Adrian Smith - The Fourth Phase

Boss ground his teeth together. He hated how the sergeant talked to him. He was still getting used to this chain of command thing.

Letting out a breath, he glanced back up and held the sergeant’s stare. “Yes Sir, nothing new to report, Sir.”

The sergeant raised his hand and rubbed his chin. “Very well, Shepard. You are dismissed. See you here at 0800.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Boss turned and caught Six’s eye, grinned, and raised his head in acknowledgement.

He walked down a short corridor and into the common area that was once the lounge bar, back when the building was a hotel, back before the Variants ate everyone. Boss hobbled down the stairs and out onto the concrete boardwalk that hugged the shore of the bay. Max bounded over, playfully nudging his head into Boss’s leg. Boss reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears, savouring the familiar touch. Max had adopted them, in a way. He had started sleeping on the deck of the villa, and had never left. Jack had asked around the village, but nobody’d claimed him. Dee said that animals find their own forever home sometimes.

Boss liked that. Forever home. That would be nice. He looked out at the small settlement he now called home. Before the Hemorrhage Virus, it had been a camping ground, hosting people over the summer months. A few cabins were dotted around the hills, some bigger summer houses mingled between, with the hotel◦— now Operations◦— in the middle of the bay. The large, older-style villa sat on the hill overlooking the bay and the mainland. It was the house he shared with Jack, Dee, George, and Ben. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered Jack calling it the Walsh Villa, from some movie back in the 80s. Jack and his movies. Boss reached the stairs leading down to the beach. The squeals of children reached him, snapping him out of his introspection. He glanced around, looking for George. Boss smirked to himself. Maybe Beth would be there too. He breathed deeply, enjoying the chilly salt-laden air as it filled his lungs. That radio room always felt stuffy.

Boss sat down on the small concrete wall. A few of the kids had a game of touch rugby going. The last of the autumn light was fading fast. Boss searched out the red hair of George, and watched him dodging around a couple of older boys, heading for the try line marked in the sand. One of the boys slammed his shoulder into George, sending him sprawling.

Boss leapt up, balancing on his foot. “Oi! It’s touch, you dickhead.”

The older boy looked over at him. Laughing, he replied, “Oh look, it’s hopping Virgil. Come to save your little boyfriend, Virgil?”

Boss squinted his eyes, staring at the older boy. “Just leave it out, Tyler. He’s only eight.”

Tyler scoffed at Boss, laughing sarcastically. “Whatever, Virgil. Game’s finished anyway.”

Boss glanced left and right, looking at the other players. A couple of them were shuffling their feet. He spotted Beth striding over to George. She bent down and hauled him up, brushing off the sand. Then she looked at Boss, smiling. Her sparkling blue eyes sending a flutter through his stomach.

Beth turned to Tyler and whacked him on the arm. “He’s just a kid, Tyler. You always have to ruin the game, don’t you?”

Boss watched as Tyler folded his arms, snarling at Beth. “Yeah, whatever, you guys are all soft anyway.”

He was relieved to see Tyler storm off, his two cohorts following. They feinted a couple of punches at the other players as they left, their cackling laughter echoing out over the water.

Boss shook his head, the vein on his forehead throbbing. What was Tyler’s problem, smashing into George like he was some big South African rugby player? Bullies always got on his nerves. Bigger kids throwing their weight around, physically and mentally torturing everyone around them. Did they have to make everyone’s lives as miserable as theirs? He had hated school. All the cliques with all their little rules and dramas! Always so much drama. Tyler was the only one who called him by his given name, Virgil. He cringed whenever he heard it. Boss often cursed his parents and their love of all things NASA. Named after a stupid astronaut! Sighing, he pushed himself off the concrete wall and made his way over to George and Beth.

“Hey G-man, you okay?”

George brushed some of the sand out of his hair. “He’s so mean.”

Boss leant down and helped get some of the grainy gold sand off George’s clothes. “I’m sorry, G-man. Some kids are just like that. Probably best to stay away, okay?”

He watched as George shuffled his feet, kicking some of the sand out from beneath them. “Okay, I guess. But I like playing rugby with the other kids.”

“I know, mate. Let’s go get some dinner, eh?” Boss glanced up at Beth, and his heart fluttered in his chest. Plucking up his courage, he smiled at her. “Umm, do you like… I mean would you… ummm—”

“I’d love to. Thanks,” Beth cut in, saving Boss from further embarrassment. She reached down and took George’s hand.

Boss grinned at her. “Ah, thanks for your help back there, by the way.”

“No probs. Can’t have that idiot doing that.”

Boss reached down and grabbed George’s free hand, and the trio made their way over to the mess hall nestled next to the hotel. Boss could see the old restaurant name, “Obsidian”, painted across the facade. The smell of frying fish made his stomach rumble, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Boss leant back in his chair, stretching out his tired back muscles. Ever since he’d recovered from his injury, he found it difficult to sit for very long. Doc had explained that it was to do with him relying on his good leg all the time, and that once he fitted the prosthetic, it should improve.

Prosthetic! Bugger .

Boss glanced around the restaurant, looking for the doc. He was supposed to get his prosthetic fitted tonight. He waved at Beth, getting her attention. “Sorry, Beth. Can you watch George? I’m supposed to visit the doc. He wants to test my prosthetic tonight.”

Beth looked up from her half-eaten fish. “Sure, no probs. See you in the games room after?”

Boss pushed out his chair. “Yeah, definitely. I’ve got to keep my streak going with Six.” He glanced at George. “See you later G-man.” Not waiting for a response, he grabbed his crutches and hurried for the infirmary, a couple of buildings over.

Boss hobbled along the boardwalk, his crutches clicking on the concrete. Movement out in the bay caught his eye. A large luxury yacht was churning its way past the moored boats, and he could see a dozen or so other motor boats strung out behind it. Survivors? Six must have found some survivors and directed them here. He stood watching for a bit, admiring the sleek lines of the luxury motor yacht with its silver and black colours. Serious cash there.

Reaching the infirmary, he pushed through the door. The smells of antiseptic and disinfectant filled the air, their pungency causing him to cough.

The doc turned around at the sound. “Ah Boss, there you are.”

Boss smiled at the doc. He was a kindly man, with glasses perched on his nose and his receding hair combed back. A keen bird watcher, it was a crazy bit of luck that he was on the island during the early days of the Variant outbreak.

“Hey Doc, sorry I’m late. Went to dinner and forgot.”

Doc looked over his glasses at Boss, his hazel eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Beth?”

Boss grinned at him and looked down at his feet. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Doc patted him on the shoulder. “No harm, no foul. You’re here now, eh? Now let’s see if this fits.”

Boss watched, intrigued, as Doc removed the bandage on his stump, checking his handiwork. “A little red, but that’s normal.” Then he rolled a soft, fluffy sock-like bandage over the stump, causing Boss to wince slightly. Then Doc grabbed the prosthetic, nestled the leather cup onto Boss’s stump, and tightened the straps.