by Derek Gunn
Amanda insisted that everyone walking take a turn on the sleighs with the wounded to allow their flesh to warm up, but that only added to the weight of the sleighs and delayed the long line of refugees. Five hours in and at least the same distance to go; though it was likely to take twice as long as exhaustion was already setting in. She strained her eyes to look into the distance but she couldn’t see very far. She knew the line continued on ahead for at least a mile. She stumbled and fell into the snow, lying there for a moment as she felt the heat from her body being sucked from her. Would it be so bad to just to lie here? The cold had a way of feeling almost comforting once you got past the initial pain. She was so tired. Surely another minute here wouldn’t make any difference.
There was no one rushing to help her. Everyone was focused on the point just in front of them as they plodded on. No one would know she was here until they arrived at the train and realised she hadn’t made it. She looked to the side and saw a sleigh stagger past her in the jerky motion that they had all become so used to. It pulled forward a few feet and then stopped as the people pulling moved ahead a few paces and then pulled again. It was monotonous and hypnotic; everyone who had taken a spell knew the relentless monotony of the motion.
The sleigh, she thought. Conor. Conor was on that sleigh. Her thoughts were harder to grasp now, slipping through her mind like jelly—corporeal enough to feel but impossible to grip. Conor needed her. She tried to rise but her arms were so cold that they felt as though they were already part of the snow. She tried again and succeeded in raising her head before falling back into the cold’s embrace. There was no wind here and her legs had already stopped hurting. Maybe just another minute…
* * *
Phil McAteer rolled away from the bullets as they slammed into the snow around him. He had underestimated the thralls and now they were behind him. It was a rookie mistake and now four of his men were dead. Anger burned in him. He just hadn’t expected them to flank him—not in this weather. Any force trying to move around him was more likely to lose their way and travel too far than to find their position. But, regardless, the thralls had found them. Either the thralls had better senses than he knew about or their leader was just plain lucky.
McAteer forced himself not to fire back. From the muzzle flashes he judged the thrall patrol to be around nine in number. There was no way he could fight his way out. His only hope was to blend into the background, and he could not do that if they tracked him each time he fired. Bullets flew everywhere as the thralls sprayed fire in all directions. He hugged the ground, trying to burrow into the snow but the hard ground beneath was impenetrable and the snow was only two inches or so in this area after being tramped down with all the traffic. He heard a shout and the bullets stopped. They were listening for him now and their ears were a lot sharper than his. All he could hear was the howling of the damn wind. They would be searching for him now. He couldn’t stay here but couldn’t run either or they would see him.
He had to create a diversion. He plucked a grenade from his jacket, moving very slowly, and pulled the pin. He released the safety lever gently, holding the metal as it slipped free so the noise did not give his position away. He rolled onto his back, stretching his arm out and then spun on to his front bringing his arm through in an arc. He let the grenade go as his arm reached its zenith and the grenade flew silently towards where he thought the thralls to be. His motion did not bring any further gunfire so his unorthodox throw had worked.
Three seconds later the grenade exploded. Without further thought he forced himself to his feet and ran, crouching low. Behind him he could hear gunfire erupting again but it seemed to be wild rather than focused on him. As he ran he could hear the screams over the chatter of gunfire. At least he had made some of them pay for the deaths of his men.
* * *
Harris had no idea what was going on. He heard gunfire and occasionally he could see shapes dart from cover, but they were too fast to recognise if they were human or thrall. The main clearing was awash with lurid light from the flaming vehicles. There were still a number of vehicles undamaged towards the front but at least half had been damaged, most irreparably so. There was a sizable force of thralls using the vehicles as cover and they poured a steady barrage of fire towards any muzzle flare they saw. Harris noted with satisfaction that each flash around the thralls only erupted briefly and then appeared again some distance away. His team were following their training.
This situation was playing in the human’s favour in that the thralls were stuck here and each moment was another precious mile for the others to reach the train. However, it did not give his men opportunity to get away either. And that was a problem. Once the heavy armour arrived the thralls would quickly mop up the remaining humans and then be free to follow the others. While it was true the thralls did not know where the humans had gone it was only the storm that was hiding their exodus. Once that stopped, the thralls would be able to track them. Already the snow was lightening. The wind still plucked at them viciously but it was the snow that hid them.
They had to do something. He saw a thrall spin from behind cover and fall to the ground but he rose again and continued to fire. Their damn healing was a major disadvantage to the humans. To keep the thralls down for good they had to either hit them enough times that their healing ability was overwhelmed or hit their hearts or brain. That was particularly difficult when you were constantly changing position.
A well-placed grenade or mortar was just what they needed but he had none left and, obviously, neither did his team. He needed something to drive the thralls from cover. His eyes scanned the area. The entrance to what had been their home was still lit with scattered small fires, their flames forced over nearly horizontal to the ground by the relentless wind. Past that he could see the slight rise towards the site of the mass grave and the barren ground beyond where the thrall team had come from. Was that only a few days ago? It seemed like weeks. His eyes scanned past but then his heart skipped a beat, and he snapped his head back towards the barren ground. He pushed himself to his feet and began the long trip around the thralls.
It took thirty minutes and in that time he was pretty sure that there were fewer shots coming from his team. They were losing the war of attrition and the thralls were beginning to grow bolder and move from their cover. The heavy chatter of .50 calibre machine guns supported them and forced his men to keep their heads down as the constant barrage chewed up the surrounding cover. If he waited much longer then it would be too late. Finally he came to the mass grave. His eyes scanned the terrible scene before him; the bodies lying in neat rows, their features forever frozen as they stared sightlessly upward.
A noise to his left had him rolling to the ground and bringing his weapon up in one fluid motion. His finger was already tightening on the trigger when he saw a pale face with an unruly mop of blond hair.
“Robert Seager, I nearly blew your fool head off, boy!” he sighed as he lowered his XM8.
“Sorry, sir,” the boy was still looking at Harris’ weapon as he realised how close he had come to death. “I didn’t see the signal, sir. Did I miss it?” His voice was nervous, as if he had made some terrible mistake.
“Change of plan. Is April with you?” Seager nodded and motioned behind him and April suddenly appeared from the snow like a wraith. He had argued against their staying here originally but it had been their idea. Many of those who had lost relatives had not wanted to leave their loved ones behind without a proper burial, but there had not been the time to fill in the huge mass grave. It had been Seager and April’s idea to create a large funeral pyre. That way the bodies could not be interfered with by the vampires or the thralls and they had insisted on staying to light it. Around the site was the last of the community’s precious fuel. There was no way they could carry it and they had not wanted to leave anything behind that their enemy could use.
“Pour the barrels into the grave but leave three. We need two of them over here and the third over
there,” he said pointing towards their old home. Seager and April didn’t question him. They moved efficiently, tipping the barrels into the grave, and moving to the next one. Within minutes they were both standing beside him.
“We need to pour this one down towards the fires at the entrance,” he said slapping the first barrel, “The fire from the grave will run along the trail and make sure we leave nothing behind. These two,” he tapped the other barrels, “we need to angle so they go down that incline.” He pointed down to the main area where the thralls were still shooting from cover. “Understand?” He looked at both of them making sure they were clear.
“Yes, sir.”
Harris saw the feral grin on Seager’s face as the boy realised what they were doing. Dear God, he thought, is this the future we are creating for our children? But what other choice is there?
* * *
McAteer threw himself to the ground as the bullets stitched the air above him. He slid another ten feet on the snow before he finally came to a halt, his hands high above his head.
“Whoa, it’s me, McAteer. Stop shooting.”
“Damn. You shouldn’t sneak up like that, ya damn fool. I could’a blown your head off… sir.” Peterson growled, adding the ‘sir’ belatedly as he recognised his superior.
McAteer pulled himself to his feet, brushing the snow from his gear. “How are we fixed?”
“Not good, sir,” Peterson replied. “Someone blew a few of the trucks from the rear but most of the thralls were at the front so we still got a sizable force and they’re pissed. Most of them are pinned down in the main area but they’re about to break out. Seems we’ve lost a lot of our guys and they’re getting bolder. Where are the others?” he asked as he noticed for the first time that McAteer was alone.
“We got flanked,” he spat the words and found he couldn’t meet Peterson’s eyes.
“Sir, we really need to get those thralls to scatter so we can pick them off; otherwise they’ll over run us soon.” McAteer nodded and came to the lip of Peterson’s position. He scanned the area looking for anything that he could use. Suddenly he tensed and Peterson was about to speak when McAteer whirled towards him.
“Move along the trail and let the others know to keep firing, we need to keep their attention on us for a few more minutes.”
“What …”
“Harris has a plan,” McAteer answered and Peterson just nodded and set off.
* * *
Harris struggled to drag the barrel a few more feet and then stood panting as he looked down the incline, judging the angle the fuel would take. They would lose a lot of fuel on the loosely packed snow up here but it was harder towards the middle of the slope and should travel better from there. It was a long shot, but if they could pour enough down they might be able to create a wall of fire between the thralls and the humans and keep the thralls pinned down a little longer.
He nodded to Seager and they both strained as they pushed against the barrel. It finally tipped over and Harris cut into the cover with a hatchet until a steady stream began to pump out, soaking the snow. For a moment the fuel just disappeared into the snow and Harris thought he had miscalculated but then he saw a thickening line begin to make its way down the slope and towards the thralls. He lost sight of the line soon after so he had no way of knowing whether the fuel was going in the right direction. Would this be enough? Seager began to pull at the other barrel and Harris knew that they could not risk it.
“Leave it, Robert. You and April light the fuse and get clear.”
“What about you?” Seager asked suspiciously.
“I think I need to get a little closer.” Before the boy could answer Harris had tipped over the last barrel and was easing it down the incline, using his weight from the front to slow its descent.
Harris’s back was in agony. Not only was the barrel bloody heavy but the metal was freezing and its constant pressure against his back had soaked his jacket and siphoned the heat from his body. Gunfire suddenly erupted from the outskirts of the clearing, this time there were no three round bursts and changing of positions. Either the thralls were on the attack or someone had seen him and was distracting the thralls.
A sudden fireball suddenly lit up the sky leaving him very exposed on the incline if anyone looked in his direction. Seager and April had lit the grave. Soon the fire would spread to their old home and chase him down this hill. Bullets suddenly ripped into the ground close to his position and he cursed. He had forgotten that the fire would expose him. A bullet tore into his heel and he slipped. The barrel pushed at him and he slipped further. The barrel picked up momentum and he found himself falling forward, his face slamming into the hard snow and the barrel rolling over him.
He cried out in pain as his arm was crushed by the heavy barrel and then it was gone. He saw it for a moment but it picked up momentum and rumbled down the hill. Bullets continued to slam into the ground around him and he picked himself up and ran. He saw a lit trail of fire race down the hill faster than he could hope to run and it soon passed him heading towards the thralls.
He had done all he could. He turned and headed back up to where Seager and April waited.
* * *
Phil McAteer saw Harris slip and cursed. It had been a good idea but dumb luck had ruined it. He watched as Harris scrambled to get clear of the bullets that poured into the ground around him. The barrel continued to roll, bumping wildly down the slope. He heard the dull thunk of metal against metal and braced himself for an explosion but the barrel continued to roll. Another bullet slammed into the barrel but it merely shifted the trajectory.
McAteer could see a spray of fuel spurt wildly from the barrel as it raced down the hill. How the bullets had not caused the barrel to explode he didn’t know but, somehow, they hadn’t. All they had done was leave a trail of fuel in the barrel’s wake. Suddenly McAteer had a thought and he judged where the barrel might run out of momentum. The thralls had seen the danger as well; the whole scene was well backlit by the funeral pyre on the hill. The entrance to their home was also a raging furnace; the flames already reaching greedily inside and devouring everything that could burn.
“Pull out!” He suddenly turned to Peterson. “Go down the line and let anyone left know that we’re pulling out.” Peterson looked at him with a frown but he knew his commander well enough to know that there was no point in questioning the order and he slipped into the darkness. McAteer looked towards the horizon and noted the thin line that heralded the dawn. The snow had eased to a gentle fall but the wind continued to tug at him. He looked to the flames and saw them bent over as if bowing to the wind in supplication. And the current, their great overlord, used its strength to fan the flames and make them burn brighter. He felt a terrible sadness as he watched their home burn. He hadn’t been here as long as some, but he thought of this cobbled series of huts, corridors, and buildings as his home.
He looked over to the barrel and saw it slowing. Bullets whined around it as the thralls tried to explode the barrel before it became a danger to them. Most of the shots missed but some managed to strike it. The barrel absorbed the bullets like a sponge, leaking fuel like blood, until it finally came to a halt gently against an outcrop of snow. Maybe the cold prevented the barrel from igniting, he wasn’t sure. The thralls stopped firing, judging the danger too far from them and they resumed their cautious advance. McAteer sighed as he looked from the barrel to the line of thralls. It was too far. He heard a distant rumble and wondered if it might be thunder. He hoped it was thunder, but the noise continued too long for that. He cursed as the reality of the noise became clear. Carter’s reinforcements were coming.
Chapter 17
Curtis Kavanagh smelt the acrid stench of burnt flesh long before he saw the thin trail of smoke in the distance. It was unlikely that the humans were stupid enough to light fires but anything as blatant as a spiral of smoke was worth investigating. It was probably another patrol that had been attacked. He had forced his vampires to rise with t
he sun still on its downward descent in the hope that he would get to just such a scene before Von Richelieu. They had complained as their flesh burned under the sun’s pale caress but he ignored them. They would heal. The sun wasn’t strong enough to kill them this time of day. But he had to begin his search before Von Richelieu.
He wanted to see if he could find any trace of the fleeing humans before anyone else. There must be tracks they could follow. Maybe Von Richelieu had missed something the last few times. The ancient vampire was no fool but he surrounded himself with older vampires who were stuck in the past. Maybe he and his more modern vampires would see something the others had missed. The humans must have a reason to attack so many patrols. There could not be enough of them to need as much food as they had already stolen; four patrols in as many days. His thrall spy had been unable to find out if all the food had been stolen or whether they had destroyed it.
If it was destroyed then who did the humans think they were hurting? The food was for the remaining human captives as well as the thralls, and the thralls would eat first. Surely they could not want the other humans to die? While it would be a sure way to kill the vampires if their food supply was to die of starvation, he dismissed this strategy. It would take far too long and it was far too callous for humans. Vampires might think like that but he did not believe that humans could. So, if their aim was not the captives then they must have another agenda. It was possible that they were just attacking their former masters in retaliation for their years of bondage but, somehow, he doubted that also.
