Section F: The Arse-Kickers

Chapter Thirteen

The place had no mobile phone coverage. No internet. And, according to the keyboard warriors back at base camp, the landline was down too. Muttering under his breath, Nikau stomped up the sturdy wooden steps and onto the veranda. Who the hell didn't have internet these days? Was someone like that even worth saving? And more to the point, who still had a freaking landline? He was amazed that was still even a thing. Although, given where he was, he probably shouldn't be. Stupid, backarsewards South Islanders. The sooner he got out of here and back to Auckland, where the technology came from this century and they'd actually heard of a macchiato, the better. Pausing briefly to flick a disturbing speck of who-knew-what from his uniform, he pounded on the front door.

"Hello?" he called. "Anybody home? This is the army. Evacuation orders are in place for this region and we're here to escort you to safety." He pounded again. "Hello?"

Somewhere within the depths of the farmhouse floorboards creaked, followed by the sound of a heavy, deliberate tread. Nikau just had time to rearrange the setting of his features from 'civilians suck' to 'here to help' before the door opened a crack, just enough to reveal a grizzled, white-bearded face topped by an equally grizzled beanie.

"Can I help you, young fella?"

"Mr Taylor?"

"That's right." The old man squinted suspiciously at him. "You here about the spider?"

Great. Nikau fought the urge to sigh. Old and crazy. "The spider, sir?"

"Yeah. I called it in a while back. 'Bout bloody time someone showed up to take care of it." He nodded at the assault rifle slung over Nikau's shoulder. "You're gonna need something bigger than that peashooter, though."

"Uh..." 'Here to help' becoming a little shaky, Nikau pointed out the armoured personnel carrier idling at the end of the farmhouse's long and muddy driveway. "We're here to evacuate you, sir."

"That so?" said the old man, gazing at the khaki vehicle. "And s'posin' I don't care to be evacuated?"

Awesome, more legroom for me, Nikau refrained from saying. "Well, sir, I'd urge you to reconsider. Dangerous...creatures are active in the region, so for the safety of the civilian populace the government has upgraded the recent stay-at-home directive to an evacuation order."

"Yeah, yeah, I know it. I heard all the announcements on the wireless. I considered it, son. Hell, I even reconsidered it. And you know what? I'm stayin' put. No spider—no, not none of those other critters, neither—are chasin' me and my missus out of our home. We been here thirty-eight years and we ain't going nowhere."

'Here to help' gave way to 'polite but firm'.  "I'm sorry you feel that way, sir, however I'm afraid the evacuation is not optional. This is now a restricted zone under exclusive military control."

"Military control? You know, you might want to mention that to some of the things I've seen wandering by these last few days. I doubt they give a flying fig about your military control. Or have even noticed it, for that matter. Can't say as I have."

 "Nevertheless, sir, I can assure you we have the situation well in hand. Now, I'm going to have to insist on you and your wife accompanying me."

"Oh, insist, is it? Or what? You gonna shoot me?"

"Of course not, Mr Taylor. However, our orders are quite clear—"

"Listen...private, is it? Listen, private. I know you mean well and all, but the way I see it, this is a free country and a man's got the right to stay put in his own home, if he wants to. This old house might not look like much, but it's seen us through droughts and floods and storms and fires—hell, it's even seen us through an earthquake or two—so, I reckon it'll see us through bein' harassed by a bunch of monsters or demons or whatever all this latest tomfoolery turns out to be. So, thanks very much for your trouble and all that, but I suggest you run along back to your tin-can on wheels there and leave Val and me in peace. Or at least what passes for peace around here these days."