by Derek Gunn
Outside of training, he kept to himself, and most of the people who knew of him kept their distance. They were pleased that he had helped them, but they were slow to give him their trust. Steele seemed to accept this, though Harris had argued with his colleagues relentlessly that they could not have survived without his help and that he deserved better. People tended to shrug and promise much, though things always seemed to go back to normal as soon as Harris moved away. Steele had, however, seemed to have formed a bond with one survivor.
The fledgling community still did not have a reliable system for keeping track of all those awakened—there were just so many after they had liberated Nero’s city. So it was possible that families still had loved ones alive and well but in a different area, though at this stage it was increasingly unlikely that anyone who had not found their family or friends would do so now.
Still there were many lost souls in their community, people who wandered the corridors searching for loved ones in the hope that they would just bump into them. One such soul was a small girl of around fourteen called April. She was mute, and as no one could sign, she was reduced to carrying a pad on which she would write her questions to everyone she met about her family. It was generally accepted that her family were dead, but the girl continued to search regardless and everyone was so busy rebuilding the community that no one really had time to sit her down and explain the situation. Steele, though, had made a huge effort and had spent a lot of time helping the girl search. The two had become a familiar sight as they passed between the numerous buildings that made up their new hub.
There had been many who whispered about sexual perversion and questioned Steele’s motives, and Harris was embarrassed to admit that the thought had crossed his own mind briefly, but he was certain now that there was nothing to it, just two lonely people who didn’t have anybody else and were comfortable with each other’s silence. Harris had talked to Sandra about April and her unhealthy search for a family that was quite probably dead, but she had smiled at him and told him that both April and Steele had stopped searching quite some time ago, soon after they had found each other, in fact. Now they were just happy to be doing something with someone who cared.
Whatever else he might do, Harris was convinced that Steele would never let anything harm April and he was prepared to accept the man at face value until he gave him a reason not to. He looked at his watch—there were still a few minutes yet…
“Shit,” Steele muttered as he heard the crackle of gunfire. “That’s too soon, something’s gone wrong.” He fixed the others with a level stare. “We’ll have to go anyway.”
He didn’t wait for their reply; really, they didn’t have a choice. They were committed now.
Chapter 3
Steele launched himself out of the protection of the slope and weaved his way towards the town in a low crouch. He kept his eyes on the guards ahead and his gun pointed at the closest, ready to shoot but holding fire until the last possible moment. There was still a huge advantage to keeping their attack on this side of the town as quiet as they could until they were in position, despite the noise coming from Sherman’s men. The guards may not be patrolling the fort’s battlements at this time, but, if the guards made it to those fortified positions before they managed to get closer, then they would be torn to pieces.
This was a small garrison town but the number of guards was inordinately large due to the nature and size of their charges. Steele had passed through this town on his way to crush the human resistance months ago and had noted at the time how critical its supplies were. On his way here he had crossed many states, and it had been a struggle to obtain the fuel he needed to get to his destination. Fuel was a rare commodity and he would have had no chance of getting any amount without the papers from Von Richelieu himself ordering all parties to provide any and all assistance to him.
Even with those papers, most towns could only afford small amounts, just enough to get him to the next town. Here, though, it seemed they had fuel to spare and he had obtained almost a half tank when he had promised that he would put in a good word for the camp’s officers with Von Richelieu on his next visit. Steele had spent a little time poking around while his bike was being fuelled and had seen the sheer volume of this cabal’s fuel wealth. If the council knew just how much fuel Von Kruger was hoarding they would commandeer a fair amount of it for their own purposes.
That was why Steele wanted to start here. Von Kruger could not really complain if fuel—that should not really exist in the first place—was stolen. But he would retaliate with a fury born of deep insult and grave loss. Just what they wanted him to do.
Steele wrenched his mind back to the present and threw himself flat as the first of the guards finally looked up and saw him. He fired as he lurched forward and saw the guard stagger back as his three-round burst took him in the chest in a staccato motion. The guard’s own shots cut the air where Steele had been only moments before. It was a mistake to think that, just because they were lazy, that the thralls were not well trained. They were in mortal fear of their masters and trained hard to show them that they should retain their master’s favor. Their enhanced strength and reactions were also far in excess of anything that humans could hope to attain. In fact, the only thing that gave humans any chance at all was the fact that the guards had had nothing to do for almost two years and had grown complacent.
Once they woke up to the danger it would be much harder to fight them. Of course, by that stage, they would be killing each other.
Hopefully.
Steele rolled as he hit the ground and came up firing at the guard beside the one he had killed. The XM8 Heckler and Koch bucked in his hands but the gas-powered action used to eject the spent cartridge and chamber the next one was far less violent than the recoil system employed by older models. The three-round burst took the thrall in a neat pattern in the chest, slamming hard into his heart and tearing the muscle to shreds. The thrall dropped to the ground without firing a shot.
Steele liked the new XM8, despite what the US military might have thought of the weapon before the vampires came. It was shorter than the old M16, but its special rifling meant that it lost no velocity. It used standard 5.56 NATO rounds, so they would have no trouble finding ammunition, and it came with an option of a 30 or 100 round magazines, so even their less accurate men would have to hit something.
It was light too. He was still surprised at how people who had never before fired a machine gun always seemed to say that it was heavier then they thought it would be. What did they expect? Anyway, the XM8 was as light as they come, and it also came with some very cool extras like laser sights and a single shot, under-barrel grenade launcher, for those who wanted to make more of a mess.
Steele had found a cache of the weapons, still in their boxes and destined to be returned to the factory. Steele was well aware of the history of the gun and the political reasons why it was never adopted by the military in pre-war America. He, though, had been delighted to get them as it made those people who could not really handle the weight and recoil of the other weapons they had far more useful.
A round passed close by his face and he shook himself. This wasn’t the time for daydreaming. He lowered his hand to the under-barrel and braced himself as the grenade launched from the weapon. Three thralls were sent into the air like dolls cast carelessly aside only to land in shattered heaps on the ground. Steele chambered another round and then returned to firing three-burst rounds at the thralls that poured from the barracks.
Harris weaved his way towards the main fuel depot, alert for any movement ahead. He ignored the barracks, trusting that Tanner and Steele would take care of any resistance from that area. He trusted also that Rodgers was still with him but didn’t take the time to check; he either was or he wasn’t—it was too late to abort now, anyway.
Bullets whizzed past him, one snatching at his jacket and scoring a shallow graze along his arm. Pain knifed through him and he felt something warm spread along his
arm. He threw himself down and fired blindly in the direction of the shots. He crawled towards a small ditch to the side of the road but the level of fire increased around him and forced him to stop and try and bury himself as far into the ground as he could. Dirt shot upwards in small plumes as each round sought him out but there was nowhere to go.
He wasn’t going to make it. He tried to crawl back but the bullets began to stitch across the ground, tracking him relentlessly. He only had seconds before the line reached him but he couldn’t see anywhere to take cover. The bullets were only inches from him when, suddenly, they stopped. For a brief moment silence reigned and Harris watched in shocked relief as the small cloud of dust from the last impact settled gently back to the ground. He looked up tentatively.
Nothing.
He couldn’t see the thrall who had been shooting at him but there was no answering fire when he lifted his head either. He looked back and saw Rodgers behind him. He looked as confused as Harris was. He heard a distant boom, a much deeper sound than the normal popcorn-like crackle of gunfire that came from where Sherman and the others were. The sound seemed to reverberate through the valley like rolling thunder and he suddenly made the connection. Warkowski and Dee were on the ball. He forced himself up and ran towards the wall surrounding the fuel depot and flattened himself against it as he waited on Rodgers to join him.
He peered around the corner and pulled backwards quickly as bullets thumped into the wall and sprayed shards of rock into his face.
“I can see one of them behind a rusted truck on the right but I can’t see the other one!” he shouted to Rodgers over the noise of the guards’ fire. “You take left and I’ll go right.”
He looked at his companion and saw him nod his understanding. Harris slid the loading mechanism back and then forward for the grenade launcher to lock a shell in place and turned back to the edge of the wall. He snapped his head round the corner, pulled the trigger and jumped back behind the wall as more bullets thumped into the wall. He heard the deep thump of the exploding grenade and then launched himself around the wall again. Bullets spat around him, causing the ground to erupt in small plumes of dry dust as he ran. Behind him he heard Rodgers grunt but there wasn’t time to check on him.
The rusted hulk of the truck where one of the thralls had been hiding was now a mass of smoking, tangled metal and no bullets came from that direction. One down, he thought. A bullet grazed his ear and he was sent spinning as nausea flooded through him and sent him tumbling to the ground. The bullets had come from behind a fuel truck over to his right and he stumbled back to his feet, fighting dizziness as nausea threatened to send him sprawling again to the dirt.
He rolled behind the still-smoking wreckage of the first thrall’s hiding place, ignoring the blood and viscera that littered the area. He took a second to let his stomach settle and took deep breaths as he fought the nausea. His head was splitting and it thumped painfully where the bullet had grazed him.
More shots drew his attention as the thrall continued to fire at Rodger’s helpless form. He had been hit almost as soon as he came around the wall and lay in a small depression in the ground. The thrall didn’t have a clear shot from his position but he was able to keep Harris from moving by sending the occasional round in his direction.
Any minute now more thralls could arrive from the building they had identified as a possible second barracks and it would all be over. They had hoped to take out the building before the alarm was raised, but now he imagined men streaming from the barracks and taking up positions around them. They had to get that thrall and catch the others before they got too entrenched.
The thrall was positioned behind a fuel truck, but if Harris used a grenade to flush him out the smoke from that much burning fuel would be seen in the next town and re-enforcements would soon be on their way. However, they weren’t set up for a sustained firefight either. What could he do?
He moved down the length of the ruined hulk, retching as he crawled through the gore of the dead thrall. He couldn’t see past the depot wall to the other barracks, but no thralls had appeared as yet so he might just have a bit of time. He heard the boom of a sniper rifle but the bullet crashed into the metal a good ten feet from the thrall’s position. It would seem that neither sniper had a clear shot, so it was up to him to flush the thrall out.
He rolled from his cover and slid in behind an empty barrel.
The high-pitched ping of a bullet ricocheting of the metal let him know that the thrall was well aware of his position. He was stuck. In the distance he could hear the crackle of gunfire. Somebody was still alive and fighting. He just wished he knew what was happening.
Steele launched a grenade through the door of the barracks and threw himself to the ground as wood and shrapnel flew through the air. The explosion deafened his ears and he didn’t hear the rumble of the vehicle behind him. He also didn’t hear the bullets that tore into the ground around him. In fact, the first he knew of the enemy behind him was the agony that shot through him as bullets slammed into his back and sent him sprawling to the ground. Dust filled his throat and he retched violently as waves of blackness swept over him, bringing with them blissful oblivion.
Sherman saw Steele fall as he hobbled from the communications building. He could see Tanner rush over to the fallen man despite the bullets that slammed into the ground around him. There were four thralls in a makeshift armored vehicle—it looked like an old pickup with metal panels welded around the body. Tanner fired back at the thralls but his bullets made little impact on the vehicle’s armor and one of the thralls had now shifted his fire towards him. He wouldn’t last long if he stayed where he was.
He wished now that he had attached the grenade launcher to his XM8, but the added weight spoilt his aim and he had left it in his pack. Bullets spat at the ground around him as two more of the thralls in the vehicle saw him and turned their attention toward him. He pivoted to the side and threw himself toward the end of the building but his injured leg collapsed and he fell some way short of the intended cover.
Bullets tore into the ground around him and one nicked his shoulder as he scrambled desperately towards the wall. He shouted for Mitchell to take out the vehicle and hoped the man heard him; Mitchell wasn’t that bright and would probably stay there all day with a rocket launcher in his hands and not fire until actually ordered to. He sighed in relief as he heard the hollow pop as the grenade shoot from the barrel. Good boy, he thought. There were two more hollow pops before the first grenade exploded, followed by two more explosions so close together they sounded like one sustained peal of thunder.
Sherman lifted his head and saw the burning wreckage of the vehicle. There was no damage to the ground on either side of the vehicle so all three grenades had obviously hit the target; he really would have to give his men a lecture on conserving ammunition. For now, though, he merely nodded at the men and allowed them to grin happily at their handiwork.
“Mitchell, see if Steele is still alive,” he ordered and motioned to the other two to follow him as he loped toward the other barracks, cursing with each step as the pain in his leg jarred with each impact.
Harris heard the huge explosion and then saw a large plume of smoke writhe into the air, staining the clear sky like a beacon demanding attention.
“Shit,” he mumbled. The smoke would be seen for miles. They had just run out of time. He chambered a grenade and sent it sailing towards the fuel truck. The resulting blast of heat that seared across the ground scorched the area around him and he felt the heat sear through his clothes. The depot was filled with thick, cloying smoke but he broke from his cover and ran toward were he judged the barracks to be. He couldn’t see anything as he ran and he trusted to luck to get him there without serious injury.
He broke from the smoke as if moving through a veil and suddenly he found himself staring at three thralls who were just as surprised as he was. They stopped their advance to bring their guns to bear but Harris just kept running, and he contin
ued towards the thralls spraying bullets in front of him as he ran. The thralls took a moment to get their weapons level and another to aim and in that time two of them had been hit by Harris’s wild fire. The third though, had him dead to rights and even spared the time to grin at him before he pulled the trigger. Harris braced himself for the pain but instead the thrall’s head suddenly disappeared in a shower of blood and bone. The tale-tale deep boom rolled across the valley and Harris promised a kiss to whoever had fired the shot. He hoped it was Dee Ratigan, but either way he was going to kiss one of his snipers for their amazing skill.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and he threw himself into a forward roll and came up ready to fire. Sherman staggered on his injured leg as he saw Harris aim at him and he hastily raised his hand in greeting and Harris sighed as he removed his finger from the trigger.
“Rodgers is back there!” he shouted and Sherman sent Ortega back into the smoke and then hobbled over to Harris.
“Not exactly to plan, eh?” he grinned as they watched the plume of smoke roil upwards.
“Is it ever?” Harris replied simply. “Any casualties?”
“Steele took a few and went down. I sent Mitchell to check on him.”
Harris nodded and then turned towards the barracks.
“Are there any still in there?” Sherman asked.
Harris shrugged, ratcheted the slide on the launcher and sent a grenade in through the window. A few seconds later the building disappeared in a shower of debris.
“Not any more,” he mumbled. “Come on, we’ve work to do,” he added coldly.
Chapter 4
