by Derek Gunn
He hadn’t really spent a lot of time deciding if this was the right option or not. In his view it was the only option. Whatever the impact on the small community who had given him a reason to live, and whatever the impact on April in particular, it would be wrong to put the needs of such a small number ahead of millions. He did not know how it would all work out, and he would most likely never find out. He hoped that what he did would have a positive impact though. And, he had a small surprise that might just buy his adopted family a little more time than they were expecting.
Now all he had to do was get across the country without being shot, crashing or having that damn bullet rub against his spine and leaving him useless and paralyzed by the side of the road.
Piece of cake.
Ian Phelps fumed as he watched the two vehicles blend into the darkness and disappear. For a minute he considered sending his forces after them, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the men and women who were left would obey such an order. Now was not the time to lose face. He would have to be cleverer than that. Most of the team had left with Harris, and those that remained had only done so because they had not had the time to join him. He had seen the disappointment on their faces as they had arrived in full kit only to see the vehicles disappear in the distance. He would have to remove these men and women and replace them with people who would obey him and not Harris if he were ever to truly be in command.
Harris was dangerous. He was a loose cannon who could very well get them all killed. Phelps had spent a long time gaining support in this community, and he was damned if he’d let an idiot with a God complex ruin it for him. The situation could still be contained. Even if Harris did succeed and came back with his vehicles filled with more wretched survivors he could still outplay him.
He would welcome them all back with open arms; take in his pathetic booty and honor the sacrifice they had all made. He would appear the bigger man. He would wait and wait. He would ensure that all the heroes of the raid were reassigned to new positions, commensurate with their great sacrifice, of course, and when no one expected it, he would strike. Revenge was far better served cold. All he had to do was wait for Harris to make a mistake, and that shouldn’t take too long. The bastard just couldn’t help himself.
Snow began to fall and he looked up and smiled. A new beginning was dawning. A new beginning with him in control. Regan had been useful getting to where they were now but it was nearly time for him to have an unfortunate accident. It would be tragic, of course, but their future required great sacrifices. He had his own ideas about how the community would grow from here, and he should not have to suffer an idiot like Regan for much longer.
Thank God Harris had not had time to do anything about his ridiculous plan to tell the vampires about their existence. Was the man mad? So what if the serum killed the humans still in captivity? It would also kill the vampires. All they had to do was remain in hiding for a few more months and then they could emerge as masters of a new world. At least…he would emerge as master. Patricia was a useful Lieutenant but she had a very limited imagination. As long as he kept her involved she would be happy to be his second-in-command. She didn’t have the vision to rule and, more importantly, she accepted this.
Oh yes, he thought as a smile crossed his usually dour features, this was working out nicely.
Falconi paled as the first of the vampires arrived. At first he thought that he had imagined it. There was a distant rustling, like leather rubbing against sandpaper, but it was early yet and the sun was still setting so he had ignored it at first. The sound continued, however, and grew in volume, persisting like the nagging droning of bees in summer. He looked up but storm clouds filled the sky, their steel grey hue making it seem colder than it was. He couldn’t see anything. The sun had stayed low all day, as if the oncoming night had infused it with a sense of lethargy that prevented it from pulling itself up into its rightful place. The storm clouds only further served to overshadow the day, and by early afternoon it was already like early evening.
They’re here, he realized suddenly and shivered. Falconi looked up and felt his stomach churn as a sea of blackness suddenly blotted out what remained of the sun’s feeble illumination. He was reminded briefly of an old war film he had seen where the night sky was blotted out by hundreds of bombers as they headed towards their destination to drop their rain of death over Germany. He remembered thinking at the time that the sheer power and majesty of those huge machines must have been incredible as their thunderous growling shook buildings as they passed high above. The vampires’ passing was even more frightening than that though. The lack of bone shaking engines heralding their power was even more ominous as they filed past in relative silence. Their bulk washed above him, rolling blackness across an already pale sky as they passed, like a cancer corrupting and twisting everything it touched. The landscape around him seemed to disappear as the darkness cast a shadow as evil and total as he could have ever imagined. He wondered idly if the light would ever come again.
He took a breath, held it, and prepared to deliver his report. He remained in place for what seemed an age, but nothing happened. The vampires continued to pass overhead, their rustling grating on his nerves. How many are there? He felt very small as he stood in the lighted clearing, the flames valiantly holding back the blackness around him and illuminating his presence for his masters, though in truth they did not need the light. He was able to admit now that the light was more for his benefit than theirs. He could not bring himself to face them in total darkness. But it looked like he would not have to. He felt relief flood through him, and then a colder fear gripped him. Where was it all going to end? The recent escalations, the changes in behavior in the vampires, their unprecedented displays of anger, and now they were charging into battle without forming some cohesive plan with the rest of their forces. It just didn’t make sense. What is going on?
Chapter 19
“Steady,” Major William Carter urged his men as he watched the silent tide of ebony roll towards them. God, there are so many, he thought as his bowels threatened to lose control. His whole body shook with fear and from something deeper, something primal that nagged at his core. He had prepared himself all day for this moment when his body would try to rebel against any action that threatened his masters. His own strong sense of survival had forced down the programming all day, allowing him to encourage the men, beat them when necessary, and cajole them when not.
They had prepared as best they could. Each man stood in defense of the border with weapons ready. Machine guns and grenades stood side by side with staffs of pointed wood, their points wickedly sharp and pointed upwards toward the oncoming mass. Their orders were simple. If the vampires passed over them then they were to defend against the anticipated thrall follow-through attack, but, if the vampires attacked, then they should take as many of them as they could before they were overrun.
Now that the time was upon them and the vampires were so close Carter felt his resolve slipping. There were just so many. What had he been thinking? They were too powerful. He looked along the line of his men and could see their own doubts and fears plainly on their faces. If one of them ran, then they would all collapse. He forced himself along the line; encouraging the men with a confidence he did not feel and supported their bravery with a certainty he no longer felt. Maybe the vampires will ignore them, he thought briefly as his legs wobbled with each step. He looked up and saw the darkness begin to split into smaller groups as the vampires began their descent. Each group seemed to be composed of three or four dark shapes, and each one picked a point along the line of thralls and fanned out along the border.
Carter lost sight of most of them as they blended into the darkness, but he didn’t care what happened further along the line. He only cared for himself. His stomach churned as he saw three smaller groups of vampires swoop towards him. He saw one thrall falter and drop his staff as he backed away from the front line and Carter immediately rushed forward and thrust his own staf
f into the thralls back and out through his chest. Other thralls around the fallen soldier paled and looked between Carter and the approaching vampires.
“There are only a few of them,” Carter shouted. “They will not be expecting us to fight back. Hold fast and we will all survive, falter and I guarantee you will die.” He saw thralls nod and set their jaws as they turned to face their masters. Words spread along the line of men and Carter beamed as he saw the effect of his speech.
Now, if only he could believe his own words.
The vampires came in with a confidence borne of superior strength and a disdain emboldened by the knowledge that their targets could not fight back. Peter Jacobs stretched his wings out to catch the drafts of air. Wentworth had allowed him the honor of tearing the thralls to pieces. He was a new vampire, like Wentworth, but had quickly risen in the ranks because of his inherent vicious streak and the fact that he had been able to adapt more quickly to his new powers than most of the others.
Wentworth had nearly three hundred vampires in his cabal throughout the state, and just over a hundred had already answered the summons for the attack. The others were on their way from towns and cities from across the state but it was unlikely that they would arrive tonight. Jacobs found it strange that no orders had been sent for some of the vampires to remain behind and guard their other borders, but he was hardly going to question Wentworth. It was strange though. Wentworth was a planner, a vicious planner, yes, but one who would not normally ignore logic for the sake of a direct response.
Von Kruger had broken so many old rules that such retaliation was justified, of course, but surely Wentworth was overreacting? The older vampires in the other states could very well use this opportunity to strike at them while they were occupied here. Territorial disputes rarely ended with anyone having to return captured land. Vampires were usually of the opinion that if you were too weak to hold your territory then you deserved to lose it.
Either way, Jacobs would follow orders. But he couldn’t help but wonder at Wentworth’s un-characteristic behavior. Of the one hundred and twenty vampires in the current force, Jacobs commanded twenty-four split into six smaller task forces. Each group was spread out over the five miles of border and was ordered to tear a hole through the thrall defenses and leave the remains for their own thrall forces to mop up.
As he swept down, Jacobs smelled fresh blood on the air. His mouth salivated wildly; there really was no substitute for ripping into live flesh and draining a body of its blood. He had become a vampire early on in the war, so had experienced the joy of battle and of gorging on humans, something that all the easy access to the blood of captive humans just could not duplicate. He looked down at the thralls below him but he did not study their numbers or their deployment. They were inconsequential. Doubts and concerns slipped away as he felt the tug of battle and the scent of blood. He surged down, eager to be first to tear and rend and gorge.
He felt invincible.
Carter watched the vampires come at them and he forced himself to stand tall. He gripped his sharpened staff until his hands went numb. The vampires rode the air currents, their wings spread out in impressive spans that never failed to impress him. They were magnificent. He watched, almost hypnotized by their grace, and then his mind seemed to click into focus and he shouted to his men to prepare.
The vampires were approaching slowly and Carter felt a spark of hope in his chest. They could have approached them with such speed that they would not hope to have put up a worthy defense. They should be coming at them at blurring speeds, but their current approach was designed merely to terrify. They did not think that the thralls were any threat to them. Why should they?
“They are overconfident men,” and with good reason, he added to himself. “Let us show them we are not merely frightened sheep. Show them we are more than slaves.”
The first vampire swooped down a fraction of a second ahead of the others and five thralls lurched forward to meet their former master. Carter saw the vampire’s wide grin of anticipation slip as the thralls moved toward it and not away in terror as he had expected. For a brief, delicious moment he saw fear in the vampire’s eyes and then the men plunged their staffs into the creature and its shriek split the night.
The other vampires could not pull back from their descent. They were fully committed to the attack but they did manage to bring their talons forward to rake and tear at the thralls that stood against them. The night erupted into chaos. Talons ripped living flesh and wooden staffs tore into undead flesh as the thralls crowded around to vent their rage and terror on their masters.
Staffs plunged deeply into his body and Jacobs screamed. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought as the pain brought him to his senses. The smell of blood had overwhelmed him and made him ignore the fact that his enemy was not retreating in terror as he had expected. He surged backwards, ripping staffs from the hands of the thralls around him and sending the soldiers flying helplessly in every direction. He lashed out and carved a deep furrow across the chest of one of the thralls. Pain surged through him but the smell of fresh blood in the air urged him on.
He swiped at the wooden staffs with his backhand, smashing the frail wooden handles easily but leaving their sharpened points still in his flesh. They hurt, but at least he could move freely now. He would remove them later when he had time. He grabbed the nearest thrall and wrenched him towards him before tearing into his flesh and sucking greedily at his exposed throat. The pain eased and he felt a new strength surge through him, numbing the pain and filling his muscles with more power than he had thought possible.
He bellowed in rage and ecstasy and set about the thralls around him. He was dimly aware of his colleagues being pressed back by the thralls. He noticed that one of his number lay on the ground motionless, a hastily but accurately thrown staff sticking out from his heart but none of these things truly concerned him. He felt the bloodlust pull at him, calling to him to lose himself in its powerful embrace, but he held back, keeping his mind sharp and his wits sharper as he fought back.
Carter watched his men mill about the vampires. He saw one thrall throw his staff at a vampire. For a moment he thought the thrall had panicked and he was about to shoot the soldier when he heard a shriek of pain to his left and a vampire dropped from the air like a sack. There was no great flash or sudden disintegration like he had seen on television years before. The vampire was dead, as quickly and easily as any human when you hit them in the right place. This gave the other thralls heart and they redoubled their efforts. A sea of staffs were thrown towards the vampires and their sharpened points penetrated flesh easily, though none hit the vampires with the same accuracy as the first had done.
Blood seeped from the vampires’ wounds and their cries of pain and surprise and outrage filled the night. Thralls, suddenly finding themselves unarmed, looked around, frantically searching for something else to use as a weapon. Automatic weapons fire filled the night, their bullets penetrating flesh and causing terrible pain to the vampires, but none of these wounds would kill them. As the initial flurry of deadly wooden weapons ran out the vampires could see that their enemy was no longer armed with deadly weapons and they set about attacking the thralls nearest them as they waded into the panicked throng.
Carter saw his men begin to waver. The guns were useless in such a fight. He had to do something or all was lost. He gripped his own staff and ran forward, bellowing his anger and terror. His men heard him over their own cries of fear, and they watched as he surged forward and plunged his staff into the chest of the nearest vampire. The vampire reached for him, catching him with a glancing blow across his face before he pulled the staff back and plunged it again into its heart. The vampire slumped towards him and Carter lifted his foot and pushed the body off his spear.
He leaned forward, wiping his own blood from his eyes as the cut across his forehead seeped into his eyes. He pulled another spear from a vampire’s dead body and threw it to the nearest thrall and turned to the o
thers. He must have looked even more frightening than the vampires with the blood dripping down his face because the men suddenly stopped screaming.
“Keep your staffs and tear these bastards apart.” The thralls cheered and surged forward, swamping the remaining vampires as they recovered their spears from the vampires’ flesh and from where they lay on the ground and plunged them with renewed vigor into the remaining vampires. The creatures swept around them with viciously sharp talons, and many of the thralls fell only to be lost beneath the advancing feet of those that followed them. Despite the terrible toll, the thralls began to move forward and the vampires began to retreat. For the first time in over two years the creatures knew defeat.
Jacobs saw his men fall beneath the surging tide of the thralls. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought as his mind began to panic. They are our slaves. He pivoted back away from a thrusting spear and tore at the thrall that had attacked him. He had numerous wounds on his body, and each one stung where the wood had penetrated his flesh. He had never known such pain. Why wasn’t he healing? He had killed countless thralls but they just kept coming, and now they held grimly to their wooden weapons. He saw the last of his men suddenly disappear under a wave of rabid thralls and suddenly realized that all was lost.
He did not think about what retreat would mean; he did not even consider Wentworth’s response. He just acted as he had done all his life. He took the easy path. He tensed his muscles and leapt upwards, changing his arms into great wings as he leapt. He would think about the disgrace later. For now he had to get away and heal. He spread his wings but they felt so leaden and each wound stung so badly. He surged upwards but something was wrong. He felt as if he weighed as much as a whale. What was wrong? His body began to convulse as it reacted to the poison in his system from the wood. He felt his wings shake and watched in horror as they began to shimmer and change back into arms. He flapped uselessly but his arms could not catch the wind currents and he began to fall.
