by Derek Gunn
He felt arms grip him and help him over. He looked up and saw a young kid looking down at him.
“Are you okay?” he heard the boy ask and he began to reply but coughed instead. He looked around him, searching for his men, but both of them lay sprawled at the top of the fuel pile, their bodies torn apart from the heavy calibre fire.
“Shit,” he sighed as he struggled to his feet. “Can you get their weapons, kid,” he asked through gritted teeth. He bent down painfully as he retrieved his own and then he strode without a backward glance towards the engine compartment.
He was already reloading as he walked and fired relentlessly as he came to the entrance to the compartment. He had had enough of these bastards. He planted his feet and emptied the clip, reloading and firing again. Bullets slammed around him, one struck his shoulder and shattered the bone, spinning him around and almost sending him out the other side of the compartment. The .50 calibre was silent though and he could see the gunner slumped over the weapon. The bastard was hurt but was already pulling himself up again. Grier tried to rise but his legs wouldn’t support him. He looked down and saw a wound in his stomach. He hadn’t even felt that one. Even now his shoulder was throbbing painfully but his stomach was numb. He saw the kid approach him and he tried to wave him away but his vision clouded and he fell forward.
* * *
Aidan Flemming snatched up the machine gun after the soldier was shot and he continued to fire at the jeep. The thrall was already pulling the long barrel back into line, though his wounds were slowing his actions. Aidan had never fired a machine gun before and the bullets sprayed wide, some of them even striking the inside of the compartment and ricocheting back.
The thrall pulled the trigger and Aidan froze. He looked straight at the barrel and it seemed to fill his entire world. And then he was falling and hitting his head on one of the dials. He was groggy but saw a figure loom above him. He tried to clear his vision but the darkness persisted. And then the figure was staggering like a puppet and the noise of the heavy weapon filled the tiny compartment.
* * *
Harris watched as Phil Regan crashed into Aidan Flemming and drove him to the floor a moment before the bullets raked the air above them. He was genuinely shocked. What was Regan doing here? He would never have thought that Regan had it in him to risk his safety for anyone. As he clambered over the fuel compartment Harris tried to shout at Regan to stay down but the man seemed groggy from the fall and he began to get to his feet. The bullets caught him as soon as he got to his knees and he was sent back into the engine like a discarded doll.
Harris fired at the jeep. He caught a glimpse of Carter in the bed of the vehicle firing the .50 calibre weapon and then the jeep was swerving around an approaching poll, diving out onto wasted ground and bouncing madly on the uneven surface. A human would have lost control of the wheel over that surface but the thrall driver held solidly and brought the jeep towards the engine again. Harris used the moment to slide down into the compartment.
He took up a position beside the half-sized metal shielding where the driver would normally stand and looked down the track. Bullets slammed into the compartment again, pinking off metal and crashing into glass and rubber causing spits of steam to escape out of multiple places like a mechanical beast on its last legs.
Harris went deaf with the noise and it took a moment to realise that the firing had stopped. Taking the opportunity, he rose quickly and brought his own XM8 to bear. He had a moment of satisfaction when he saw Carter’s face drop as he suddenly appeared only feet away from him. And then he fired.
Carter fell to the bed of the truck so quickly that Harris almost missed him entirely. He did see at least one bullet strike home, and then he pulled his weapon forward to hit the driver. His weapon clicked empty but his last bullet struck the thrall driving the jeep in the hand. It wouldn’t normally have bothered the thrall that much but he had been in the process of avoiding another pole at the time and he over compensated, pulling the wheel too far with his good hand and sending the jeep into a mad spin.
Harris watched, hoping the vehicle would roll and tear Carter to pieces, but the vehicle remained on its wheels as it spun, finally coming to a stop some distance behind. Another day, he thought grimly and pulled himself back into the compartment to check on the others.
Aidan was already up and trying to maintain the pressure that was fast escaping from the multiple damage points in the controls. Danny Wilkins and his companion were already shovelling coal and wood madly into the fire, keeping their eyes purposely away from the bodies on the floor. The engine started to pull to the side, sending him tottering backwards and Flemming rushed towards the brake to compensate. He heard him say something about the track bending and having to slow the train or they’d derail but there was nothing Harris could do so he made his way over to Regan.
The man was already dead, his eyes staring sightlessly at him. There would be no happy ending for Phil Regan. Did he even know that he had saved them all? If Flemming had been killed they may as well have jumped off the train and surrendered. They owed their escape to the very last man Harris would ever have thought capable of such an act. He actually felt a tear drip onto his cheek and a low laugh cracked his face. ”Jesus,” he thought. “I’m actually crying over Phil Regan. The world has officially gone mad.”
“Rest in peace, Phil,” he added as he reached out and closed the man’s eyes. He rose stiffly to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“How are we…” his question was interrupted by a huge boom and then a louder explosion. “Ah Jesus, what now?” he muttered as he ran to the edge of the compartment and looked back down their trail.
The train was travelling the last distance before it cleared the city but it had to follow a few hundred yards perpendicular to the city before the track headed out of the city limits and to safety. In the distance, Harris could see that the tanks had finally gotten into a position and were at the very limit of their range. Another flare spat in the darkness and a shell flew over the train by a few feet and slammed into a building behind them. Fire surged upwards and bricks flew in every direction, some showering the battered train as it passed on.
Shit, we’re like ducks in a fairground, he thought bitterly. The train still had another few hundred yards to go before it would be shielded by a line of buildings. If they could make it that far then they would be safe. But it was a huge distance to travel and the tanks were already finding their range.
* * *
Philip Warkowski pushed at the jeep and finally managed to roll the vehicle enough to free his leg. He tried to rise but his ankle wouldn’t support him so he looked around instead for McAteer. He found him lying in the snow some distance away. His breathing was ragged but his eyes were open as Philip loomed over him.
“Did they get away?” McAteer asked and Warkowski looked into the distance, squinting into the darkness.
“Not yet…” Suddenly a loud bang seemed to slam into them like a physical blow and Warkowski was sent backwards into the snow.
“What the fuck?” McAteer muttered trying to rise to see what was happening but he couldn’t move his arms.
“Tanks,” Warkowski spat angrily. “They haven’t a hope.” Warkowski hobbled back towards the jeep, kicking at lumps of metal, searching for anything he could use. The .50 calibre was mangled but still attached to the swivel arm, not that it would have helped against a tank anyway. Might as well throw stones at them.
He was about to give up when he saw a long metal box lying some distance away. Another boom from the tanks lent speed to his hobbling and he crossed quickly to the box. The lock had been broken when it had fallen from the jeep and he lifted the lid. Warkowski knew everything there was to know about specialist sniper weapons but personal mortars were not his forte. He had no idea what the model might be but he could recognise a bazooka when he saw one. He lifted the weapon, pursing his lips at its lack of weight. Surely this couldn’t take out a tan
k.
“Only one way to find out,” he lifted the weapon to his shoulder and hobbled back towards McAteer.
“You’ll want to hit it from the rear,” McAteer grinned when he saw the weapon. “Should punch right through if you get close enough.”
Warkowski nodded and bent down to lift McAteer onto his shoulder.
“Hey,” McAteer complained, “leave me. You’ll be better on your own.”
“Leave no one behind.” Warkowski said simply and began to hobble towards the tanks.
Three more shells had been fired by the time they got close enough. He could see that one of the carriages in the middle of the train had been torn apart and flames surged into the air where a shell had hit it. Fortunately for the humans the carriage was made of such light material that the shell had passed through most of the carriage before exploding so the damage had been less than expected. Warkowski could see that the thralls were diverting their aim towards the front of the train where the heavy metal of the engine offered a better target. The air was filled with the whirring of the servos as the long guns were centred.
Warkowski brought the Bazooka up to his shoulder and pressed the small button on the handle. The shell whooshed out and crossed the short distance to the tank. There was a huge explosion and the rear of the tank lifted slightly. The shell ploughed through the lesser armour at the rear and exploded inside the bowels.
The tanks had been lined up so close together that the two tanks beside the one he had hit were buffeted by the explosion and their aim was jarred. Only one of the tanks got a clean shot away. Warkowski had thrown down the weapon and raised his hands as angry thralls ran towards them. It took time before unconsciousness overcame him. Meanwhile the thralls took out their frustration on both him and McAteer.
* * *
Harris saw one of the tanks suddenly explode in the distance.
“Warkowski or McAteer are still alive,” he shouted to Flemming but the man’s attention was focused on the train trying to coax everything he could from the engine to get them to the safety of the building line. Harris looked back and saw a final flare of light and knew they had at least one more shell to worry about before they would be safe.
He strained his eyes, trying to gauge its trajectory. Had Warkowski done enough? And then the shell slammed into ground just in front of the train. Rock and dust showered the compartment and the train shuddered as it trundled over the damaged track. A screeching, tearing sound filled the air and Harris brought both his hands to his ears as the wheels struggled to pass over the damaged metal of the rails. Harris leaned out and saw the wheels pass over the mangled rail. The shell had hit the ground rather than the actual rails but the upheaval from the explosion had shifted the metal, grinding it against itself and buckling the rail on the left side.
“If we are carrying enough speed we might just pass over the damage.” Flemming was leaning over him, looking at the damage with a worried frown. Flemming shrugged as the train shuddered, threatening to shake their teeth from their mouths. And then they were passed the damage. But how would the carriages fare?
* * *
Robert Seager felt the rumble run through the train. It was as if the train were shaking itself apart. He felt April’s hand in his as she squeezed so tightly the bones grated against each other. He wanted to pull away but it must be terrifying for her. For hours now she had been in the middle of mayhem. Bullets had flown through the carriages, people had flown at them, threatening to crush them beneath their stampede, and now the carriage was shaking so hard that it might break apart. And all of this had happened in silence for her.
They had come aboard the train with Harris and had remained in the last carriage when they had seen the amount of wounded. He was armed but wasn’t really that good with a machine gun.
He had wanted to follow Harris, however—had wanted to with all his heart. He still felt he had to prove himself to the adults. They saw him as a child and he needed to show them that he wasn’t afraid. But April needed him and he wasn’t about to leave her on her own. So he had stayed.
The noise stopped suddenly. They were passed whatever had caused the rumbling and he looked up from his patient to see April looking at him. She smiled. Even in such surroundings her smile brought a smile to his face. They were in the second to last carriage now, having moved from person to person administering whatever aid they could. A lot of the soldiers in the carriages had died, but they managed to dress the wounds of at least twenty who would have bled out otherwise. Surely Harris would see the worth in that.
The carriage seemed to be slowing. His smile faltered as he looked towards the front. He rose slowly. They were definitely slowing down. April was beside him as they moved to the door. He reached out and opened the door. The train was pulling away, leaving them behind. Somehow they had become separated. Had the damaged track caused the coupling to unhinge? He looked up at the main body of the train and saw a figure in the shadows turn quickly and disappear into the carriage.
Someone had uncoupled them deliberately. His face went white with shock. Why would anyone do that? He looked at April and he could see that she had seen the figure also. He mouthed the word ‘who’. Her fingers blurred briefly and his eyes were drawn back to her face. Her eyes were hard and cold. They knew who the traitor was. The one who had caused the death of Steele and Jack and so many others.
“Jesus,” he muttered. They had to warn the others.
* * *
“Some carriages have come loose,” Harris shouted back to Aidan Flemming.
“Impossible,” Flemming yelled over the noise of the engine. “There’s a lock in place that can only be released manually. The vibrations wouldn’t have done that.”
Harris looked at the slowing carriages. It was too far to see clearly but he was certain he could see two figures on the ledge.
“There were over a hundred people in those carriages,” Harris cursed. “Shit, those carriages had all our heavy equipment as well. There’s no way we can survive without them.”
He looked over at Flemming but the man had no answer to give so he shrugged and went back to guiding the train onward. Harris knew they couldn’t stop either. The tanks would destroy them if they stopped, let alone tried to reverse to re-couple the carriages again. They would have to leave them. For now. Harris smashed his hand against the metal siding. He looked back again and saw the dark shapes of the tanks approach the two carriages. Thralls swarmed towards the lighted boxcars like bees to nectar and then his view was blocked and they were gone.
“We’ll come back,” he muttered so low it came out more like a growl.
* * *
The figure closed the door and mingled with the rest of the people in the carriage. No-one had noticed him coming in from the other carriage. They would travel faster now but the main point of the risk they had taken was to remove the heavy equipment from the communities use. It had all worked out perfectly. Only one thing nagged though. Just as he had opened the door the light from this carriage had illuminated him briefly. He couldn’t be certain, but had that mute bitch seen enough to make an identification?
Just as well she was beyond help.
* * *
Carter stormed onto the carriage. His first thought had been to lash out and kill every human still alive. But he forced himself to calm down. He knew Harris well enough to know the bastard wouldn’t rest until he had rescued this pathetic rabble. The huge bastard who had blown up his tank was already in custody, a few broken bones and such courtesy of his thralls. They had been quite annoyed at him and it had taken quite a bit of persuading to stop them from killing him. But it was worth it. He had seen that one before, when Harris had left him in the helicopter. That mountain of a human had been with him. He must be a friend or, at the very least, a trusted Lieutenant.
Harris would never leave the man to rot here. It just wasn’t in him. All he had to do was wait and he would come to him. It had been a long and frustrating day and night but he smiled reg
ardless. The carriage was totally destroyed but piles of equipment were stacked in every possible area. A lot of the equipment turned out to be metal panels and cogs that obviously combined to build something important. A generator probably. But his attention was on the smaller boxes in the corner. Only the most important supplies would have been carried on the humans’ desperate journey.
He pulled at the first box, leveraging the thin cover off. Inside he saw ammunition stacked into neat rows. He bent to retrieve one of the human’s weapons on the floor and studied it. He pressed the stud and released the magazine. Four bullets left. The bullets were the same make and size but each of the bullets in the box had a splash of red on the side. He smiled as he called to two thralls who were shifting through the debris.
He finally had a sample of their special bullets. The bullets that could kill vampires.
“Yes, not a bad day after all.”
The End.
Table of Contents
Dedication
The Attack
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
The Aftermath
