The Fourth Phase

ELEVEN

The shell path crunched under his foot as Boss ran for the villa, Glock held ready. George sprinted up ahead. Reaching the deck that wrapped around the 100-year-old house, Boss glanced around, scanning the immediate area for Variants. He hobbled the last few metres and made his way up the stairs. Pain from his throbbing stump lanced up his spine, making him grimace. He should have been only fitting the prosthetic, not running around on it, fighting monsters. But Boss was grateful just to be alive. He had seen some horrendous things since the Variant outbreak. Tonight simply added to the trauma.

He opened the door, running into the house after George. A flash of red to one side caused him to glance down. Jack’s red-handled machete leant up against the wooden box. He stooped down and grabbed it. Boss ran through the small galley-like kitchen, past dirty dishes stacked around the sink. George had reached the coat rack and was lifting down his small backpack. Next to the coat rack, Ben had installed a gun cage.

Boss reached up. Clicking the release button, he pushed open the wire-mesh door. He stared for a moment at the two shotguns and his AR-15. Boxes of ammunition were stacked below. Letting out a sigh, he gripped the edge of the metal door and pulled his rifle out. He grabbed a magazine and clicked it in. Checking the safety, he slid it over his shoulder. Boss turned to George. His blue eyes watched Boss while he waited. He could see fear in those eyes, but also determination. He knew how brave the kid was. Boss clenched his jaw and, taking a deep breath, he reached over George and grabbed his go-bag. He scooped up boxes of ammo and shoved them in before wriggling into the backpack. He reached back into the gun cage and grabbed a shotgun, shoving it into the webbing of his pack.

Boss caught his reflection in the glass. His hair was sticking out at weird angles. His brown eyes stared back at him, blinking rapidly. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Rubbing his hand over his head, he tried to smooth down his wild hair. A plan formed in his mind. He looked down at George. “We’re going to go to those caves, to the lake you found. Okay, buddy?”

George nodded back at him.

Boss reached down, grasping his shoulder. “Jack and Dee will come for us, G-man.” Boss said this more to himself than George. In truth, he doubted that, even if the Renegades had been alerted, they would get here in time. They were over 100 km north. Boss clenched his fists. No. He had to keep George safe. Haere had given them a chance. He needed to honour that and get George out of this war zone. He picked up the machete and slipped it into his belt. Touching the cool, rusty metal gave him some comfort. It had saved Jack in the meat locker, perhaps it would save him now. Grinning at the thought of Jack wielding the machete, he turned towards the door.

A screech blared out, and a couple more answered, closer. Boss quickened his pace. Glancing back to George, he threw open the door and stepped out onto the deck. Three Variants bounded up the path, shrieking. The high-pitched sound jangled his nerves. Boss unslung his rifle and sighted the lead Variant, trying to get a bead. It zigged and zagged, leaping all over the place. Ugly, but not dumb. He took a punt at where it would go next, and squeezed the trigger. Watching over the sight, he saw the bullet enter its sucker mouth. Gunk flew out behind it as it crumpled into a ball of flesh and bones. Dead. He spun to his left, letting off a couple of bursts like Ben had showed him. He aimed for the centre mass and took down another one. The third Variant screeched and leapt up onto the roof of the covered verandah, its claws scraping the corrugated iron. The metal moaned as the Variant dug its claws in, the sound reminding Boss of a ship rubbing against the poles of the jetty. Boss desperately watched as it walked across, making dents in the thin metal. With a hideous howl, the Variant bounded off the roof, hooking its claws into the gutter and swinging over the edge of the verandah, flinging itself at Boss. Its legs slammed into him, launching Boss off his feet and smashing him against the cladding. The sharp weatherboard edges dug into his back.

The breath wheezed out of his bruised chest, and sparks of yellow light danced in his vision. The Variant straddled him, its powerful legs pinning him down. Claws dug into his remaining leg, while others grasped his shoulders. George screamed at it. It turned his head and shrieked at George. Boss used the distraction to pull the machete free and swing it, yelling out in frustration. He drove the sharpened edge deep into the Variant’s neck. It shrieked and reached up to grab the embedded blade, and yanked it free. It leant back, howling, holding its claws to the gushing wound, trying to stem the flow of black blood pouring out. Boss scrambled free and stood up. He pulled his Glock from his holster and looked into its eyes. The reptilian slits stared back at him, its nictitating membrane flicking. He raised the gun and pointed it at the Variant’s head. The creature that was once a human reached up and grasped his leg. Recognition grazed across its eyes. Boss felt a fleeting moment of sorrow for the monster as he squeezed the trigger, ending its nightmare. Without looking back, he grabbed George and pushed the boy ahead. They hopped off the deck and scrambled up the bank, heading into the bush. Branches scratched his exposed arms.

Boss turned back and looked down into the once-idyllic bay. Flashes from muzzle fire sparked out like a fireworks display gone wrong. The luxury yacht tied up at the jetty was still burning, thick white smoke billowed out. The huge flames licking the wooden jetty, threatening to consume it. His eyes darted left and right, catching glimpses of fighting all over the bay. Soldiers ran, turning and firing. Variants bounded and chased after them, tearing apart those fleeing. The bulk of the Variant infestation had crowded around the old hotel and the bunker behind. Sgt. Haere had rallied the troops to protect those inside. A steady stream of monsters threw themselves at the thousands of bullets spewing into them. Boss shook his head, the sounds of the battle rattling around in his mind. So much death, so many lives ended. The Variants would kill them all until no one was left. Until humanity was but mementoes etched in stone.

He shrugged his shoulders and pushed himself up the clay bank, ducking under the manuka trees. He breathed in deep, savouring the oily scent. George was scrambling through the leaf litter up ahead, making little pebbles and rocks bounce off Boss as he followed. The pain in his stump was becoming unbearable. He had some painkillers in his pack that he was desperate to take, but the ever-closer screeches forced him to push the pain aside. Pausing, he pulled on the leather straps, tightening the prosthetic. Howls and screeches followed them, getting closer. They reached a clearing and Boss glanced around, searching for the white crushed-shell paths that ringed the island. Screeches from the horrors that chased them sounded out, and he cringed. Making a choice, he pushed George up the bank, farther up the hill.

“Keep going, G-man. Higher,” he whispered.

George pulled himself up the slope, his little hands grabbing onto whatever roots he could find. Up they climbed, away from the terrifying noises of the battle below, away from the sights of limbs being torn off, of intestines sloshing onto the ground. Away from the Variants sinking their sucker mouths onto flesh, tearing off chunks of muscle. Boss hated to run; he felt like he was betraying all those fighting down in the bay. But he and George ran away to save themselves.

The lactic acid burned in his tired leg, making it feel like jelly. They finally reached the path he was searching for. Gasping in some deep breaths, Boss could see the steep, jutting rocks of the volcano peeking through the Olearia trees a few metres down the path.

George reached back and, grabbing his hand, pulled him. “This way, Boss.”

A crashing sound behind them rang out. Boss pivoted, his rifle raised, searching for a target. A figure crashed out of the undergrowth and skidded on the shell path, followed by a blur of black and white. Max, Boss realised.

Boss slid his finger off the trigger guard, ready to put a bullet into the figure. His eyes went wide as he saw blonde hair. He reached down and yanked her to her feet. “I nearly shot you, Beth. Bloody hell!”

Beth dusted some of the white shells off her pants and top. “Sorry. We need to go. They’re not far behind me.”

Boss handed her his rifle. “Okay. Here, take this.”

Beth reached out and clasped it. “Thanks, what about you?”

Boss grinned at her and reached behind, extracting his shotgun. “Say hello to my boomstick.”

She smiled at him.

Boss sighed inwardly. He would find a girl he liked in the apocalypse. He looked over to George, who was hugging Max. Boss reached over and rubbed the dog’s head. “Aye Boy.” Seeing the dog calmed him somewhat. Then Max’s snarled, teeth bared. Boss frowned and turned.

Beth’s eyes went wide. She grabbed his arm, yanking him away. “Go! They’re coming!”

Screeches and howls followed Beth’s warning.

Boss cursed. He was tired, stressed, and angry. He could feel the fury building down in his gut. Angry at those that had caused this nightmare, angry at the collaborators helping the new apex predators. But most of all, angry at himself for not being able to do more. Losing his lower left leg had scarred him mentally just as much as physically, maybe more so. He felt useless, not whole. A piece of him was missing physically, and a piece was missing on the inside. Without Dee here to help centre him, he struggled. She had a way of calming him. Jack had told him it was Dee’s greatest latent quality: she could calm you with a smile, assure you with a simple touch or look. He’d said that some people have that gift, as though a calming aura emanated from them. Boss smiled to himself. He looked up ahead, to Beth and George running. He was going to get them to safety, or die trying.

A screech jolted him back to reality. He stopped. Spinning on his good leg, he searched for the source. A couple more screeches sounded out, this time from above. Boss glanced up. Several pairs of reptilian eyes flashed back as figures scrambled down the rocky face of the volcano. Beth was a little ahead of them by a few metres.

“Run, Beth!”

She glanced up and saw the creatures. Two of the Variants leapt down in front of her. She raised the rifle and fired a couple of shots, hitting each of the beasts in the torso. They dropped to all fours and let out horrifying screeches. Beth turned, horror plastered on her face. Her lips trembled as she looked first back at Boss, then out to sea. Boss watched, stunned, as she took a few steps back and then sprinted off the cliff, her body vanishing from view.

“NO! Beth!”

He stared at the point where Beth had vanished. A swirl of conflicting emotions flashed through his mind. Why had she done that?

George yelled something at him, but all the noise around him became a blur. His emotions were threatening to overtake him, rendering him useless. Boss screamed out in frustration. He squeezed the trigger and pumped the shotgun again and again, unloading into the gathering knot of Variants. He hit a few, dropping them.

George grabbed his leg, getting his attention. He pointed up a path to the right. Boss could see the cave entrance. He took in a deep breath, letting it out between gritted teeth. Shoving George ahead, he whistled for Max. Max growled and barked at the beasts. He whistled again. Max obeyed, and they sprinted for the cave, the howls of the man-hunting monsters chasing them. As they reached the entrance, Boss pulled the red-handled machete from his belt and jammed the blade into the clay bank adjacent to the cave. On they ran, fleeing into the darkening maw.