by Derek Gunn
As Steele passed across the border between that of Von Kruger and a particularly violent Vampire called Hennessey, he began to watch for patrols in earnest. Hennessey’s men would have been on high alert with all the activity between his neighboring states and, no doubt, would be eager to exploit any advantage he could if one side were to be weakened.
It would take him two days hard riding to reach Richelieu’s headquarters. By that time news could already have spread about the war between Von Kruger and Wentworth. If even half the details were known by the time he got there, a late ex-employee would be the last thing on Richelieu’s mind. He would have to think of something to make sure he was seen quickly and not thrown into a cell while he waited on his master’s pleasure. Either way the last thing he wanted was to run into a patrol that would delay him further because some local vampire lord wanted to see if he could gain ‘brownie points’ with the council in capturing him.
Steele wasn’t entirely sure if the papers he carried would still be valid or whether Richelieu had already sent word for his detainment, if sighted. It had been some time since he had left on his mission, but not excessively so. He didn’t want to take the chance, either way. The lives of millions lay on his getting the knowledge of the serum’s effects to Richelieu so he could do something about it.
It was by no means certain the vampire would bother, of course. But Steele gave his old boss more credit than to petulantly disregard the news of the serum’s dangers out of hand. Of course, in this new world of insular communities, it would take time for the order to disseminate across the country and to other countries even if he did take the threat seriously. It was entirely possible that they were already too late. He had to believe that there was still time, otherwise everything they were doing was for nothing.
Either way, it was essential that he get the information to Richelieu quickly and then it was in hands other than his. He drove with no lights, which was crazy he knew, but he couldn’t risk being seen by vampires passing overhead. Thrall patrols he could handle, he thought as he moved his hand to caress one of the twin compact Uzi machine pistols secured in a harness under each arm. The guns were a marvel of engineering, weighing only 1700 grams. And at only 240 millimeters in length they were capable of spraying 9mm bullets at an incredible rate of fire. The bullets he had were all coated with Pat Smith’s magic formula so he should even be able to handle one or two vampires but he would be empty far too quickly if there were more than that. It was better to avoid patrols if he could.
Sandra Harrington shook her head as she split her attention between the train and the town centre. There was no sign of anyone coming this way from the camp as yet, though she had seen a large force enter the camp just a short while ago. It wouldn’t take them long to expand their search, though.
She could barely see Cortez and Sherman weaving in and out of the buildings between her position and the enemy camp. The two men were laying traps and explosives wherever they could in the hope that it would slow the main force enough to get the train loaded and away. Both men would then retreat to the truck, which only held ten people in the back, now that the majority was being taken by train. She was to travel with Sherman after they had finished setting their traps, and all her arguing had gotten her nowhere.
She could tell that Harris thought the train was a huge risk. He obviously felt it was one worth taking, just not one he was willing to let her risk with him. She had argued viciously with him but she was already too exhausted from her previous injuries. She knew she had lost her argument when she had had to sit down during their argument to rest. Harris had simply told her that she wasn’t up to it. She had then gathered her remaining strength and stormed off when he had turned away from her and began leading the captives from the camp to the train. She still fumed at his dismissal of her. She knew that he was trying to protect her, but that wasn’t his call to make. She had decided to sneak on board the train anyway—there was just no way was she letting him go off half-cocked without her again. She’d rather die with him than mourn his loss. She had lost too many friends and family, one more would break her.
They still needed the truck, though. Good, working vehicles were just too hard to come by, and besides, there was too much fuel in it to waste. Sherman had suggested, and Harris had quickly agreed, that they would take some people and head home using a different route so as to maximize their chances of getting back safely. She had never known Sherman to be so enthusiastic about anything; usually he grumbled about having to go anywhere and pointed out constantly that the men in the team were untrained. Maybe it was the fact that they were rescuing so many that had got him into the spirit.
It was an incredibly audacious plan—if it worked, she reminded herself. Taking such a slow and noisy vehicle to escape in was a huge risk, though Harris was like a child as he filled each of the cars with the former captives. It was looking like they would be able to take everyone and the relief for the whole group not to have to choose those who would be rescued was more than she could measure.
They began filling the cars from the front and worked their way back as each filled up. If they had cars left over they could decide whether to bring them along empty or unhook them to gain more speed. They might not find such a large mass transport again so Harris was reluctant to leave any of the wooden cars behind if they could manage it. She laughed as she saw Rodgers skip back to the holding cell to get more people to the train. It really did feel like Christmas, she thought, as the snow continued to fall lightly. It had begun to stick in some places, and the ground, some trees and most of the buildings, were already beginning to get a light dusting of white. Now if only they could get back safely they would have real cause for celebration.
Falconi cursed as he saw the destruction in the camp. Someone had methodically destroyed most of the vehicles in the motor pool and ensured that the resulting explosions carried on to those behind in a chain reaction. In fact, the only reason there were still any vehicles left undamaged was that the wind had changed direction and it had kept the roaring flames away from six or so trucks and four armored jeeps towards the back of the pool.
He had sent his men to rescue those vehicles but they were having trouble getting through the carnage of hot, twisted metal. The occasional explosion as fuel reached a critical heat and blew didn’t help their efforts. If the wind changed again he would lose the vehicles and the men he had sent in to get them.
Who had done this? And why? Their only enemy that he knew of was Von Kruger’s thralls, but Carter had denied any part in the destruction. He had no reason to lie; in fact he struck Falconi as the type of man who would relish the opportunity to take credit for accomplishing such a daring raid. But if not them—who?
He pushed the thoughts aside. He had to coordinate a response. He had already sent twenty-five men back towards the town to check with the guards he had left there. The only reason someone would have to destroy the vehicles was because they did not want to be followed. They had no fuel to speak of so the only other thing of value was their human work force and food supply. It was critical that he bolster the detachment of guards in the town immediately. If the damage had already been done and the humans were taken, then he would need transport to follow them. The main bulk of his men waited anxiously as the others waded into the inferno to rescue what was left of their working vehicles. He had already lost four men to unexpected explosions or sudden wind changes and their pitiful screams as the fire had seared them had made replacements difficult to find. God, if he survived this night it would be a miracle.
Lieutenant Angelo led his detachment towards the town. Captain Falconi had warned him that there might be unknown forces in the town, but Angelo couldn’t see anything and was quite confident he could overcome any obstacle that might be waiting for him. He was a thrall, after all, and pretty much indestructible, so he led his men straight down the main approach to the town.
He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew that the explosion had obviously be
en caused by somebody, but was also fairly certain that any army that resorted to such a diversionary tactic was obviously low on numbers or were using the explosion as a diversion for an attack on another flank. If it had been a full assault from one of the other states then they would have attacked by now. As it was, whoever they were, they had already lost any momentum the diversion might have given them and the time for any concerted attack had past. So it must be a small force that wanted to hide their activities, and his patrol of twenty-five thralls would easily be able to handle that. He sent four of his men out as scouts to check the houses around them; it was always wise to be careful and to be sure that you didn’t leave any enemy forces in your rear. He also wanted to ensure that the rest of his men did not approach the town bunched together, but otherwise did not worry too much.
His men were relaxed but alert as they approached the town. Buildings and houses began to grow more numerous on either side as they passed the town limits. All of the buildings were deserted and had been badly weathered by the relentless summer sun and cold winters. Paint had peeled away or cracked from houses, business signs hung from rusted polls, flags lay limp in the still air, and what grass was still visible through the falling snow was coarse and overgrown from neglect. Angelo hated the winters and switched his weapon from hand to hand as his fingers grew cold against the metal. He had ordered each man to remove their gloves before they had set off for the town, and had ignored the groans of dissent as his men had reluctantly complied. They had tried gloves over the last few months as the weather had turned cold but they just got in the way when reloading. Sometimes it was difficult to get your finger back through the guard, so they were only allowed to use them in camp.
It beat the army, though, no matter how cold it got. The power that ran though his veins was intoxicating. He had his pick of the human women, after his superiors, of course. Life was good. It was just a shame that the attack couldn’t have been organized for the spring.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a small two-storey detached house a few yards ahead blew outward just as one of the scouts opened the front door to check inside. The scout was picked up and sent halfway across the road with the force of the explosion and landed in a broken heap some yards away. Wood flew everywhere as shrapnel from the explosion burst outward and filled the air with deadly projectiles. He threw himself down and covered his head. He heard cries of surprise and pain around him. Damn, he thought as fear gripped him. That was too close. If he had been any closer to that explosion he’d be burger meat right now.
He looked up and surveyed the scene. There was a heavy dust in the air and the snow continued to fall gently through it. For a second he was captivated by the way the moonlight seemed to diffuse though the mist and catch the snow, and then he shook himself as the first rifle shot split the night. One of his men surged to his feet right beside him and was already running towards cover when his head exploded like a ripe melon. Shit, that was some shot. He pressed himself harder against the freezing road as the dead thrall stumbled and fell just in front of him. A second shot rang through the night and another cry answered it. Thralls could survive almost any wound from a bullet but a high-powered shot to the head was well beyond even them. They couldn’t stay here; he raised his head again to see what options he had.
Angelo was not a coward but his own health came first. He shouted for his men to move forward using the buildings around them for cover while he remained in place and watched their advance. There was plenty of time to follow them when they had flushed out their sniper.
His men were well disciplined and set about their task despite the danger of the sniper. They were far more afraid of what might happen to them if their vampire masters were informed that they had disobeyed an order. Each one knew that there were far worse things than death if the vampires decided to make an example of one of them. Each of the men surged to their feet and ran to each side of the street using abandoned cars and building walls as cover as they leapfrogged forward towards the sound of the firing.
Two shots rang out and two more thralls dropped to the ground and didn’t move again. The rest of the soldiers reached cover and started to return fire in the general direction of the sniper. Angelo watched his men from the ground. The cold seeped at his body and already his flesh was numb but he remained in place and continued to watch. Two more shots rang out and one thrall slumped forward while the other screamed as he pressed his hand against his ruined face where the bullet had torn his cheek and most of his lower jaw away.
They moved after each shot, Angelo noticed, as he saw the sparks of light come from different locations ahead of them. They were both on the same block of buildings though and that meant that he could surround them. He shouted out and smiled as his men snapped their heads towards him almost in unison. He signed for seven of his men to retreat back toward him and continue around the back of the buildings to flank the snipers. He signed for seven more men to take the right flank and ordered the remainder to continue forward. There seemed to be only two snipers so if he split their attention he would have a better chance to reduce their effectiveness. He rolled off the road into the grass verge and then, when there was no sound of a shot, he surged to his feet and joined the men on the left flank.
Warkowski watched the thralls split their forces and whistled to attract Dee’s attention. He signed for her to pull back and she nodded and slipped away, keeping low. He checked the thralls once more and sent a shot over their heads to keep them honest and then eased himself back from the edge. He stopped briefly to pull a thin wire from its housing and stretched it until it reached the handle to the roof’s door. He tied off the wire and then eased the door closed as he pulled it behind him.
Rodgers watched anxiously as the last of the high-powered shots echoed faintly into the night air. He felt his stomach knot and his heart race as he watched for Dee to return. He no longer got any pleasure from these raids. At first, it had been exciting—fun even, despite the fact that it was dangerous. In the past the raids had all gone well and they had always come back as heroes, adding to their ever-growing community. No one died, except thralls and vampires, and, though life was not easy, he had coped with it. But that had all changed when Nero had attacked them.
Suddenly people around him were dying and fear began to eat away at him. He had always been a loner, using his humor and smart comments to hide a deeply felt insecurity with others. He had always felt he had to be the funniest person in a room just to be noticed. He wasn’t what you would call good looking, so compensated for this by forcing an outward appearance of good humor in the hope that his personality would attract those that his looks would not.
He had only volunteered for Harris’s group because he did not have any other skills that the community could use, and he did not want to be singled out as useless. Though, increasingly over the last two years, he had realized that he had used his humor to hide his terror. He was petrified each time he went on a raid now; terrified each time he had to shoot his gun, and especially when they encountered thralls. He was afraid of losing anymore of the people he loved more than he was of dying himself.
He had continued to go on the raids. He feared ridicule much more than he did dying though, he had lost far too many friends for humor to hide his fear any longer. Lately he had just remained quiet and sullen as he tried to reconcile his fear of rejection with that of a violent death.
He had spent some time trying to get up the courage to talk to Father Reilly, but the priest’s intimidating appearance and stern face always put him off. He realized now that he had been dying inside for some time, that his confidence had been slowly eroding away. It seemed every time he made a good friend—they died. The faces of Scott and Bill Anderson and Vince Crockett flashed across his mind, and then he imagined Dee Ratigan’s small body torn apart by bullets, and he gripped his weapon tighter as he strained to see through the darkness.
It had come as a complete surprise to him when Dee had grab
bed him and kissed him yesterday. He had noticed her, of course, but considered her far out of his league. Her inclusion in the team had only made him more sullen at first as he tried hard to impress her but, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t pull himself from his depression. That had changed when she had kissed him. They had not had long together, but one night had been enough to show him what he had to live for now. Dee had shown him that, while it was possible, even likely, that he would lose more friends, that they were all fighting for something bigger than any of them.
He had been embarrassed at this and had slowly revealed to her the fears that he wrestled with constantly while they had lain together. He had been surprised at her gentle laughter, and for a horrible moment he thought she was laughing at him. He had begun to pull away but she had held him tightly in the dark and assured him that everyone felt fear. Her simple confirmation that his fear was completely normal had filled him with a relief that had brought tears to his eyes. Of course, the fact that he now had someone to share his fears with somehow made it all far easier to cope with.
Of course, when your girlfriend was always in the front lines it was difficult not to worry, but he had begun see past his self-pity. Of course, the sex hadn’t been too bad either. He continued to look toward the rally point where she was due to appear. Unfortunately, his over-vigilant focus on the same point meant he neglected to keep watch over his entire allocated area and he failed to see the movement of dark shapes as they passed between the buildings to his right hand side.
