The railings were made of sturdy, black metal. They were perhaps seven feet high and would provide enough protection from the infected, as long as they could be secured. The next of the diseased were only a step or two away. As Pethard closed the gate they clutched at it, either trying to open it or reach through and grab at those within. There was no lock and the gate was practically snatched from his hand with the force of the attack. It all happened in a moment. Newman was still shooting into the crowd, Lewis was struggling to his feet after the deadweight of Bannister, and Masters was trying to extricate himself from the hold of two of the infected that had grabbed him through the metal bars. They heaved him closer to their snapping teeth and he screamed and pushed away in desperation. As the diseased started to pull the gate ajar Pethard realised that if it came open they were all dead. He only had a second to react. He reached through with his right hand and grabbed hold of the railings on the far left side, using them as an anchor point. The mob went berserk, scratching and biting his arm and face. For a moment any thoughts of opening the gate were abandoned. Pethard shrieked in fear and pain but held on, selflessly, sacrificing himself to save his comrades. Teeth sank into his arm. His flesh and blood filled the mouths of the diseased, just as their saliva and contamination filled his wound. Lewis saw what was happening and quickly took his belt off. His hands fumbled as he knelt beside his comrade.
“Hurry, I can’t hold it,” Pethard yelled, despairingly.
Lewis again tried and again was prevented by the hands that snatched at him. More teeth and claws ravaged Pethard. There was a shot as Newman changed his aim. The head of the nearest infected was obliterated. It gave Lewis a moment. He looped his belt around the gate, securing it to the railings at the side. Jumping up he yanked Pethard away from the horde. His arm was bleeding and he looked pale as he sank down onto the floor.
For a moment Lewis stood back. The infected were amassing, pressed up against the railings and reaching through, screaming with insane hatred and hunger in their eyes. Some had already started to try and climb over although for now at least it was proving too difficult. But for how much longer? Another was clawing at the belt, the only thing holding the gate closed. Newman aimed quickly, shooting him, just once.
“That was a really brave thing you did,” Lewis said to Pethard. “How are you doing?”
Pethard smiled weakly. He was bleeding from the bites on his arm and he looked pale, but of them all he appeared to be the most serene. “I’m okay, really. I know I’m done for now, but hey – at least I’ll get to see Emma tonight. I’ll get to see my angel so it’s not all that bad, is it? But it’s fine sir, I think I’ve had enough.”
Lewis felt choked but tried not to show it and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He was trying to think of something to say when Bannister moaned and started to regain consciousness. There was a large lump on the side of his head and a nasty bruise on his cheek, but otherwise no obvious, outward signs of broken bones. Lewis checked on him, then stood up. They were out of immediate jeopardy although the gate would not hold indefinitely. They had all lost their rifles and he had also lost his pistol. They were battered and bruised and Pethard was worse than that. Lewis’s limbs were sore and he felt sure he had fractured a rib at the very least. He held the radio to his bleeding mouth. This was surely a ‘dire emergency’.
“Wood, are you there?”
There was no reply.
“Wood, if you can hear, we’re under attack from vampires and infected. We need help, now!”
Luca had stepped forwards just as Darius swiped again at Simeon. Luca leapt the distance and struck Darius in the back with a forceful kick. Ricardo had also lashed out in defence of his friend but the combined efforts of the two smaller vampires hardly registered. Darius grabbed Ricardo and whirled him around airborne, smashing him forcefully into a pillar. Dust and masonry erupted as the hapless vampire’s body drove a channel through the plaster on the pillar. Darius released him sending him arcing over wooden benches and instantly thumped Luca once in the chest, sending him hurtling backwards. He then quickly turned his attention back to the larger vampire. He pressed his attack forwards against the retreating Simeon and struck once more with a claw, gouging his other cheek. Luca had regained his footing and again struck at him with a well-placed boot. This time his old Clan Leader faltered, but only for the briefest of moments. It gave Simeon time to recover his balance but all he could do was to take hold of Darius by the shoulder and heave him around, sending him stumbling into some overturned pews, scattering them like tinder wood. He then broke a leg off a bench and swung it with all his might. It smashed across Darius’s head leaving a gash. Simeon again pressed forwards and jumped high, intending to bring a boot down hard upon the aged vampire but Darius recovered and caught his leg, heaving him up and away, summersaulting him backwards.
The speed of the vampires’ movements was staggering. The infected were pressing into the church in larger numbers, acting almost as a cohesive unit. Many were now heading in the direction of the vampires, drawn by the action, the allure of the trapped humans having waned. Darius turned his attention on his old protégé. With both hands he swung at Luca, catching him across the cheek and lifting him backwards and off his feet. This time he could not twist and land gracefully, but smashed into the wall. Simeon again struck at Darius but the old veteran was ready this time. Despite the tainted blood that filled his veins, he still had the cunning and speed gained over the ages. He caught Simeon by the wrists and for a moment the two of them struggled, trying to overpower each other, a contest of goliaths and of ultimate strength. Ricardo had hung back for a moment and realised just how dire the situation was becoming. Even if they were able to deal with Darius between themselves, and that was clearly by no means certain, they were about to be overrun as the mass of infected drew near. This was no longer his fight.
He called to his friend. “Simeon, we go.”
Without waiting for an answer he leapt above the wooden benches towards the open door, landed and sprinted for the daylight. Simeon hesitated, reluctant to leave the foray defeated, but he too saw the onrushing crowd. As Darius lunged, trying to bite his neck, he lashed out forcing him back, then turned and fled. Luca however was not as quick. The blow had stunned him and as he raised himself to his feet he could only see an angry mob swarming all around him. The nearest rushed at him and he hit it, smacking its head viciously and sending it to the floor instantly. Another came at him and met a similar fate but for every one that he dealt with another three or four grabbed at him. He leapt backwards and found himself up against the wall with a sea of cruel hands coming at him fast. In the small of his back he felt a door handle. With no other options he turned and pushed it open, diving through and slamming it shut behind him.
He steadied himself as the multitude surged against the door. He felt the handle being twisted and held it firm, but he knew that would not stop them for long. The screams and baying for blood outside were evidence enough of that. The hinges and frame would buckle under that weight soon enough, and he braced himself to bolster it. There was a table that he grabbed and wedged firmly under the door knob. That would help at least for a short while.
He was in a small room with nothing more than the table, a chair, a cushion to kneel upon, a Bible on a ledge and a crucifix. Luca had been a Roman Catholic, many lifetimes before and he knew what this room was: a confessional, a compact room where parishioners would ask the priest for absolution for their sins. There was a wooden hatch that looked through to the other side of the confessional where the priest would sit, but other than that, the two areas were entirely separate. He sank down onto his knees, holding his head in his hands.
“Bless me father for I have sinned…” He could still remember the words he had been taught to say every time he had gone to confess.
“It has been, oh, let’s say a couple of hundred years or more since my last confession. These are my sins…”
As the sounds of shriekin
g grew ever louder he briefly wondered about his recent most sinful act. He had abandoned Max in his desperate moment of need. He had committed many wrongful acts in his life, both as a human and especially as a vampire, but right now this was the one that bothered him most. Max had always been benevolent to him, had always looked out for him. But more than that, Max had been the one who had turned him vampyric. Max had never really trusted Farzin. Luca had questioned him about it once and although Max was evasive, Luca got the impression that Max saw Luca as a way to create balance in the clan, to even out the disruptive impact that he believed Farzin exerted. Perhaps Max had foreseen that Farzin’s destructive nature would likely bring them all down, although clearly he would never have realised in quite how violent a manner. Luca had come from an old and respected family in Italy. He was the son of a wealthy merchant, educated and well-bred, and Max saw him as a positive, stabilising influence for the clan. For all of the perks and advantages that his background had given him, he had been bored of his life and accepted the new one with relish. Max had turned him vampyric, brought him into the clan, and had then been influential in convincing Darius that Luca should be his natural successor.
So Luca had murdered the very one who had given life to him. When Max needed his help the most, he had not been there for him. Could he have done anything to save Max? If they had fought together would the two of them have prevailed? He thought not, but he would never know. But if Sebastian had returned, he was sure the three of them could have prevailed together. Despite Sebastian’s constant outward measure of calm, that same assuredness, that confidence and appearance of capability always gave Luca the distinct impression that he would make a formidable ally; or adversary.
Luca had always liked Sebastian, ever since Sebastian’s turning, an act that had surprised Luca as much as any of them. Despite the recency of Sebastian being made a vampire, Luca suspected that he would actually make the better Clan Leader, but for the tension between him and Farzin. Luca did not resent him for this; he actually thought it was just a shame that Darius had not stepped aside sooner, before the recent catastrophe that had brought down human civilisation. Might things then have been so very different for them all?
Whilst Luca would never have the answer to such questions, what he did know was that since taking Max’s life in his own hands he had been plagued with remorse. Even if they had both died, perhaps that would have been better than living now with this guilt.
“Yes - please bless me father for I have truly sinned.”
He still held his head in his hands. He did not need to open his eyes to realise that the infected had broken into the confessional on the priest’s side. They pressed in, gargling and raging and he could hear his own door starting to give. He stood up slowly. His clothes were torn and his hair was ruffled, details that, ordinarily, he would have noticed immediately and put straight. Nevertheless, his sharp, intelligent eyes and handsome features wore a mask of serenity. He was not afraid to die. He had been alive a long time, plenty long enough, and had often wondered how it would all, inevitably one day, come to an end. He had never envisaged a finale such as this, however, torn apart by a frenzied mob, and in a Roman Catholic church as well. He was just sorry that he had not had the opportunity to somehow make good his last and greatest error, a weakness of character and a bad judgment call. But he could delay no longer. Those on the other side of the confessional were scrabbling at the wooden grill that separated them. Fingers probed through the gaps, pulling at it and exploring it for weakness. In a moment of rage Luca smashed his hands through the latticework and grabbed hold of one of them. He yanked him back through the grill with such force that the man’s body was wedged up to the shoulders in the narrow opening. For a moment the man, a black man probably in his late forties with a bald head and scars on his cheeks, screeched and tried to twist around. Luca stared at him, watching him squirm whilst the others behind tried to reach past and get at their quarry. Then he slammed his elbow down on the man’s head, snapping his neck, and the squirming ceased. As though bolstered by this act of violence he turned to the door, mentally prepared himself, and then removed the table.
“Padre, nelle tue mani consegno il mio spirito,” he said. Father, into your hands I commend my spirit. Then he snatched at the handle in a determined flourish. The time had come to face his maker.
CHAPTER 5
Sergeant Wood whirled around to be confronted by a vampire leering at him. A pale, skinny face with sunken, watery, blue eyes and a cruel curl of lip sneered down threateningly. That was all the detail he could absorb before Farzin attacked. He snatched the rifle and smacked it into the wall with shuddering force. Simultaneously he thumped Wood in the chest, sending him flying backwards, crashing into Charlotte Collins. The two of them landed on the floor in a painful tangle. Sergeant Straddling, to his credit, did not panic. Swiftly he aimed his rifle but unfortunately he was just not quite fast enough. From behind Alec had appeared soundlessly. A solid kick in Straddling’s back sent him sprawling straight into the wall. The rifle slipped from his hands and there was a crack as his face exploded in pain and blood. Leading Aircraftman Scovell yelped and tried to aim his own gun but another swift blow from Alec sent him literally flying backwards. He left his feet and smashed straight through a closed door, tearing it from its hinges with an angry splintering. Within merely a moment the four soldiers had been completed decimated.
Wood struggled to disentangle himself from Collins. He got as far as a half kneeling position before he found himself hauled up and thrown into the wall. He was just able to get his hands in front of his head in time to soften the blow somewhat, but he was still stunned as he dropped to the floor. Farzin strode past him and gave Collins the same treatment. He hoisted her up and cast her away like an unwanted rag doll, throwing her against the doorframe and into the bedroom where Scovell had just fallen. She landed limply on the floor, one leg quivering. Wood was winded and dizzy but had the wherewithal to keep his brain working fast. He had never been in a situation even remotely similar to this but he had faced substantial opposition and disparaging odds before and still triumphed. He was one of a rare breed of person who does not lose their cool when under extreme pressure but actually seems to thrive on it. The adrenaline was now surging through his body, as was the realisation that if he did not do something they would all be dead. In a swift, clean motion he reached down and unclipped the holster where the pistol nuzzled against his body. He drew it like a cowboy in the Wild West, squeezing off a couple of rounds even as he raised it. He could not be positive where the first round went but the second almost certainly found its mark in Farzin. It surely must have hit him somewhere in the lower abdomen or thigh, unless Wood was very much mistaken but the vampire hardly reacted to it. He snarled, an expression full of vehemence and malice. Wood fired again but Farzin responded at the same moment, leaping forwards and to the side, bringing him within range. He swiped, knocking the pistol from Wood’s grasp. Behind him Alec had taken hold of Straddling and smashed his head against the wall. Straddling sagged dazed to the floor but feebly tried to crawl away from his attacker. Alec had observed Farzin, his true master and mentor, for many years. He had seen him toying with prey, enjoying the thrill of the hunt and prolonging the pleasure. He let Straddling crawl a little from him, appreciating the pathetic attempt to flee, and then strode forwards, stooping down to grab him by the ankle. A spiteful smile crossed his mouth as his eyes narrowed, his talons now mere inches from the pink flesh that he would soon split, the blood that he would imminently taste. The burst of gunfire, then, came as a total shock to him but he was alive long enough to realize the enormity of his error and the cost of his malice and arrogance.
Straddling had unwittingly crawled as far as the bedroom door that was now hanging off its hinges. Having been cast so inelegantly through the doorway, Scovell had not managed to stand up again as his leg seemed to be bent at an odd angle beneath him and he was in excruciating pain. However, he had managed to ro
ll onto his back, propping himself up against the bed, and brandished his rifle in front of him. As Alec bent down to grab Straddling, Scovell squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he squeezed the trigger. The gun jerked upwards in his hands and a dozen bullets crudely traced a line up the length of Alec’s torso and head. A stake plunged right through the heart will end a vampire’s life, as Sebastian had told Collins, just as surely as twelve rounds from an SA80 assault rifle at point-blank range. They punched through clothes and vampyric flesh alike, flinging him across the corridor, hard against the wall, and ripping out the back of his skull. He stood still for a moment before sliding slowly down, staring with an open mouth at his killer. His eyes were wide with astonishment, leaving a bloody trail on the magnolia paint.
Farzin immediately roared and tossed Wood aside. With a bellow of incandescent rage, he leapt and did not seem to touch the floor, so fast did he move. He arrived inside the bedroom in one bound. Scovell saw him come through the doorway and just had time to fire a solitary shot but it must have missed its aim. The time for playing with one’s victims was over. The time for revenge was nigh. Farzin snatched the rifle and cracked it hard against the wall. Then in a single, swift movement he grabbed Leading Aircraftman Patrick Scovell by the head, brought the boy up to his own height and sank his teeth deep into his flesh, tearing his throat out and snapping his neck through ninety degrees. His vertebra shattered as the blood gushed from the bite wound and Farzin let his quivering body drop disdainfully to the ground.
Straddling was struggling to his knees and Wood was racing to retrieve his pistol which had ended up at the far end of the landing. Farzin turned from the fresh corpse to finish what he had to do. It would not take more than a moment. He bent down to take hold of Collins, opening his mouth wide and exposing his deadly incisors. He had initially thought to keep her, to turn her into one of his own, but now his rage was too strong. He just wanted to kill them all and he would start with her right now. They would all pay. He did not have the chance to taste of her blood though. Suddenly from behind him was the sound of breaking glass and a shadow momentarily blocked out the light. The window was smashed in and Sebastian landed on the floor. He rolled and came up right beside Farzin with a deep, warning growl. Almost as though he had been expecting it, Farzin reacted with staggering speed. He clobbered Sebastian with the fist of one hand and then the talons of the other, sending him tumbling away. Farzin instantly leapt after him, not giving him any time to recover. As Sebastian floundered on the floor he stamped down, aiming at his neck. Sebastian flinched and the blow caught him solidly on the shoulder instead, sending searing pain through his back, but he too reacted quickly. He grabbed Farzin’s boot and shoved, all but toppling him and buying a moment to recover, and a moment was all he needed. Enough time to get to his feet. Enough time to prepare his attack, and then the odds swung back in his favour.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 3): Twice Bitten, Twice Die Page 7
