by Derek Gunn
Every now and then a burst of fire from Grier and Peterson would make him jump and the sudden flare of light only served to light up the area immediately around each of his men, announcing their positions—as if the thralls didn’t already know where they were. He watched the shadowy figure glide through the darkness towards Grier. It hugged the ground and moved silently towards the oblivious man. These things were impossible. He had trained Grier himself and there was no one he would want more in a fire fight, but these bastards were able to do more than blend in, they became the fucking darkness. He was fairly certain that more of them were already in similar positions around Peterson and Grier. He eased his XM8 forward and lined up on the thrall. A quick three round burst stitched across the thrall’s back and the last round drove up through its skull and ripped the top of its head off.
There wasn’t time to gloat; McAteer was already moving as he saw pools of darkness shift. Jesus, they’re all around us. Bullets tore into the ground where he had been only moments before. He continued to roll until he fell into the hollow he had left only a short time ago. Bullets followed him all the way and peppered the edge of the depression as he curled into a ball. The thralls had given their positions away though and Peterson and Grier were already on it, firing at the flare of their weapons. The barrage of bullets began to reduce as the thralls were either hit or dropped out of sight to avoid the stream of fire that Peterson and Grier laid down. McAteer grabbed at his XM8 and stitched a line of fire blindly out into the darkness, aiming along the ground only a few feet from the edge of his hollow. He wasn’t taking any chances.
“Fall back to the compound,” he called and waited for the shouted acknowledgements before he slipped back. He hated leaving anyone behind; in all the war zones he had been sent to he had always managed to bring everyone out. They didn’t all survive but he always brought them home. He hesitated. Jackson and Delilah could still be alive. He looked over to where they had been stationed but the darkness was too dense to see anything. Bullets slammed into the ground around him, and he had run out of time. If they were still alive then they were on their own. He just couldn’t get to them. He had a bigger responsibility to the community.
He ran. A bullet tore at his heel and sent him sprawling. He saw Grier come up to him but he waved him away and began to get back to his feet when he saw a body. For a moment he didn’t recognise who it was. Mud obscured their features and the rain was driving into his face as the wind picked up. He turned the body over and saw Sandra Harrington’s pale face as the rain washed away the mud. There was a lot of blood on her clothes and in the mud where she had lain. He felt for a pulse. Jesus she was so cold. He couldn’t feel a pulse. Bullets slammed around him, but he reached down and lifted her into his arms. He wouldn’t leave her behind. She had rescued him after all. And besides, Harris would kill him if he left her, alive or dead.
He struggled to his feet and saw a shape flicker in the darkness. They were so close. Suddenly he heard a burst of fire from behind him. One of the thralls dropped to the ground in a heap and another dove for cover as Grier came level with him.
“I thought I told you to get to the compound,” he snarled as he lifted Sandra and hobbled to the entrance; his broken heel made running difficult.
“What can I say? I’ve a terrible sense of direction, chief,” Grier smiled as he laid down covering fire.
* * *
Robert Seager reluctantly let April walk by herself. He had enjoyed the feel of her head on his shoulder and her soft breath against his neck despite being surrounded by carnage. But it quickly became evident that he just didn’t have the strength to carry her and negotiate the number of bodies on the ground. He had nearly fallen twice already and, while he had been prepared to go on, she was adamant that he put her down. The last thing any of them needed was a broken ankle.
The soldiers had moved on ahead of them as he had struggled while carrying April but, now that he was free, he felt a bit useless. He knew he was only sixteen but he had managed to survive and save April while the bodies around him testified that many adults in the community had not. He wanted to go up to the soldiers and offer his help but he didn’t want them to laugh at his offer in front of April. He also didn’t want to move away from April. She was very vulnerable—not being able to hear or speak—and he worried something might happen to her if he was too far ahead.
He needed a weapon though. It was all well and good that the soldiers were armed but going up against thralls was different than other humans and these soldiers hadn’t been awake that long from the serum. He had no idea if they had ever seen a thrall or what they could do. It was easy to underestimate the thralls. He hoped that the number of bodies on the floor gave the soldiers an idea of just how dangerous the thralls were, but he wasn’t going to trust his and April’s lives to them entirely.
He looked on the ground, hoping that one of the dead might have dropped a weapon but he couldn’t see anything. April looked over at him and cocked her head to the side questioningly. He mimed swinging a bat and shooting a gun and she nodded and began to search as well. Robert Seager wished he had learned to sign better so he could talk to April more in depth, but there had never been a need before the vampires and since then he had been busy with the Wolverines, a pack of teens and kids who had formed their own club. He had thought that it was important to be a big man in the group, and he had sparked against Conor Ricks too often as they had jostled for Emma’s attention. It was only when he had seen Conor with the strength to join Harris and the others that he had realised how petty he had been. Even April had stood tall and supported Harris, despite her being deaf and mute. She had trekked across the state line and fought with Harris and the others while he remained safely tucked up at home.
He had spent a lot of time examining his reasons for staying and had finally been able to admit to himself that he had been too scared to join Harris. Once he was finally able to admit that he found that he saw things differently. He had been delighted to help Emma and the others as they searched for the traitor. For once he had felt useful, a part of something worthwhile. And then Jack had been killed and the reality of their situation had hit very close to home.
On top of that the thralls had nearly invaded their community and Harris’ group had come back without Harris. And those who did manage to stagger home were shot up real bad. Ricks was close to death and his world had suddenly become more terrifying. He had seen April come back with Sandra Harrington and the others. Despite their exhaustion and obvious worry about Harris and Warkowski, he had seen the survivors stride into camp. They had achieved so much and April had walked among them with her head held high. Somehow she had changed from someone who existed on the fringe to someone who really belonged and contributed. In her he had seen what he wanted. Not just to get to know her but to achieve as she had.
He had cajoled Emma to teach him some basic signs, but had not yet summoned the courage to approach April. He had hoped to ask her to dance at the ‘welcome home’ party but events had spiralled out of control. He had seen April being swept away in the sea of panicked people. She had looked so frightened and lost that he knew he had to do something. He looked over at her now as she searched for a weapon and he marvelled as to how she managed to cope. To be cut off from the world in a silent bubble must be difficult at the best of times but in such apocalyptic times it must be terrifying.
Her hair was short, crudely cut and uneven around the ends, though most of the women in the community wore their hair short now. It was just too difficult to keep long hair without the accoutrements of the years before the fall. Her eyes were the darkest brown he had ever seen and he found himself lost in their depths whenever he spoke to her. He could see that she had pulled the ends of her hair back behind her ears but they kept falling forward as she moved. He could see the set of her jaw as she pulled the errant strands back behind her ears, and he smiled as they slipped forward again. She caught him looking at her and he dropped his eyes quickly an
d continued searching.
There were no weapons though, just row after row of bodies. Their faces were contorted in pain and terror and there was blood everywhere. He made his way over to April and was careful to approach her from the front so he didn’t startle her. She looked at him hopefully but he shook his head. She reached up to draw her hair back again, her fingers leaving a red smear on the chestnut strands. She was about to continue searching when he took her hand and shook his head. He could see the pain in her eyes, the sense of loss and helplessness and he couldn’t subject her to that any longer. He motioned for them to leave the searching and follow the soldiers and she nodded slowly and followed. Despite the death around him, Seager couldn’t help feel a pleasant skip of his heart when she kept her hand clasped firmly in his. They made their way further into what had been their home that had now become a charnel house.
Chapter 4
Emma Logan made her way slowly across the wasteland. Each time she heard a burst of gunfire she was tempted to run into the fray. Each shot fired meant that her Conor, her mother or her brothers could be dead. There were so many helpless children in the compound and the thralls didn’t care what age they were. They wouldn’t even be interested in taking prisoners, if their latest intelligence was accurate. The thralls had split from the vampires and no longer wanted to have to guard thousands of humans. The fewer humans there were the less food the vampires would have. But she couldn’t help anyone if she rushed in and got herself killed.
These thralls were different from the normal foot soldiers. These bastards moved like shadows, they approached their objective in co-ordinated lines of attack, and had made short work of the human defences. It would be just like them to leave…
She saw the thrall to the side of the main entrance and let a cruel smile touch her lips. She suspected they might have left a few thralls to cover their rear. She saw another movement and then a third as the thralls came together and made their way towards the entrance to the compound. They were sneaky bastards. She had seen McAteer and his men enter five minutes ago carrying a limp form between them, and these thralls had waited for them to move far enough into the compound so they could take them from behind.
If she had been a few minutes earlier she’d have been cut to pieces by them. Fate was a cruel mistress. The thralls slipped silently into the compound, their jet black forms moving like wisps of smoke. She checked the load in her XM8 and slipped silently after them.
* * *
McAteer laid Sandra down on the floor when they moved past the first corner in the corridor. He signalled for his men to check out the way ahead and laid his gun down while he examined his charge. She was very pale but there was a weak pulse. If he didn’t stop the bleeding she would be dead by the time they cleared out the thralls. He ripped her jacket and shirt open and saw two holes in her side. He rolled her and she groaned, her eyes fluttering open and then closing again. One of the bullets had torn out the other side and blood was seeping steadily from the wound. The second bullet must still be inside and that wound was only trickling.
He tore his pack open and pulled gauze and bandages out. He placed the gauze against the wound in her back and then wrapped the bandages tightly around her. She woke up screaming in pain and then fainted almost immediately. She didn’t have long. The bandage might slow the flow of blood but it wouldn’t stop it. It wasn’t like a leg wound where you could cut off the blood flow. He looked up to see where his men were. Bullets whacked into the wall just beside him and masonry splashed into his eyes.
He dropped to the ground, furiously blinking as he tried to clear his vision. He grabbed for his weapon but his fingers gripped nothing. The noise was ferocious. Each shot seemed like an explosion in the cramped corridor and he could feel the wake of the bullets as they passed close above him. His eyes cleared a little and he could see blurred shapes moving closer.
Shit, how could I have been so stupid? A bullet tore at his jacket and he continued to roll away from the thralls. A bullet ripped along his leg, tearing a furrow through the flesh and slamming into the wall beside him. Pain shot through him but he continued to roll. Unfortunately, he was also moving away from Sandra and his weapon. Suddenly he slammed into a wall. His eyes finally cleared and he looked up and saw the thralls smile as they approached him. One of them moved over to check on Sandra and the other two came closer to him, taking their time. He moved his hand down his leg slowly. If he could wipe the smile off their faces he could die happy.
The thrall over by Sandra kicked her in the ribs and she moaned softly but didn’t wake up, and he shrugged and placed the barrel against her forehead. Suddenly there was a load bark and McAteer jumped, expecting to feel a bullet slam into him but instead the thrall standing over Sandra jerked. The corridor filled with noise, the retorts hurting his ears. The thrall shuddered but began to turn toward the firing. They were such tough bastards; it took a lot of bullets to put them down.
The other two thralls were also turning. The figure standing over Sandra suddenly took a round in the head and he dropped like a stone. The other thralls had already turned by the time his would-be rescuer had brought a weapon to bear and the noise level increased as three weapons roared. The thrall on his left jerked back and stumbled but recovered quickly and the noise of the XM8 stuttered and then stopped as his rescuer was forced to seek cover.
McAteer ripped his knife from his boot and leapt at the closest thrall. His leg buckled. His wound must have been deeper than he had thought and, instead of taking the thrall high and slashing at his throat with the knife, he slammed into the figure’s legs. The thrall grunted and they both fell. McAteer pulled with all his strength on the knife, ripping through the thrall’s thigh but the bastard fought back as if he didn’t feel the pain. There were a few seconds of frantic punching and slashing and McAteer was suddenly sent sprawling against the far wall. He hit the concrete hard and his head spun as he tried to get his feet under him. He lunged but was too disoriented and he ended up missing the thrall with his outstretched hands but his legs caught the figure as he fell, bringing the figure down with him. McAteer let out a yell of pain and anger and he hacked wildly with his knife. Blood spurted into his eyes and clouded his vision. He felt pain in his leg and something hit him in the shoulder like a sledgehammer. His left arm went dead but he continued to slash and gouge and kick. He couldn’t see anything and his ears still rang with the noise of gunfire. He was sent flying through the air and felt the wind knocked from him as he hit something hard. He slumped to the ground and then pushed himself up but his leg wouldn’t support him.
He wiped at his eyes desperately but there was too much blood. He was able to make out a figure in front of him and he leapt up bringing his knife arm around and down. He slammed into a figure and he heard a high pitched scream. He roared as he used the pain to fuel his aching muscles but somewhere in his mind the scream registered. Thralls didn’t scream like that. Had the figure said his name? How could he? He was too far gone though and his arm swept down for the killing stroke. Something gripped his arm and struggled to prevent its downward arc; he fought against it, trying to use his momentum to finish the strike. He heard shouting, that high-pitched scream again, but he was lost to the battle lust. He felt himself being pulled away and then a great weight pressed on to his chest. He heard more screaming. It was so close he felt the spittle on his face and then the words finally started to make sense.
“McAteer,” the voice screamed at him. “They’re dead; stand down you fucking idiot.”
He felt a hand wipe away the blood and he looked up into Grier’s face. He felt the adrenaline seep from him as the words finally cracked his madness. He looked up into Grier’s face and slowly nodded. Suddenly he felt the weight on his chest lift and he was being pulled into a sitting position. He saw Emma Logan being helped to her feet; the poor girl had cuts on her arms and blood on her shoulder. His brain finally caught up.
“Of Jesus, Emma. I am so sorry, I …” he couldn’t finis
h. This tiny girl had taken on three thralls to save him and he had attacked her like an animal. Grier was already pulling her shirt away from the knife wound in her shoulder and applying bandages where needed. He sat there panting as he watched. His leg hurt like hell but he was too shamed to even consider asking for attention. His men looked at him with an uncertainty he had never seen before, but the look in Emma’s eyes was more than he could bear.
* * *
Patricia Lohan stood in the main auditorium and listened as the bursts of gunfire grew louder. She had sent the children out through the south exit, Phil Regan had volunteered, of course, to lead the children to safety. She snorted. They were better off without that bastard anyway. Initially she had thought he was the shortest route to power within the community but recent events had forced her to rethink her strategy.
Regan was a coward. He had no thoughts outside of what affected him personally. She might want power but she did care about what happened to the community. She hadn’t always been like that. Before the vampires came she had been a hellion. Three marriages had come and gone, each one adding to her growing fortune. She had control of two companies; her previous husbands had been weak and easily manipulated. She had been ruthless, petty and unfulfilled so she had always craved more. She had thought the world revolved around her and her alone. And now here she was standing against vampiric thralls to allow children to escape. Where had this change come from?
