“You want to know something else, Lance Corporal?” James spat out between clenched teeth. “I’m from the East Cape of this country. My people were amongst the first to make contact with Captain Cook in 1769. His ship sat out in the bay, much like these ones. Our elders had a meeting that night to discuss this invader. He was allowed to carry on and trade. I often wonder what would’ve happened if the elders had decided to burn his ship to the waterline, how different it would have been for my people.”
“You may fire when ready, Lieutenant,” James said, nodding at Badminton.
Badminton raised the radio to his mouth.
James watched Hassen out of the corner of his eye. He saw his eyes flick to the three ships, saw the twitch on his cheek speed up.
Hassen raised his hand. “Sir, please, they have women and children on board.”
James eyeballed Hassen and handed him the radio.
“Get their captain on the line.”
James could smell the slight scent of diesel over the salt air. It lingered in his nostrils, stirring memories of summers spent with his grandfather, hunting for lobster, kina, and his favourite, paua.
I’m glad you didn’t live to see this, you silly old paka.
He could hear Hassen chattering into the radio, speaking Arabic. James recognised the language as he’d been to Iraq on a couple of peacekeeping missions. The heat, sand and squalid conditions had made for an unpleasant experience. He’d spent most of his tour training new police recruits.
It had stunned him when the Sunni fought the Shia over everything. They continually blew each other up. James could never get his head around how, within a war-torn country, people of the same religion hated each other. Where was the working together? He had gladly left, despondent, not sure if he’d helped in anyway. Flying back into New Zealand, seeing the green land surrounded by turquoise water, his worries had evaporated. Now, staring back at him, were three ships full of Muslims. Yes, Muslims they may be, but still human. Still men, women and children. If the Variants hadn’t taken over the world, his actions may have been different, but with so few humans left, they needed every possible one.
James weighed up his options. Should he disobey a direct order and fire upon innocent people, people whom he suspected would be trouble in the future? He sighed, forcing down the darkness in him. No, he was better than that. He turned. Holding out his hand, he took the radio off Hassen.
“This is Colonel James Mahana of the New Zealand Army. Who am I speaking to?”
A slight pause of static and hissing crackled out of the speaker.
“Colonel, this is Captain Arif Koto. We come in peace and beg your forgiveness.”
“Then why all the smoke and mirrors, Captain?”
“Smoke and mirrors? I’m not familiar, please, my English is limited.”
James pulled the radio away from his ear, cursing inwardly. Of course your English is limited, it always is. He raised the radio back to his lips. “Why are you here, Captain, and why shouldn’t I just send some missiles your way?”
“Please, Colonel, we just want refuge. These creatures are everywhere. And where they are not, it’s crazy. We are just peaceful Muslims wanting help.”
“I can understand that, Captain, but why not radio ahead?”
“We tried that around the Pacific but were chased away every time. We reached out to our Muslim brothers. One heard, praise Allah, and led us here. We came in the dark, hoping and praying. He heard us.”
James shook his head and glared at Hassen. He was going to have to deal with him later. He made eye contact with Badminton. “Take him out of my sight. Put him in the brig until I can deal with him.”
He raised his binoculars up to look at the bridge of the Sigma-class corvette. He could see dim lights shining on the bridge, figures moving about. The decks still remained void of any activity.
“All right, Captain Koto, listen carefully. You are to remain anchored where you are. Any sign of intrusion, and you will be fired upon. Are we clear?”
There was a slight pause before Koto answered. “I understand, Colonel. But please, we are out of fresh water and have very little food.”
James clenched his jaw. These Indonesians were really testing his patience. “I’ll get you some water, Captain. You can fish from your boat. And when it’s light, you are coming ashore to have a little chat.”
“Thank you, Colonel. Peace be with you.”
James clicked his radio off and hooked it into his belt. He turned and walked briskly to his vehicle, parked on the gravel road. He sat behind the wheel, staring at the bush-clad mountains rising up inland, mountains his people had lived on for generations. He turned the ignition. Revving up the engine, he jammed the accelerator down, spinning the tyres in the gravel as he tore up the road.
Bloody Variants.
— 13 —
Maggie lay in her bed, the covers pulled up to hide the fact 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. The old building where they’d put her and the other women had very little insulation. The rooms creaked and groaned as the timber expanded beneath the sun’s rays.
The frostiness of 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 their breath fogging the air. 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 boards. 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 forward 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 1am., 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. Jill looked up from her work and smiled. She reached under the counter and dug out a package wrapped in brown paper.
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, jogged over to the gardening shed and ducked inside. 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 them. 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.
Maggie checked herself over. Satisfied with her disguise, she tucked the 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 bounced off the white surface of the gas bottles inside, making them shine like beacons. Maggie glanced down at the wooden pallet the bottles were sitting on. Pausing, she looked around. Seeing no movement, she crouched, pulled the parcel out from down 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, its 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, then stood up. 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. Holding her breath, she waited. She checked the guards. One set of feet moved, jogging in place. Maggie wriggled farther under the prefab. 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 turned her stomach. Was this what the human race had become? Mere animals. She would have thought that in a crisis like this, all humans would band together, fight the common enemy and destroy it. It happened in movies, right? She sighed inwardly, watching 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 guards. 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 beneath her. Maggie took a deep breath, centring herself. The guards, shouting to each other, ran off towards the flames.
“Get the bloody hose!”
With one last look at the fire, Maggie crawled out and jumped up the steps.
She rattled the door handle, trying to wrench it open, but it was stuck fast. 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 beds caught her eye as several more children started raising their heads, rubbing the sleep from 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 flames made her look back around. She saw Ian striding 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.
Maggie leant back and kicked the door a few inches below the handle where she knew it would be weaker. It shuddered but held fast. She forced down her rising panic and looked around. Desperately, she tried to remember anything about breaking down doors. She searched the whole 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 the crack 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. Reluctantly she let go.
Maggie looked up to meet the curious looks on the other children’s faces. One small blonde girl wrenched at her heart. 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 covered 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. 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 to their beds. Then she crouched to help the blond
e 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. It would make her task that much easier. She did a quick headcount. Six, including Becs.
“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 and followed her out of their prison.
Maggie herded the children towards the forest, risking a glance at the raging fire as she jogged. The guards were too busy to notice her and the children.
Perfect.
She scanned the fence surrounding the camp and spotted the white plant label jammed into the ground. Maggie grinned. It hadn’t taken much to convince Becs to help. She had pretended they were doing a treasure hunt and had asked Becs to plant the label here as it was out of sight from all the guards.
She had set her plan into action a little earlier than anticipated, thanks to Ian’s late-night incursion.
To succeed you must adapt to your surroundings…or something like that.
Extinction New Zealand Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 25