by Derek Gunn
“Take positions.”
A number of men and women nodded and made their way to the roof of the carriages while others smashed out the windows and waited. A blast of cold air suddenly filled the car and Grier shivered. If he was honest, it wasn’t just the cold that made him shiver. He walked out to the rear of the carriage and stood on the narrow step above the coupling. He braced himself in position by locking his knee against the waist high barrier and looked out behind them. The train maintained a fairly straight route out of the station but a road ran directly beside it for quite a distance. Obviously used to ferry maintenance crews in times gone by, it gave their pursuers a perfectly straight road parallel to them for another half mile or so. Plenty of distance to catch the train and kill or maim many of the people packed into the carriages ahead.
He could see two fast moving vehicles, jeeps he thought, eating up the distance. There might be more behind them but it was hard to tell for certain. He brought his weapon up but a sudden barrage of fire made him drop to the ground before he could fire. He lost his balance and almost fell from the narrow ledge. Bullets sparked as they struck the metal around him. The noise was deafening as the heavy calibre fire continued. He thought he could hear answering fire in the carriage behind him but he couldn’t be certain. Everything seemed to revolve around this small ledge and the bullets that struck chaotically. He could hear screaming and only realised that it came from him when his throat burned with pain.
He finally managed to bring his weapon up and began to fire back. Despite his precarious position, his life-long training took over and he laid down three round bursts at the fast approaching lead vehicle. One of the lights shattered and the jeep moved violently to the side but then a sustained barrage replied to his and he was forced to roll back into the carriage for cover.
The carriage was filled with the smell of cordite and his whole world was alive with the bedlam of noise from the surrounding weapons and the answering fire from the thralls.
He joined Peterson at a window as one of the jeeps sped past their carriage and continued up along the train. A thrall stood manning the .50 calibre in the bed of the jeep and he poured fire into the carriages as they powered past. He tried to track the jeep but the heavy bullets from the .50 calibre tore into the carriage and sent him diving for cover. Screams filled the air as bullets and shrapnel tore through the cars. Grier tried to bury himself in the floor, screaming in terror as the world went to shit around him.
Jesus! And I thought I was given the easy task guarding the wounded.
* * *
Aidan Flemming cursed at the engine as he watched the pressure build slowly.
“Fucking heap of junk,” he shouted at the dials as the needle rose. The engine was still building speed. He looked out the side window and saw the single light of an approaching vehicle come level with the last carriage. He could hear the dull chatter as the thrall in the bed of the jeep tore the carriage apart. There didn’t seem to be any fire coming from the carriage, but figures on the roof tried their best to take out the vehicle. However, what seemed a good idea when they were stationary didn’t appear to be working so well in reality. There was little fire coming from the roof as the figures were finding it difficult to anchor themselves against the rushing wind. He saw a figure fall from the roof and disappear into the darkness.
The jeep continued on unmolested as it poured fire into the carriage. Flemming willed the train to gain speed. If the jeep came level to where most of the people sat cramped in the last few carriages the slaughter would be terrible.
“More coal,” he shouted at Danny Wilkins and his helper, and the two boys shovelled as if the devil himself was on their tail. They couldn’t afford to use so much fuel so early but if they didn’t gain speed quickly there would be no one left to save anyway.
* * *
Amanda Reitzig heard the gunfire and pressed her face against the glass. She couldn’t see anything, only the reflection of her own pale features. The rear door to the carriage suddenly burst inwards and one of the soldiers struggled in with someone slumped in his arms. The two figures were liberally splashed with blood, the red particularly stark against the white of their snow gear.
She rushed to the pair, taking the wounded figure from the soldier and was surprised that the victim was so light. She pulled at the figure’s clothes to examine the wounds and realised that the soldier was a woman. A girl really. Jesus, she couldn’t be more than nineteen. The other soldier touched her on the shoulder and she looked up at the man’s swaddled features.
“How is she?” His voice was muffled under his scarf.
“I don’t know,” Amanda replied a little more icily than she intended. She looked down at the wounds and saw the girl had been hit in the side and the shoulder. The blood was seeping rather than spurting so, unless the bullets had hit something critical, she might just make it.
She could see the worry and indecision in the man’s eyes. At that moment she hated the vampires and thralls more than ever. When would it all end? Suddenly she thought of Aidan Flemming standing unprotected at the front of the train and wondered if she would ever feel his lips on hers, or was the brief feel of his arms around her as he carried her to safety all she was destined to have. “I’ll look after her,” she said and reached for the soldier. He nodded and left so suddenly that she was left with her arm clutching the air.
* * *
Father Jonathon Reilly struggled to make his way through the throng of frightened people towards the rear of the train. The thralls were pounding at them from both sides and a steady stream of panicked people was trying to force their way to the front. The noise of the gunfire and the screams of the wounded only served to spur those fleeing onwards.
“Please,” he struggled to be heard over the panicked cries but he was as ineffectual as a small rock against the tide. “Please, you will crush those ahead. There is no room.” The thralls were slaughtering those in the rear with their heavy weapons and their own soldiers were being torn apart. All their careful planning had been for nothing. What could they do? He heard the gunfire grow louder and his shoulders slumped as death approached relentlessly.
* * *
Harris watched in frustration as he saw the jeeps catch and begin to overtake the sluggish train.
“Faster,” he shouted at McAteer but didn’t hear the man’s growled response. Warkowski continued to send round after round towards the jeeps ahead. Harris paled as he imagined the damage the .50 calibre machine guns were doing as they tore into the carriages. Those walls were so thin that the bullets would rip right through and tear anyone within to pieces.
He heard another deep boom behind him and another shell exploded close enough to worry them but not close enough to injure them. In fact, the explosion tore into the tracks fifty yards or so ahead. The tanks were being left behind, but they were angling their guns higher to gain more range. If they managed to dial in the correct elevation they could take the train out with one shot to the lead carriage.
He wondered briefly if he should have stayed back and nullified the risk of the tanks rather than trying to catch the train. It was too late now either way. And besides, the train needed them to take out the jeeps. They would have to hope that they could outpace the shells before the tanks became a factor.
There were three jeeps remaining; two had taken the route to the left of the train and one to the right. Harris could see the track veer to the left ahead in a slow angle. The road to the right seemed to run out a short distance ahead but a narrow stretch followed the tracks for some distance.
“Go to the left,” Harris shouted over the howl of the wind.
* * *
Grier leaned out and emptied the remainder of his magazine at the jeep as it moved along the length of the train. Some of the bullets struck the vehicle but he couldn’t see if he had hit anyone. The bastard in the bed of the jeep continued to fire into the carriages regardless so he assumed he’d missed. He looked back and saw another j
eep approaching. This one had no lights but he could see that the vehicle was packed with figures.
He pulled himself back in and reloaded. He’d make sure he took out a few of these bastards if it was the last thing he ever did.
“Everyone this side. There’s another one coming.”
He saw far fewer soldiers make their way across to his side than he had hoped. Many of them held limbs or hobbled across to the window. Far too many of them were splashed in red as if some madman had come in and thrown buckets of paint liberally around the carriage.
He leaned out the window and brought his weapon up. The soldiers in this jeep were much easier to see. The stupid bastards were all wearing white. Now why hadn’t the others obliged them that way? He took aim but something held his finger locked. White gear! Why were these guys…
“Hold fire,” he shouted. “They’re ours. Jesus, don’t fire.”
* * *
Harris ignored the wind tearing at his eyes. Above him Warkowski continued to fire at the jeeps ahead but to little effect. Harris brought his own weapon up and fired his first burst. Still too far, he thought and the frustration gnawed at him. They were too heavy with so many in the jeep, but they couldn’t afford the time to stop and let them out either.
“Drop back and pull up to the last carriage,” he shouted to McAteer over the noise and the soldier looked at him for a moment in confusion before nodding. The jeep bounced on the surface of the road, each impact shaking the bones of everyone. While the track was technically a road it was poorly maintained and the pot holes were tearing the suspension apart. Of course, it didn’t help that they had rolled the jeep earlier or that they were over loaded. The rear of the train suddenly appeared to his right and McAteer held the jeep as steady as he could. The front left tyre was running so close to the tracks that Harris had to wrench his eyes away. If they touched, they would all die but he couldn’t worry about everything.
He reached out but the jeep veered sharply to the left as McAteer was forced to go around a wooden pylon and then brought the vehicle back in line. Harris didn’t waste time glaring at McAteer. He reached out again, glancing quickly up along the train to make sure there were no more obstructions. His fingers brushed the metal railing and, without further thought, he leapt. For a brief moment he thought that he was falling but then his leg touched the narrow ledge and he pitched himself forward, landing in a heap and nearly tumbling through the other side. He lay panting briefly as he recovered, but then the heavy chatter of the .50 calibre ahead galvanised him into action. He waved to McAteer who merely nodded as he lined up the jeep for the next man and then Harris rushed into the rear carriage.
He stopped in shock.
The carriage was utterly destroyed. A line of heavy calibre bullets had torn through the walls and sent metal and wood panelling everywhere. The bulk of the carriage was taken up with equipment and much of it was torn apart. But worst of all were the bodies. Everywhere he looked he could see a body, either dead or too injured to move. Their white weather gear was saturated in red.
“They’ve gone through to try and stop the jeeps,” he heard the low voice to his left and looked down to see Peterson lying in a pool of blood. Harris went to kneel beside him but the man waved his arm weakly.
“Go,” he managed. “There’s nothing you can do anyway. Harris gripped his XM8 so tightly that his hands went whiter than his all-weather gear. He nodded and rushed through to the next carriage. As he ran, the jeeps continued to fire ahead of him.
* * *
April Cassavettes snatched at Robert Seager’s hand as he pulled her onto the carriage. As soon as she left the speeding jeep the vehicle swerved to the left and disappeared from view as it raced to catch the thralls. April’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her condition had enforced her to be very conservative in her activities. Daredevil feats had never been on the agenda before and would never be again if she could help it.
She felt the stability of the ledge beneath her feet but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Seager’s arm. The door was narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate one person on their own so they moved awkwardly into the carriage. She didn’t care. She couldn’t hear the roar of the wind but she could feel it snatching at her like hundreds of tiny hands poking and pulling. She couldn’t hear the rumble of the train racing over the tracks but the vibrations were enough to terrify her. Seager was her anchor in this frightening, silent world. Besides she liked the reassuring feel of his hand in hers.
When she entered the carriage she stopped and Seager was brought to an unexpected stop with her. There was blood everywhere, pooled on the floor like mini lakes, and splashed liberally against the walls. Or what remained of the walls anyway. There were bodies everywhere. Some lay still and others moved or groaned, cried or screamed. She saw the soldier ahead of them falter but then gather himself and rush onwards to the next cabin.
Robert began to ease her forward, following the soldier but she pulled against him and spread her arm out taking in the scene. She let Seager’s hand go and her fingers blurred. Seager looked at her fingers and then up into her eyes. He looked over at the door the other soldiers had just disappeared through and then sighed.
She felt a swell of pride and love for him as he nodded and laid down his machine gun. They would be of more use here helping the injured than rushing headlong into the chaos.
Chapter 23
Tony Grier tumbled into the carriage as the bullets tore through the walls above him. He had run through the train trying to ignore the carnage. Now, finally, he had caught up with the jeeps but the bullets just kept coming. How did they have so much ammunition? Suddenly the firing stopped and he threw himself at the window, crashing through the glass and firing almost in one motion. The second jeep had pulled out from the train as it negotiated a series of obstructions close to the track and the vehicle was forced to leave the train’s side and struggle over dirt. The thrall in the bed of the truck was forced to stop firing and hang on for all he was worth.
Grier shouted as loud as he could as the jeep began to angle back towards the train, and he emptied a whole clip into the approaching vehicle. He watched as the thrall at the .50 calibre took a number of hits and his body shuddered. The bastard didn’t die though. By the time the jeep made it back to the narrow road the thrall was pulling himself back into position. Grier slammed another clip in and aimed lower, at the thralls legs. The XM8 had low recoil but still his aim was pulled awry; the motion of the train didn’t help either. The bullets struck the thrall high in the leg and the bastard lost his footing and fell from the jeep to roll over and over on the ground. Grier took a moment to look back as he reloaded and saw the thrall slowly begin to get back to his feet.
“Fucker.” He screamed and then saw another jeep approach the thrall. He saw the thrall struck by a .50 calibre. McAteer, he thought as a wan smile cracked his face. It has to be McAteer.
* * *
Carter cursed as the thrall behind him fell from the bed of the jeep. There was only himself and the driver left now, so he reluctantly made his way from the front seat into the bed of the jeep. The vehicle bounced over a pot hole and he shouted at the driver to be careful but his words were ripped away by the wind. He snapped out a hand and griped the heavy weapon’s stalk like a lifeline. He didn’t move for a minute as he recovered from his scare. The train was gaining speed and the road only ran for another few hundred yards. They had to take out the engine or the humans would get away. There was a jeep in front of him, its heavy gun tearing into the carriages and he knew there was another one on the other side of the train.
“Forget about the carriages,” he shouted at the driver. “Get me level with the engine.” The driver nodded and the jeep lurched faster. Carter held on to the .50 calibre as he struggled to rise. The engine compartment wasn’t far ahead and the pulsing light from the fire urged him on.
* * *
Sandra Harrington woke to noise. People surged around her, screaming and sho
uting as they tried to force their way forward. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was falling as the base was attacked. Had they survived? What was that strange monotonous clacking? She felt that she was moving but it wasn’t like being in a truck or a car.
She tried to sit up but her head swam dangerously, and she fell back on the pillow. She tried to talk but her throat was so dry that all she managed was a dry croak. Had they been captured? Where was Peter? Questions swam in her head and she tried again to rise.
“Welcome back,” she heard a voice to her left but couldn’t place it. She turned her head but the figure beside her was so muffled with scarves and cold weather gear it was hard to see who it was. She certainly sounded young. “We weren’t too sure if you’d wake up or not. I’ll get Amanda.”
“Peter?” she managed to croak and the figure stopped for a second.
“I’ll get Amanda,” the figure repeated and then disappeared.
Sandra laid there, her mind swirling with every worst case scenario she could imagine. It took a while before Amanda came over and her hurried explanation trumped every nightmare she had come up with.
