Ben let out a curse. “Clever fucking bastards.”
Jack turned and caught a glimpse of Tony. He stood in the river, barely managing to hold his rifle out of the water. Jack could see sweat pouring off him as he leant into Eric.
He turned around in a slow circle, keeping his rifle at the ready. He patted his vest, checking to see how much ammo he had left; a couple hundred rounds, he estimated. Dee reached out and squeezed his hand, her eyes finding his. No words were said. They didn’t need to say anything. The Variants had them surrounded like the Russians had surrounded the Sixth German Army during the battle of Stalingrad.
What movie is going to save you now, Jack?
Ben turned around, looking first at Jack and Dee. His lips were drawn tight over his teeth. Addressing them, he said, “Renegades, I want you to concentrate all your fire on the south bridge. We need to move upstream. Take them out. We need to break through their ranks.”
Jack squeezed Dee’s hand, finding encouragement in her touch. Jack checked his rifle and peered through the scope.
“Fire!” Ben yelled.
The Renegades let loose with a barrage of leaded death. Jack aimed, fired, aimed and repeated, looking for head shots. They eased their way upstream, careful to keep in the middle as they fired. Dozens of the Variants started jumping into the river at the Alpha’s bellow. Jack adjusted his aim, taking out as many as he could, but more poured in from the sides. So many noises assaulted Jack that he was having trouble picking individual sounds out. Screeches, howls, gunfire. Screams. Suddenly a deeper, foreign sound broke through. A sound he had heard only at Pacifica festivals. A conch shell being blown. He paused to reload, pulling out a magazine and slamming it home. Booooorrnt. Jack saw Dee’s head turn towards the sound, her brow furrowed. She had gone with him to the same festivals.
A commotion was breaking out on the campsite side of the river. The Variants gathered there were turning, howling and shrieking. War cries were screaming out and Jack stared, mouth agape. Dozens of men charged out of the bush and into the Variants. Jack shot another Variant on the bridge and pivoted towards the charging men. His heart soared. He could see them more clearly now. He shook his head at the crazy sight. The men looked to be of Maori descent. Most had traditional tattoos called ‘Ta Moko’ adorning their bare chests. Some had the full-face tattoo. They raised their Taiaha high, bringing them down hard on the skulls of the stunned creatures. Some of the Maori had Mere, and quickly brought them up, smashing them in the heads of the Variants, caving in their skulls.
Ben pivoted. “Renegades! Retreat to the campsite! Jack and Dee, take the north, Eric take the west!”
Jack had thought that was it. He shook his head at their luck. He wasn’t a religious man, but after the events of the past few weeks, and now today, someone somewhere was definitely looking out for him. For Dee, too. He gritted his teeth and, with a new determination, raised up his rifle.
THIRTEEN
Maggie forced her breathing to calm as she jogged through the pine trees. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure Ian was following her deeper into the woods. As she ran, she kept check on her location and peered up into the trees, looking for the knotted branch. On her frequent walks around the camp, she had looked for access roads. Maggie had seen the white van sitting out here numerous times. By chance, she had spotted the weird-shaped branch and decided to use it as a landmark to aid her escape.
Spying it, she slowed and turned, waiting for Ian to catch up. She strained her ears above the noise of the fire and the shouting coming from the camp. Her plan depended on the noise she waited for. Without it, she would have to fight Ian. She trusted her Army training and thought she had a chance, but Ian deserved more than just a beating. Screeches rang out between the trees. Maggie smiled and put her hands on her hips.
Ian ran the last few feet, slowing as he got near. He stopped a good body-length away, his ratty eyes glaring at her. He started swinging the police baton, its leather strap wrapped around his wrist. He twirled it around and up, catching it as it fell back down. It slapped into his hand with thwack. He grinned at Maggie, showing his crooked teeth.
“Nowhere to run, is there, Maggie?”
She gave him her best flirting smile and half closed her eyes. “No.”
Maggie reached up and started unbuttoning her shirt, one button followed by another, all the time keeping an eye on Ian. His thin lips broke to a grin as he watched her hand movements. Maggie stopped about three quarters of the way down. She took a step towards him and reached out, stroking his arm.
“How about we get busy and you let me come back into the camp?” She tugged on her pants as she said the last bit. Ian reached out and grabbed her. He groped her, running his hands over her derriere roughly. He pushed his mouth against her neck and licked her like a dog. A cold feeling enveloped her and she shuddered in disgust. His tongue reminded her of a slimy eel. Maggie could feel her muscles tensing as she did her best to remain calm and compliant.
Several howls echoed around the forest, louder. They sounded really close. Maggie couldn’t help the smile that spread on her lips. She had been waiting for the beasts to arrive. Maggie hugged Ian back and whispered in his ear.
“You forgot something, you disgusting piece of shit!”
She pulled back and brought her knee up into his groin with everything she had, slamming her kneecap against one of his testicles, crushing it into his thigh.
Ian dropped on the ground, groaning in agony. Clutching his balls, he seethed through gritted teeth, “Fucking bitch! I’m going to let the monsters rip you apart!”
Maggie smiled at him as she pulled off her pants, wriggling them over her boots. She quickly pulled off her shirt, revealing the red coveralls underneath. Ian stared up at Maggie, pure hatred boring into her. He squinted at her through thin slits before looking down at his half-naked state. Maggie grinned at him. Ian had taunted her several times about how the Variants he worked for had instructed him and his guards to wear the coveralls. Do so and the Variants would leave them alone.
Maggie lashed out with her boot, kicking him in the face. She reached down and grabbed his baton, giving him a few whacks on the legs. Ian screamed obscenities at her.
A Variant shriek rang out behind her. Maggie pivoted. Half a dozen of the dark beasts bounded through the trees. Letting out a breath, she stepped to one side and pointed with the baton at Ian.
“Not me! Her!” he screamed as the creatures tore into him, ripping away muscle and tissue, blood and bone.
Maggie turned, forcing herself to calmly walk away. She had bet everything on these red coveralls.
So far, so good.
Maggie had formed her plan within a few days of arriving in the camp. She had noticed how the guards walked through the trees, their strides confident. Even when she heard the tell-tale screeches and caught whiffs of the rotting fruit smell carried on the wind, the Variants had stayed out of sight of the camp. But she had seen their shadows. Maggie had deduced that the red coveralls told the Variants that the wearer worked for them, and so was protected. Ian’s tormenting of her and boasting had confirmed it. She had convinced Alice to get friendly with one of the guards, even selecting the quietest one, the thinker, the one who still had a conscience. Alice had asked him to snip the wire on the chain-link fence.
Ian had been right about one thing, Women talked. And Maggie had used this to her advantage, spreading false rumours about herself, knowing Ian and some of the guards would become curious. With their minds fixated on her, they didn’t keep an eye on Alice, Jill, and even little Becs. Becs had hidden the lighter and rag in the shed. After that, it had been a waiting game. When she’d first arrived, the LPG tanks had been half full. She’d had to wait another ten days for the scavengers to bring more. Ian’s taunting and abduction of Becs had moved her plans up. Maggie just prayed that they could carry out the next step. Not for the first time, Maggie wished she had her rifle with her.