“There are three phases, Boss. Phase one: Impact. Phase two: Recoil and rescue. Phase three: Recovery.”
“So, what’s this fourth phase that you talked about?”
“We fight back.”
Looking at George, he knew Jack and Dee were right. Another terrible screech echoed around, its pitch slamming into Boss’s head, sending chills up his back.
Hell. That was really close.
He swam quickly back to shore and hauled George into the chilly embrace of the lake. “Sorry, G-man. I know you’re scared. Shit, I am too.”
George blinked rapidly, but let Boss pull him out into deeper water. Soon he was swimming the few metres to the scrub-filled island alongside Boss.
Boss hauled himself onto the stone-strewn shore of the island. The sharp obsidian dug into his knees and hands, pricking him. Bloody Dragonglass. If only you worked on these monsters.
Quickly, he looked around for a place to hide from the hunting horrors of hell. The island was covered in New Zealand flax and manuka.
Protect us now, Kaitiaki. We need you more than ever. He rarely thought of his Maori ancestry, because his mother had tried to instill in him that ethnicity didn’t matter. What mattered were your actions and your courage, the courage to fight on, fight for whatever you needed to fight for. Right now, he had to fight and protect George from the Variants.
He glanced over at Max, who was panting, his tongue hanging out, water dripping onto the earth. George nestled into him, shivering from the icy dip. Spotting a bunch of flax clinging together to form a hut of sorts, he hauled himself up, favouring his good leg. Sighing, he nudged George, urging him into the natural hut. Softly calling to Max, who joined them, the trio nestled together, huddling for warmth and shaking from fear.
Boss listened as the shrieking and howling intensified. He pumped his shotgun, ready to make a last stand, ready to fight until he drew his last breath. Then he peeked through the flax and up into the tree above. Maybe I can get George and Max out over the cliff?
A booming bellow pulsed around the lake, and Boss’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to shut the sound out. His left leg spasmed at its stump. He knew that bellow; he’d heard it as the Trophy King tore off his leg, nearly adding his life to the millions of lost souls. That sound haunted his dreams and tormented his soul.
Now it was here, harassing him again. Boss flicked the safety off and tried to calm his nerves. All right, you ugly bastard. Come and get it.
Well, Jack. So much for your four phases.
First phase: Impact.
Second phase: Recoil and rescue.
Third phase: Recovery.
Fourth phase: We fight back.
ONE
Jack tried to keep the cold autumn rain out of his eyes, but he was failing miserably. Looking through the scope, he searched the dark bush looking for any sign of Dee and the soldiers. After only a week of training with Captain Ben Johns, he, Dee, and two others had flown with Ben to Great Barrier Island, located 140 km north of Mayor Island off the northern tip of the Coromandel Peninsula. The Colonel had moved his Forward Operating Base here a week earlier, as it had greater strategic value, more space, and a larger natural harbour.
Ben had wanted to test them in the thick bush and mountains that covered the island. The island was secluded and had a small population, vital factors to escaping the notice of the Variants. Ben called them his little Recon and Rescue team. The Colonel had named them “The Renegades” after their rescue of Jack from the nest.
Jack adjusted his cap in an attempt to stop the rain dripping into his eyes. So far he hadn’t spotted anybody, and his patience was beginning to wear thin. The combination of little sleep, little food, and this persistent rain were really testing his temper. Jack had worked hard over the years to keep his temper under control. It was only in times of great stress, and when he was tired, that it erupted now. He took some calming breaths, practicing the technique the Buddhist monk had taught him on his trip to Thailand. He concentrated on letting go of his anger and focusing on the task at hand. He could feel his muscles relax with each deep breath.
Jack glanced over to where Ben had set up camp. Ben had dumped Dee and the other two soldiers at one end of the island, and Jack at the other. Then he had set up a camp at one of the trig points, high up in roughly the middle of the island, on Mt. Hirakimata. Dee and the two soldiers’ task was to reach the camp and claim the flag by midnight. They had been at this for twenty-four hours now. He looked at his watch: 22:54. Just over an hour to go. Jack’s task was to find them and report their positions to Ben. Where the hell are they? This is the only way to reach the camp.
All the hours of solitude for the past three days had made Jack think a lot about his lucky escape from the Variant nest. Subconsciously, he rubbed the scars on his leg. He wondered again, for about the one hundredth time, why he had woken from his coma? No one else had. Well, apart from George. Why them? Everyone else stuck in that meat locker had been in a persistent state of unconsciousness. Back on Mayor Island, he had asked the doctors and nurses if they had a reason. No one had any idea. The not knowing annoyed him immensely. He hated not understanding something. With no Google or books to reference, it bugged the crap out of him. Not that it will make any difference. This is a new kind of terror.
Trying to focus his wandering mind, Jack scanned the track leading up to the camp. Ben had set his camp up well. It was high, on a rocky bluff, out in the open, with only one way up or down. Jack had hiked through the interior of the island for eighteen hours straight to reach this spot. Most of the training he had received from Ben involved weapons. Guns◦— both rifles and handguns. A small amount of knife work. Ben had thought Jack’s bush skills and fitness were satisfactory to not need any other training.
A flash of red streaked across his scope. Scanning the area, Jack couldn’t see anything. Great, now I’m hallucinating as well. His mind often played over the killing of the man in the red trucker’s cap back in that Variant nest.
Jack shivered at the memory. At the time he’d shrugged it off, but when everything had calmed down, it had made him sick to his stomach. That he had taken another human’s life so easily, as if it meant nothing to him. Killing the Variants was a breeze, especially when they were trying to kill him or anyone he cared about. The doctor called it PTSD. Jack knew that he had it, but then everyone who’d survived had it. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel so alone? He’d discussed it with Dee. She seemed to be handling it better. She had been supporting him and talking about it with him.
“Time, laughter, and meeting you is what healed me.” Dee had said. “You shared your love of nature, your love of movies, books, trivia, and fun with me. You helped me forget about the monsters in the world. Sadly, now there are real monsters to deal with.”
Jack agreed, but he was struggling. He took some more deep breaths, wiped the rain from his forehead, and focused on finding Dee and the two soldiers.
Fourth phase: We fight back.
Seeing movement, Jack swung his AR-15 around and looked through the Nikon P-223 BDC 600 scope. Adjusting it slightly, he could see the two soldiers creeping up the track. They were about one hundred metres below Ben’s camp. So, where the hell is Dee? He reached for his radio.