The Fourth Phase Read online

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Nicholas Sansbury Smith. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Extinction Cycle remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Nicholas Sansbury Smith, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  THE FOURTH PHASE

  BOOK 2: EXTINCTION NZ

  by

  Adrian J Smith

  Table of Contents

  Also by Adrian J Smith

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  Glossary

  Afterword

  This book is dedicated to all the daydreamers of the world.

  And to my grandparents who fought and sacrificed so much so we could live the free life we do.

  Thank you.

  They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.

  Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

  At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

  We shall remember them.

  Laurence Binyon

  Also by Adrian J Smith

  Extinction Cycle: The Rule of Three

  COMING SOON:

  EXTINCTION CYCLE WORLD:

  Extinction Cycle: The Five Pillars (2018)

  Acknowledgements

  When I set out to write these books, I never realised how many people help an author along the way. First, I have to thank Nicholas for encouraging me in the first place. You have helped and inspired me from day one. Frances, you have been there from the beginning, reading every single version of both of these books. I couldn’t have done this without you. I hope I can repay your kindness in some way. Rodger, like you say, it’s probably good that we live far away from each other, otherwise we might cause a bit of chaos. Thank you for your encouragement and for keeping my spirits up with your humour.

  To the Guardians of the Apocalypse, you are all wonderful people. Thank you for all your support.

  A special thank you to Geoff Toni for helping me with the Maori aspects of this novel. Sadly, Geoff passed away before we could finish. I hope I got everything correct. Rest in peace, brother.

  To my Beta readers: Col (Ret) Russ Olson, Lisa Omstead, Shelli Rodenbaugh Shear, Nathan Yokoyama, Frances Liontakis and Cynthia Terrones. Thank you for all your valuable advice and input. If you find any mistakes they are of my doing.

  Big thank you to Kathy Stevenson for a final proofread.

  Edited and proofread by Laurel Kriegler. Thank you for all your support, encouragement and advice. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Cover design by Libby Cameron.

  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 spar
ed 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.

  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.

  “Captain, do you copy? Over.”

  “Receiving. What have you got for me Jack? Over.”

  “Two bogies approaching from the north. It looks to be Eric and Tony. Approximately eighty metres out, over.”

  There was a pause. Jack assumed Ben was searching the area.

  His radio crackled back to life. “Got them. Good work, Jack. Now find me Dee, over.”

  “Wilco, out.”

  Jack watched Eric and Tony for a bit before turning his attention to the hillside below. Where is she? Have I got everything covered?

  ***

  Dee squirmed her way up the steep ravine, under rotting logs and through thick vines. Metre by metre, she crept on. She had spent the last day and a half slowly wriggling her way around the rocky bluff, and now she was heading up towards the camp. Her small frame was suited for this type of exercise. She leant against the rock and risked a glance up. The bright yellow flag that was her goal fluttered above her in the chilling sea breeze. Inhaling, she savoured the pungent but pleasant smell of the forest undergrowth. Dee pulled her woolen cap down over her ears. The cold May air was stinging her exposed flesh. Cupping her hand around her watch, she checked the time: 22:58. She had just over one hour to reach her goal.

  It hadn’t taken her much to convince Eric and Tony to follow the obvious route up to the camp, allowing her to circumnavigate Jack’s position.