Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3

by Smith, Adrian J.

  “Not bad, considering. You dreaming of freedom again?”

  Maggie looked down at the warm cup of coffee she held in her hands. Even after three weeks of being in this prison, she still had trouble with the Kiwi accent. To the untrained ear it sounded like the Australian accent, but to her it was totally different: not as nasal. The Kiwis tended to mash up their vowel sounds, so an “i” became a “u”, making “fish” sound like “fush”. The Aussies said “chance”, where the Kiwis made it sound like “Charnce”. Regardless of what she had learnt, she still had to give herself time to process what she heard. They also spoke so fast, while Maggie was used to that southern drawl of Houston, Texas.

  Her eyes glinting with memories of home, she looked back up at Alice. “That is an affirmative. It’s every captured soldier’s duty to escape.”

  Alice grinned, a small laugh escaping her lips.

  Maggie indicated the seat next to her. Patting Alice on the leg, she lowered her voice. “How many guards have you seen?” Pointing into the trees, she added, “Out there, beyond the fence.”

  Alice stared out into the trees. “I’m not sure. Four, maybe five?”

  Maggie nodded, taking in the information. She took a sip of her coffee, savouring the bitter taste. “Yeah, that’s about what I think. Any luck with your guard friend?”

  “A bit. You said slowly, right?”

  “Yeah, we have to be subtle about this. We have to act defeated, compliant. But we need information. We need to know their movements. They’ll have a routine. It’s human nature. So just observe for now.”

  Maggie looked up from her cup, watching Alice’s face. She could see fear, real fear. But she could also see a determination to survive, and that was what she’d spent the last three weeks looking for. Someone willing to risk it all to get out of this place. To risk it for a chance at freedom. Maggie had already put a plan in motion. She felt a pang of guilt for not telling Alice, but she needed to wait until the time was right.

  Alice tucked her blonde hair back behind her ears. “Okay. I’ll keep on him.”

  “Thanks. I better get to my garden before Ian comes looking for me, swinging his police baton.”

  The two women grinned at each other. Maggie thought Ian, the warden of this camp, was a joke. He liked to wander around keeping an eye on everyone. Always swinging that baton.

  “See you after?” Maggie said, still grinning.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you after,” Alice said.

  Maggie stood and stretched out the kinks in her back. She gave Alice a reassuring pat on the shoulder and headed off towards the gardens. All around her, the prison camp was coming to life. She estimated about a hundred people were here. Mainly women, but a few children were allowed to stay. Maggie walked across the dew-laden grass between the weatherboard buildings. The whole camp reminded her of a school, with the buildings laid out in two rows and an asphalt courtyard in the middle. To the east lay two huge machine sheds, and in the direction she was headed, she and the others assigned to gardening had created some large plots. Winter was coming, so all they had planted were some lettuce, cabbage and other winter crops. A two-metre-high chain link fence enclosed the complex. Maggie sighed. The fence wasn’t the problem, and neither were the red-clad guards. It was the monsters from hell. Variants, Alice called them. Variants of humans who had devoured all but a lucky few.

  Then why are we here?

  Maggie reached the gardens and collected the tools she needed for weeding.

  “Morning, y’all,” she said, waving to the others already hard at work. Some murmured greetings but most didn’t. Maggie was fine with that.

  She wanted to be alone today; she needed to think. She busied herself with the task at hand, running the hoe through the soil, being careful not to get too close to the vegetables they had planted. As she worked, she let her mind drift.

  She remembered the heat and sand of her two tours of Afghanistan and one of Iraq. Feelings of guilt took hold again. She had been a medic in the army and had learnt quickly that you couldn’t save everyone. She didn’t miss the heat of those sun-scorched dens of hell, nor did she miss the constant sounds of war around her. Explosions, screams, guns, shouting. Men bragging, trying to get her into bed one day, bleeding and dying in her arms the next. She didn’t miss the gore of trying to stem the flow of blood from missing limbs, soldiers screaming in agony, gripping her hand as the life left their eyes. No, she would never miss that. But she did miss the sense of belonging, the camaraderie. When she was enlisted, she had belonged; she was fighting for the greater good, to protect her homeland from the threats to democracy. She missed the night she had spent with that army ranger. She’d liked him; his wisecracking friend not so much. Maggie wiped away a tear.

  Like all veterans, she’d struggled with life after the army. She had decided to tick an item off her bucket list and travel to New Zealand. Visiting all the Lord of the Rings sites had been top of her list. As soon as she arrived at Auckland International Airport, she’d fallen in love with the green rolling hills, the bush-clad mountains. As she travelled, there had been some new joy around every corner. A dazzling blue lake here, forests dropping down to a perfect white sand beach there, and snow-capped mountains rising up into the clouds. She had enjoyed the rough and wild west coast of the North Island, and had travelled down to Wellington via New Plymouth, enjoying the friendly people all the way. She admired the Kiwi can-do attitude, which she attributed to their isolation. They were involved in world politics, but not aggressive. Not as heavily as her country was.

  Lost in her thoughts, Maggie ran her hoe through the rows of lettuce. The apocalypse would have to come now, and me without my rifle.

  Maggie paused from her work and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. The day had become warm but pleasant. Glancing around, she could see the other gardeners hard at work. No one wanted to look like they were slacking; the guards took pleasure in reminding them who was in charge. Maggie let out a laugh. They may guard us, but the Variants rule the world now.

  Stretching, she headed to the beach umbrella with the ice box — or chilly bin, as the Kiwis called it. Maggie smiled to herself as she drank the cool liquid. They certainly had funny words for things. She used the time to look at the main gate, watching the guards. During her time here, she had observed two things. One, they didn’t seem to be frightened of the Variants, and two, they were becoming complacent. A fact she intended to take full advantage of. Traitoring bastards.

  — 3 —

  The fall sun crept across a sky dotted with puffy clouds. Maggie worked tirelessly weeding her rows, enjoying the monotony of the work, distracting herself from her worries. Her stomach began to rumble just as she heard the dinner bell ring out. Packing up her tools, she headed to the courtyard, her mouth watering.

  As she walked between the buildings flanking the courtyard, a shadow loomed from behind the wall.

  “Hey, Yank!”

  Maggie stopped and stared into the brown eyes of Ian, the warden of the prison, the movement of his swinging police baton flicking in her peripheral vision. It looked comical, as his arms and legs were so skinny. Clenching her teeth at the insult, she stared at him. “What?”

  Ian glared at her, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your day in the sunshine?” His mocking tone was clear.

  Maggie forced herself to remain civil and not let him see her rising anger. Men like Ian purposely taunted and antagonised to get a reaction. When you did react, it was a victory for them.

  She glanced up and held his gaze. “Yes, I did. Reminded me of working on the ranch.”

  Ian’s mouth upturned into a snarl. “Ranch? Pfft. You Americans don’t know what a farm is. Anyway, I want to see you after your meal.”

  Maggie tensed her arm muscles. She wanted nothing more than to punch him in the windpipe and ram that baton where the sun don’t shine. But now was not the time.

  “In your office?”

  Her skin crawled a
s Ian reached out and stroked her arm. Holding it, he smiled, showing his teeth. “Yes, in my office. Don’t make me wait. I don’t like being made to wait. Anger me Yank, and I’ll leave you out in the forest. I’m sure the monsters would like my offering.”

  Maggie forced herself to remain calm, calling on all her training. Keeping her face void of emotion, she looked at Ian. “Sure, see you there.”

  He released her arm and Maggie stepped around him, letting out a breath.

  Looking around the mess hall, food tray in hand, she spotted Alice sitting in the corner with a couple of other people, a male and a female. Newbies, by the looks of their ragged clothes and the way they were shovelling food into their mouths. She walked down the centre gap, murmuring greetings to some of the women she saw. Many of the tables still lay empty, with everyone congregating at the middle ones, closest to the kitchen.

  Maggie stopped at a table and crouched down next to a little girl with red hair and sparkling green eyes. “Hey, Becs. Did you have a good day, kiddo?” she smiled, watching as Becs twirled her fingers, nodding her head. Maggie reached over and patted her on the leg. “That’s good, Becs. I’ll see you for story time, okay?” She stood up and leant over Becs to shake the hand of the woman sitting next to her. Feeling a piece of paper palmed into her hand, she turned and walked over to Alice, sliding the paper into her pocket as she did so.

  Reaching the table, she plonked herself next to Alice and squeezed Alice’s hand. “Hey, so who are your friends?”

  Alice squeezed back and laid her fork down, nodding in the newbies’ direction. “Tracey and Dean, this is Maggie.”

  Maggie watched as the pair barely stopped eating to voice a greeting. Leaning in close to Maggie’s right ear, Alice lowered her voice, her eyes glancing at the four red-clothed guards watching the women and children eat. “I thought you might want to talk to them. They were brought in this afternoon. Unhooded.”

  Maggie furrowed her brow and leant against the backrest of her seat. “Unhooded?” she mouthed.

  Alice picked up her fork and started eating the rice on her plate. “Yeah, exactly.”

  Maggie looked over at the two newbies, eating as if this was going to be their last meal. Tracey had dark hair and light-brown skin, her broad nose typical of the people of Polynesia. She could see the traditional Maori koru-style of tattoo on her forearm and a smaller one behind her left ear. Dean was a fine specimen of a man. Muscular, tall and dark haired. He too had Maori tattoos on his arms. Brought here without a hood? Dean was the first male prisoner she had seen for over a week. They didn’t keep the men here. Some stayed to carry out physical labour, but they were all shipped off eventually.

  Maggie busied herself eating. With this new information and the piece of paper in her pocket, she didn’t have much of an appetite. But that old army training kicked in. Eat when you can, sleep when you can.

  It was time to advance the last part of her plan.

  Rejuvenated by thoughts of escape and her long-term quest of getting home to Texas, Maggie ate the rest of her meal in silence. Better keep the peace with Ian and his baton.

  — 4 —

  Boss turned the detent dial, moving slowly through the frequencies, scanning for any chatter. He glanced at the clock to one side: 5:45, or 17:45 as he was supposed to say now.

  Yes! Not long to go.

  He had enjoyed learning all the details of radio operations, but for the last few days he had heard limited chatter. His orders were to continuously scan, searching for any survivors. His last success had been yesterday, when he had found a couple on a boat. After giving them the coordinates of Mayor Island, they had relayed that they were running low on fuel and were heading off to look for more. Since then, Boss had heard nothing. Worry was beginning to creep in. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the bandage on his stump. Hell, it was itchy. Glancing over at the ledger of contacts, he searched out the name of their boat. Sea You Later. Running his finger down the page, he read the frequency next to the name and turned the detent dial to the correct number. He adjusted his headphones, listening to the static hissing in his ears. Pressing down the talk button, he reached out.

  “Sea You Later, this is Falcon 7, over.”

  Hissing and static buzzed in his ear.

  “Sea You Later, do you copy?”

  Boss frowned and tried a few more times with no success. He reached up and rubbed the ridges of skin on his forehead. Damn it! He made a note on his ledger. Turning his attention back to the radio, he dutifully turned the dial, listening for anything, any sign of more survivors. So few had made it to the outlying islands. Mayor Island had a population of just 120, Motiti Island, a few kilometres south, a mere 45. But, thankfully, it was a working farm with a thousand head of sheep and 350 dairy cows. Last Boss heard, Mahana wanted some army personnel sent there, to secure the island. Great Barrier Island, where Jack, Dee and Ben were, had just under 800 people. So few, from so many.

  Boss looked at the clock again hoping for the end of his shift. It flashed 18:03. Grinning, he reached for his crutches. Hoisting himself up with a grunt, he looked down at where his lower leg used to be. The doctor had warned him about phantom pains. Boss still caught himself trying to use that leg. Embarrassingly, he had fallen over a few times. Grabbing his ledger, he headed over to Sergeant Brian Haere sitting at a desk in the far corner. It was a simple room; two stacks of radio equipment lined the left-hand and back walls, with Haere’s desk on the right-hand wall, next to the door as you entered. A couple of maps of New Zealand and the surrounding islands had been pinned to the sheetrock wall, white marker pins locating the pockets of survivors. Boss couldn’t help but glance at the mainland. Only three white markers remained there: Auckland, Wellington and a pin in the South Island. Someplace called Waihopai. He’d never heard of it.

  Boss remembered all he’d been through just to reach this island. How he had hidden in the attic with his mother. His father’s return as one of the flesh-eaters. His flight. His rescue from the hounds of hell by Dee. Hiding in that stinky basement with her. She had become someone he cared about dearly and, when he admitted it, had a huge crush on. He thought about the guilt he still felt for running: running to save himself, leaving his mother to his once-father. He liked to think that karma had been paid when he lost his lower left leg to that hideous Alpha.

  Frowning at the memory of that beast, Boss glanced over to the other RO. He waved at Signaller Geoff “Six” Austin, getting his attention. “Game later?”

  Six pulled one of his headphones off his ear, like DJs do when mixing dance music. “For sure. See you in a bit. You better bring it tonight.”

  Boss barked a laugh. “I’m 10-6 up.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch up with you tonight, bro.”

  Boss shook his head as he walked the last few metres to Sergeant Haere. Pool was his game. It was all about angles and placing the ball ready for the next shot. All those hours practising at home, playing his dad, had paid off.

  Reaching Sergeant Haere, he put his weight on his remaining leg and handed over his ledger. “Nothing new to report, Sir.”

  Sergeant Haere looked up from the report he was reading and stared straight at Boss. Boss found it difficult to hold his gaze. He knew it was Haere’s way of measuring him, to see what sort of man he was. Boss hated that aspect of masculinity. Men and boys trying to prove to each other just how macho they were. Surely being here on this island was proof enough?

  He couldn’t hold the stare any longer and glanced away, looking out the window. He could see the few lights of the camp dancing on the water of the natural harbour. The sounds of children playing reached him, bringing a smile to his lips. He was looking forward to seeing George.

  “Nothing new in your report, Shepard?” Haere said.

  Boss looked down at his feet, heat rising up through his body, flushing his cheeks.

  “Look at me, Shepard.” Haere pointed first at himself, and then back at Boss. “When an officer speaks to you,
you look him in the eye. It’s all about respect, Shepard.”

  Boss ground his teeth together. He hated how Sergeant Haere talked to him. He was still getting used to the chain of command.

  “Yes, sir, nothing new to report, sir.”

  Haere raised his hand and rubbed his chin. “Very well, Shepard. You are dismissed. See you here at 0800.”

  “Thank you Sir.”

  Boss turned and caught Six’s eye, grinned, and raised his head in acknowledgement.

  He walked down a short corridor and into the common area that was once the lounge bar, back when the building was a hotel, back before the Variants ate everyone.

  Boss hobbled down the stairs and out onto the concrete boardwalk that hugged the shore of the bay. Max bounded over, playfully nudging his head into Boss’s leg. He reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears, savouring the familiar touch. Max had adopted them in a way. He had started sleeping on the deck of the villa and had never left. Jack had asked around the village, but nobody claimed him. Dee said that sometimes animals find their own forever home.

  Boss liked that. Forever home. That would be nice. He looked out at the small settlement he now called home. Before the Hemorrhage Virus, it had been a camping ground, hosting people over the summer months. A few cabins were dotted around the hills, some bigger summer houses mingled between, with the hotel — now Operations — in the middle of the bay. The large, older-style villa sat on the hill overlooking the bay and the mainland. It was the house he shared with Jack, Dee, George and Ben. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered Jack calling it the Walsh Villa, from some movie back in the 80s. Jack and his movies.

  Boss stood on the stairs overlooking the beach and glanced around, looking for George. He smiled. Maybe Beth would be there too.

  A few of the kids had a game of touch rugby going, eking out every last minute in the fading autumn light. Boss searched out the red hair of George and watched him dodging around a couple of older boys, heading for the try line marked in the sand. One of the boys slammed his shoulder into George, sending him sprawling.