by Derek Gunn
He knew that Von Richelieu was using him. He had spent most of his life being used by someone. His father had used him from an early age. His large frame but surprising speed had made him a natural on the football field and his father had used his skills to curry favour with the local businessmen. As his skills had developed his father had used him to gain support, mostly financial, among the teams’ business backers. His son had match winning skills, or match losing if they didn’t support his own mad ventures.
When he finally left school and went to college on a scholarship it was time for the college coaches to use him for their own advancement. When his knee gave out he had been dumped from the team, from the school, and deposited back to a less than pleased father who could find no further use for him. Unfortunately there were plenty of local ‘business men’ of a different nature who were happy to use his size to their advantage. It had been easy to fall in with them and allow himself to be used. He was used to it.
Von Richelieu was no different but he had plucked Alan out of the pits and given him the power to use others also, rather than be bled dry in the pits. For that Alan owed Von Richelieu everything. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that Von Richelieu had done anything out of charity or goodwill. But he had done it and Alan liked the power he had been given. He heard talk among the others who had abandoned Von Richelieu; they talked of him being too old, out of date, unable to comprehend the new world. But Alan knew different. He knew a true leader when he saw one. Kavanagh was charismatic he had to admit; he was intelligent too but he lacked something. Alan had seen enough powerful men in his life and he could tell which ones were the true pinnacles of the food chain. Von Richelieu was a survivor. A born predator. And Alan stood a better chance of retaining his power with Von Richelieu as his sponsor.
He heard snatches of conversation about the pits and tried to lean in further. Were they planning an attack on the pits? Was Kavanagh mad? Von Richelieu had far more vampires and lots of thralls protecting the food pits. He heard someone mention rebels and frowned. What did the escaped humans have to do with their plan? He heard one of the vampires mention a date two days from now and he smiled.
“Hey you,” Alan snapped his head towards the shouted call. “It’s your turn for patrol. Get out there. The rest of them are already gone.”
Alan nodded and left reluctantly. He did not have enough to report back to Von Richelieu as yet, though he still had time. He would try and glean more information when he returned from patrol.
* * *
“Did he hear enough?” Curtis Kavanagh asked as they watched the vampire head outside.
“If I had talked any louder Von Richelieu would have heard me himself,” Dee Snyder laughed. “I am shocked at how obvious that idiot was. Is Von Richelieu really that desperate?”
“No, he’s not,” Kavanagh remarked. “And that worries me.” Kavanagh scanned the others in the enclosure. They had fifteen deserters now. All of whom swore allegiance to him—though they had sworn their fealty to Von Richelieu before him so he did not take their word at face value. He scanned the vampires he could see and it struck him that Von Richelieu had survived many centuries among a closed group of vampires who had remained hidden since the dawn of time. Anyone who could survive the intrigues of such an existence would not send an idiot to spy on him—though he might send one who was easily identified in order to mask the real threat.
“Shit,” Kavanagh muttered. Things just got more complicated.
* * *
Harris saw the sleigh in the distance and began to struggle to a faster pace.
“You won’t get there any faster, Peter.” McAteer grabbed his arm gently. “This way you’ll be of some use when we get there.” Harris nodded reluctantly and forced himself to maintain the alternate jog/walk momentum that had kept them eating the miles for the last three hours.
As they drew closer, he noticed that there were no figures around the sleigh. Equipment and supplies still filled the sleigh but there was no one around. What had happened? Had one of Carter’s patrols found them already? He looked to the snow around the abandoned sleigh for any sign of violence but the snow was fresh and clean. He pulled at some of the coverings to determine what had been abandoned. Gears and cogs filled the main body of the sleigh. This machinery was crucial to building generators in their next home but had it proven too heavy? Maybe they had fallen too far behind the others and had decided to abandon their load rather than be separated.
Harris couldn’t really blame them. These people were not soldiers. They were not trained for this sort of journey.
“I know what you’re thinking but we can’t take it.”
Harris sighed. “I know. It’s damn tempting though. We need this equipment.”
“We need to get to the train ahead of Carter more though.”
Harris reluctantly moved away from the sleigh. “Come on!” He set off at a jog. “Not far now.”
* * *
Amanda fell to the ground and raised her hands to her face. The ice covering her gloves was cold against her face, but she ignored it as she wiped away the tears. She saw the figures struggling towards her. They had made it. Behind the figures she could see the smoke of the train spiralling up into the darkening sky. But not in time to save their latest casualty. If only they had been able to hang on for another ten minutes she could have saved them.
She felt hands lift her up and hug her. She felt like pushing them away, screaming at their joy with the names of those who had died on the way here. But she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t their fault her patients had died. Blame the vampires. Blame Carter. Blame God himself. Blame her for not being able to get to yet another poor soul in time. She felt herself being lifted up and carried and suddenly realised how tired she was. Her body ached. Her nose was so cold she couldn’t feel it anymore. Her fingers burned but she struggled regardless to be released. She had so many patients to tend to. The arms holding her held her tight, ignoring her protestations. She began to shout, demanding to be set down, but the man ignored her.
He looked down at her and she saw that he had the palest blue eyes. He said something and his voice was calm. She didn’t hear what he said but his tone relaxed her and his eyes held her captive. They were so blue, like a clear day in June. She stopped struggling and let herself be carried. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were unfocused or filled with tears but the skin around the man’s face was odd...possibly scarred. The medical part of her brain finally identified the blurring as scarring, but the rest of her just noted the kindness. The last thing she remembered was the soothing tones of his voice and then darkness fell from a great height and she was asleep.
* * *
The train was a hive of activity. People rushed to and fro as they packed away precious parcels of food and supplies. The first of those who had arrived had recovered sufficiently to go back out to help and had left their warm places to those who needed them more. No one argued or complained and Aidan Flemming was amazed at their resilience. The first of the wounded were already being treated. Flemming had carried Amanda Reitzig in himself and glared at anyone who had come close to waking her.
He had heard Grier’s report of the constant delays caused by Amanda and, to the soldier’s surprise, Flemming had told him to leave before he did something he would later regret. Jesus, he thought. Have we come so far from where we were that we have forgotten our own humanity? He had ordered the fire stoked and was preparing to leave to prepare for the next part of their journey when Amanda opened her eyes and bolted upwards.
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and she went to push him away.
“It’s okay. They’re all being well looked after.”
“Your voice,” she looked at him intently and he suddenly became very conscious of his scarring and looked away. “It was you who carried me.” She raised a hand to turn his head back towards her.
“I have to prepare the train,” he began and went to rise but her hand brushed gently against his sca
rred features.
“You have beautiful eyes, do you know that?” she commented quietly and he was flummoxed for a moment. Most people either looked away when they saw his scarring or lied to him and told him it wasn’t that bad. He was used to their pity or revulsion. He wasn’t used to anyone telling him anything about him was beautiful.
“I...I have to get going,” he said lamely. “I don’t want Harris arriving and shouting at me for not being ready.” She smiled, rose with him, and looked around at her patients.
“I better get to work myself,” she commented and he headed towards the door. “Aidan.” She called after him and he turned. “If you find yourself with a few minutes to spare, come back and I’ll buy you a coffee.” He laughed and continued on to the door. He turned back at the last moment and she was still there smiling at him. He hadn’t seen a hint of revulsion in her eyes and he hopped down into the snow with more of a spring than before. He got all the way to the engine before a frown returned to his face. Where was Harris? He had been very clear in his instructions. If he wasn’t there by the time everyone was loaded he was to leave.
He looked into the distance, hoping to see the splashes of white from their snow gear but the darkness was absolute. He sighed as he pulled himself into the cab. He had already taken longer than he should to allow Harris the time to get here. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He reached out for the brake and released it. He checked the gauges, nervously watching for any spits of steam. He had suffered enough injury from this damn engine already.
He pulled on his gloves and released the pressure gently. The train jerked too fast and he eased the valve forward to compensate. The heat in the small cab was intense with the fire blasting its heat at his legs. The engine pulled ahead again, this time more gently and the carriages behind pulled against the forward momentum until their wheels moved. There was a lot of screeching from couplings that had not been used in awhile, but that would ease once they got going. He looked out one last time but couldn’t see anything. He sighed and reluctantly played out the valve, allowing the train to pick up speed.
Chapter 21
“What’s that?” Carter motioned for the jeep to stop. They had lost their way at the last junction. His driver had followed the signs instead of the map. The signs had been moved, either deliberately or had somehow become turned around. Whatever had happened they now found themselves lost and Carter was struggling to find their position on the map.
Behind him followed four jeeps and a half-track, all he had been able to cobble together. He had left the others with instructions to follow as soon as they were able. The tanks had set off at the same time, but he had left them far behind as he rushed towards the train station. He cursed. He would have gotten there fifteen minutes ago if his driver had followed the damn map. The screech he had heard sounded like metal scraping on metal. The train was leaving.
“Quick,” he shouted. “That way!” He indicated the direction where he had heard the sound. He moved to the back of the jeep, pushing the guard away from the .50 calibre machine gun and taking up position himself. The gun’s handles felt cold, even though the gloves he wore, but he ignored the chill as the jeep lurched forward. He still had time. The noise wasn’t that far away and he had the advantage of speed and surprise.
* * *
“The bastard is leaving,” McAteer shouted as they heard the engine bellow steam.
“That’s what I told him to do,” Harris panted. He was exhausted. Even with McAteer’s forced march technique they had been travelling all day without a rest and he could barely stand. For once he wished that he had not been so adamant in his orders to Aidan Flemming. They could see the train begin to pull from the station but they were still over two hundred yards away and coming from the rear. They had no chance of catching the train.
He stopped and watched as the train slipped into the darkness. So close. Suddenly he heard the screech of tyres and the rattle of a heavy machine gun. Ahead he could see the twin beams of headlights rush past them.
“Carter!” he hissed as he watched helplessly. The jeep sped past them and he had a brief glimpse of Carter leaning over the rear mounted gun. He brought his own weapon to bear but McAteer gripped his shoulder and pointed in the other direction. Harris was about to explode at McAteer when he heard the other engines. More jeeps. He saw McAteer grin and he felt some relief. If they could get control of one of those jeeps they might just catch the train after all.
The second jeep rushed past them and then the third before they were close enough and Harris felt impotent as he watched the vehicles race. Suddenly another engine growled to his left and he brought up his weapon and fired without conscious thought. Bullets sparked in the darkness as they ricocheted off metal. He kept his fire high to avoid hitting the tyres, but he risked missing the smaller target. Beside him the others took up their positions and fired at the jeep. Its lights exploded and he felt something cut the air close to his cheek. He heard one of his party grunt in pain, but he maintained his position and poured fire at the oncoming vehicle.
The jeep suddenly swerved to the side so violently that two wheels left the ground and the vehicle ended up on its side, careening across the surface. Sparks flew into the air and the screech of metal was so like a human scream that Harris couldn’t be sure it wasn’t. As abruptly as the jeeps appeared, they were gone into the distance. The last one rocked gently from side-to-side, making crinkling sounds as if someone were walking over eggs shells.
One of the thralls lay still quite a few yards back and two others lay limply in the main cab, both bodies so bent that there was no doubt that they were dead. Harris stared at the scene, lost for the moment. Blood thumped through his veins like a jack-hammer.
“Come on,” McAteer shouted and Harris suddenly shook himself from his reverie. Warkowski was already at the damaged jeep and, with help from three others, they were able to push the jeep back onto its wheels. Harris winced as he heard the crunch of metal. It looked a wreck but two of the soldiers were already prying the hood up and looking at the engine. Warkowski pulled the bodies from the jeep and McAteer laid the wounded man, Carey in the back. Harris lifted an eyebrow and McAteer shook his head gently. Another man who would die under his command. Harris began to say something when he heard a sharp slam and looked over at the men studying the engine.
“It won’t last long,” one of the men said, and Harris was ashamed to admit he didn’t know the man’s name. “But it should get us a few miles if we don’t press too hard.”
“I’ll settle for a mile pressing really hard,” McAteer said as he turned the wheel. The engine stuttered and then growled into life. The noise was welcomed by all the men and a small cheer rose from the team. Harris felt the ground beneath his feet begin to shake and then heard a low rumble in the distance, as though a storm was coming. He looked up in confusion but Warkowski was already looking along their trail. Harris pulled himself into the back of the jeep and used the added height to confirm his suspicion.
“Tanks,” he stated simply. There were too many of them to fit into the jeep but somehow they managed to squeeze in. Eight heavily armed and bulkily clad soldiers. McAteer slammed the jeep into gear and tore after the train.
For a moment Harris though the train had already pulled too far away, but they soon heard the chatter of machine guns and the deeper chugging of .50 calibres not too far away. He strained his sight and saw flashes in the distance and shouted to McAteer.
“About two hundred yards,” he pointed in the direction but McAteer had already seen it and merely nodded. Harris checked the load in his XM8, a much more difficult process with one hand as he clung to the jeeps roll bar with the other. The ground just ahead of them suddenly belched fire and smoke and pieces of asphalt reined on them. McAteer wrenched the wheel to the side to go around the hole that had appeared in the ground and soldiers shouted in surprise and fear as they scrambled to remain in the speeding vehicle.
“Fucking tanks,” McAteer shouted a
s he tried to bring the jeep under control. Men grabbed desperately for support and for each other as bodies tumbled across the interior of the jeep. Harris only heard the explosion after the shell hit the road and he looked back now and saw another flash of flame erupt from one of the tanks.
“Brace yourselves,” he shouted as the shell slammed into the road a few feet to their left. Their jeep was travelling so fast that they missed the majority of the shrapnel but one or two of the men shouted in pain. They couldn’t stop to check on them. If they did, they would all die. He checked the two men closest to him, one of them had a cut across his forehead and the other held his arm but both seemed able to hang on.
“Check the others,” he shouted over the noise of the jeep’s engine and the wind. He could see Warkowski standing with his feet apart using the .50 calibre to maintain his balance. Blood dripped down his face from a cut above his hairline and he looked maniacal as he stared ahead with the total concentration only a trained sniper could achieve. The sudden eruption of fire from the .50 calibre made Harris jump and he snapped his head back to the front of the jeep.
Chapter 22
Tony Grier watched as the twin beams sped after them.
“We’ve got company,” he shouted back to the others.
“Friendlies?” Peterson asked hopefully and sighed as Grier looked at him and laughed.
“What do you think?” They had planned for this eventuality when they had loaded the train. They had packed the train keeping the wounded and food supplies up towards the front and filling the carriages at the back with the heavier equipment. Grier had taken up position in the last two carriages with those who were fit enough and capable enough to protect their rear. Most of the carriage was filled with equipment and his soldiers sat or leaned against anything they could in the cramped quarters.
