The Fourth Phase

TWENTY-SEVEN

The thumping of the approaching choppers thundered up the river as Maggie pressed herself into the ground. Quickly she positioned herself and sighted one of the guards through her scope. She glanced down river as two grey military choppers swung around the bend of the river, making directly for the hydroelectric station. Using the distraction, Maggie breathed out and gently squeezed the trigger. The guard’s head snapped back, and blood and brains coated the concrete wall behind him. She swung her rifle to the right, and dropped two more guards as they stared, stunned, as the choppers buzzed over the dam and attacked the village behind her.

Maggie’s stolen radio sprang to life, and desperate cries rang out. She ignored the radio and shot two more of the guards, wounding one and killing the other. That left two more, higher up. Maggie panned the rifle around, searching for the last two guards. One had begun to climb the ladder on the opposite side of the dam. Maggie shot him in the torso, then watched as his body tumbled down the ladder, bouncing off the metal rungs before smacking onto the roof. Maggie searched around for the last guard. Seeing no one, she jumped up and headed for the ladder closest to her.

The two choppers buzzed around the village, spraying it with 50 caliber rounds. The rounds tore into wood, metal, and flesh. To Maggie’s surprise, music pumped out from the buzzing choppers. She recognised the song, and allowed herself to smile for an instant. She dared to have hope again.

These guys are my kind of crazy.

Screams rang out, and panicked voices continued to chatter on the radio. To Maggie, it seemed the guards had no idea what to do. One chopper broke away and positioned itself over the narrow, single-lane road that stretched across the dam. Dozens of Variants poured out of the dam and into the bush on the western side. Maggie shook her head at the sight of them sprinting away from the battle. She deduced that the Variants were splitting their forces. Some would engage the choppers, while the others searched for the source of the earlier explosions.

The chopper was too low. As if the pilot read her mind, the chopper lifted just as several Variants leapt off the ground. Some clung to the wheel arches, while others clambered over them and sprang into the chopper. As the chopper rose higher, Maggie saw muzzle flashes as the soldiers inside desperately tried to kill the Variants. The chopper swung around and its tail rotor caught in the power lines. Maggie reached the ladder and grabbed the safety rail. Looking back, she watched, horrified, as the chopper spun out of control. The whine of its engines went up several octaves as the pilot tried to bring it back under control. But to no avail. It slammed onto the roadway, exploding in a fireball of glass and metal.

The main rotor blades broke free and spun out over the dam, slicing through dozens of Variants as they tried to fling themselves clear. Hunks of Variant muck spat out in a sickening arc. Acrid smoke from the burning chopper caused Maggie to cough. Mixed with the sickly rotten fruit smell of the Variants, it made her stomach turn. She gritted her teeth and descended the ladder.

“In the midst of chaos” all right, she thought as she jogged for the nearest door.

Boss snapped his eyes open. That sounded like a chopper. He had fallen into a melancholy as he lay crucified. He had failed to keep George safe, failed himself, and failed all those on the island. He had also failed his mother when he’d run away, leaving her to be eaten by his once-father. Glancing down at his missing lower leg, he grimaced. Yes. I even failed my body.

All around the nest, the resting Variants were waking up. A muffled boom rang out, shaking the bones he was crucified to. He looked over at Beth. Her head was lolled to one side and her eyes were squeezed shut. But as he watched, confusion spread across her face.

Boss turned his head, searching out George in the cage. He didn’t get a chance. The Trophy King sat up and bellowed, pointing a claw towards one of the exits. Boss watched, repulsed, as dozens of Variants emerged from under piles of bones and entrails◦— he couldn’t tell if the offal was human or animal◦— and headed for the exit. He gagged against the stench◦— freshly roused up by the Variants’ movements◦— invading his nostrils and tickling the back of his throat, as he tried to breathe without being sick.

He started to wriggle his right hand free. The pain from his efforts threatened to overcome him. Boss risked a peek at George, gathering strength from the sight of him lying curled up. The thumping of the choppers grew louder and, with a final surge of determination, he ripped his hand free. Pain shot up his arm, stabbing into his brain. He gasped for breath, ignoring the putrid taste that rode on the air. All around him, Variants were scrambling for the exits, shrieking as they scampered up the walls, squelching over the remains of their meals. Boss craned his neck and peered at the Trophy King. His back was turned towards Boss as he watched his beasts leaving the nest. Several of the larger Variants stayed behind with him.

The bone rack Boss was crucified on was angled back, allowing him to get some leverage. He reached up and tugged at his left hand, still nailed to the bone cross. As he tried to pry it loose, he searched for a weapon of some sort. He couldn’t see his pack anywhere. That would have been too lucky. He could see several discarded bones, though, some snapped in two with jagged edges. Knowing he had limited time to escape, Boss gritted his teeth and yanked hard on his hand. It jolted off the bone nail with a sickening, sucking sound. He couldn’t help the scream of agony that escaped his lips. He glanced towards the Trophy King, fearful of being discovered. The Trophy King still had his back to him.

Boss could feel his heart hammering away in his chest. With the arrival of the choppers, and the nest emptying of Variants, he dared to have the will to survive again. He didn’t know if that was Jack and Dee up above, but he knew that this was his only chance of getting himself, George, and Beth out of this hellhole. He could hear Dee’s voice in his head telling him to focus his energy, look for a way out. If the answer appears, act on it.

With his hands now free, Boss worked on freeing his foot. The bone through it was grating against his own bones, a most unpleasant sensation. Strangely, the wounds were not bleeding. He tried squatting down so he could leverage his foot off, but pain coursed up his body in ever increasing waves. He paused and risked another glance at the remaining Variants.

The thumping grew louder, drowning out the howls of the Variants. Then the rattling sound of rapid-fire machine guns rang out. Boss was thankful for the distraction, as the Trophy King both remained close to his throne and kept his back turned. He pushed his backside against the bone rack and finally, gritting his teeth, yanked his left foot free, slipping off the rack with a thud. He raised his head, looking at the Variants.

One had turned and was watching him. It shrieked and sprang through the air, claws curled, sucker mouth pulled back in a snarl. Frantic, Boss willed his good leg to move. He managed to bring it under him, then pushed off the ground and leapt for the broken shards of bones. Grasping one, he turned, holding it out before him. He felt like a Neanderthal facing down a saber tooth tiger. The Variant landed beside him and pinned his leg to the concrete floor. Boss stabbed out at it, but the Variant knocked his hand away and clenched its claw around his neck. Lifting him up, the Variant scurried over to the Trophy King, holding Boss out like he was a radioactive doll.

The Alpha glared at him with his cold yellow eyes. He bellowed at him, spittle flying onto his face, coating it with rancid slobber. Taking Boss from the Variant, he opened the cage next to his throne and crammed him inside.

Boss’s lanky frame scraped against the bone bars. George scrambled up and huddled in the corner, cowering away from him. Boss used his remaining strength to reach out and pull him into a hug. George sobbed into his chest as Boss peered out, praying for the Renegades to hurry. He leant in next to George. “They’re coming for us, G-man. We have to be ready.”

He smiled, looking down at the bone spear he had managed to hold on to. I’d rather have my gun, but a spear is better than nothing.