The Rule of Three: An Extinction Cycle Novella

CHAPTER FIVE

The cool night air caressed Jack’s skin, causing goosebumps to form. He leant his head back against the wall and looked down at the sleeping George. Smiling, Jack was amazed at how well the kid had adapted to this new hidey hole. They had hidden here since escaping, and had eaten half of the supplies from his pack. George had been resistant to the protein bar and beef jerky, but had devoured the chocolate.

Through the tiny window, Jack could see the moon. It was showing its half face. He estimated he had been down in this pit of hell for eleven to twelve days. How had he survived with no water or food? For that matter, how had George? He was so small… so young, at only eight years old. So much for the rule of three, then.

Three weeks without food. Three days without water… Blah blah blah…

But with the food, he could feel some life coming back into his body.

He needed a plan. To escape. As a teenager, he’d been fascinated by WWII escape stories. Reading the small town library out. The daring. The ingenuity. Both were incredible.

Gazing out the window, he could see his stars. His pinpricks of light. Millions of light years away.

There is always a way out of any situation.

All right, so we’re in the Hydro Dam. Surrounded by monsters that want to eat us. A man is helping them. I’ve got probably two days’ food at best. George’s mum, Sarah, is missing. Dee is God knows where. It’s dark, and I don’t even have any sunglasses on.

He couldn’t help but grin at his movie reference. He couldn’t even think of moving until at least midday, so he shifted his weight and leant back, closing his eyes. Nothing to be done till then.

Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. Be ready.

Jack woke to the sun shining in his eyes and George poking him in the arm.

“Mister. I really need to pee.”

Jack rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Ummm, okay buddy. Can you hold on a bit longer?”

George started squirming, a panicked look on his face.

Jack placed his hands on George’s shoulders, and looked the boy straight in the eyes. “George, I’m going to have to check if the coast is clear, all right?”

George nodded.

Jack jumped up on top of the lockers and searched the room. Seeing nothing, he reached down and lifted George up next to him. Pivoting, he dropped George down to the floor. Pointing to the wash basin in the corner, Jack said, “Sorry buddy, it’ll have to be in there.”

Checking his watch, he decided to risk some exploration. He guessed the room they were in was a couple of levels down. He didn’t know the layout of the dam wall, but he trusted his instincts not to go down any deeper. He decided to stick to this level, for now.

George finished, and wandered back over to the lockers. Jumping down, Jack grabbed George’s hand. Then he crouched down so he could look him in the eyes again. “We’re going to go find your Mum, okay. But we have to be super silent. We don’t want to wake the monsters, do we?”

George twisted his fingers nervously, intertwining them in a wringing motion. He murmured back, “Nope.”

“Good. If they find us, you run, okay? You run in here and hide.”

He continued to stare at George, waiting to see if the kid understood. The kid’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated. The sight broke his heart. The poor kid, having to live through this. He should be out playing. Running around. Gaming. Kid stuff.

Jack shook his head in anger. Anger at those responsible for ruining the kid’s innocence. He embraced the anger. It gave him new energy.

They moved over to the door of the room. Placing his ear to the door, he listened for any sounds. He could smell that faint rotten fruit smell. It amazed him how it smothered even the stench of death, Jack cracked open the door and looked into the corridor. Seeing it was clear, he took George’s hand and placed it around the waist belt of his pack. Whispering, he said, “You hang on to this. Don’t let go. Unless I tell you to run.”

Not wanting to head back the way they had originally come, Jack headed in the opposite direction. Several other doors lined the corridor, and a large green door stood at the end. More people were glued to the walls here, their faces oddly calm and serene as if in some sort of coma. He tried not to linger on their faces too long.

“Don’t look, George. Look down.” Jack said, as he searched the people for blonde hair.

He felt George’s grip tighten on the belt.

Tears pricked his eyes, a long-buried pain bubbling to the forefront of his mind. Jack had thought he had buried that particular memory deep, away, forgotten. He had avoided having his own children, limited his time with other people’s kids. All to avoid the pain.

Jack loved his little brother, even though there was a ten-year gap. He was so full of life and curiosity. Jack read to him every night, played games, built forts.

As his brother grew, he introduced him to films, comics, and the wonders of creativity and the imagination.

Before the fateful trip to the snow.

Jack took his brother sledding. With each run, he squealed louder and louder.

“Higher Jik Jik, higher!” he pleaded.

Caught up in his brother’s delight, Jack relented. Took him to the very top of the steep hill.

Down they flew, getting faster and faster, the cold wind stinging their faces.

A fallen tree branch poking from the snow caught Jack’s trailing foot, throwing him off.

The sled turned sharply. His brother slammed into the trees lining the hill.

Racing up, he found his loving little brother crumpled to one side, blood streaming down over his face, his little head crushed.

Jack cradled him and screamed until he was hoarse. That was how the paramedics found him.

They took his little brother away.

He never saw him again. The funeral directors advised Jack’s mum to have a closed coffin.

Once an outgoing sixteen-year-old, Jack retreated within himself. Shutting away the world, he found solace and comfort in his books, his comics, his movies.

His mum sent him to see a psychiatrist. He went, but begrudgingly. How could a stranger know his pain? Know his shame? Know his failing? His little brother was dead because of his error of judgement. His little brother was ashes in the wind because Jack’d been trying to impress his brother with his bravery.

But time heals all to a point, eventually. The psychiatrist helped Jack realise that it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t put the branch there. To think more on the times he shared with his brother, the love, the laughter, the joy they’d brought to each other.

So Jack buried the guilt and pain deep down. Never forgetting the memory of his little brother, he learnt to live with it.

I’m sorry, Georgey. I’ll save this one…

Wiping away the tears that had formed, Jack stopped at the first door and listened. Not hearing a sound, he tried the handle. Locked. Cursing silently, he quickly moved on to the next one. After several locked doors, he found an unlocked one. Opening it, Jack saw it was a maintenance room. A workbench lined one wall, with a peg board above filled with tools.

He couldn’t hold back the exclamation that escape his lips. Finally, a little luck. Grabbing some screwdrivers and a hammer, he jammed them into his belt. If those things attack, at least I can go down fighting, give the kid a chance to run.

“What’s this, Mister Jack?”

Jack looked down at George, who had crawled under the bench. He was holding out a rusty old machete, its wooden handle so cracked and pitted that someone had wrapped red electrical tape around it.

“That is a very dangerous weapon,” Jack said, gently taking the machete out of the child’s hands.

“But I want something to fight the monsters,” George moaned.

Jack crouched down. “Okay, George, but let’s find you something more suitable.”

Jack searched the work area and found a tool belt. He placed it around George’s waist, adjusting the strap as small as it could go. Then he populated it with chisels, screwdrivers, and a small ball pein hammer.

“If they come, you stab and hit them as hard as you can, all right?” Jack demonstrated the motions.

George beamed up at him as he nodded his head.

He knew the tools wouldn’t do much good against those creatures; they were so damn fast, so ferocious. For that matter, he didn’t know how long either of them would last. But a little hope and something to live for goes a long way.

“C’mon kid, I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of here.”

“Mummy?”

“Yeah, we’ll keep looking. Remember, super silent. If they come, run back to the red door and hide, okay?”

George pulled out his little hammer and, holding it up to him, said, “But I am Thor.”

In spite of all the the horror, the fear scratching at him, Jack smiled at George. The kid’s resilience was incredible. He just wanted to find his mum.

As they approached the green door at the end of the corridor, the stench of rotting fruit became overpowering. Jack’s hand was shaking with fear as he reached out and opened the door. Peering through the gap, he saw a sight that even the best horror writer’s minds would struggle to imagine. Not wanting George to see, he spun the kid around. Standing in front of him, he blocked the child’s view.

Beyond the door, steel stairs descended into a cavernous area. Piles of bones, some with bits of tissue and sinews still attached, lay stacked in corners. Bits of people were strewn about, some half eaten. He could see torsos, arms, and legs. Bones sticking out. One of the monsters was lying on top of a pile of intestines covered in blood and plasma. Lining the walls of the room, severed heads in varying states of decay had been placed on spikes made of bones.

In the deepest shadows of the room, Jack could see sleeping creatures. Some smaller creatures were nestled against some of the larger ones for warmth.

Jack paused, shocked. Were they breeding? Already?

He could see a particularly large stack of bones in the centre of the room. A throne of bones, reminiscent of one Jack had once seen in a catacomb in Europe.

The large mass moved. It was a massive creature, and plated bones protruded from its shoulders, forming spikes. A severed child’s head had been placed atop each spike, much like some sort of grisly trophies. Fighting the bile rising up his throat, Jack turned away, his mind reeling. He had seen this creature before. When they were captured. It hadn’t had the heads then. The creature led, gave out orders.

Jack stumbled back, pushing George farther into the corridor. His eyes wandered lower. At the big creature’s feet, blonde hair flowed over a woman’s half-eaten body.

No! Sarah…!

Jack remembered that, in a moment of clarity when he was drifting in and out of consciousness while trapped on the wall, he had seen Sarah being taken. Taken for slaughter. All her past, present, and possible futures snuffed out in an instant. In the end, she had become these monsters’ sustenance.

George started screaming. Jack spun. The boy was standing in the doorway, looking directly at his mother’s remains.

As one, the creatures’ heads swivelled around to face the door. Terrifying screeches echoed around the cavernous room. With stunning speed and agility, they leapt from the floor.

Jack pulled George away and slammed the door. Jamming one of his hammers through the handle, he hoped it would stop them for a moment, enough time to get away.

Grabbing the still-screaming George by his hand, he sprinted up the corridor, back toward the room they had sheltered in.

Behind them, wood and concrete splintered with a crash. Turning, Jack saw the monsters piling into the corridor, screeching and howling, saliva dripping from their sucker mouths. Muscles rippled beneath semi-translucent skin. They spotted Jack and George, and howled as they bounded toward them.

George reached the red door first, and was pulling it open when the next door down opened. The man with the red trucker’s cap appeared, a stunned look on his face as he took in the unfolding chaos. Jack barreled into him, taking him to the ground. The man bucked beneath him, shifting his weight in an attempt to throw Jack off. His hands flailed, desperate to get a hold on Jack. Jack saw an opening and, without hesitation, rammed a screwdriver up under the man’s chin, burying it deep into his brain. The man’s eyes went wide with disbelief as Jack watched the life blink out.

Groping traitor bastard!

A creature leapt off the wall at Jack, claws extended. Jack twisted and threw himself through the door. But too slow. The creature raked its claws down Jack’s leg, tearing into his flesh. Screaming in pain, Jack stabbed down with the screwdriver, plunging it through the weird translucent skin into its flesh, and into Jack’s leg just above the knee. Gritting his teeth, Jack kicked out with his free leg, smashing into the creature’s head. The monster howled in anger, clawed limbs scratching Jack’s torso. George, leaning over Jack, started whacking the monster on the head with his little hammer. The monster momentarily let Jack go, to deal with this new annoyance, giving him the chance to kick out again. Freeing himself, Jack grabbed George, slammed the door closed, and locked the handle.

Immediately, the creatures started throwing themselves at the door.

Throom, throom, throom. The sound of the creatures hitting the door reverberated around the small room.

Ignoring the agony lancing up his body, Jack pulled himself to his feet. He knew the flimsy door and lock wouldn’t hold the monsters out for long. Hobbling over to the metal lockers next to the door, he tried to tip them over.

“George, help me push!” he yelled.

The little red-haired blessing pushed against the metal side, and with their joint effort it crashed across the doorway.

“And this one too.”

A second locker joined the first.

Exhausted from the fight, and the effort of moving the lockers, Jack gasped for breath. Blood continued to pour out of his wounds, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. He knew he needed to stop the bleeding, at least temporarily. Sitting down with his back against the far wall, Jack taped up his wounds with the last of his duct tape. He could see they were deep. God knows what bacteria and germs those things have on their claws. Will I become one of them?

The creatures continued the slam against the door. Jack could hear tearing sounds. They were beginning to tear the plasterboard walls surrounding the door.

Frantically, Jack looked around for an escape route. The small window was out; Jack had already tried it the day before. Welded shut, for some reason. The glass was reinforced with wire mesh.

They were trapped in a room with horrifying creatures attacking them, and with no way out. The same as in Aliens… Aliens! Suddenly, Jack had the answer. The ceiling! He looked at it. It was a false hanging ceiling, made with cheap plaster tiles that could be individually moved.

Thanking his movie obsessions, and his knowledge of building materials, Jack grabbed George under his arms and hoisted him on top of the lockers. Jumping up, Jack pushed a tile up and to one side. He poked his head through. He could see right across the rooms, and dividing the rooms were solid concrete walls with enough room to walk on.

Throom. Throom. Throom.

“C’mon, George.” He grabbed the child and lifted him through into the ceiling cavity. “See that concrete bit? Run along to the end. Go! Now!”

Screeching, and then a huge rip, sounded from below as the monsters tore through the wall and into the room. Jack’s heart leaped into his throat. With one final look below, he replaced the tile, then turned to follow George, blood dripping off his boot and onto the ceiling tiles.

A monster smashed through the ceiling behind. If they hadn’t been so dangerous, he’d have laughed as it got all tangled in the metal struts and wires. A red mist descended over Jack’s vision. Pulling the rusty, red-handled machete from his belt, he lashed out at the nightmare's head, slicing into its neck and on, down through muscle and tissue. Black, gunky blood gushed over his hands. The machete stuck fast, lodged on the spinal column.

He pushed against the monster’s chest, yanking the blade out.

Another one smashed its way through the ceiling.

Oh, you want some too!

He swung out with the machete, taking a big hunk of its face off.

“Jack! Jack!” George screamed at him. More creatures started slamming through the ceiling.

“Run! I’m coming,” yelled Jack. Taking a last swipe at the nearest creature, Jack half ran, half hobbled after George.

There! He could see sunlight streaming through a maintenance tunnel. He lifted George up, and pushed him into it.

This red-haired kid, his chance at redemption.

Jack pushed himself through the tunnel, pain beginning to take its toll. Gritting his teeth with determination, he fought through it. He wanted to find Dee so bad, to hold her again. Feel her soul. Now he had a new George to love, to look after.

Dee would love him.

With the warmth of the sun on his battered body, Jack inhaled his first clean air in days, revelling in the scents; the river, the slight smell of decaying plants, even the lime from the surrounding concrete. He looked down at the boiling, bubbling river, so far below. The spillways were open. They were standing in the tunnel opening halfway up the dam. On both sides, high cliffs led downriver from the dam. The rest of the concrete dam wall soared above them.

Screeching from above him echoed around the sides of dam. The monsters howled, eager for their prey. The leader stared down at them, his huge muscles rippling under his bark-like skin. The severed heads stared at Jack from empty eye sockets. He pointed at Jack and George, and howled.

Monsters flowed down the dam from all sides, racing toward them. A dark avalanche of unstoppable sharp-toothed suckers and claws that made Jack’s blood run cold.

Glancing quickly to his left, Jack grabbed George in a bear hug. “Take a deep breath buddy, okay?” Filling his lungs, he threw them off the ledge, and into the roaring water of the spillway.

Sorry kid. Better to drown than be torn apart.

I’m sorry, so sorry I’ve failed another George…