Extinction NZ (Book 2): The Fourth Phase

by Smith, Adrian J.

  Bloody Variants.

  TEN

  Maggie lay in her bed, her covers pulled up to hide the fact that she was fully clothed. There was no way she could sleep after Ian had come storming in, tormenting her by taking Alice and Becs. It was now early morning and light shone through the windows, making little orange squares on the wooden floor. In the old building they had put her and the other women in, there was very little in the way of insulation. It creaked and groaned as the timber expanded beneath the sun’s rays.

  The frostiness of the pre-dawn chilled Maggie, even with all her clothes on and blankets on top. She strained her ears, listening to the sounds of the others breathing. She could hear their steady inhales and exhales. In the growing light, she could see the fogging of several breaths. She stretched her legs and pulled back the covers. As silently as she could, she slid under her bed and pried back the floorboard she had loosened. Quickly, she pulled up the others. Once she’d made a hole big enough, she slipped through, landing with a dull thud beneath the building. She froze, waiting for the guard posted at the door to shine his torch under, exposing her escape. Hearing nothing and, more importantly, seeing nothing, she wriggled away in the soft dirt, its musty smell threatening to make her sneeze.

  Reaching the edge of the sleeping quarters, she peered out. She could see where the guard stood sixty feet away. She watched for a few minutes, waiting for him to move, but he didn’t. Maggie smiled to herself. People said the witching hour was midnight to 1 a.m., but she thought the true witching hour was that hour before dawn. If you have been on watch for the last few hours, your mind naturally wanders to thoughts of your bed, of food, of coffee. The yawning kicks in, your eyes droop, and before you know it you’ve nodded off.

  Maggie pulled herself up into a crouch, getting her bearings. Spotting the laundry building, she dashed across the dew-laden grass. Her footprints marked her path.

  Her plan was simple. Steal some red coveralls and a vehicle, make for the coast, find a boat, and find that island. She hoped she could find a yacht and someone willing to sail her across the Pacific and back home to the USA. Maggie thought of that as her quest; a near-impossible quest. Like her favourite hobbit’s difficult quest: take the ring to Mordor and destroy it. Okay, yeah, right. Sail across the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean and then make your way across deserts, mountains, and urban wastelands to Texas. She could only imagine what was happening in her home country. She was alone and cut off in this land. Now it was time to leave this prison camp and find out about her family. She had to know if they were still alive. As much as she loved this beautiful country, she longed for the big open countryside of Texas.

  Maggie reached the laundry building and peered through the window. She could see Jill, already hard at work washing the guards’ clothes. She tapped on the glass, praying the sound didn’t echo out. Jill looked up from her work and smiled. She reached under the counter and dug out a package wrapped in brown paper. Maggie glanced left and right, waiting to be discovered. Seeing no movements in the half-dawn light, she turned back.

  The window creaked open and Jill handed her the package. “Good luck, Maggie,” she whispered. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Maggie grasped her hand, feeling the warmth. “Thanks, Jill. Keep safe.”

  She spun around, a tear forming in her eye. She hated to leave these people behind. Most of the guards behaved themselves towards the women, but Maggie knew that was only a temporary measure. Soon that animal instinct would take over. The power of their positions would corrupt any morals they once had.

  She sighed and jogged over to the gardening shed. Pulling open the door, she slipped in. The pungent smell of compost and peat made her wrinkle her nose. She quickly undressed and pulled on one of the red coveralls, then struggled to pull her own clothes over the top of the coveralls. Searching under the potting mix, she pulled out the cloth parcel Becs had hidden there earlier. Unwrapping it, she checked to see if the items were all there. Grinning at the lighter and the blue rag, she wrapped it back up and shoved it down her front. Looking down, she saw that the legs of the pants had bunched up. She did her best to smooth them out, though it didn’t matter so much. They only had to last until she was into the forest. Satisfied with her disguise, she tucked the brown package under her arm and cracked open the shed door. Seeing her path was clear, Maggie headed through the garden. She skirted around the sleeping quarters, being careful not to walk where the guards posted at the gate could see her.

  The large maintenance shed stood beckoning in the growing light. Off to one side sat a small steel cage. Sunbeams gleamed off the white surface of the gas bottles, making them shine like beacons. Maggie glanced down at the wooden pallet they were sitting on. Pausing, she looked around. Seeing no movement, she drew the parcel out from her front and unwrapped the lighter and rag. The fumes of the petrol soaking the rag made her eyes water. She got a slight whiff of gas as she leant through the steel bars to wrap the rag around the pallet. Flicking the lighter, it sparked to life, it’s little flame dancing in her eyes. With one last look around, Maggie lit the rag, and watched as the flame spread quickly. She took a moment to see if the wooden pallet caught before rising out of her crouch. Checking the coast was clear, she took off across the camp at a sprint.

  Next to the guard’s quarters was a small prefab building with two guards posted at the door. Maggie hoped this was where Becs was being held. She dashed up behind it and slid under the building, the damp soil rubbing on her hands. Holding her breath, she waited. She checked the guards. One set of feet moved, jogging in place. Maggie wriggled farther under the prefab building. The fire, three hundred feet away, was taking hold. Waiting, her muscles tense and ready for action, Maggie prayed this was going to work. She was still confused by the camp’s exact purpose, but she guessed it was a breeding farm. It was the only way to explain the nearly all-female population, a few of them pregnant. The bastard traitors were helping the Variants by breeding them food. The thought disgusted her. Was this what the human race had become? Mere animals. She would have thought that, in a crisis like this, all the humans would band together, fight the common enemy and destroy it. It happened in movies, right? She sighed inwardly, looking out at the growing fire. Apparently not. How could people like Ian turn against his own? It shocked her. Maggie shook the thoughts from her head. Right now, she needed to concentrate on getting Alice, Becs, and herself out. Hopefully she could come back and save them all. If we live that long.

  Thick black smoke poured out from the maintenance shed. It billowed up, drifting into the pine trees surrounding the prison. Maggie grinned as she watched the flames dance their flickering, darting recital. She turned to look at the jogging feet of the guard. Their panicked voices reached her.

  “What the hell?”

  “Where’s that smoke coming from?”

  The feet turned and ran around the side of the building. As each of the heavy footfalls hit the ground, they vibrated the ground under her chest. Maggie took a deep breath, centering herself. The guards ran off towards the fire, shouting as they ran.

  “Get the fucking hose! Quick, the gas bottles are on fire!”

  With one last look at the fire, she crawled out and jumped up the steps, reaching the door.

  Maggie rattled the handle, trying to wrench it open, but it was stuck fast. Raising her arm, fist clenched, she banged on the door. “Becs! Are you in there?”

  Maggie peered through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl’s red hair. She could see some movement deeper into the room. She banged again. “Becs, c’mon baby!”

  The figure moved, pulling back bed covers. Maggie’s heart leapt as she saw her hair gleam in the sun. Becs eyes went wide as she recognised Maggie, and quickly ran to the door.

  “Maggie, get me out of here,” she pleaded.

  “I will, baby. Stand back from the door, okay?”

  Maggie waited until Becs had moved back a few feet. Movement from the other b
eds caught her eye as several more children started raising their heads, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

  Maggie glanced around the building towards the fire. Several of the guards were standing near it now. Two of them had pulled a hose over from the garden, and a pathetic gurgle of water dribbled out. The guards were trying to direct it at the fire, but were not making much headway. She smiled. Her diversion was working. She had banked on their fear of fire, and her gamble had paid off. Now she needed to get this damned door open, or it would all be in vain.

  Shouting from the direction of the fire made her look back around. She watched as Ian strode across the camp, his dressing gown billowing behind him. His long skinny legs looked so comical, a small laugh escaped her lips.

  Refocusing, Maggie searched for something to break either the glass or the door handle. Spying some bricks next to the stairs, she quickly grabbed one and, with all her strength, smashed it down on the silver door handle. The handle flew off, clanging against the concrete steps and spinning away into the dirt.

  Having checked that Becs and the other children were standing back, Maggie leant back and kicked the door a few inches below the handle, where it would be weaker. It shuddered, but held fast. Maggie forced the rising panic down and glanced around. Desperately, she tried to remember anything about breaking down doors. She searched around the door, looking for weak spots. Maggie let out a grunt, spotting the hinges. Hinges took a lot of punishment, and the screws holding them in become worn and brittle. Maggie said a silent thank you to the home improvement show and raised her leg. She aimed for the bottom hinge and gave it a kick. A crack appeared, splitting up the door. She kicked again, making it bigger. After a few more well-placed kicks, the door splintered and swung open, tilting haphazardly to one side. Becs ran to her, wrapping her small arms around Maggie’s waist, gripping it tight. Maggie returned the embrace, enjoying this small moment of comfort and normality. She wanted these few seconds. She knew the next few minutes, hours and days were going to be a mad trip through hell.

  Maggie looked up to meet the curious looks on the other children’s faces. One small blonde-haired girl wrenched at her gut. She reminded Maggie of the children she saw on TV from war-torn countries. Of those she’d seen in Iraq. Her hair was matted and knotted, dried tears and mucus coated her face, and she clutched a small stuffed animal tight against her chest. Her lips were pulled tight, into a thin line. Eyes wide, she stared at nothing, yet those same eyes seemed to be pleading with Maggie. Pleading for her to be kind.

  This little girl had no one. She was locked away, to be used for God only knew what. Maggie let out a breath and unclasped Becs from her legs. Crouching down, she beckoned for the little girl to come to her. Not surprisingly, the child hesitated, her large blue eyes searching Maggie’s face, looking for someone to trust. She took a few small steps, then leapt into Maggie’s outstretched arms, and nestled her head into Maggie’s chest, sobbing. A few of the other children started chattering, firing questions at her.

  “Who are you?”

  “Can we go now?”

  “Where’s my Mum?”

  “Why are we locked up, like jail? Have we been bad?”

  Maggie put her finger to her lips, shushing the questions. “I don’t know any of those answers, except that we’re going to get out of here. But you need to be quiet and run behind me, okay?”

  The children nodded.

  “Good. Let’s play a game. Who can get dressed the fastest? Ready? Go!”

  Most of the children scrambled and pulled on their clothes.

  “Don’t forget your shoes!” Maggie walked Becs and the little blonde girl over to their beds. Then she crouched down to help the blonde girl dress. “What’s your name, darling?”

  The blonde girl twisted her fingers together as Maggie pulled on her shoes. She remained silent.

  “I’m Maggie. What’s your name?”

  “Leela,” she mumbled.

  “Leela? That’s a lovely name. We’re going to get out of here now, okay?”

  “Mmkay.”

  Maggie patted her on the leg. When she looked around, all the kids had dressed themselves and stood watching her. She was amazed at their resilience, and pleased with how they had accepted her orders and now stood waiting for her. It would make her task that much easier. Maggie did a quick headcount. Six, including Becs.

  She looked down at Becs. The child’s green eyes watched her. Giving her a quick smile, she addressed the kids. “Okay, we’re gonna go out and run over that way, to the fence.” She pointed south, away from the fire.

  The children murmured their acknowledgement. Maggie took a few deep breaths, then led the kids out of their prison. She quickly glanced left at the raging fire. Any second now.

  Maggie herded the children towards the forest. She scanned the fence surrounding the camp. Spotting the white plant label jammed into the ground, she jogged over to it. Maggie grinned. It hadn’t taken much to convince Becs to help. She had pretended they were doing a treasure hunt. She had asked Becs to plant the label here, away from the direct line of sight of the front gate guards.

  Maggie had noted, on her frequent walks around the camp, that the exterior guards were quite lax, only doing the bare minimum. She had also worked out that they kept to a regular routine, and had used this to her advantage. She had set her plan into action a little earlier than anticipated, but that couldn’t be helped, thanks to Ian’s late-night incursion. Maggie had planned to use the fire as a distraction to free Alice, but with all these kids awaiting some unknown horrible fate, she’d had to adapt. If she didn’t, they would perish. She knew from reading Art of War that one had to adapt one’s plans as one went.

  To succeed you must adapt to your surroundings…or something like that.

  The motley crew of would-be escapees neared the fence. Maggie reached up above the white plant label. If Alice had done her bit, it should be cut. The chain link chilled her hand as she grasped it, running her fingers along, looking for the gap. The metal edge of the cut wire pricked her as her finger bumped over it. She smiled and grasped the wire in her fingers, pulling it. The thin wires slithered out like eels from a sack. As quick as she could, Maggie unravelled it until there was a gap big enough for herself and the children to squeeze through. With a wave of her hand, she indicated that the huddle of kids should crawl through.

  Leela stopped at the fence, eyes wide, lip trembling. “Maggie, are the monsters still out there?”

  A lump caught in her throat. She knew she had to lie to this innocent little girl just so she could have a chance at saving her. Doubt crept in as she looked down at Leela. “No, darli—”

  Kaboom! The shockwave slammed into them, pushing Maggie, Becs, and Leela against the fence. The LPG bottles had finally exploded. The heat that followed reminded her of that sandy hell-hole that was Iraq. The shattering of glass echoed, mixed with the panicked screams of the guards caught in the fireball.

  Maggie grimaced. She hadn’t wanted to injure anyone, but those men had chosen their side.

  A screaming figure ran towards her. She squinted into the sun and smoke, and could just about make out the running figure of Alice. “Maggie! Go!”

  Maggie looked back towards the fire and saw the skinny frame of Ian sprinting towards them, baton raised and dressing gown open, exposing his naked chest. Quickly, she hauled herself off the ground and pushed Becs and Leela through the gap. Alice ran up and gave her arm a quick squeeze.

  With a quick look towards the charging Ian, Maggie pulled out the parcel from her front. “Take the kids into the trees and put this on. Head to the access road. There should be a van.”

  Alice gave her a pained smile, grabbed the parcel, and slid through the gap. “What about you?”

  Maggie met her eyes. “Ian and I have a date. Go! I’ll catch up.”

  Alice grabbed Becs’s hand and guided the children deeper into the trees.

  Maggie slid through the gap and, turning, watched as Ian ran the l
ast few feet to the fence. She gave him her best smile. “C’mon, Ian. If you want me, come and get me.”

  Maggie spun around and jogged off, away from the kids. She wasn’t interested in his reply.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you, you American bitch!”

  Maggie smiled to herself as she jogged through the trees, their fresh pine scents clearing her sinuses. That’s it, Ian. I need you angry. Anger clouds your mind.

  ELEVEN

  The shell path crunched under his foot as Boss ran for the villa, Glock held ready. George sprinted up ahead. Reaching the deck that wrapped around the 100-year-old house, Boss glanced around, scanning the immediate area for Variants. He hobbled the last few metres and made his way up the stairs. Pain from his throbbing stump lanced up his spine, making him grimace. He should have been only fitting the prosthetic, not running around on it, fighting monsters. But Boss was grateful just to be alive. He had seen some horrendous things since the Variant outbreak. Tonight simply added to the trauma.

  He opened the door, running into the house after George. A flash of red to one side caused him to glance down. Jack’s red-handled machete leant up against the wooden box. He stooped down and grabbed it. Boss ran through the small galley-like kitchen, past dirty dishes stacked around the sink. George had reached the coat rack and was lifting down his small backpack. Next to the coat rack, Ben had installed a gun cage.

  Boss reached up. Clicking the release button, he pushed open the wire-mesh door. He stared for a moment at the two shotguns and his AR-15. Boxes of ammunition were stacked below. Letting out a sigh, he gripped the edge of the metal door and pulled his rifle out. He grabbed a magazine and clicked it in. Checking the safety, he slid it over his shoulder. Boss turned to George. His blue eyes watched Boss while he waited. He could see fear in those eyes, but also determination. He knew how brave the kid was. Boss clenched his jaw and, taking a deep breath, he reached over George and grabbed his go-bag. He scooped up boxes of ammo and shoved them in before wriggling into the backpack. He reached back into the gun cage and grabbed a shotgun, shoving it into the webbing of his pack.