It had stunned him when the Sunni fought the Shia over everything. They continuously 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 who he suspected would be trouble in the future? He sighed, forcing the darkness in him down. 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 prayed. 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 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, sitting waiting 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 tires in the gravel as he tore up the road.
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.