Extinction NZ (Book 3): The Five Pillars

by Smith, Adrian J.

  “Inside, now!” said Simpson.

  Dee pushed Boss and Max in front of her, but before she could follow, Jack caught her arm. She glanced up at him and felt her chest tighten at the look in his eyes. She saw fear in there. Fear that she had never seen before. For the last few months the Renegades had been on countless missions and supply runs. They had always made it back with hardly a scratch, thanks to Ben’s expert leadership. Because, above all, Ben was careful.

  Nothing foolish, Dee. Trust your heart.

  Staff Sergeant Colin Simpson was the opposite. Angry, gung-ho and careless. He was all about the mission. Complete the mission no matter the cost. To life or otherwise.

  Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze, then ducked through the grill after Boss and Max. Dee looked up at Hone and Tama. They were looking out the sliding window at the bush of the Kaimai mountains, which came right down to the roof of the shed.

  “This is where we leave you, pretty lady,” Hone said, raising his eyebrow. “We’re going to head into the bush and come back with reinforcements. Hang in there, Dee.”

  Simpson turned from protecting their six. “Whatever you bastards are doing, do it now!”

  Yalonda’s L96 rifle spat out bullets as the shrieks of the Variants reverberated around the factory. Simpson pivoted and joined in, his M4 dropping the beasts as they clambered over pipes and vats.

  Dee watched as the Maori warriors climbed out the window and ran across the pipes and into the bush beyond. She silently wished them a safe journey. Turning back, she swung her carbine up and lay down covering fire so Yalonda and Simpson could retreat.

  Simpson was halfway through the opening when a Variant leapt off the pipework and lunged at him. Dee spun her rifle around and bashed it in the head, but she was too slow.

  The Variant smacked its sucker mouth together and latched onto the sergeant’s arm. Simpson howled in pain and cursed. He buried his Ka-Bar knife into the side of its head, killing it.

  Dee and Yalonda dragged the still-cursing sergeant through and slammed the grate closed.

  Dee searched desperately for something to secure it, but Yalonda beat her to it and pulled a piece of rebar from her pack before jamming it through the bolt plate.

  “Where the hell did you get that?” asked Dee.

  “Saw it. Thought it would be useful.”

  “Well, thank you, sister.”

  “Anytime, nerd wife.”

  Three Variants ran down the walkway and slammed into the grate. Dee screamed at them and held her finger down on the trigger, turning each of their heads into a pulpy mess. She felt a hand on her back, dragging her away and deeper into the crawlspace. She shook her head, calming her anger.

  The Variants continued to screech and howl, but no more approached the grate. Dee regulated her breathing as Jack leant down next to her ear.

  “You okay?”

  “Just sick of those creepy bastards.”

  Jack smiled. “Me too.”

  “Every time. Sooner or later our luck’s going to run out, you know.”

  “I know. Let’s not make it this time though, eh?”

  “You guys might want to see this,” Boss called out to them. Dee could hear his prosthetic clicking on the metal floor.

  Dee glanced at him before casting her eyes down at Simpson. Yalonda was field-dressing his wound. He waved them on. “Go. We’re right behind you.”

  Dee glared at the new Variants that had crowded around the grate, snarling at them. Sighing, she followed Jack deeper into the winery.

  — 10 —

  Righteousness.

  The crack of gunfire erupted around Pig as he stared into the mouth of the squid-like Variant. He ignored the other gunfire and trained his liberated M4 on the rows of teeth. The tentacle that was wrapped around his leg tightened, sending excruciating pain through his body and into his already overloaded mind. It was as if a thousand tiny needles of fire were searing his leg. Grimacing, he wedged a hand between the appendage and his leg, desperate to alleviate the pain.

  The Variant shuddered and danced as dozens of bullets tore into it. It flung its tentacles around, searching for the source of its pain.

  Pig finally glanced left and right at the other gunmen. Plebs. A man to his left swung a machete down, hacking at the tentacle that was fastened to him. Instant relief flooded him as the tentacle released.

  Pig ripped the remains off and flung it into the water.

  The squid abomination jerked once more and stopped moving. Cordite and the stench of burned flesh filled the air around him as the plebs’ guns finally fell silent.

  A tall figure, which turned out to be Duke, approached him.

  “Well, well, well. Here he is. Pig! You cost me a lot of men tonight, slave.”

  Duke always carried a machete with a long wooden handle. He had wrapped the handle in fabric tape, similar to the wrapping on a tennis racket handle. The handle was so long that the whole weapon stood nearly as tall as his 6ft 6” frame.

  He glared at Pig, thumped the machete into the ground and sucked in a breath, tutting. “I don’t know what to do with you, slave. To be honest, I’m offended. I gave you a home, food and protection, and what thanks do I get? None. You go and kill poor Mac and six others. God knows what happened to the other three and my dogs. Probably this ugly thing.”

  Pig glared at him. He wasn’t going to bother answering. He had seen this charade played out many times before. Duke was a megalomaniac, pure and simple. No matter what he said, it would make no difference.

  Rough hands grabbed him and pushed him through the flax and knee-high grasses. Once they were clear of the swamp, the plebs bound his hands behind his back with chains and pulled them up tight against his shoulder blades.

  Pig sucked in a breath, trying to hide the pain. His vision drifted in and out of focus as they frog-marched him to one of the waiting vehicles. His burns screamed, the hole in his leg shouted, but through it all he smiled. For a couple of hours, he had been free.

  Back at the camp, the plebs pulled him off the back of the truck and manhandled him into the log cabin Duke had commandeered as his palace. They led him into a large open room that housed a double-sided fireplace lined with river stones. The heads of various animals hung from the walls, with photos of the hunters framed next to them.

  Pig flinched. There was one thing he knew about himself: he hated trophy hunters. He found the whole practice barbaric. The deer or mountain goat had no weapons. The hunter was shooting a defenceless animal.

  I just shot seven men. That’s different. They had guns.

  Duke’s harem of scantily-clad women was draped over the furniture. Most ignored him, but one, with bright red hair, followed him with her eyes as he was marched into the room. Duke indicated to an old metal bed frame bolted to the right-hand wall, and the men handcuffed him to it, snapping the cuffs shut with a click.

  Pig lifted his head defiantly. He held Duke’s gaze, refusing to show fear. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, and the throbbing in his left leg went up a few notches, making his head swim.

  “Pig, Pig, Pig. You know what? I’m not even mad. I’m just disappointed. Tell you what. I’m going to leave you out here. I’m taking my women to bed and enjoying their company while you think about what you have done, and in the morning we’ll sort out your punishment.”

  Pig’s head dropped to his chest. Exhaustion and his injuries were taking their toll.

  Duke stared at him before clicking his fingers at a blonde, thin woman. She jumped up and went to him. He grabbed her hair and yanked it down.

  “Rachel. Go and get Adam. We don’t want our esteemed guest dying on us in the night.”

  Rachel nodded and scuttled away.

  Pig tried to keep focused on her as she left the room, but his vision dimmed before fading completely.

  Pig awoke to the sun beating down on his exposed skin. He tugged on his restraints, testing them, but they held firm. He looked around. He was still cuffed to th
e bed frame, but it had been dragged outdoors and into the middle of the camp, next to the wooden pyre he had helped build. They had stripped him down to his underwear.

  The plebs had also set up a long bench a few metres directly in front of him.

  Pig shivered at the sight above the bench. Ten nooses hung from the gallows. Lined up behind the gallows were the other slaves, standing to attention.

  Duke stood next to Pig, and surrounding them and the slaves were the heavily-armed plebs.

  Duke grinned at him. Then, turning to the slaves, he pulled a microphone from his robes.

  “Do you see this man in front of you? Do you?” he shouted at the slaves.

  A murmur of yeses buzzed out.

  “He dared, to escape last night. He dared to kill seven of my men. Your saviours. Of the survivors, only we have been brave enough to reach an agreement with the creatures. Abezi keeps us safe, and in return you live. We feed you and protect you. And all we ask in return is that you to do as you are told and behave.”

  Duke paused in his speech and, stepping over to Pig, slapped him on his burns. Pig growled in pain.

  “We found this man, this ungrateful man, half dead on the beach. The beasts were sniffing around his pathetic body, ready to devour him. But we saved him. Since then, we have saved him many times. And in return, he kills us.”

  Duke reached down and dug a thumb into Pig’s bandaged bullet wound. Pig screamed.

  “Well, Pig. Since you killed some of my men, I’m claiming an eye for an eye. You, you, you, you and you,” he said, pointing in turn to five of the gathered slaves.

  Plebs ran forwards and dragged the men free. They pulled them up to the gallows and turned them around.

  Duke made a show of counting them before slapping his hand on his head.

  “Silly me, that’s only five. I’m a fair man, so you five can choose five men to die with you.”

  The five condemned men looked around. Pig could see their eyes were wide with shock, and a couple had tears streaming down their cheeks.

  A man with Asian features stumbled forwards. Sobbing, he looked up at Duke. “Please don’t make me do that. I’ll do anything, but not that.”

  “Don’t sob to me. It’s his fault.” Duke pointed at Pig. “He started it. You will choose a man to die with you, or I’ll choose two more. You ungrateful worms! Do you hear me! Choose!”

  With shaking hands and cries of “Sorry!” the five men chose five more to die with them.

  Pig watched the whole charade, seething inside. He dug his fingernails into his palm, trying to mask the horror and pain. All he had wanted was to be free. To survive as a free man. To find out who he was and liberate the other slaves. But his selfishness had led to this.

  He glanced at the man responsible for this terror. “Wait!”

  Duke turned, and grinned. “What?”

  “I should be the one you are executing. Not these innocent men. They did nothing. Hang me instead.”

  “Oh, that is very noble of you. But no. These men are to die.” Duke stepped forwards and pointed at the other slaves. “This is what you get when you cross me. Punishment. Death, not sacrifice. And I want you all to know that your remains will be fed to the monsters.”

  “This is madness, Duke. You’re killing ten men! Ten slaves. That makes no sense.”

  “No sense? Your trying to escape makes no sense. Where were you going to go, Pig? Huh?”

  “You know as well as anyone there are hardly any survivors out there. What happens when you run out of food for the beasts? What happens then?”

  “Oh, Pig.” Duke shook his head and smirked, his eyes glinting. “You’ve mistaken me for someone who cares.”

  Duke signalled to his plebs. They started chanting and grunting as their leader spat into his microphone, “You ten are not worthy for our Lord Abezi! I condemn your souls to purgatory!”

  He dropped his outstretched arm, and the bench under the men was kicked out.

  Duke grabbed Pig’s head and held his eyes open, making him watch as the men twitched and swayed as the life was choked out of them. “Watch it! Watch what you did. Their deaths are on you.”

  Pig watched and said a silent prayer for their souls. He also committed their faces to his memory. He was more determined than ever to liberate the rest of the slaves and kill the beasts that infested the land. But first he had to kill Duke. That was if he could survive the day. Pig ground his teeth, remembering a quote the grey-haired soldier often said to him.

  Until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.

  Pig couldn’t recall who had said it, but he could picture an African American man standing before a large crowd. He watched the hanged men until the last of them stilled.

  Righteousness.

  — 11 —

  The strange chrysalids shone deep blue, almost purple, as the beam from Derek’s flashlight bounced over the egg-shaped structures. He gripped the flashlight tighter. No matter how many times he came into the winged beasts’ den, he wanted to flee, to run and hide. To take his chances out there amongst the chaos.

  Derek edged his way past the chrysalids, which were coated in an opaque sludge, being careful not to get any of it on his skin or clothing. Like the saliva of the beasts that emerged from the eggs, it burnt like battery acid. From what he understood, the chrysalids were the eggs of the beetle and mole Variants. Not that he had seen them being laid. It was all he could think of. All he was concerned about was not touching them.

  He glanced around the square, concrete-lined room. Half of it was exposed to the heavens; the beasts had torn it open. Towering above was the communications antenna, reaching a hundred metres into the sky. The bottom of the antenna was coated in the same material as the chrysalids, giving the whole structure a morbidly ethereal look.

  Derek twisted his watch, a gift from Sophie, around his wrist. He had determinedly held on to it through all that had happened.

  In the centre of the room, crouching atop a hardened crystal, the Alpha of the winged beasts glared down at him, gunky drool oozing from its sucker mouth. He couldn’t look it in the eyes, so he focused on the black, scarred flesh of its torso instead. He liked looking at that. It reminded him that the beast wasn’t immortal. That it could be hurt.

  Derek cast his eyes down and caught a glimpse of a small child curled in a ball at Abezi’s feet. He ground his teeth at the sight. She was only a little younger than Sophie.

  The beast raised a clawed hand. “More,” it grunted, its voice barely audible.

  “Soon. I need more time.” Derek pleaded.

  “More!”

  The beast snatched up the girl and clamped its sucker mouth over her neck, tearing the flesh from her fragile body. Bright red blood sprayed over the beast. It ignored the sanguine fluid and feasted on the child. The smell of blood drifted through the room. The two smaller winged beasts lifted their heads and wailed, sending shivers up Derek’s spine. Shrieks and howls from the humanoid creatures joined in the ghastly din.

  “Soon. I promise,” said Derek.

  The beast glared at him and waved a claw, dismissing him.

  Derek was glad to leave and made his way through the old building to the room next door. Decades-old computers had been torn from the floor and pushed aside. In the far-right-hand corner were his quarters, if you could call them that. A small space had been left for him. A bed, wash basin and desk were all it contained. He booted up the laptop on the desk and turned his radio equipment on.

  Derek checked to see he had the right frequency in his notebook, then pressed the talk button.

  “Duke. Do you copy?” He lifted his finger off and glanced at the detent dial. “Duke? Receiving, over?”

  Hissing and static squawked back at him. He turned the volume up and waited. After a few minutes, he checked his watch. 13:23.

  He was just about to give up and make some lunch when Duke’s voice crackled over the airwaves. “What do you want, Derek?”


  “I don’t want anything. It. Requires more.”

  “More? Bloody hell. I only fed the beasts yesterday.”

  “So can you deliver or what?”

  “Of course I can. And I’ve already got my next delivery scheduled. But something tells me Abezi wants you to provide his next meal yourself, Derek. Not me. So no. Find your own this time.”

  “C’mon, Duke. Help me out. And don’t call it Abezi. You’re just empowering it.”

  “Empowering it? You’re an idiot, Derek. You always were. I don’t need to empower it. It’s top of the fucking food chain, you muppet! Find your own survivors.”

  “Just help me out this once, Duke.”

  Derek waited for a response, but after a few minutes it became obvious Duke had left him to fill his own order. Sighing, he wiggled the mouse, bringing the laptop to life. The screen showed a grainy camera feed overlooking a factory yard. Wine barrels and vehicles lay haphazardly across the screen. Clicking the mouse, he cycled through the other camera feeds. He blinked rapidly. The creatures were gathered around the entrance of a large red building, climbing over each other to enter and devour whatever lay within. The gathered beasts could only mean one thing. Someone had answered his distress call, and now lay trapped inside.

  Derek sighed. As much as it gave him and Sophie more time to live, seeing the gathered creatures pained him. It meant more victims. More to be slaughtered. More for Doctor Marks. He shivered at the thought. More victims to add to his nightmares.

  Rushing from the room, he grabbed a couple of protein bars and ran to the bicycle waiting at the tunnel entrance. It was a long way to the winery; too far to walk this time.

  The mole and beetle beasts, under orders from Abezi, had burrowed the network of tunnels, enabling the Variants, and him, it had to be said, to move about undetected by humans outside the complex.

  Derek had, for the last couple of months, watched from the top of Mount Te Aroha as the army and air force invaded the lands, fought battle after battle. Metre by metre, they were reclaiming New Zealand from the Variant scourge.