Adrian Smith - The Fourth Phase

Alice grinned, a small laugh escaping from her lips.

Maggie indicated the seat next to her. Patting Alice on the leg, she lowered her voice. “How many guards have you seen?” Pointing into the trees, she added, “Out there, beyond the fence.”

Alice stared out into the trees. “I’m not sure. Four, maybe five?”

Maggie nodded, taking in the information. She took a sip of her coffee, savouring the bitter taste. “Yeah, that’s about what I think. Any luck with your guard friend?”

“A bit. You said slowly, right?”

“Yeah, we have to be subtle about this. We have to act defeated, compliant. But we need information. We need to know their movements. They’ll have a routine. It’s human nature. So just observe for now.”

Maggie looked up from her cup, watching Alice’s face. She could see fear, real fear. But she could also see a determination to survive, and that was what she’d spent the last three weeks looking for. Someone willing to risk it all to get out of this place. To risk it for a chance at freedom. Maggie had already put a plan into motion. She felt a pang of guilt for not telling Alice, but she needed to wait until the time was right.

Alice flicked her blonde hair back behind her ear. “Okay Maggie, I’ll keep on him.”

“Thanks Alice. I better get to my garden before police baton Ian comes looking for me. See you after?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you after.”

Maggie pushed herself off the bench and stretched out the kinks from her back. She gave Alice a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and headed off towards the gardens. All around her, the prison camp was coming to life. She estimated about one hundred people were here. Mainly females, but a few children were allowed to stay. Maggie walked across the dew-laden grass between the weatherboard-clad buildings. The whole camp reminded her of a school, with the buildings laid out in two rows, an asphalt courtyard in the middle. To the east lay two huge machine sheds, and in the direction she was headed, she and the others assigned to gardening had created some large gardens. Winter was coming, so all they had planted were some lettuce, cabbage, and other winter crops. A two-metre-high chain link fence enclosed the complex. Maggie sighed. The fence wasn’t the problem, and neither were the red-clad guards. It was the monsters from hell. Variants, Alice called them. Variants of humans who had devoured all but a lucky few.

Then why are we here?

Maggie reached the gardens and collected the tools she needed for weeding. Waving to a few of the other women, she headed off to the next garden. She wanted to be alone today; she needed to think. She busied herself with the task at hand, running the hoe through the soil, being careful not to get too close to the vegetables they had planted. As she worked, she let her mind drift.

She remembered the heat and sand of her two tours of Afghanistan and one of Iraq. Feelings of guilt took hold again. She had been a medic in the Army, and had learnt quickly that you couldn’t save everyone. She didn’t miss the heat of those sun-scorched dens of hell, nor did she miss the constant sounds of war around her. Explosions, screams, guns, shouting. Men bragging, trying to get her into bed one day, bleeding and dying in her arms the next. She didn’t miss the gore of trying to stem the flow of blood from missing limbs, soldiers screaming in agony, gripping her hand as the life left their eyes. No, she would never miss that. But she did miss the sense of belonging, the camaraderie. When she was enlisted, she had belonged; she was fighting for the greater good, to protect her homeland from the threats to democracy. She missed the night she had spent with that Army Ranger. She’d liked him; his wisecracking friend not so much. Maggie wiped away a tear that had formed in her blue eyes.

Like all veterans, she’d struggled with life after the Army. She had decided to tick an item off her bucket list and travel to New Zealand. Visiting all the Lord of the Rings sites had been top of her list. As soon as she arrived at Auckland International Airport, she had fallen in love with the green rolling hills, the bush-clad mountains. As she travelled, there had been some new joy around every corner. A dazzling blue lake here, forests dropping down to a perfect white sand beach there, and snow-capped mountains rising up, poking into the clouds. She had enjoyed the rough and wild west coast of the North Island, and had travelled down to Wellington via New Plymouth, enjoying the friendly people all the way. She admired the Kiwi can-do attitude, which she attributed to their isolation. They were involved, but not. Not as heavily as her country was.

Lost in her thoughts, Maggie ran her hoe through the rows of lettuce. The apocalypse would have to come now, and me without my rifle.

Maggie paused from her work and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. The day had become warm but pleasant. Glancing around, she could see the other gardeners hard at work. No one wanted to look like they were slacking; the guards took pleasure in reminding them who was in charge. Maggie let out a laugh. They may guard us, but the Variants rule the world now.

Stretching, she headed to the beach umbrella with the ice box◦— or Chilly Bin, as the Kiwis called it. Maggie smiled to herself as she drank the cool liquid. They certainly had funny words for things. She used the time to look at the main gate, watching the guards. During her time here, she had observed two things. One, they didn’t seem to be frightened of the Variants, and two, they were becoming complacent. A fact she intended to take full advantage of. Traitor bastards.

The fall sun crept its way across a sky dotted with puffy clouds. Maggie worked tirelessly weeding her rows, enjoying the monotony of her work, distracting herself from her worries. Her stomach began to rumble just as she heard the dinner bell ring out. Packing up her tools, she headed to the courtyard, her mouth watering at the thought of food.

As she walked between the buildings flanking the courtyard, a shadow loomed from behind the wall.

“Hey, Yank!”

Maggie stopped and stared into the brown eyes of Ian, the warden of the prison, the movement of his swinging police baton flicking in her peripheral vision. It looked comical, as his arms and legs were so skinny. Clenching her teeth at the insult, she stared at him. “What?”

Ian glared at her, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your day in the sunshine?” His mocking tone was clear.

Maggie forced herself to remain civil and not let him see her rising anger. Men like Ian purposely taunted and antagonised to get a reaction. When you did react, it was a victory for them.

She glanced up and held his gaze. “Yes, I did. Reminded me of working on the ranch.”

Ian’s mouth upturned into a snarl. “Ranch? Pfft. You Americans don’t know what a farm is. Anyway, I want to see you after your meal.”

Maggie tensed her arm muscles. She wanted nothing more than punch him in the windpipe and ram that baton where the sun doesn’t shine. But now was not the time. “Okay, sure. In your office?”

Her skin crawled as Ian reached out and stroked her arm. Holding it, he smiled, showing his teeth. “Yes, in my office. Don’t make me wait. I don’t like being made to wait. Anger me, Yank, and I’ll leave you out in the forest. I’m sure the monsters would like my offering.”

Maggie forced herself to remain calm, calling on all her training. Keeping her face void of emotion, she looked at Ian. “Sure, see you there.”

He released her arm and Maggie stepped around him, letting out a breath.

Looking around the mess hall, food tray in hand, she spotted Alice sitting in the corner with a couple of other people, a male and a female. Newbies, by the look of their ragged clothes and the way they were shovelling food into their mouths. She walked down the centre gap, murmuring greetings to some of the women she saw. Many of the tables still lay empty, with everyone congregating to the middle ones, closest to the kitchen.