by Derek Gunn
It had begun when the vampires arrived. She had been swept up in the first of the human hunts. She remembered the terror of being herded with thousands of others into a camp. All her money and power had meant nothing to the vampires. All her conniving and power had led her to the same fate as the lowliest of humans as they were crushed into filthy pens in the middle of a forest. She remembered the cold as she tried to sleep on the ground, but too many people were cramped in together and she had been stood on repeatedly.
Moans of pain and cries of terror had filled the night’s air and she had retreated into herself. She vaguely remembered some of the captives trying to use their numbers to attack the walls of their prison and she remembered the vampires slaughtering those humans to set an example. She remembered the thralls coming among them and picking the prettiest of the females and taking them screaming from the pens. Some came back and some didn’t. The ones that did come back never really recovered. She remembered seeing one woman who had come back, stumbling and bleeding. Her eyes had been empty, devoid of life or consciousness. She swore she would never end up like that. She would kill herself first.
She couldn’t remember how long it had gone on. Her memories only went up to a point and then nothing until Harris and his crew had rescued her. She knew now that the thralls had used the serum to keep them all docile but she had no memories of her time in captivity after those first few weeks. They had, however, left an indelible mark on her. She would never let the thralls or vampires take her again.
Once in the community it was clear that she had certain talents for organising and she quickly rose to a position on the council. Regan had been a means to an end, an abhorrent one, but beggars could not always choose. She set out to rule this small community that had adopted her. Why should she care for these people? Her only interest was in ensuring her own survival. Ian Phelps was a much nastier option but one she could not ignore. She had hidden behind Regan at first; happy to pull the strings but then Phelps had become more overt. He had forced the situation that resulted in Harris being expelled, but she had allowed it to happen in order to maintain her position. What did she care if a few people were thrown to the wolves?
That was before she met Lucy though.
She had never considered that she would ever like another woman in that way. She had never been excited by men but, with her looks, she had learned early that men could be easily manipulated. Lucy Taylor was her own age and had a daughter, Lizzy, who was only six years old. Her husband had died before the vampires had come and the two were inseparable. It had begun as an unlikely friendship. Lucy worked wonders with Penny Arkwright in the local school and they had met when she had been there on council business. She had been asked to address the children on what a council member did.
She smiled now as she stood awaiting her death and she remembered how she had arrived at the school. She had been livid that she had had to come to talk to children. She had never liked children and had long ago ensured that she would never be afflicted by such parasites. Her attitude must have been written all over her face because Lucy had taken her politely aside and informed her that they would manage without her and thanked her for coming. It had been like a physical slap and it had taken her a few minutes to recover from the shock. By that time Lucy had already turned away and rejoined the children. No one had ever talked to her that way. She had always ridden over people, forcing them to bend to her will but Lucy had stood up to her and made her realise that other people had feelings to be considered. She still couldn’t remember why she had done it but she found herself suddenly joining the group. She had completed her talk, with a much more conciliatory tone and had found that she had actually enjoyed herself. She had sought out Lucy after the talk and thanked her.
From there they had become confidents and then friends and finally lovers. Her hard exterior had been shattered by this diminutive woman with a backbone of steel and her daughter Lizzy had become part of her life. When the alarm sounded, she had rushed to Lucy and Lizzy and organised for the children to be taken to the south exit. Lucy had pleaded for her to come with them but she found herself refusing. It had taken her awhile to realise it, but finally she came to the stark truth that power also brought responsibility. Somebody had to buy them time and there were few who were prepared to step up.
None of the other council members had stayed. There were pathetically few of them lining up as the last defence. It wasn’t surprising. None of them were really fit to lead this community she realised in a moment of clarity. Her heart thundered in her chest but each moment she delayed them bought Lucy and Lizzy another moment to get away. She found she didn’t mind dying if the others got away. She suddenly realised that this must be what Harris always felt. To stand for something, or someone, more important than the individual was quite liberating. The burp of machine gun fire sounded closer now and she gripped her weapon more tightly. She looked along the line of volunteers and realised these were the ones who should run the community. Ben Thackery had stayed and she nodded to him but his attention was focused ahead. Amanda Reitzig had argued but everyone had sent her away. They needed a doctor; administrative experts were ten to a penny. She hadn’t seen Ian Phelps at all.
There was movement along the corridor and a wave of panicked people rushed towards them. The volunteers allowed them to pass through but the panic tore through the main line of defenders and the thralls arrived while they were still trying to organise their lines. Bullets flew, screams erupted, and chaos ruled as the human defence stood their ground.
Patricia Lohan shuddered as the weapon bucked in her hands and her thoughts turned to those she had grown to love. She whispered their names as the bullets tore into her and sent her reeling to the floor.
* * *
Phil Regan led the children out through the south exit. His heart thumped in his chest as he heard the gunfire erupt behind them. It sounded so close. He whimpered as he ran. He looked back and saw that he had pulled out a gap between himself and the first of the children. One child fell and he slowed as he looked at the little girl, no more than seven, he thought but his feet continued to move. His mind quickly convinced him that someone else would look after the child and he turned and ran to the exit. The south exit was always locked from within. Harris had insisted that there be an exit no one knew about and that it was always secure to allow for just such an eventuality. Fucking Harris is always right, he thought bitterly. Even when the fucker wasn’t here he was saving them.
Regan came upon the small door more quickly than he expected and he slammed painfully into the steel. He shouted in pain and fear as he fumbled with the key he wore around his neck. The sound of gunfire was much closer and his fingers couldn’t grip the key. He stabbed at the keyhole repeatedly until it finally slotted in and he turned it savagely pulling the door towards him.
By this time the others had caught up and one of the teachers held the child that had fallen and glared at him accusingly. He ignored her and felt the cool air sweep over him as he stepped into the night’s air.
“Might have known you’d be leading the retreat, Regan.” Regan stopped dead as the figure loomed out of the darkness like a giant. He looked mutely on as another, much taller figure joined the first and then his mind finally caught up with events.
Harris!
* * *
Harris pushed past Regan with Warkowski coming up behind him. There were whispers of awe from the children as the two men moved through them.
“Continue on out and head east,” Harris stopped in front of Amanda Reitzig as she gripped his hands. Harris looked down the line and saw the number of people thronging the corridor. “Is this all there is?” His voice was more like a croak and Amanda nodded and hugged him once. He felt so thin, she thought briefly. There was a burst of gunfire and Harris jumped and then he was gone, rushing through the survivors.
* * *
“Philip?” Harris looked over when he heard her voice and he moved over to Sarah Warkowski. S
he looked into his eyes and he could see the worry and the question there. Suddenly her eyes moved to the side and opened wide. She rushed past Harris and disappeared into the big man’s embrace, and Harris forced himself to give them a minute and then the gunfire stopped and he coughed gently.
“I’ll bring him back,” Harris said gently, “but we have to go now.”
A woman came up to Sarah and put an arm around her. A small girl clung to the woman’s legs and looked at him as if he were a giant.
“Are you going to save Trisha?”
Harris moved down to his hunkers and looked at the little girl. “I’m going to try. Is she your friend?” The girl nodded her head vigorously and he brushed her tears away and rose to his feet.
The woman looked at him. He had seen her at the school but he couldn’t remember her name.
“She’s talking about Miss Lohan. Bring her back to us, please.”
Harris nodded mutely, too stunned to reply. Jesus, that cold-hearted bitch had people who loved her. Who would have thought? There was hope for everyone if she could find love. What else had he missed?
Harris rushed down the corridor. He had hurried as fast as he dared through the throng of people, searching each face, hoping to see Sandra but knowing that he wouldn’t. She was too like him. She would be among the last of the defenders. Warkowski and he had heard the gunfire and seen the fires as they had made their weary way into the city. They had been talking about the welcome they might get; the hugs and kisses they would receive but nothing had prepared them for what had greeted them here. There had been so few in the escape corridor. Was everyone else defending their retreat or were they already dead? How had the thralls found them?
There was a deep thump of an explosion. Grenades, he thought. He pushed the questions aside and hurried towards the fighting.
* * *
Emma pushed on ahead of the soldiers. She didn’t want to be anywhere near McAteer. He had lost it completely. She was no expert but she didn’t think that that was normal. Even taking into account the stress of the situation. He was meant to be a professional soldier. Was he psychotic or had the serum changed him somehow? He had been part of the last batch that had been rescued, had it been too late? She would have to talk to someone about it, if they survived. They couldn’t risk rescuing more if they were bringing dangerously unhinged people into their midst. But could they leave everyone else to die? She shrugged. It wasn’t her call. There were still some advantages to being too young. She was more interested in getting to the infirmary and Conor.
She made her way through the bodies in the corridor, trying not to look too closely. She had known these people, some were her friends. Was her mother among the dead? Her brothers? Were there some of the ‘Wolverines’ lying dead beneath her? She was afraid to look too closely. Tears crawled down her cheek. If she had come straight here rather than going out into the wasteland again would she have been able to save her mother? Would she be dead herself?
No. She forced the thoughts away. She had warned the community. She had given them time to get to safety. She had even gone back out into the wasteland to delay the thralls further. But why were so many dead? Had they not heeded her warning? Was anyone still alive? She came to a fork in the corridor; the main passageway went on straight towards the main community plaza but the narrow hall to the left would take her around the plaza and bring her out close to the infirmary. If her mother and brothers were alive they would be among the survivors trying to get out the southern exit. She felt she should go to find them. Her mother was not exactly capable of coping with life at the best of times, let alone with such a catastrophe. However, Conor was injured and incapable of defending himself. She was torn as she approached the fork, guilt for her family slowing her steps. In the end she went with her heart. Her brothers would be taken out with the rest of the children, there were people assigned to that task and they had trained for this day. Her mother, well she had made her own choices in life. Conor needed her more.
She started down the shortcut and Grier called out to her.
“I hope he’s okay.”
She looked back at him and nodded as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She could see that tears streaked Grier’s face also. They had all lost people here today. She hoped that the decision she made did not see any more of those she loved die.
There were fewer bodies in this corridor but the fact that there were any meant that the thralls had split their main force. She increased her pace and began to hobble. Her leg hurt where McAteer had stabbed her but she forced herself on. If the thralls found Conor they would shoot him where he lay. She heard a brief stutter of gunfire ahead and then silence. The sound appeared to have come from just around the corner, about where the infirmary was.
“No,” she whispered as she ran. The pain in her leg shot through her and made her gasp. “No,” she said again and then again, as if the litany would deny the reality. She ran around the corner and almost straight into two thralls. They were coming out of the infirmary laughing. She roared at them and began to fire. Their bodies staggered back as the bullets slammed into them, but they took the punishment and began to bring their own weapons to bear. Her gun clicked on empty but she was far too close now to look for cover. She leapt at them, screaming incoherently as she dropped the machine gun and wrenched her knife from a scabbard on her hip.
She slashed outward as she fell into the thralls. Their weapons erupted but she was inside their range and the bullets went wild. She fell hard, the wind rushing out of her lungs and leaving her gasping for breath. The thralls were scrambling around her, trying to get to their feet. She slashed out at one of them and something warm splashed over her face. She forced herself to her knees and ripped the knife upwards with a strength born of desperation.
The butt of a weapon smashed into her shoulder and the wound from McAteer’s attack flared in pain. Her fingers opened involuntarily and the knife fell. She grabbed at the weapon as the thrall brought it around. She gripped the barrel as the gun fired and the heat seared her hands but she had done enough to send the bullets wide. The thrall loomed above her. Where was the other one? Was the bastard smiling at her? She roared her pain, her frustration, and her loss and drove her hand into the thrall’s groin, grabbing his balls and wrenching them down with every ounce of strength her had left.
The thrall screamed; the pitch so high it was almost inaudible. He dropped the gun and she scrambled for it, rolling with the weapon and bringing it up firing. The bullets stitched up the thrall’s body from his thigh to his neck. The last bullet tore out its throat and he slipped to the ground with a sigh— it almost sounded like relief—and Emma kicked at the thralls head in anger. He should have suffered more. Her mind finally began to think again and she whipped around, searching for the other thrall. But he was already dead. His throat was neatly slit and he had bled out in seconds. Her first attack had been a lucky one.
She dropped the gun and stumbled into the infirmary, her body barely supporting her weight. Most of the beds were empty but those that were occupied were shredded and blood covered the white sheets. She screamed and fell to her knees, bringing her hands to her face as the sobs wracked her body. She was too late.
“Emma.”
She opened her eyes. She had left her weapons in the corridor but she was too tired to fight anymore. Her body hurt too much and it was hard to think through the pain.
She heard a scraping along the ground and brought her hands down from her face. In the corner she saw somebody move. He had been hidden behind a mobile curtain. She squinted through her tears and hurriedly wiped at her eyes. Conor slid towards her.
“Jesus,” he panted as he reached her and took her sobbing body in his. “You look like you need this place more than me.” She reached up and hugged him, both of them grunting in pain. They laughed and then grunted in pain again as they hugged each other harder.
* * *
Harris ran into the main plaza to the roar of gunfire. There
were bodies everywhere. Grenades had torn through the defenders and torn bodies lay on the ground and behind hastily erected cover. There were still some defenders still standing but very few. He could see the thralls advancing into the plaza in a tight formation that showed their training. These aren’t normal soldiers, he thought and then he began to pour fire into them. His first shot took one in head and the thrall dropped. The others shifted to cover this new threat and their answering fire sent Harris and Warkowski diving for cover.
There were five thralls left but they were very well trained. A grenade was thrown straight at Harris and there was nowhere to hide. Bullets slammed into the wall behind him and around the floor pinning him down but the grenade was the bigger threat. He launched himself to his feet and dived for the grenade swiping his hand along the floor, scooping it up and throwing it away from him. He would have liked to have thrown it at the thralls but he didn’t have time to aim. The grenade flew up into the air and then exploded. Harris felt the concussion sweep over him and he tensed as he anticipated the shrapnel, but he was lucky. Bullets flew around him and he pivoted and fired back towards the thralls. He could hear Warkowski firing to cover him.
This was getting them nowhere. The thralls were still advancing and the number of defenders was reducing by the minute. He shouldn’t have rushed into the plaza. He should have picked the thralls off from the corridor. He was so outraged and worried that he had flung himself into the fight. Again.
The gunfire lessened around him and he could see that there was more gunfire coming from the corridor behind the thralls. Someone had outflanked them. Harris took the opportunity the shift and began to pick out his targets. He sent three-round bursts into the tight throng of thralls. It was difficult to aim accurately with the XM8 as the recoil lifted the barrel, but Harris had had a lot of practise and he grinned savagely as he saw another thrall fall.
