Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3

by Smith, Adrian J.

  “How’s the sergeant?”

  Yalonda shook her head. “Not good. Shaking like anything, sweating. His skin is covered in those bruises and blotches.”

  Jack exchanged a look with Dee. “Shit. I didn’t like the guy, but no one deserves that.”

  “We can’t let him infect any of us or turn. Someone has to give him mercy,” said Dee.

  Jack murmured in agreement. Killing Variants was one thing, but another human? Not since the man in the red truckers’ cap had he needed to kill another human. Even when he and the Renegades had rescued Boss, George and Beth, he had only killed Variants. Three months of Operation Utu. No humans.

  He looked up at Yalonda.

  She held his gaze. “Just because I’m a sniper, huh?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But you two nerds owe me a pie. Many pies. Heck, a lifetime of pies.”

  “Yalonda, I’ll even bake them for you,” said Jack.

  “You can bake?”

  Yalonda slapped Dee on the shoulder. “Is that why you married him?”

  “Of course. For that, and his encyclopaedic knowledge of Middle Earth,” Dee answered, smiling at him.

  The passageway around the vat shook violently. Jack reached out to steady himself as the beetles’ wails echoed around the enclosed space. Shrieks and howls from the Variants followed, reminding him that they were just as eager to feast on the humans inside.

  He prodded Dee and tailed her through the last door, slamming the bolt closed.

  Yalonda strode over to Simpson, who lay prone on a mattress covered in dirty clothes and food wrappers. She checked their fallen leader.

  Jack thought about joining her, but the tank vibrated again violently and tilted to one side, knocking him off balance. The metal creaked and groaned as it wavered under this new assault from the beetles, which were smashing into the support structures.

  Jack saw a flash of movement up the side of the room. He tracked it with his carbine, thinking a Variant had gotten through the barricade. The child was scampering over the crates of supplies that the survivors had stacked neatly along the walls. The lone survivor reached up and swung open another vent before disappearing into the duct.

  The vat shook again, accompanied by more wails and shrieks.

  “Renegades, up there!” Jack shouted, pointing.

  Boss didn’t hesitate. He jumped up onto the crates, following the child. The door to the tank shook as the Variants threw themselves at it, desperate to feast on the humans within.

  “Dee! Yalonda! Go.”

  Jack ran over and pushed Yalonda away from the sergeant. He was toast anyway. No point wasting a bullet on him.

  He crouched down and grasped Simpson’s shoulder. “Sorry, sir, but we need to go.”

  Simpson’s eyes flicked around the room before focusing on him. “It’s okay, Jack. You’re good soldiers. Get the logbook and end this madness. Go!” he croaked out. Then he moved his hand away from his chest, pulling his combat vest open. Simpson was clutching a brick of C4. It was primed and ready.

  Jack grinned at him. “You were tough, sir, but thank you.”

  Simpson tugged his silver necklace off. It was shaped like a locket. “Give this to Captain Johns and thank him, but my story ends here. I’m going home to join my wife and children.”

  Jack nodded, and left the sergeant clutching his C4, cursing the fate of so many.

  Simpson had been a hard leader, but he was still one of the few humans left in this once beautiful land.

  Jack climbed over the supply grates and squeezed into the ducts. Dee and Boss reached out and pulled him up and away from the vat. The duct was twisting with every crash from the beetle Variants. Every time they thumped into it, he thought the whole network would collapse in a pile of metal.

  Jack sucked in a breath and cradled his rifle across his arms as he wriggled through the metal tunnel. He had hated Ben for making him crawl through mud and under bushes. Once again, Ben’s training had saved them.

  After ten minutes of dragging himself through the narrow passage, a huge explosion boomed out, shaking the network of ducts. A heat wave washed over him, and he pushed his face to the floor. Despite his dislike of Simpson, pity curled in Jack’s chest at the man’s death. But Jack had no time to think of Simpson as part of the duct ripped free, listing at a sharp angle. All Jack could think of was of being overrun by a horde of Variants and being ripped to shreds.

  Jack took a deep, calming breath and crawled on, his elbows and knees protesting with every drag forwards. He caught glimpses of the others ahead and hurried on.

  The deeper he dragged himself into the duct, the less it shook. The wails and shrieks faded as well.

  The Renegades followed the child through the maze of ductwork. Jack tried to keep a record of the turns, but eventually gave up and concentrated on moving one sweaty limb after the other.

  After another five minutes, the passage ended in a large storage area. The pungent smell of wine filled his nostrils as he dropped down into the semi-darkness. Countless barrels hugged the walls in neat rows. The child who had guided them to this new room stood against a shelf, staring at him. To Jack’s knowledge, it hadn’t uttered a word. Ignoring the survivor for now, he scanned the room for anything to keep the Variants out.

  “Boss. Help stack some barrels so we can block that duct. Dee, Yalonda. Watch our six.”

  “These are filled with wine. How are we supposed to move them?” asked Boss.

  Jack spotted an electric forklift pushed to one side. “With that.”

  Boss groaned and slapped his forehead.

  Max sniffed the ground around the duct. Jack crouched and let the dog lick his face. “Sorry, boy. We need you to help Dee.”

  Jack thumbed his comm. “Dee, can you call Max?”

  He heard a shrill whistle and Max jogged away.

  Grunting with the effort, Jack shoved the last barrel off the forklift. The weight of each cask surprised him.

  He looked at Boss. “See if you can get Ben on the horn.”

  “Not the Colonel?”

  “No… Ben. I need to tell him what’s going on and ask his advice. A chopper should have been here by now. Can you remember who you talked to when you radioed for extraction?”

  “Umm, I think it was Badminton or someone like that?”

  “Okay. Weird. Get Ben for me. If they want this blasted logbook, we need a new plan.”

  Leaving Boss, Jack strode over to Dee. He had a bad feeling about this whole mission. The Renegades had clocked in over three dozen missions since winter, enough combat time to tell him something was wrong.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, you.” Dee squeezed his arm, but kept her eyes trained towards the back of the cellar. Jack loved feeling her touch as it always refocused him, calmed him. He could think clearly. See a situation for what it was. All from a touch. Dee had that power over people. A calming effect.

  “I’ve asked Boss to get Ben on the horn. I don’t like this. Something is off.”

  “This place or those new monsters?”

  “Them too, but more the distress call. Lack of extraction or communication.”

  “Agreed. I trust you, Jack. We’ll get out of this. I know we will.”

  “But what if we don’t this time? What will happen to George and Leela? Dee, I wanted a child of our own. Not this. We keep charging off trying to save the world, but at what cost?”

  “I know, Jack. I fear all that too. But like you said all those months ago, we have too. History is created by those who act, not by those who sit and cower in the corner. I love this country as much as you do. I wish we didn’t have to do this, Jack. Bloody Variants. I hate them.”

  Dee paused and kissed him on the lips.

  “I want a little Jack or Dee as well. It will happen when it does. I know it will. Now, go do what you do best and get us the hell out of this dump.”

  Jack kissed her back and grinned. “Yes, dear.”
/>   Dee giggled. “Smartass. Go.”

  Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he walked back to Boss. All around the wine cellar, the shrieks and howls of the Variants filled the air. They thumped into the roller doors continuously. Jack glanced at the doors apprehensively and hoped the former inhabitants had secured them well enough. He trusted Yalonda’s assurances that they had. Boss looked up at him and handed the radio headset over.

  “Ben? It’s Jack.”

  Hissing, static and squelching rang out through the earphone. He struggled to hear the captain.

  “Jack. Boss filled me in. I can send a chopper your way. But you need to get up high. Can you do that? Over.”

  “Negative. We’re holed-up in a wine cellar. Bastards are knocking on the door. We need help, Ben. Over.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Jack, it’s madness out here. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd battalions are meeting heavy resistance. Someone or something is coordinating an attack. Variants are swarming out of the ground. As soon as I can, I’ll send help. Over.”

  “Copy that, Ben. We’re right next to the Kaimais. If I can get us out of here, I will. What about the logbook? Over.”

  “Forget that for now. You stay alive, Jack. Keep everyone safe. That comes first. Out.”

  “Wilco. Out.”

  Jack handed the CNR headset back to Boss and ran his hand through his hair. His fingers were tingling at their tips. He checked on Dee’s and Yalonda’s positions, ensuring their flanks were protected, and made eye contact with the dirt-encrusted kid. The child had made its way over to Dee and was sitting on its haunches. Max was nestled against the little survivor, licking its face and hair.

  Jack crouched down and brushed some of the child’s hair aside. From its delicate features, he assumed she was a girl of about seven years old.

  “Hey. My name’s Jack. I could really use your help right about now. The bad things are trying to get in and get us, and we need another way out of here. Do you think you can help us?”

  The girl stared at him for what seemed like minutes. She stopped patting Max long enough to point past Dee to the rear of the cellar.

  Jack had no idea how far back the storage area went, but the air smelled musty and had a tinge of rotten fruit to it. With all the spilled wine and barrels, he couldn’t be sure if it was Variants or the alcohol.

  “Dee?”

  She turned and looked down at the girl. Seeing where she was pointing, Dee nodded.

  “Boss. Look after the girl.”

  Jack signalled with his hand to go and clicked on his flashlight, sweeping the beam along the wine barrels stacked in neat rows. Part of him was afraid to venture any farther, but it was the only option left.

  — 13 —

  Respect.

  Pig tried his best to relieve the pain, but no matter which way he turned, he couldn’t get comfortable. The bullet hole he’d taken from the pleb and the gash from the squid beast both throbbed. The combination of the two injuries, mixed with the ever-present sting of his burns, made sleep impossible. Adam, the plebs’ doctor, had sewn up both wounds and given him painkillers, but a couple more would have been nice. Preferably something with morphine in it. Anything to zone out from this nightmare.

  A voice shouted in his mind.

  Stay sharp soldier!

  The plebs had chained him up in the barn like an animal, even taking the time to shove him in with the pigs. Thankfully, in his own stall.

  “Put him in with his brothers and sisters,” Duke had said, laughing as he slammed the barn door. He could still hear the lout’s cackle as he walked away.

  The barn door creaked open, alerting him to a visitor. He shifted his weight, trying one final time to find a comfortable position.

  A short fat man with greasy hair tied back in a ponytail led a woman with fair skin and freckles into the barn. She was carrying a tray of food.

  Pig made eye contact with her and recognised her from the night before; she was the only one who had shown any interest in his predicament.

  The woman smiled briefly. “Hi.”

  Greasy whacked her arm with his rifle. “No talking.”

  She placed the tray next to Pig and moved the only utensil closer to him. He looked up, admiring her red curls.

  “Strange utensil, the spork,” she whispered.

  Pig grinned at her. “Yeah, it is.”

  Greasy grabbed the woman around the waist and threw her across the room. “I said no talking, bitch. Are your ears painted on?”

  She glared at him. “Careful, Todd. What would Duke say if I got bruises?”

  Pig smirked at the exchange between Todd and Red-hair.

  Todd pointed his rifle at her. “Shut the fuck up. You’re still just a woman, Steph. Wait for me outside.”

  Todd turned back to Pig and uncuffed his hands. He pulled the chain free and threaded it through the shackles on Pig’s feet. “Eat up, scumbag. You’re going on a hunt with Duke tonight.”

  “Were you a bit lonely before all this started, Todd?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Well, I’m just curious, that’s all. The way you guys treat women, it’s so medieval.”

  “Medieval? Talk bloody English and shut the hell up.”

  “Which one?”

  Todd narrowed his eyes and lifted his rifle, pointing it level with Pig’s head. “You’re a smartass prick.”

  Pig held up his hands, palms facing out in mock surrender. “Chill, Todd. You told me to speak English, and then you said to shut up. Which one should I do?”

  “Just eat your fucking meal!”

  Todd stormed from the barn, slamming the door. Pig grinned at the departing pleb’s back. He wasn’t sure if it was his escape, the adrenaline or the pain meds masking his aches, but his memory was beginning to return. Finally.

  He now knew that he had been a soldier of some sort. There were flashes of military training, fighting enemies in a sandy desert filled with caves, a stocky captain with salt and pepper hair and the beginnings of a beard. He remembered wondering how he got away with having facial hair.

  Thoughts of the captain jolted another memory free.

  Johns. Yes, that was it! Captain Ben Johns.

  Pig still couldn’t think of his own name, but this new information gave him renewed determination to kill these psychotic monster worshippers and free everyone.

  He shovelled the food into his mouth, gulping down the watery mashed potatoes, and held up the reddish grey meat and sniffed it. Deciding that any protein was better than none, he swallowed it and licked his plate clean.

  Eat when you can, sleep when you can.

  With his hands free, Pig hauled himself up to get a better look around the barn. He was in the front left-hand stall of ten. The stalls were in two rows of five. The others held his namesakes and, judging from the bleating sounds at the back, goats. He looked desperately for an escape route and tried to recall the camp layout around the barn. But he had never been in this area, so could only go by glimpses he’d had.

  Pig cast his eyes down to his shackles. He wasn’t going anywhere with these on.

  The metal spork glinted in the sunlight.

  Strange utensil, the spork.

  Pig frowned. Why had Steph said that to him? With the argument and his goading of Todd, he had ignored the remark. Dismissed it as Steph being nice. He sat back down, lifted the spork into the light and felt the weight in his hand. It was unusually heavy. He grunted a laugh and pulled the spork apart. Steph had stuck two together. Clever girl. He separated them.

  Pig shook his head in amusement. It was a glimmer of hope. If he could keep it hidden, he could escape when the moment was right. Leaning back, he enjoyed the sunlight on his face. His hunger satisfied, and the spork tucked away in his boot, he allowed himself to sleep.

  “Wake up, sunshine!” The barn door crashed open, sending the animals into a panic of bleats and squeals. Pig pulled himself up, using the wall for support. Du
ke stood in the doorway, staring at him.

  Daylight was fading, and he caught a glimpse of Venus rising behind Duke.

  “C’mon, Pig. You’ll like this. Tonight we’re hunting.”

  “Hunting what?”

  “Heretics, of course.”

  “How can you call them heretics? You don’t give them a chance to believe in your religion.”

  Duke strode over to him, his long-handled machete knocking on the concrete. Pig stared him down, refusing to cower anymore.

  Duke placed the sharp cutting blade under Pig’s chin and lifted it up. “Do you know what I did before the infection took over?”

  “No, and I don’t care.”

  Duke ignored him. “I was a professional hunter. Killing deer and goat for the government. And I didn’t believe in any of that religious crap. Weak-minded fools, I called them. All those wars fought over which son of Abraham to follow! But when the creatures appeared, and they let me live as long as I provided them with food, I seized the opportunity.” He jiggled the blade under Pig’s chin.

  “Do you know the best way to control the population, Pig?”

  “If people are happy and healthy, they don’t need controlling,” Pig answered.

  “Absolute crap! You make them fear death. Fear it so much they’ll do anything to stay alive. Christians and Muslims make you scared of hell. People become so afraid of hell that they do as they are told, all so they can go to heaven. Control, Pig. Control.”

  “You sound like some Nazi scumbag.”

  Duke roared with laughter. He drove the handle of his machete into Pig’s stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Pig doubled over, gasping for breath.

  Duke leant down so his mouth was level with Pig’s ear and lowered his voice. “I’m not going to kill you, because that would be too easy. Nor am I going to sacrifice you. I’ve got a fate worse than death for you.”

  Pig drew in lungful’s of air, trying to calm his spasming diaphragm. He kept his face devoid of emotion. The soldier in him was crying out to grab the spork and stab Duke in the jugular. But he remained calm and focused on his breathing. Then he followed Duke out into the yard, his shackles clinking.