Adrian Smith - The Fourth Phase

Maggie stopped at a table and crouched down next to a little girl with red hair and sparkling green eyes. “Hey, Becs. Did you have a good day, kiddo?” she smiled, watching as Becs twirled her fingers, nodding her head. Maggie reached over and patted her on the leg. “That’s good, Becs. I’ll see you for story time, okay?” She stood up and leant over Becs, shaking the hand of the woman next to her. Feeling a piece of paper palmed into her hand, she turned and walked over to Alice, sliding the paper into her pocket as she did so.

Reaching the table, she plonked herself next to Alice, and squeezed Alice’s hand. “Hey, so who are your friends?”

Alice squeezed back and laid her fork down, nodding her head in the newbies’ direction. “Tracey and Dean, this is Maggie.”

Maggie watched as the pair barely stopped eating to voice a greeting. Leaning in close to Maggie’s right ear, Alice lowered her voice, her eyes glancing at the four red-clothed guards watching the women and children eat. “I thought you might want to talk to them. They were brought in this afternoon. Unhooded.”

Maggie furrowed her brow and leant against the backrest of her seat. “Unhooded?” she mouthed.

Alice picked up her fork and started eating the rice on her plate. “Yeah, exactly.”

Maggie looked over at the two newbies, who were eating rapidly, as if afraid that this was going to be their last meal. Tracey had dark hair and light brown skin, her broad nose typical of the people of Polynesia. She could see the traditional Maori koru-style of tattoo on her forearm and a smaller one behind her left ear. Dean was a fine specimen of a man. Muscular, tall, and dark-haired. He too had Maori tattoos on his arms. Brought here without a hood? Dean was the first male prisoner she had seen for over a week. They didn’t keep the men here. Some stayed to carry out physical labour, but they were all shipped off eventually.

Maggie busied herself eating her meal. With this new information and the piece of paper in her pocket, she didn’t have much of an appetite. But that old Army training kicked in. Eat when you can, sleep when you can.

It was time to advance the last part of her plan.

Rejuvenated by thoughts of escape and her long-term quest of getting home to Texas, Maggie ate the rest of her meal in silence. Better keep the peace with Ian and his baton.

Boss turned the detent dial, moving slowly through the frequencies, scanning for any chatter. He glanced at the clock to one side: 5:45, or 17:45 as he was supposed to say now.

Yes! Not long to go.

He had enjoyed learning all the details of Radio Operations, but for the last few days he had heard limited chatter. His orders were to continuously scan, searching for any survivors. His last success had been yesterday, when he had found a couple on a boat. After giving them the coordinates of Mayor Island, they had relayed that they were running low on fuel and were heading off to look for more. Since then, Boss had heard nothing. Worry was beginning to creep in. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the bandage on his stump. Hell, it was itchy. Glancing over at the ledger of contacts, he searched out the name of their boat. Sea You Later . Running his finger down the page, he read the frequency next to the name and turned the detent dial to the correct number. Boss adjusted his headphones, listening to the static hissing in his ears. Pressing down the talk button, he reached out.

“ Sea You Later , this is Falcon 7, over.”

Hissing and static buzzed in his ear.

“ Sea You Later , do you copy?”

Boss furrowed his brow, and tried a few more times with no success. He reached up and rubbed the ridges of skin on his forehead. Damn it! He looked around for his pen. Finding it, he made a note on his ledger. Turning his attention back to the radio, he dutifully turned the dial, listening for anything, any sign of more survivors. So few had made it to the outlying islands. Mayor Island had a population of just 120 souls, Motiti Island a few kilometres south, a mere forty-five. But, thankfully, it was a working farm with a thousand head of sheep and 350 dairy cows. Last Boss heard, the Colonel wanted some Army personnel sent there, to secure the island. Great Barrier Island, where Jack, Dee and Ben were, had just under eight hundred people. So few, from so many.

Boss looked up at the clock, hoping for the end of his shift. It flashed back 18:03. Grinning, he reached over and grabbed his crutches. Hoisting himself up with a grunt, he looked down at where his lower leg used to be. The doctor had warned him about phantom pains. Boss still caught himself trying to use that leg. Embarrassingly, he had fallen over a few times. Grabbing his ledger, he headed over to the sergeant sitting at a desk in the far corner. It was a simple room; two stacks of radio equipment lined the left-hand and back walls, with the sergeant’s desk on the right-hand wall, next to the door as you entered. A couple of maps of New Zealand and the surrounding islands had been pinned to the sheetrock wall, white marker pins locating the pockets of survivors. Boss couldn’t help but glance at the mainland. Only three white markers remained there: Auckland, Wellington, and a pin in the South Island. Someplace called Waihopai. Not anywhere that he had heard of.

A shiver ran up his spine, and he remembered all that he’d been through, just to reach this island. How he had hidden in the attic with his mother. His father’s return as one of the flesh-eaters. His flight. His rescue from the hounds of hell by Dee. Hiding in that stinky basement with her. She had become someone he cared about dearly and when he admitted it, had a huge crush on. He thought about the guilt he still felt for running: running to save himself, leaving his mother to his once-father. He liked to think that karma had been paid when he lost his lower left leg to that hideous Alpha.

Frowning at the memory of that beast, Boss glanced over to the other RO. He waved at Signaller Geoff “Six” Austin, getting his attention. “Game later?”

Six pulled one of his headphones off his ear, like DJs do when mixing dance music. “For sure. See you in a bit. You better bring it tonight.”

Boss let out a bark of laughter. “I’m 10-6 up.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch up with you tonight, bro.”

Boss shook his head as he walked the last few metres to the sergeant. Pool was his game. It was all about angles and placing the ball ready for the next shot. All those hours practicing at home, playing his dad, had paid off.

Reaching the sergeant, he put his weight on his remaining leg and handed over his ledger. “Nothing new to report, Sir.”

Sergeant Brian Haere looked up from the report he was reading and stared straight at Boss. Boss found it difficult to hold the stare. He knew it was the sergeant’s way of measuring one, to see what sort of man one was. Boss suspected he came from a hard upbringing, where being tough was normal. He hated that aspect of masculinity. Men and boys trying to prove to each other just how macho they were. Surely being here on this island was proof enough.

He couldn’t hold the stare any longer and glanced away, looking out the window. He could see the few lights of the camp dancing on the water of the natural harbour. The sounds of children playing reached him, bringing a smile to his lips. He was looking forward to seeing George.

Turning his attention back to the sergeant, Boss caught his stare again.

“Nothing new in your report, Shepard?” he asked curtly.

Boss looked down at his feet, heat rising up through his body, flushing his cheeks.

“Look at me, Shepard. You look a man in the eye when you speak, you hear that? Especially to me.” The sergeant pointed at himself, and then back at Boss. “When an officer speaks to you, you look him in the eye. It’s all about respect, Shepard.”