When she reached the far side, Jack reached down and helped her out of the water. She handed him the leg. He turned it over in his hands and looked up at her. “What are you thinking?”
Dee rubbed her hands over her face. “I think they’ve been taken. It’s the only logical outcome.”
Jack nodded and pulled her into a hug. Dee heard him choke down a sob. “Oh God, Dee. You don’t think the Trophy King took them, do you?”
Dee nestled her head into his shoulder and let the tears flow. Her head swam at the thought of Boss and George being taken away to be consumed, or worse. She had seen inside one of those nests. Seen what they did to people. Once was enough.
Composing herself, Dee pulled away, breaking the embrace. She stared back over towards the island. A barely audible whimper reached her ears. She pricked her ears, straining. There! Another whimper, clearer this time. She scanned the island, looking for the source. There was a small patch of black and white fur amongst the flax bushes. Max! How did I miss him?
Dee ran back into the water, splashing towards the island.
TWENTY
Where are the bodies? Maggie scanned the area around the 4x4. Three of its doors stood open, dark pools of blood stained the cobble stones, and empty shell casings lay scattered around. But no bodies. Maggie paused and breathed, searching for the tell-tale rotten fruit smell. She could detect faint decomposing garbage and the salty air of the ocean, but no Variants. She flicked her eyes up to the roof tops. The creatures loved to jump down from above. She had learnt that the hard way.
Maggie, like any veteran, reported for duty to the US Embassy in Wellington after they were recalled. She helped ferry American citizens to chartered planes flying home. The Commander promised that all personnel would be evacuated by the end of the week. She was then ordered to accompany a Marine platoon to rescue an official who had injured himself on a hike. Chopper extraction was out due to poor weather, so she and the Marines hiked into the Tongariro National Park. Into the mist, and back into hell. Variants swarmed over them in the car park, and they barely made it out with their lives.
Entering the town of Turangi, their rescue mission went south. Hordes of Variants harried them, attacking the APV. Running low on fuel, they pulled into a gas station. It all looked clear. Then a lone Variant jumped down onto the Staff Sergeant, tearing out his throat. It severely injured two others before they managed to kill it.
Maggie took over the driving from then. After the weather cleared, she radioed for extraction. Variants attacked them constantly, so to avoid the towns, Maggie started to take back roads, hoping to avoid any further entanglements. The chopper called in the new LZ.
Ten miles out, the injured soldiers turned and attacked the remaining platoon. In the confusion, Maggie slid off the road, damaging the APV. Now three remained of the original twelve. Maggie, the official, and some fresh-faced kid from Nebraska. On they ran, through the thick tussock grass of the volcanic plateau. With five miles to go, Maggie’s legs were burning: carrying the injured official was taking its toll. She sent the kid up ahead to scout since, from the looks of his skinny frame, he wouldn’t be able to take the load. Gritting her teeth, Maggie shifted the official and trudged on.
They saw the Army base in the distance, with choppers buzzing in and out. She tried the radio again, but only received static. She was relieved when the guardhouse came into view, and sent the kid up ahead for help.
His screams reached her and she watched, horrified, as he turned and ran. Two Variants chased him down, then tore him apart. She watched, frozen with indecision. Should she run? She was exhausted, and the official was useless. The Variants charged them. Maggie brought up her M4, letting off a burst. She hit one in the torso, causing it to tumble, knocking the other one down. She flicked the selector to auto and unleashed a barrage of metal death, unloading a full magazine into the still-advancing beasts. Even with their chests full of holes, black flesh torn off, they still crawled at her. Maggie clicked a new magazine and, flicking her selector back to semi, she shot both of them in the head. Finally, they lay still.
Maggie left the official in the guardhouse and went looking for either a radio or a vehicle to get them the hell out of dodge. Bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air as Variants leapt off the building rooftops, swarming the remaining soldiers on the base. Maggie fired, taking as many of the monsters down as she could. Soldier after soldier fell. A Jeep picked her and the official up, and they fled into the wilderness surrounding the base. Maggie looked west to the mountains, filled with guilt at their flight. She scanned the skies, looking for the chopper that never arrived.
After that, the Variants hunted her relentlessly. Maggie survived by sheer determination. Variants ambushed them on a bridge. Maggie killed as many as she could, but there were simply too many. The injured official was of no use. Variants swarmed over them. In desperation, Maggie pushed herself and the official off the bridge. Surprise turned to hope when the Variants stayed out of the water. They managed to cling to a floating log, shivering in the freezing water. The injured official died during the night from what Maggie suspected was hypothermia. Wary that she would follow the same fate, Maggie left the relative safety of the river and fled into the chaos. Alone, and far from home.
Maggie pivoted around 360, searching the rooftops, wishing she still had that M4 for the hundredth time. Nothing was wrong with the AR-15 she held, apart from the fact that the magazine only held seven bullets. Alice had explained it was to do with the firearm laws of New Zealand. Maggie had adapted a few magazines to take more, but not enough.
With no sign of Variants, she quickly shut the vehicle doors and turned the ignition. She said a silent prayer as the engine roared to life. Doing a three-point turn away from the fountain, she glanced back at the disappearing harbour with its boats◦— boats that could take her home. Home on the range, to the big open skies of Texas. Home to family. Sighing, Maggie concentrated on navigating her way through the inner-city streets of Tauranga. Earlier, she had been too busy firing at their attackers to take notice of their route. She quickly worked out that, like most cities, the streets were laid out in a grid. After a few turns, she found the main road and gunned the engine, urging more speed out of the 4x4. Sunlight reflected off several windshields a mile or so up the road. Hurrying to catch up, she slid into the back position of the convoy, taking up the tail-end Charlie spot. A radio squawked to life.
Maggie shuddered involuntarily.
“Who the hell is that at the back?”
She scrambled around, one hand on the wheel, the other searching for the radio.
“Answer me, back vehicle.”
Lifting up the center console, she found the black radio. What the hell was that guy’s name? Thinking quickly, she pressed the talk button. Coughing and hacking, Maggie made her voice as deep as possible. “It’s Terry.”
“Terry? From the farm?”
Keeping up her coughing, Maggie prayed it would disguise her American accent. “Yeah.”
“Terry, you sound awful. Where the hell have you been?”
“I stopped for a piss, then I got lost. Saw you guys drive past.”
“Okay. Did you catch the escapees?”
“Yup, shot the bitch. Kids are en route back to the farm.”
“About fucking time. I still don’t know how you idiots let some women escape with a bunch of kids. Follow us to the highway. I’m coming down to the farm tomorrow to sort your mess out. Over.”