Adrian Smith - The Rule of Three

“Help me!” she called out to Broomstick. She heard a grunt and felt a thud on the ground. Broomstick had collapsed. He was struggling to hold out the other end of the broken stick, his fingers coated in his own blood.

Dee let out a scream of frustration, grasped the stick firmly and drove it into the skull of the beast, finally silencing it. She pushed it away and clambered groggily to her feet, a stick in each hand.

The creature feeding on Machete was ignoring her, so engrossed in its meal it didn’t sense Dee as she jogged up behind it and drove a stick through its head. It gurgled once and fell down next to the dead teenager. Dee glimpsed the mess it had made of Machete and stumbled back, bile rising in her throat. She clenched her teeth and swallowed.

Pivoting, she searched behind her for the sources of the howls she had heard. Dark smudges moved across the greens of the golf course, confirming they were still on her trail. Looking for food. Hunting.

The creature she had knocked unconscious stirred and rolled over. Dee chastised herself for not finishing it off.

Rule #2: Double tap.

She grunted and drove the other broken stick through its skull. It sank in as if the creature’s skull was made of clay.

“Lady. Up here,” a small voice whispered.

Dee glanced up and blinked rapidly. Machete and Broomstick had been stupid thinking they could hide out in the school, but they had been brave in their instinct to sacrifice themselves to protect the children.

“Jump down. Hurry,” Dee said.

The child shook his head and pointed behind her. “They’re coming.”

Reaching down, Dee extracted the blood-covered machete from the dead creature and hauled herself up the tree. Like many of the trees lining the river, it was a weeping willow and had thick branches that draped down over the water. Dee eyed the fast-flowing Waikato River and weighed up her options. If it came down to it, she would dive in with the kids and float downstream. Anything to get away from the claws and teeth of the beasts.

The shrieks of the monsters grew louder as they drew closer. A whole pack was now moving across the greens. Dee noted how they paused and sniffed the air before moving again. If a new beast joined the pack, the others would smell it, shriek at each other and move on.

As she huddled in the tree with the children, several creatures broke away from the pack and sprinted towards them. She guessed the blood of Machete and Broomstick was like candy to them, like the smell of baking bread to humans.

Within seconds they were at the tree, and without hesitation they crouched down over the bodies and went into a feeding frenzy. The children beside her whimpered. Dee raised her finger to her lips, urging them to remain silent. All she could hope for was that the monsters would be too caught up in their meals to notice the feast above them.

A dozen more creatures crested the hill, howling. The feeding creatures paused their grisly meal to shriek at the new arrivals. There was a brief second of silence before the new creatures charged. They joined the beasts below them and fought over the scraps. Dee hugged the tree tight, mesmerised by the horror of the scene unfolding below. One creature broke away, clutching a leg. Dee could still see denim material covering it. The creature turned and looked up at Dee.

It let out a high-pitched shriek and jumped up and down. The feeding frenzy below stopped. All the creatures glanced up and howled. Jeans dropped its meal and, with an astonishing leap, landed in the tree. Dee hacked at it with the machete, but it dodged the blows as it hissed at her.

“Go!” she yelled at the kids.” Get in the river.”

Crack! Crack!

Gunshots rang out, distracting Dee. Jeans struck out its claws at her, missing her by a whisker as she ducked just in time. More gunshots followed the first two in quick succession. The creatures below looked around in confusion as they began to drop like flies.

Jeans shrieked at Dee, baring its mouth. She gasped as she caught a glimpse of its tiny sharp teeth. Grunting, Dee swung the machete and connected with a blow to the side of the neck. The blade was sharp and dug in deep, finally silencing the creature.

Dee glanced up as two men, rifles nestled into their shoulders, approached. From the way they walked and swept their rifles from side to side, she assumed they were military.

The two men killed the last of the feeding beasts and, while one took up a covering position, the other looked up at Dee.

“Evening, Mam.”

“Hey.”

“How many are with you?”

“Three,” Dee said. “Children.”

The army man nodded. “Sergeants Holt and Bawden.” He clicked in a fresh magazine. “We should go before that pack gets wind of us.”

“Go where?” Dee said, frowning.

“Claudelands. We’re evacuating everyone out of the cities.”

“Why there?”

“Less questions. More moving. Let’s go.”

Dee waved to the kids and helped them as they climbed down and into the arms of Sergeant Holt.

There was a strange smell of rotting fruit as Jack tiptoed over the wooden floorboards. He could never understand the appeal of that choice of flooring. Too noisy in his opinion. He made it to the kitchen without seeing anything suspicious. The house was clean and tidy, like whoever had lived here had never returned home when the news broke. Next to the internal door that led to the garage, the owners had kindly mounted a keypad.

Jack smiled. That saved him a lot of time hunting. He snatched up the keys for the Toyota Hilux and pocketed them.

“You hungry, grumpy boy?” Emma said, opening kitchen cupboards. She pulled several boxes of muesli bars and crackers from the shelves and placed them on the counter.

“Grab it and let’s go,” Jack said. “I want to be on the water asap.”

“Here.” Emma threw Jack a box of protein bars. He caught them and shoved them into his backpack.

Jack pressed the door release again and frowned. He tried the light switch, checking to see if there was electricity. It blinked on and bathed the garage in a soft glow.

He tried the release button again with no luck. Giving up, Jack pulled the manual override cord and strained as he lifted the large garage door. Besides the new Toyota, the owner had a couple of 1970s muscle cars. Jack let out a whistle. Even though he wasn’t a car person, he knew the value of the machines. He chuckled wryly to himself.

Not anymore.

Jack busied himself. First, he manoeuvreed the Toyota to the boat trailer. Next, he wound down the trailer and mounted it to the tow bar. He didn’t bother attaching the electrics.

“Why don’t we just take the 4x4?” Emma said, munching on a muesli bar.

“Because those things hate the water,” Jack mumbled. “I tried driving; the roads were crazy yesterday. I’d hate to get stuck in some gridlock. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Okay. How are we getting around Karapiro?”

“Driving,” Jack said, grunting as he clicked the shackle closed. “Ready? Let’s go.”

Jack had opened the door to the Toyota when he heard the noise. He paused and reached for his bachi hoe. He strained his ears. It wasn’t a howl or a shriek. As it drew closer, he could make out the distinctive sound of V8 engines tearing down the road. He glanced at Emma and flicked his head at the house. She nodded, understanding.

Until they knew who these people were, they weren’t going anywhere. Jack shut the front door as the noise of the V8 engines grew louder. A bright red Holden Commodore screeched to a stop and skidded into the driveway.

Jack peeked through the curtains and watched as four men climbed out of the car. They were dressed in blue jeans, T-shirts and leather jackets. They were all armed with assault rifles. Jack had no idea what kind or what they were capable of. He had always thought those kinds of guns were unavailable in New Zealand.