Vampire Apocalypse: A World Torn Asunder (Book 1)

by Derek Gunn

  At the end of the room the serum dispenser squatted on a low table like some huge, ugly bug. This was the time he was most vulnerable. Harris pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. As he plunged it into the small hole in the top of the machine, he turned it clockwise as far as he could. He prayed the guards would not notice which arm he used but he couldn’t look around to see if he was being observed because such movement definitely would attract attention. He stood for the few seconds the machine took, expecting to feel a hand on his shoulder any second.

  The machine was designed to inject the right arm with serum. The rebels normally coated their right forearms with a skin coloured sack that gave the impression they had received their usual dose. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but a combination of luck and general apathy among the thralls had worked in their favour until now. Anticipating that the last attack would elicit some sort of check on that arm, they had switched the packs to the left instead. Aligning the left arm was quite awkward and, if they survived today’s check, they would have to come up with another plan from now on.

  The pressure relaxed and Harris felt relief flood through him. He withdrew his arm, resisting the impulse to pull his arm out quickly, and started for the exit in the slow, awkward gait that typified the others around him. His heart thumped as he passed the first thrall and he suppressed the urge to pick up the pace. He could see the door ahead but the queue ahead of him seemed to move so slowly that it seemed it would take him hours to get outside. He began to take shorter breaths as he tried to calm himself but his heart thumped faster. He forced himself to look down at the ground and not at the thralls in case this attracted their attention but this meant that he would have no warning of their intentions if they came towards him. He …

  Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and two other thralls began to move ahead of him to block his path. He tried to keep his face expressionless but he could feel his mouth twitch as adrenaline flooded through him. Should he run? He might even make it if he acted before the thralls were fully ready for him. There were another two thralls at the door so he would have to get past them as well and then somehow lose himself in the crowd.

  The thralls were not only stronger than humans; they were faster as well so running wasn’t really an option. But he couldn’t just let them take him either. His mind filled with horrendous images of what they would do to him to get to the others. There would be no human rights observed and there was no way he would be able to hold out for long. Better to die trying to escape that give them the pleasure of torturing him. Outwardly he remained calm, but, in contrast, his mind frantically weighed his limited options. Decided on his course of action, Harris felt a calm suddenly wash over him and he prepared to run. The thrall on his right moved much quicker than he had expected and grabbed his left arm. Harris froze for a second instead of immediately pulling his arm away and that moment of indecision saved his life. A commotion suddenly broke out to his right and the thrall holding his arm was distracted as he looked beyond Harris towards the noise.

  Harris couldn’t see clearly and dared not move his head but he could see a commotion of some sort. Suddenly he saw a man brake from the queue. In his haste to get to the exit he knocked two thralls over who bellowed in outrage as they struggled back to their feet. Shouts and obscenities filled the small room and thralls seemed to come from everywhere at once to give chase. Harris nearly fainted with relief when the two guards who had stopped him turned and disappeared after the fugitive. Shots rang out and Harris cringed with every retort. Bullets flew after the man, but somehow the first volley missed him, tearing chunks out of the wall and ceiling instead. Harris watched as the man reached the door, and he willed him on. For a minute it looked like he might actually make it, but then one of the thralls shouted in triumph.

  The man jerked as a bullet ripped into his left shoulder. The force of the impact spun the man around and sent him sprawling to the floor and Harris saw his face for the first time. Powell! He thought. My God he’s only twenty years old.

  The thralls were on him in a second. They kicked and punched Powell viciously until finally he lay still and unmoving. Harris boiled inside, but had no choice but to continue his forward shuffle. He passed the thralls while they congratulated themselves and was sorely tempted to forget the pretence and run screaming into the middle of the group, tearing and punching his rage at these vile creatures.

  He ached to lash out and deliver some of the same punishment to these inhuman monsters, but the worthless gesture would only get him killed and dishonour Powell’s sacrifice. Harris forced himself to look straight ahead and finally reached the door. He exited and felt the sun on his face. For a moment it felt like he had just walked from the bowels of Hell into the cleansing rays of Heaven and he drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. God, that was far too close.

  He continued walking, forcing himself to remain calm and keep his motion slow and relaxed, it was still possible that the thralls could come after him. Finally, he reached a small alley about two blocks from the clinic. He took his time to cautiously look around before he slipped out of sight. Once in the alley, his knees wobbled and he slumped against the wall. Harris retched and his body convulsed with the relief and frustration of the last hour.

  “Oh my God,” he muttered as he grabbed at the wall to steady himself.

  He lost track of time as he let his body slowly recover. His heart eventually stopped hammering, his legs were finally able to support him without holding onto the wall and he slowly began to recover from the rush of adrenaline that had soaked his system.

  Finally he pushed himself away from the wall and raised his sleeve. He peeled the flesh-coloured pack off his arm and smiled grimly at the extra weight. He ripped a hole in the pack and watched the serum drain out and pool on the ground. After he finished he replaced the pack and left the alley.

  Chapter 4

  “We’re not ready!” Dan Harrington shouted. He slapped his hand on the table to emphasize the point.

  “We’ll never be ready at this rate,” answered Harris. He rose from his chair and glared into Harrington’s eyes. “We lost Powell today and damn near four others at the clinic. Once they examine Powell you can be sure those bloodsuckers will figure out how we’re getting around the serum’s effect.” Harris sat back down wearily. “If we wait any longer, it’ll be too late.”

  He looked around at the other members of the committee. Twelve people, seven men and five women, sat around a small table that occupied at least half the storeroom they used for their meetings. The group met once a week in an abandoned warehouse by the waterfront. The intention of these meetings was ostensibly to discuss survival strategies, though Harris was beginning to realise that the meetings had more to do with lonely, scared people wanting to be with others than any grand plan.

  The room was murky; the only light they could afford was a cloaked lantern in the centre of the table whose pale light valiantly kept the darkness at bay. The stale, cloying smell of fish and diesel oil hung heavily in the air.

  Harris returned his gaze to Harrington. The stress of the last few weeks was beginning to show. Harris took the time to really look at him and, for the first time, noticed that the other man had lost quite a bit of weight. This once virulent, powerful man, the former CEO of a major corporation, seemed now to be shrinking. His shirt hung loosely on a frame that had once bulged with hard muscle. His steel grey hair, worn in a severe crew cut, had already begun to turn pure white. Harris could see the frustration in Harrington’s face, and he worried about the older man’s pasty complexion. Harrington had always been a tower of strength for their motley band of survivors, but the stress of such a responsibility was evident.

  Tyrone Johnson sat at Harrington’s right hand, as always. Johnson was thirty-five, mostly bald, and fervently loyal to Harrington. He was already half out of his seat, his face flushed with anger, when Harrington put a calming hand on his shoulder and motioned him to relax. Johnson was a likable man whose quick
wit was one of the few things that relieved the terrible pressure they all felt. He stood six foot three and was well muscled. Harris got on well with Johnson but his loyalty was unquestionably to Dan Harrington. He too was obviously worried about Harrington’s health and, with nowhere else for his frustration to go, he tended to react physically to anything or anybody who threatened the older man.

  Harris didn’t know all the details but Harrington had known Johnson before the vampires had come. Harrington had seemingly given the man the benefit of the doubt when he had come out of prison when no one else would. Harrington had returned the man’s pride by offering his trust and he had never had cause to regret it.

  Lucy Irving, a matronly woman of indeterminable age, sat beside Johnson. She was terribly pale and, positioned so close to Johnson’s massive dark figure; she seemed uncommonly ashen and frail. She was neither though, Harris knew. Lucy Irving had vast, hidden resources of inner strength and had a brain that was, by no means, dulled with age. Harris could see her shift her gaze between the two antagonists as if she were at a tennis match. Her hand lay poised over a half-filled page of the meeting’s minutes, pen at the ready. It’s funny, he thought, no matter how circumstances changed people still tended to gravitate to similar job roles in life.

  Scott and Bill Anderson came next in line. The twins shared the same easygoing attitude, a fact reflected in how they carried themselves and dressed. Their fresh faces, blue eyes and blond hair belied their sharp minds--until they spoke, that is. Then it became evident there was more to them than was evident at first.

  To Harrington’s left sat John Kelly, a wiry, un-likable man who could cause adverse emotions in a complete stranger within minutes of their first meeting without even trying. Kelly was an enigma to Harris. It was impossible to engage the man in conversation and when you did manage to he had an un-nerving tendency to look past you when he talked. Harris couldn’t find it in him to trust anyone who couldn’t look him in the eyes. Kelly was argumentative; he seemed to relish taking the opposing side in an argument, in fact in any argument, even if he had argued previously on the other side. But, despite all that, he pulled his weight as his actions on yesterday’s raid had proved so Harris tried his best to overlook his other failings.

  Next to him sat Sandra Harrington, strong-minded, independent and the daughter of “The Boss,” as she referred to her father. Sandra Harrington wore her hair tied tightly in a bun, though her long locks seemed to have a mind of their own and constantly tried to free themselves. Even now Harris could see a few errant strands that had fallen down and now framed her pert, almost elfish features. She had green eyes which seemed to spark with fire like flint over stone when she was angry but also seemed to be able to turn to soft pools that Harris constantly found himself lost in when he spoke to her.

  These weekly meetings were not the best forum to talk with her the way he wanted to and most of their relationship so far had been lingering glances over this table with the heady smell of fuel and stale fish in the air. Not ideal by any means. There seemed to be something between them but they had never had the time to let it develop. They were always surrounded by others. Sometimes they managed to walk along the docks for a few moments before they had to return to their zombie-like existence but even then they had to keep an eye out for the vampires and their stolen moments were usually spent looking more at the sky than at each other. It was difficult to move a relationship forward when you never got to talk to each other. Harris wished for an opportunity to talk to her properly, to walk with her in the sunshine …

  “He’s right, you know.” John Pritchard’s response suddenly interrupted Harris” thoughts and he flushed in embarrassment as he hoped that no-one had noticed his inattention. “In light of today’s debacle we have to assume they know about the arm padding. By the next Injection Day they’ll either have caught us all or we’ll be on the run. Either way we’ll be dead inside a month. Personally, I’d prefer to take a few out with me rather than end up as dinner.”

  A chorus of murmurs swept through the people gathered at the table.

  “I agree with you, John,” Harrington answered. The group leader wore a pained expression and his eyes were tired. He brought his calloused hand to his face and massaged his temple. He looked around the table and sighed. “But it’s not that simple. We’re not talking about a small hit and run attack here and there. We’d have to take on the vampires at night and we’ve never done that before. Those bastards are fucking lethal at night.”

  Harrington paused as he let his words sink in. He was well used to controlling conflicting personalities around a table, he had spent his life doing it and it really didn’t matter whether it was a war council or an executive meeting. The decisions made here, however, would be the difference between living and dying though and it was his responsibility to steer them all along the correct path. He spent another moment scanning the faces in front of him, making each of them feel that he was speaking to them alone and then he continued.

  “The thralls herded up most of you after the plague hit, but some of us held out for a few days in a police station outside of town. We managed to hold the thralls off for two days and felt pretty cocky until one of the vampires arrived.”

  Harrington paused again, glancing around the table for emphasis, and then continued.

  “It took five minutes for that bastard to demolish the building and take out twenty armed people. They move at awesome speeds and can lift a man with one hand. They can turn your mind inside out if you look at them, and these things are useless against them.” He threw an automatic pistol on the table and the weapon’s thud on the wood made everyone jump. “We can’t go head-to-head with them. They’re too strong.”

  Harrington had directed his last words, and his stare, at Harris. The younger man tried to hold the look, but then averted his eyes to glance around the table. He could see that Harrington had hit home and he was losing this fight once again. He knew that most of the people around this table saw him as impotent, and these arguments had become something of a regular occurrence. He continually pushed for more raids, more risk, while Harrington would let him say his piece and then knock him down with the same arguments.

  Harris had gained support with the younger committee members, but Harrington was very persuasive and had, up till now, always won. This time, though, Harris firmly believed that there wasn’t going to be another meeting unless they did something drastic.

  Harris made a decision and rose to his full height, steeled himself and began to speak. “I know how powerful these bastards are,” Harris looked down at the table to avoid looking at anyone. He longed to tell them of his own experiences before the vampires had taken him. He had kept his past to himself when he had first been rescued from the serum, he still didn’t understand why he had been spared when all the others had been slaughtered. If he didn’t understand it how could he possibly explain it to others? So he had decided to keep it to himself until he could sort it out for himself. He had invented a story that he had been in Chicago when the water had been contaminated by the serum and had seen no action at all.

  As the weeks became months he found it harder and harder to admit his failure in protecting those in his charge to his new friends. He had convinced himself that his previous failures would only erode what little trust he had built up with this group and when he finally realised that this was not the case he had left it too late. To tell them now would only lead them to mistrust him for keeping such a secret. The subterfuge was eating away at him each time he met these people and he knew that much of his own frustration was fuelled by his own guilt for hiding such an important part of his life. He still spent many nights going over and over what had happened before. He desperately searched for something he had achieved that had made what had happened worthwhile, but his failure to … He shook himself from his maudlin thoughts, this wasn’t the time. He took a deep breath and continued.

  “I also know we may have little chance of success, b
ut two hundred people are about to be slaughtered tomorrow night. This will be in direct retaliation for our raid yesterday and I just can’t accept that.”

  “They will be killed anyway,” Harrington interrupted. “You can’t risk our entire group, and possibly the last of this planet’s free people, on a matter of morality.”

  “Free?” Harris repeated sarcastically. “You don’t call this existence free, do you? We’re no freer than those other poor, drugged sods.” He paused and looked around the table, meeting each person’s eyes in turn. “In fact, we’re worse off. We have the ability to do something about it and we’re just sitting here. Maybe we should forget the patches and save the bastards the trouble of looking for us.”

  He looked over at Sandra and received a small smile and a wink in return.

  “Tomorrow night,” he continued taking heart from her support, “we have a chance to make a difference. My plan calls for surprise. Yes, we might fail, but think what success might mean. We total only twenty-four in number, and that took us six months to achieve. After tomorrow we could have two hundred more.”

  “With that number we can all leave the city and set up in the cave,” John Pritchard added with a nod of encouragement to Harris. A low appreciative murmur rippled though those present and Harris felt his blood racing as he felt the mood shifting in his favour. He took a breath to continue but Harrington interrupted and the moment was lost.

  “We have discussed that till we’re blue in the face,” Harrington replied wearily. “We can’t survive out there. If we leave the city the vampires will know who we are and search till they find us. At least here we’re anonymous.”