The Fourth Phase

PROLOGUE

How? How did they find us? Boss pondered this question on a loop as he ran his trembling hand along the smooth wall of the tunnel. If he was being honest, he knew the answer. Perhaps the better question was Why? Why are they here? But Boss knew the answer to that as well.

Six weeks ago, the Hemorrhage Virus had swept across the world. No country was spared. Humans that became infected mutated into monsters, monsters the survivors had named Variants. And Variants reverted back to the most animalistic of thoughts: Food. They were now the apex predators. A few Variants had retained some of their intellect and now commanded others, as an Alpha leading the pack. Surprisingly, and tragically, a few humans collaborated with these Variant Alphas and helped them locate survivors.

Boss had been lucky, He had survived. Well, most of him had. He gripped the shotgun he was carrying tighter, its familiarity comforting him a little. At least he would take some of those bastards out with him.

No. Why? wasn’t the right question either. He knew why. They all knew why. Besides the obvious What did they hope to gain? Boss paused and peered ahead. He could just make out George in the dim light a couple of meters away. He took a careful step forward, wishing again that he could turn on his flashlight. At least he didn’t have to worry about banging his lanky frame into a multitude of stalagmites. Mayor Island, where they had sought refuge from the Variant scourge, was volcanic, so the tunnel they now fled down had been formed by lava.

The cold air made his breath cloud in front of his face. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of gunfire, some single shots, a few rapid, close together shots. And the occasional boom of a shotgun. Checking that his own Mossberg shotgun was loaded, he hobbled along, his makeshift prosthetic clicking on the rock floor. He cringed. Would they hear it? Or did they track using scent? Questions he didn’t have time to answer. Not for the first time, he wished Dee were here to help him.

He strained his ears listening for them. A faint scurrying sound reached him, like a rat scampering across a wooden floor. Boss’s heart beat rapidly, causing the muscles in his chest to tighten. He turned away from George. He didn’t want the boy to see that he was struggling to keep it together.

You have to be the strong one, Boss.

Rubbing his hand on the back of his clammy neck, he glanced behind, towards the source of the sound. Hearing nothing further, he pressed on, increasing his speed. Something warm and soft nudged his good leg, pressing against him. Looking down, he saw Max, the New Zealand heading dog they’d adopted. Max pressed his nose into Boss’s hand and gave him a quick lick, as if to reassure Boss that he was doing the right thing. Seeing Max calmly padding alongside helped him focus. I must get George to safety.

Boss reached out and grabbed George, stopping him. “How much farther?” he whispered. George pointed down the tunnel. Boss could see a faint silvery patch of light in the distance. He guided George ahead of him and hurried towards it.

They exited the tunnel and Boss looked over at the dark patch that was the small island on the eastern side of the crater lake, which nestled against the eastern edge of the caldera. A lone pohutukawa tree stood its ghostly sentry over the low scrub covering the island. Like some Maori Guardian, it spread its twisting gnarled branches across the little island, protecting it. Beyond the island, the rim of the crater had eroded almost down to the height of the tree, allowing the sounds of the surf crashing on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff to enter the space. The moonlight danced across the water. If the Variants weren’t hunting them, he’d have admired the scene; enjoyed the little things, as Jack often said.

He nudged George and leant down close to his ear. “Can you swim, G-man?” George nodded. “C’mon then, quick, dude. Take off your pack and push it in front of you. It’s not far.” Checking to see that George followed his instructions, Boss took his own pack off and cradled it in his arms. Edging into the water, he was shocked at the cold.

I have to do this. George is my responsibility while Jack and Dee are away.

A horrifying screech reverberated through the tunnel. Boss shrank inwardly. He hated that sound, and for the last few weeks he had been spared from it. Bastard Variants. Boss had thought he’d escaped from the horror that was the new world. He’d fought through hell to reach this island sanctuary, even losing a leg to that evil abomination, the one with the severed heads spiked on each shoulder. He’d nicknamed him the “Trophy King”. He’d said it so much the name had caught on amongst the other survivors. Shaking away his thoughts, he prodded Max ahead of them, into the frigid water.

Boss waded out towards the island. He contemplated taking off the prosthetic, but screeching echoing around the caldera made up his mind for him. Pushing himself off the lake floor, he eased himself into the icy water and swam, keeping his pack out in front. He struggled to keep his shotgun above the water.

Looking back, he could see George still standing at the lake’s edge. “C’mon, G-man!” George had his head turned, looking back down the tunnel. Boss treaded water, his teeth beginning to chatter. “George, c’mon!”

George turned back and stared at Boss. “I’m scared, Boss.”

His heart sank at hearing those words. George had been so brave. Maybe he had reached his breaking point. They had all been through so much together. Jack and Dee had encouraged them to talk about how they felt. Dee had told him they were all suffering from PTSD. Boss remembered the conversation that he had had with Jack about the three phases of PTSD after a disaster.

“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.