping.
The plebs had forced them to construct guard towers every thirty metres along the fenced perimeter. They were constructed from aluminium scaffolding to a height of ten metres. Enough to see over the camp.
Keeping to the shadows, Pig ducked under one of the two towers that flanked the gate. He could hear the two guards, one in each tower, chatting across the gap. He grinned. The guards had become complacent over the last few months, but the slaves dared not attempt escape. Out there in the wilderness lived the beasts. Out there meant certain death.
Pig knew why Duke and the plebs used fear. It was the best way to control any population. Make them fear something, make them scared. Make th
em know what happens if you don’t toe the line. A truly pious person would not want the power, adoration and pleasure the plebs sought. No. The plebs fed on hate, destruction and fear. Like the Nazis. You went along with them in order to survive.
Pig inhaled the cool night air, filling his lungs. He calmed his breathing, focusing on the next part of his plan. His mind was clear, and he could hear the blood pumping behind his ears. Searching out the steel knuckles that supported the pipes, he found the one with red tape, dropped to his knees and began digging in the soil. When he’d helped construct these towers, he had purposely dropped a spanner in the mud and covered it up. The beating from Mac for losing the tool had been worth the pain.
After a few minutes digging, the tool gleamed in the light from the still-blazing bonfire. He went to work loosening all the nuts around him, pausing every few seconds to check on the guards. Thankfully they were still talking. He caught a glimpse of glass sparkling as they passed a bottle of booze between them, using a sliding plank to get it across the three-metre gap. Chanting and singing still filled the camp. Pig smirked; exactly what he needed.
With one last twist, one nut dropped into the mud. After a three count, he pulled the pipe free. The tower creaked and listed to one side; Pig had selected the supporting brace. The remaining pipes groaned with the strain and weight of the tower.
“What the hell?!” shouted the guard above him. The other guard bent down and looked under the platform. His eyes widened at the sight of the slave standing there, covered in filth.
Pig smiled at him and squeezed the trigger of his M4. The guard’s head snapped back as the bullet entered the centre of his forehead and travelled through his brain before smashing a hole out the back of his skull to coat the railing behind with gore.
Two plebs down. Twenty left? Maybe.
Pig quickly pulled another three poles free as the other guard fired at him. Straining, he shoved at the tower with his shoulder. It groaned and creaked before it tilted. Clattering, it slammed into the other tower, blocking both the gate and road.
Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 43
