The Rule of Three: An Extinction Cycle Novella

CHAPTER THREE

The primal screech echoed through the warm damp air, reverberating off the walls, and jolting Jack from his fitful sleep. He snapped his eyes open and looked left and right, heart hammering in panic. Trying to calm himself, he forced his breathing to slow. Listening for the cracking, popping sounds they made, Jack took note of his surroundings.

He was in a corridor, its floors and walls made of concrete. Twisting his head as far left and right as he could, the corridor seemed to go on forever in both directions. A constant humming buzzed in his ears. Surrounding him, other people were glued to the walls in the same way he was, behind a white cocoon or some such. No one moved, and given the stench of death, some appeared to be long dead. It reminded Jack of a science fiction film he had seen in his youth; the title escaped him. He remembered the victims being used as incubators.

Is that what I am? An incubator?

His fevered mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing. He had no idea how long he’d been down here. His throbbing head and intense hunger told him it was several days, at least.

Jack could feel the tube of his water bladder resting on his shoulder. Fleeting memories of the last few days returned, flashing in his mind's eye.

Struggling against his bonds; rubbing his wrist raw; water so tantalizingly close. Screeching. Clacking. Cutting. Thud…!

With all his remaining strength, he pushed his backside against the wall, relieving some of the pressure on his right arm, which was twisted around uncomfortably so the back of his hand touched the concrete wall, the membrane holding it fast. This time, he managed to wrench his left arm free. He grabbed the water valve and, twisting it towards his mouth, sucked on the tube, releasing the tepid but wonderful water into his mouth. Jack could feel it as it ran all the way down into his rumbling stomach. Gulping a few mouthfuls, he stopped himself from drinking too much. Making himself sick would alert the creatures.

His mind began to clear. Pushing his left arm back under the membrane, he felt along the waist belt of his hiking pack for the little pouch. Finding it, he unzipped it. Slowly, fearful of alerting the monsters, he removed one of his protein bars. Rabidly, he tore off the wrapper. Forgetting about the creatures for now, he fed his hunger. To survive, he had to eat.

With his appetite sated for now, and his thirst quenched, Jack took stock of his situation.

What is it that guy always said? There’s always a way out?

All right. I’m stuck to a wall. In some horror-filled nightmare. Surrounded by dead or dying people. Creatures from the seventh circle of hell want to eat me.

Great. Just great.

Typical.

Jack tore at the membrane holding his right arm fast against the wall, stopping every few seconds to listen for them. Hell, but the stuff was tough. Again and again he pulled on it. It was like trying to tear a plastic shopping bag at the handles: it stretched, but refused to break. With a final tug, he managed to free his right arm.

The stench of rotten fruit wafted down the corridor, alerting him to creatures approaching. Clenching all his muscles tight, he rammed his arms back into position and went stiff as a board. Prayed to anything.

The horrors scurried along the corridor, their joints popping as they moved. Heart pounding, Jack risked a peek through his semi-closed eyelids. Two had stopped a few meters away.

One of the creatures used its claw-like appendages to quickly saw through a membrane, and as he watched, a blonde-haired women dropped to the floor with a thud. Shock made him unable to look away. The other creature bent down, joints popping, and scooped her up with ease. The pair turned and scurried away. Jack was about to look away when a shadow to one side caught his attention.

A short, overweight man with a red trucker’s cap loomed into the light. He scratched his butt, and looked over toward Jack. Then spat on the floor next to a red-haired women. He reached up and groped her breasts.

Quite clearly, Jack heard him say, “Pity. This one’s pretty.”

Then he shuffled off after the creatures.

A man was walking around in this place of horrors, unscathed? Jack’s foggy mind struggled to comprehend it. He inhaled to call out for help, but some innate sense stopped him. Instead, Jack just stared as the man walked away down the corridor. The whole thing felt wrong to Jack. Very, very wrong. He needed answers. Wanted answers. Where am I? How long have I been here? What is this place? Why is that creep walking around when the rest of us are stuck to the walls?

With renewed determination, Jack redoubled his efforts to get free. He wanted to see Dee again. To see those beautiful, smiling eyes. To feel her reassuring touch. He needed her. When Dee was around, everything seemed right. I have to survive this. We have to survive this.

He wondered what was happening to her. She must surely be really worried about him by now.

With both arms now free, he started working on liberating his legs. Pulling and tearing, even biting when he could. But the membrane tasted foul, so he gave that idea up quite quickly.

Once he got one leg free, he was able to twist his body and, with one last shove, wrenched the rest of his body free. He landed on the floor with a thud. Cringing, he glanced down the corridor in the direction the creatures had gone, followed by the red cap-wearing man. Seeing nothing, and more importantly, hearing nothing, he gingerly got to his feet. As soon as he put weight on his right leg, he winced in pain. He quickly adjusted his weight off the leg. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped around his leg. Removing the bandage, Jack found a gash that ran twenty centimeters up his thigh from his knee, cutting deep into the skin. Congealed blood had crusted around the wound, but plasma was beginning to seep thanks to his recent activity. As quietly as he could, he removed his pack and opened the bottom compartment, pulling out the outdoorman’s best friend, a roll of duct tape. Tearing off a segment, he closed the wound as best he could, then wrapped the bandage back around his leg. Adjusting his pack on his back, Jack then crept toward the humming.

As he slowly made his way down the corridor, warm air flowed over him. Treading carefully down the centre of the corridor, he kept his focus straight ahead. He dared not look to either side, at the other victims strung up like slaughtered cattle. Waiting to be butchered and fed on.

Is this what animals think of us?

Jack didn’t want to put any faces into his memory, traumatised as it was. What if he saw someone he knew? Could he deal with that? What if he saw Dee? This last thought made him pause and crouch down. Forcing himself to breath slow and deep, Jack looked farther down the corridor. About halfway down was a door with a big red sign on it, but the text remained unintelligible. With something to focus on, he was about to rise when something moved at the edge of his vision. Half stumbling, he fell back on his arse. Staring into his eyes was a young, red-haired boy, his ice blue eyes piercing. Jack knew him, and as he stared back, his tired, traumatised mind cleared.

Shivering in the river, half floating, half swimming, Jack could see the creatures on the banks. There seemed to be packs of them. Never entering the water. They weren’t afraid, just unsure…

Following him, they gathered into larger packs. Screeching. Howling. Spitting.

Occasionally their heads would lift, sniffing the air, and they would tear off with excited howls, gone for a time. Jack enjoyed these interludes. He didn't feel so on edge, waiting for one of them to pluck up the courage and dive in for him. But they returned… always. And in greater numbers.

He laughed to himself; they were like the sandpeople! If Dee was here, she would be telling Jack to be serious, but this was his superpower. His coping mechanism. Always finding the silly side of something, or finding a movie or TV reference in anything. He had once been on the wrong side of an armed robbery and had had a gun pointed at his head. This was how he’d got through the trauma; well, the Valium was nice too…

The sun came up, the sunlight turning the sky from red and orange to pink, to blue. The nightmare creatures slowly left the riverbank, and by late morning Jack couldn’t see any. Not wanting to risk it, he stayed in the water for another hour. As he came around a bend in the river, he saw a house he recognised thanks to its unique architecture. Swimming ashore, Jack clambered out, then sat for a while on the riverbank, enjoying the warmth of the sun. At length he field dressed his wound, then made for the house, hoping for food.

Searched the house… New clothes… A little food… No cars… A mountain bike…

Jack pedaled down the centre of the road, his ears straining for any sounds, but all he could hear were insects and the odd bird call. And the squeaks of the bike.

Biking past the school, Jack stopped and looked in the windows, searching for the staff room and more food. Piled up in one corner, he saw a sort of blanket fort that made him smile.

Going inside, he met Sarah and her son, George. Sarah told him she was a teacher there. That because the school was a local Civil Defence safe zone, Sarah had come here to wait out the virus. Jack was the first person to show.

He spent precious hours trying to convince Sarah to go downriver with him, explaining what he had discovered about the creatures: that, for some reason, they wouldn’t enter the water. He was sure that taking a boat downriver to Hamilton would be the safest way to travel. Sarah argued, saying, “What then? Where do we go from there?”

Jack then told her about Dee. About their cabin in the mountain valley, its total isolation…

A screech and a couple of answering howls made them all jump. Sarah ushered Jack and George into the blanket fort.

Jack laughed. “In here?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered, with a challenging look.

He ducked through to see George disappearing down a trapdoor. He turned back to Sarah, grinning. “Sorry.”

They waited out the terror, down there in the utility space, all night. They only heard the occasional screech. George fell asleep between them, nestled into Sarah. With not enough room for either of the adults to stretch out, it had been a restless night.

The next day, they set out at midday, knowing they had at least three hours to reach Cambridge and find a boat. Sarah suggested a speed boat cruising company that had boats moored at a jetty.

They made good time, and were searching for the boat when they were ambushed. A black blur knocked the wind out of Jack. Hitting the ground, he could have sworn he saw a giant figure with spiky shoulders standing in the distance, pointing and growling out orders. The last thing Jack saw was George holding out his hand to him, pleading. A creature lent toward his face and squirted a hot, stinging liquid, then everything went dark…

Right in front of him, the same boy held out his arm to Jack, his ice blue eyes pleading. Jack shook his head. Fate was strange. Rising to his knees, he remembered he had a little Swiss Army Knife in his first aid kit. Praying the creatures wouldn’t hear him, he searched his pack, hurrying. Pulling out the knife, he made quick work of the strange muck holding George to the wall.

George collapsed into his arms, whimpering. He eased the boy down to the ground and gave him the water valve. Seeing the liquid move along the tube, he searched around for Sarah.

Jack jogged a few meters up the corridor, now looking at each face. Searching. Blonde hair? No. Move on. He saw kids, adults, elderly, Maori, European, Asian, Pacific. It really didn’t matter. Everyone was here. The population. Food. Not seeing Sarah, Jack knew he and George needed to keep moving. Lingering any longer increased risk of discovery. Making his way back to George, he hefted him up into his arms and made his way toward the door with the red sign, continuing to search faces as he went.

Jack could see the sign on the door now: SWITCH ROOM. The walls on either side looked new. Trying the handle, it thankfully gave, and he hurried through. As he put George down, the boy whimpered. He crouched down till he was at eye level with the child, who was staring at him vacantly. In that fleeting moment, he realised all the horror the poor kid had seen in the last few days. Grasping his shoulder, Jack comforted him. “We’ll survive, George. We have to.”

He took in the layout of the large room. To either side of the door were storage lockers. Then, down the left- and right-hand walls stood rows of metal cupboards. In the far right corner were more of the storage lockers. A small handbasin stood in the far left corner, while a small window was set centrally in the wall opposite. Bright sunlight shone onto the floor of the room. Opening one of the cupboards revealed panels of switches, similar to those on a household meter board, but industrial scale. He read the labels: UTILITY ROOM; TURBINE ROOM; GATE HOUSE.

Moving to the small window set in the opposite wall, he looked out. Below him surged a river.

And then all the clues added up. The switch labels, the north-facing dam, the large river below it… The river was the mighty Waikato River.

And we’re in the bloody dam! They’re imprisoning us in the dam! Why?

George murmured something, so he hurried over.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“Mum?” croaked George.

Jack paused. Do I tell him the truth? Sugarcoat it? Deciding, he went for in between. “Still out there, buddy. You and I are going to be like Spiderman and save her. What do you think of that?”

He barely saw George nod his head in agreement. “You must be hungry, eh?”

This time he got a better response. “Okay buddy, you hang in there. I just want to barricade this door first, ok?”

Jack quickly searched the room for anything to lean up against the door. He didn’t want to drag anything across the floor. Seeing nothing, he started looking for alternatives.

Jack moved past the metal switch cupboards to the back of the room, to where the storage lockers were. They were set against adjacent walls, and a gap had been left in the corner. It was perfect. It wouldn’t help against any monsters, but it might be of use if the fat guy came along.

Collecting George, he hoisted him up to sit on top of the lockers, then hauled himself up and down the other side, and lifted George down. Pulling all his clothes out of his pack, he made them into a sort of bean bag to sit on. Then Jack opened up his often-sniggered-at snack box.

Who’s laughing now, eh?

Handing George some chocolate, the little red-head kid smiled at him. They ate in silence, enjoying the sweet chocolate.

Jack looked down at George eating, and thought about the other boy he’d tried to save. I don’t want to lose another to those things.

With some hope for escaping this nightmare, Jack grinned at the little fighter. “Well, George, how do we get out of the Pit of Despair?”