by Derek Gunn
“After Regan accused me of basing my theories on flawed grounds I went back to all my research.” Harris nodded as he leaned against a nearby desk and settled in to hear his friend out.
“At the time I was doing the research I was looking at its effects on humans, you understand.”
Harris nodded and shrugged as if to say that there was no other way to look at it.
“This time, I studied the effect the serum was having on the blood itself, rather than its ultimate effect on humans.” Harris raised his eyebrow but stayed silent, happy to let the diminutive man come to the point in his own time.
“The blood is permanently damaged by the serum over time, the cells themselves are changed.”
Harris leaned forward. “Are we still in danger?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Smith sighed hurriedly. “Once we clean the serum from the body the new blood that the body generates washes the effects clean over time. This explains why the newly weaned people are so tired for such a long time, though. Now I know about it I can develop a few pick-me-ups to help with the blood re-generation.”
“That’s great, Pat, but it hardly requires a meeting with Regan at this stage.”
“Give me some credit, dear boy,” Smith clucked as he laid the paper on the shelf and stared directly at Harris. “We are not, as you well know, the only ones who depend on blood.”
“The Vampires,” Harris whispered.
“Exactly so.” Smith agreed. “Based on the research I used in developing your ‘magic bullets’ I have applied the same theorems. I also had some frozen samples to try out. I’m afraid that these cannot be relied upon for truly accurate data as the parasitic cells quickly die off outside the vampire’s body. But, as with the coating on the bullets, we know that anything affecting these cells has a knock on effect on their metabolism.”
“Are you telling me that they’re sick?” Harris tried to keep his heart from racing.
“If I’m right,” Smith sat back on his chair, “not only are they sick—they’re dying.”
“Holy shit!”
“So all we have to do is sit back and wait for them to die.”
The words seemed to hang in the air in the council room as Pat Smith finished explaining his latest findings.
This was exactly the reaction Harris had expected from Regan, and the one reaction he could not accept.
“It’s not as easy as that.” Harris rose and addressed the council. Everyone was there, including Sandra, despite the doctor’s frown and threat to rescind her pass for that evening’s dinner. Harris looked across at the new members that would now comprise their new government. He didn’t recognize many of them and he despaired for their community as he looked along the sea of uncaring faces.
“What do you mean?” Regan eased back in his chair. “If they’re dying then we don’t have to risk our lives in these foolish forays of yours.”
“I can’t predict which will happen first.” Smith leaned forward and tried to put across the information as succinctly as possible. “The serum changes the human blood and adapts the coagulation agents in the blood itself. Literally the blood will no longer sustain the parasitic cells. First the vampires will begin to become more prone to outbursts of violence as the cells begin to die off. They will need to feed more regularly and that will only accelerate the symptoms. They will become far more violent and less rational until; finally, they will begin to die. But first they will be driven mad by the constant thirst.” He paused as the stress of overwork began to take its toll. Harris put a hand on his shoulder and finished for him.
“What Pat means is that if the serum does not kill the human prisoners then the bloodbath created by the vampires’ insanity certainly will. If we wait it out then there’s a big chance that all the human prisoners will be slaughtered before the serum even has a chance to kill the vampires.”
The room descended into silence as everyone considered the information. Harris looked along the faces of the older council members and could see their understanding. He looked over at Regan and could see no compassion there at all.
“So what would you do, Harris?” Patricia Lohan asked as she leaned forward and placed her chin on the back of her crossed hands. Her movements were lithe, her smile seductive, but the coldness she exuded ruined any façade she may have wanted to portray. Harris was suddenly reminded of a cat watching a cornered mouse and he paused for a moment before answering.
“We should warn them.”
“What?” Ragan exploded from his chair. “Are you actually advising that we try and save the murdering bastards? I thought you wanted to kill them?”
“I do,” Harris admitted with a sigh. “But not at the expense of the entire human race. If we tell them of the danger and they stop using the serum then it will give us more time to rescue more people.”
“You are aware, of course,” Lohan smirked as she ran a pen over her lips, “that by warning them we would also be hanging out a sign that we are here and that we have a nice clean blood supply to tide them over. Once they know that they will scour the country searching for us and, come the spring when they get their full senses back, they will find us easily.”
Harris couldn’t hold her gaze. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“And still you suggest we should do it?” Regan spluttered incredulously.
Harris did not answer. He was well aware of what he was suggesting and the danger that he would expose them all to. It was a question of morality though, of doing what was right. He had not expected Regan or any of his group to understand, but he had to try.
“We would have been discovered eventually but, admittedly, I had hoped to have a force large enough to fight back by that time.” Harris was well aware that his argument sucked but he pressed on regardless. “This way we will have to let them know a little sooner than planned.”
Lohan coughed slightly and all heads turned toward her. “There’s also the fact that if the vampires can no longer use the serum to keep their captives in line that they will resort to cruelty and fear to replace it.”
”I’m aware of that,” Harris frowned at her. “It buys us time though.”
Ian Phelps suddenly snapped his pen in two as he leaned forward hurriedly. “Harris,” he began, his face open and, for the first time, Harris saw that the man was truly bewildered. “I’m having trouble grasping this.”
Regan laughed.
“No, I’m serious,” Phelps interrupted the community’s new leader before Regan could steer the conversation away. “I’m intrigued. I have a lot of respect for you, Harris.” He looked at Harris earnestly, “No, really I do. I may not agree with you but you are a clever man. Surely you never really thought you could save them all?”
Harris looked at the man. He had questioned his own thoughts and motivations many times trying to make sure that he was being realistic in his goals and was not developing a God Complex. He still hadn’t found an answer that he was happy with.
“If the current campaign is successful then there is the potential to rescue quite a lot of people.”
“Specifically?” Phelps pressed him.
Harris could see where Phelps was steering the conversation now but he was committed to his course of action and had to hope that there would be enough cool heads to see past Phelps’ petty sniping. “There are some two hundred thousand people between the two states by our conservative estimates. I believe we have a good chance of rescuing maybe ten thousand of them.”
Phelps nodded and pursed his lips as if agreeing. He gave the others just enough time to take in what Harris had said before he began. “Harris, even in the best possible scenario we know that the states will not wipe each other out.” Phelps paused as if waiting for agreement from Harris and, seeing none, he continued. “Sooner or later other states will become involved and a truce will be made. There is really only a limited opportunity to get any prisoners out, and we can only hope to sneak a handful at a time without discovery. On top of that we
can also only handle so many survivors at any one time. Both in spiriting them back here unseen and in how many we can actually accommodate with our current space restrictions and food supplies. Stop me if I’m wrong here.” He paused and looked around the table.
He waited but no one interrupted so he shrugged and continued. “And if we warn the vampires we are here, don’t you think they might join forces to find us rather than continue to fight each other? How many people will you be able to save then?” Harris had to hand it to Phelps—he had effectively shattered any shred of credibility Harris might have had.
Phelps eased back in his chair and then thought better of it and leaned back over the table. “For that matter, how would we even make contact with them to tell them? Would they even believe us?”
“There would be only one way to be sure the message is taken seriously.” Harris dropped his gaze to the table.
“My God.” Phelps suddenly realized what Harris was saying. “You really do think you can save them all, don’t you? You’re bonkers.”
“What are you talking about?” Regan turned towards Phelps, his voice rising slightly as he lost the significance of what was being said.
“Harris plans on going to the vampires in person to tell them of the serum’s deadly payload.” Phelps let his pen drop to the table and looked around at the others.
“But that’s suicide!” Regan exclaimed and looked at Harris with incredulity.
Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket as the committee members looked at their hands or the papers on the desk before them. Harris looked around the table but could only see shock and horror in their faces rather than the compassion and understanding he had hoped for. Finally he looked to his side towards Sandra. He had not had time to talk through his plans with her and her icy glare did nothing for his case.
Chapter 13
“I’m not going in half-cocked, you know,” Harris insisted but Sandra had already brushed past him and he was forced to hurry after her despite her slow pace.
“I have no intention of committing suicide, I’m not mad.”
She stopped briefly and held his gaze. Her eyes were filled with tears and they shimmered with barely held rage. One solitary drop rolled rebelliously down her cheek and she brushed it away angrily.
“How dare you do that to me,” she paused as anger and exhaustion took their toll. “Do I mean so little to you that not only do you plan on getting yourself killed, but you weren’t even going to let me know? Were you going to send me a letter?”
“It wasn’t like that; I’m only just back…”
“Exactly,” she snapped. “You’re only just back and already you’re planning another trip. And this one you don’t even plan on coming back from.”
“I do plan on coming back.” His voice rose in volume before he could stop it and she started as if struck. “I’m sorry,” he continued quietly, “I haven’t had much sleep. Can we sit somewhere and talk? I never had any intention of even mentioning it until we’d spoken but Phelps had me on the ropes and I…”
“I think he pushed you over the ropes,” she answered and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “Peter, I will not lose you. I’ve lost too many people already.”
Harris looked into her eyes and took her hands. They were cold. She looked so frail and her face was ashen from exhaustion and worry. Her hair was lank and lifeless from too long without sunlight, and he hated to burden her more but things were spiraling out of control. He felt like a leaf buffeted from all sides during a storm.
He loved her so much and he hated what he was about to put her through, but they weren’t just fighting for their small community anymore. They were fighting for a world, and if he had to fight Regan as well as the vampires and the thralls, then he would do so.
“I have a plan…”
Steele glowed with happiness as he hugged April. It was the first good thing to have happened since he had woken up, and he felt his despair lighten somewhat as he felt her tears roll down his neck. His wounds still hurt like hell but he ignored the pain in favor of the contact. The way things were going he might not feel anything ever again soon enough so he relished the feeling regardless of the pain it brought. It gave him something to hold onto, to remind him that, for now at least, he could still feel.
Three rounds had torn through him, one had ripped straight through his side and, while there was little chance of infection from that one, it had caused the most physical damage. The other two had lodged in his flesh and, while their resident nurse had easily removed one of them, the other had been a different matter. They still had no surgeon, or even a proper doctor in their community, and one of the bullets was perilously close to a nerve. His caregivers had told him flatly that there was no way of removing the bullet without a proper surgeon, and even then it might be touch and go with the equipment they currently had.
There was nothing they could do so they had sewn him back up and left the bullet where it was with a warning that, while he might feel fine for now, the bullet could rub against the nerve at any time. If it did then he was likely to be paralyzed. It was also possible, even likely, that the paralysis would be permanent.
Everyone had been supportive. No one had actually used the word ‘paralyzed’ but Steele just couldn’t get the picture of himself in a wheelchair out of his mind. Harris had already been around and had tried to cheer him up with talk of using his knowledge and skills to train others, but he had been firm that his days of going on missions were over. They just couldn’t take the chance of him losing the use of his body at the wrong time.
He supposed he should be grateful, in one way. On the trip back he had drifted in and out of consciousness but had picked up enough from the concerned expressions of those caring for him that they had been worried about his very survival. Somehow, though, he just couldn’t raise himself from the feeling of depression that had descended over him since he had heard the news.
A few months ago he would have put a bullet in his brain rather than end up paralyzed, but that had been before he had met this group, and especially April. He had had a sister her age before the vampires had come but she had been lost early on in the campaign. In many ways it had been her death that had been the cause of the despair that had led to his damnation. It was a cruel irony that what he now felt for April might be the very thing that could redeem him.
His sister, Catriona—or Cat as she had liked being called—had followed him around to every army base he had been assigned to. Their parents had died many years before and Steele had tried his best to look after her, though his many missions away were not ideal for raising a young girl on the brink of being a teenager. There had been a suggestion of her being taken into care when their parents had died but she had run away five times and always turned up at whatever army base he had been assigned to so. Eventually, everyone had given up and let her stay. They had always had a fiery relationship, but one which was based on a deep love for each other that was tempered by their need for family.
It was unusual that she was allowed to live on base at all and not forced to stay in housing close by. But Steele was very good at what he did and his superiors had pulled a few strings and turned a blind eye to allow it. The army wives had been very supportive and looked after her when he was away, but, with no one keeping a close eye on her, Cat had become a bit wild, especially on an army base with so many men around.
It had been early in the campaign with the vampires that Steele had returned to the camp to the news that Cat was dead. He had been so shocked that he had numbly accepted the version of events. He had even missed her funeral and it had taken him a few days before his brain had begun to work again. He had blamed himself for her death, convinced that if he had been around, that she would still be alive. Everyone insisted that it had been a terrible accident but one which was nobody’s fault. He would just have to accept it and move on.
One of the camp councilors had gone through the events with him to show that it
would not have made any difference if he had been on camp, and it had been during one of these sessions that he had noticed that something was wrong. Some of the events the councilor spoke of didn’t tally with what he had been told and, as he talked to a few more people he began to sense that something was being hidden. Everyone else he talked to had the same story his commander had told him. Exactly the same story. It was as if they had learned the words from the same script. Something was very wrong.
He began to investigate, and after breaking a few arms and cracking a few skulls he learned what had really happened. Four special service soldiers had come looking for him one night and had seen Cat when she answered the door. They had been drunk. What had started as harmless flirting and a few crude comments and innuendos had turned into far more. They had pushed their way in and when Cat had started screaming they had panicked and hit her. Before they had left they had raped her and left her lying in a pool of blood while they continued their drunken binge.
She had been found the next day but she had died during the night from blood loss. One of the men involved was the son of the camp commander and he had spun a story to keep the men out of it. They buried Cat before Steele returned so he never saw her body or the trauma that the men had inflicted upon her. Anyone not prepared to keep quiet was threatened with a transfer to the front and everything would have remained hidden if Steele had not started digging.
Steele had seen enough of human nature in his years in the military. He had seen how some of those in command used their positions to grow rich by selling guns and ammunition, leaving the men doing the fighting with inferior weapons and supplies. He had seen this happening over many years but the war with the vampires was a fight for survival and not just a political war. This latest betrayal convinced him that maybe humans were just not worth saving. He had found and killed the four men, slowly and painfully, and had strolled into the commander’s office and beheaded him in front of a delegation from Washington. He had used the commander’s head to buy his way into the vampires’ camp and had begun working for them as he tried to deal with his rage. He didn’t think about what he did. Each time he killed he did so with calm ruthlessness and saw only the faces of his sister’s killers with each life that he took. In all the time he worked for the vampires he never killed an innocent and always did his best to spare all the women and children he could.
