by Derek Gunn
He was already ten minutes late.
If all had gone to plan, his colleagues would have loaded up and left at this stage, but he had to believe that his sacrifices over the last hour counted for something, and he continued on, hoping that, somehow, they could still get home. In the distance he heard a strange scraping sound, metal on concrete, and he frowned. It wasn’t any engine he had ever heard and, intrigued, he led the girls in the direction of the noise.
The noise grew louder. He motioned for the girls to stay put while he continued on to investigate. Just ahead of him, about a hundred and fifty yards down the street, he saw three men struggling to pull a car hood. The metal scrapped along the concrete in short spurts and their exertion was obvious even at this distance. A third man walked along beside them, helping at intervals, but was himself injured and of little real help.
“That’s Harris!” Warkowski muttered. The feeling of elation was quickly squashed by the realisation that he was here without permission. He could ignore the struggling party and go around. Even at his slow pace he would be at the meeting point before Harris, but he knew he could not do that. The men needed his help and, despite leaving his position earlier, Warkowski did not consider himself a quitter or a deserter. He rushed back to his family and led them out of hiding to hail the group ahead.
“Harris!” he shouted.
The three men stopped and looked to the source of the shout.
“Who is that?” Ashley asked. He squinted, trying to focus on the approaching figures.
“Isn’t that Warkowski?” Kelly replied. “But who’s that with him?”
Harris waited for the three figures to approach and looked at the two girls before he locked Warkowski in a withering gaze. “You couldn’t wait.”
Warkowski couldn’t hold the gaze and dropped his eyes to his feet as he shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Peter. I really am, but I couldn’t bear to think of them in this hellhole alone. To be so close and do nothing . . .”
His voice trailed off and Harris watched Warkowski put his arm protectively around his family. He was a bear of a man, his arms as thick as tree trunks, but Harris could see the tenderness with which he treated them.
“You better hope nobody dies because you left your post.” Harris stared at Warkowski, his eyes hard as steel, and then his face softened. “How are they?”
“Petrified. That damned serum. Goddamn it, Harris, what kind of monster traps people in their own bodies like that? She’s only nine years old,” he replied. Tears of frustration welled up in Warkowski's eyes, and thin rivulets crept down his blood-encrusted face.
“You look as bad as I feel,” Harris said softly. “Come on, put her on our carriage and let’s get out of here. We’re already way too late.”
Warkowski scooped up his daughter in his arms as if she weighed nothing and laid her gently on the hood with Henshaw. He then moved around front and took up position. The sound of metal scraping on concrete began again and its echo reverberated through the empty streets.
Jenkins led the way down the stairs to the basement. The rest of his team followed, favouring different injuries.
What a sorry group we make, Reiss thought while he watched his team stumble and limp its way to the supplies. I hope we don’t meet any more thralls.
The group spread out once they reached the bottom and approached the racks of food and supplies that filled the majority of the basement area.
“My God, I’ve never seen so much food in one place. We’ve hit the jackpot, guys.” Jenkins grinned like a cat in a creamery.
“Okay, people, let’s get to work,” Reiss ordered. “Oh, Jenkins, when you drop off the first load at the trucks send the drivers back here to help. The wounded can mind the vehicles. We need every able bodied man to shift this lot.”
They went to work.
They’d been moving the supplies for ten minutes when they heard the distant rumble.
“Did you hear that?” Jenkins asked.
“Yea, it never ends, does it?” Reiss replied and grabbed his machinegun. “You guys continue with this and I’ll check it out.”
He disappeared up the stairs, exited out to the street and ran towards the approaching noise. When he reached the end of the street he skidded to a halt. The noise was suddenly deafening this close and Reiss risked a quick glance around the corner, then blanched and collapsed back against the wall in shock.
“Jesus, a tank.”
Harris lay in a gully and watched while the tank thundered down the narrow street. There wasn’t much room for it to manoeuvre so it crushed any cars and debris in its path. Its progress was slow, thankfully, but it was advancing steadily and would soon be in range of the others.
“Warkowski, get Henshaw and the girls out to the trucks and warn the others. Kelly, Ashley, follow me.” The men hurried to their assigned tasks and Harris” heart hammered in his chest while he watched the approaching behemoth. It can’t get much worse, he thought wryly.
It was at that point that he heard the thumping of the helicopter.
Warkowski stumbled over the debris made by their initial assault and saw the trucks beyond. Sweat poured from his body and his ribs ached from the exertion of carrying Henshaw and Jill, but still he smiled when he saw the men loading the supplies.
“We’ll have you safely tucked up in bed soon,” he whispered to his daughter and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
He made his way down to the vehicles and laid his charges in the furthest truck. The other two were completely full with supplies. He hugged his family with intensity and then turned to one of the men.
“Take care of them.” He spoke softly and without apparent menace, but the soldier swallowed hard when he saw the look on Warkowski's face. Without waiting for a reply Warkowski turned and headed back up through the ruined wall.
When he reached the top he glanced back briefly and then snapped his head forward when he heard a thunderous blast that was followed closely by a high-pitched whine. Then the wall in front of him suddenly disappeared. The explosion picked him up and he felt himself fly through the air before being slammed hard against the remains of the wall.
After that he felt nothing.
Sarah Warkowski watched impassively as the explosion lifted her husband and tossed him like a rag doll against the wall. Her features remained unchanged, but inside she exploded. Years of serum-induced passiveness started to crumble as the pure, raw emotion welled up inside and overpowered the chemical’s effect. A tidal wave of emotion gathered strength deep inside her and built to a crescendo. Just when she felt she would burst, the emotion was released in one long sustained scream.
“Noooooo!”
The scream trailed off as the exertion took its toll. Her eyes rolled behind her eyelids and Sarah Warkowski collapsed.
Reiss ran back to the police station in shock. “Okay, everyone,” he shouted down the steps, “grab what you can carry, this is the last run.”
“What’s up?” Rodgers asked while he struggled one-handed with his burden.
“There’s a tank outside,” Reiss said breathlessly.
All activity stopped for a second as the full impact registered.
“You’re shitting me,” Rodgers exclaimed. Suddenly, there was a loud boom and the whole building shook when the west wall of the station collapsed. The violence of the attack galvanised the men into action.
“Get to the trucks as fast as you can. Hurry!” Reiss shouted and then turned and disappeared back out to the street.
The tank had made it to the top of the street. Reiss arrived at the door in time to see another shell explode over by the outer wall. He saw a figure thrown against the wall and lie unmoving against it.
“Poor bastard,” he whispered. He reached out a hand and stopped Rodgers. “Ken they’ll never make it.” We have to stop that tank.”
Rodger’s smile slipped briefly as he looked at Reiss and considered the implications of what he was suggesting. He shrugged suddenly and t
hen his smile returned as he nodded. “You only live once, right? Let’s do it.”
Scott Anderson and his party quickened their pace when they heard the first explosion.
“Jenny, you and Hackett take Roberts and the supplies out the way we came in. John, Bill, let’s go see if we can do anything to help.”
Hackett nodded and took the extra packs from the others, offloading some of these onto Roberts, who teetered violently with the extra weight. “Be careful,” Hackett called after them and then led his charges off to the east.
The three men nodded and rushed off toward the sounds of battle.
The helicopter buzzed across the square, its twin heavy machine guns blazing and sending parallel streams of death into the retreating men. Some of the men stopped, dropped the supplies they carried and began firing back. Bullets filled the air and Reiss watched while more of his men died, their bodies torn apart by the high calibre bullets.
All the time the tank rumbled closer.
“Ken, I don’t suppose you could make this easy and rustle up some more rounds for that Bazooka?” he asked, indicating the discarded weapon.
“'Fraid not, sir. That only happens in cheap novels.”
The helicopter finished its run and pulled up high over the surrounding buildings in preparation for another run. Three more bodies lay still on the ground and the rest of the men scrambled over the rubble, desperate to get out of the killing ground.
“If he sees the trucks this will have all been for nothing.”
“I know.”
And with that the two men stepped out.
Chapter 19
Harris stood in an alleyway behind the tank and watched the huge machine trundle past. Standing this close he could feel the ground tremble beneath his feet and his teeth chattered, though that wasn’t all to do with the vibrations. A number of thralls trotted in its wake and Harris pressed further back into the shadows.
“How many?” Ashley asked.
“About fifteen,” Harris replied, “but you can be sure there’s more coming. Are you up for this?”
Kelly and Ashley hefted the grenades in their hands and nodded.
“I keep thinking of Butch and Sundance,” Harris muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Now or never then, guys.” With that, the three men came out from behind the wall and all hell broke loose.
The men threw their grenades quickly and brought their weapons to bear even before the first blast ripped through the thralls. Bodies were flung into the air by the blasts, the explosions popping like firecrackers at second intervals, and then the machine guns roared and caught the remaining thralls in a devastating crossfire.
The thralls were taken completely by surprise, but their reactions were uncanny. Boosted by their enhanced abilities, a few actually managed to get their guns ready and return fire at the three men. Bullets flew past Harris” head and his shirt billowed as the rounds tore at the material. Beside him he heard Ashley scream when a line of bullets stitched a pattern from his groin to his neck. Harris suddenly fell to one knee when his left leg was shot from under him and then, just as suddenly as it began, it was all over.
The tank continued on its way, oblivious to the brief and deadly battle behind. The air was full of the smell of blood and cordite and Harris gagged on each breath.
“Are you okay?” Kelly asked.
Harris looked over at Ashley.
“He’s dead, I’m afraid,” Kelly confirmed.
Harris just nodded dumbly and began to climb to his feet using the machine gun for support. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”
Reiss and Rodgers stood side by side in the street and watched the helicopter bank in readiness for its return run. Behind them the rest of their group had reached the top of the rubble and disappeared down to the trucks. Both men checked their magazines and slapped the chambers closed. The helicopter straightened its approach and opened fire. Bullets traced a line some fifty yards ahead of the two men, picking up small tufts of dirt and asphalt with each impact.
Scott Anderson could see the two men in the middle of the street. The scene was one of nightmares and war movies. Fires burned steadily all over the square. The whole area appeared to be under a shadowy veil of thick smoke mingled with the dust from the destroyed buildings that blocked the morning’s sun. The noise of the tank and the helicopter were deafening and he shuddered at the sheer horror of the scene.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Pritchard asked from behind.
“Trying to distract the helicopter so the trucks can get away,” Anderson shouted back.
Pritchard blanched as he realised what such a distraction would take.
“Right, you two set up here and fire at that fucker as soon as he’s in range,” Scott ordered and got to his feet. “Don’t stop till he’s either dead or you run out of bullets.” The helicopter had already begun its run and bullets tore up the road.
“What are you going to do?” his brother shouted over the thunderous noise.
“Join them, what else?”
Harris and Kelly ran after the tank.
“Keep me covered!” Harris shouted over the roar of the engine. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg and launched himself at the back of the tank. He caught hold of the rear service ladder and quickly pulled himself aboard. The diesel fumes that assaulted him as he pulled himself over the filter grids made him retch and cough violently. Then, suddenly, he was clear. He took a few seconds to rest and breathe fresh air before he again pulled himself to his feet and continued on.
Harris skirted the main hatch as he inched his way along the vehicle. The tank pitched and rolled like a boat at sea as it travelled over the many bumps and debris and Harris found the going slow. His arm, though not broken from the fall, hurt like hell and he couldn’t grip the handrail properly. He shuffled past the hatch and finally managed to get to the turret extension. Gingerly he lowered himself from the side panel to a horizontal position and straddled the turret.
This was the time he was most vulnerable. The occupants of the tank noticed him for the first time and reacted. Harris heard the bolt in the hatch behind him slide open; metal creaked when the port was swung open. Harris heard a roar of gunfire and couldn’t help but flinch while he waited for the impact.
The bullets, however, were not aimed at him. Kelly shadowed the tank and watched Harris make his way to the front. He had seen the main port swing open and let loose a hail of fire at the thrall who appeared. Bullets ricocheted around the hatch. The thrall blanched and tumbled back into the main cabinet. A few seconds later, a hand appeared briefly and shut the hatch.
Harris lay over the turret on his stomach with hands wrapped around the metal on either side and began to pull himself along. The occupants tried to shake their passenger off by driving over rubble and potholes. The tank pitched violently and Harris slipped. He frantically swiped at the turret to stop himself falling. He grasped the turret with his left arm and screamed with pain when the injured muscles protested. Sweat poured down his face; his feet bounced against the asphalt mere inches from the treads of the tank. His hand began to slip and he tried once more to lever his legs back over the turret.
He brought his right hand up and used its strength to lever his legs up. He gained a foothold with his right leg, but the bullet in his left thigh had left that leg practically numb. He moved his hips and upper arms and finally dragged the injured limb over the turret. He lay there hanging upside down from the turret and waited for the pain to subside. It was then that he felt the rumble in the turret and the metal suddenly spiked in temperature. The roar of the explosion competed for volume with the scream that ripped from his throat as searing heat shot through the length of the turret. It was a close call as to which was louder.
Reiss watched the line of bullets approach and brought his own weapon up. He aimed the machine gun along its sight and began to fire. The recoil hammered his shoulder in a rapid, rhythm
ic beat as he tried vainly to keep the weapon steady while it bucked in his hands. He was dimly aware of the bullet trail getting closer but forced himself to concentrate on the approaching helicopter. Then bullets whined past him and, suddenly, a violent impact knocked the air from him. He felt himself fall and struggled for breath. Then darkness descended.
Scott Anderson ran toward the men who had raised their weapons and begun firing as bullets stitched across the asphalt toward them. He heard the gunfire behind him when his brother and Pritchard joined the fray. There was no time to join the two men and they obviously were not aware that help had arrived. They had bet everything on this gambit. Scott ran harder and launched himself at the men. He caught Reiss in the midriff and his momentum carried them into Rodgers. The three men tumbled in a heap as the road where they had stood only moments before was ripped to shreds.
Bullets ricocheted off the metal of the helicopter. Pritchard shouted in triumph when a spider-web shattered across the glass screen in front of the pilot. Some of the bullets penetrated the glass and ricocheted wildly within the small cabinet of the flight area. The helicopter seemed to shudder in the air and then the high-pitched drone of the engine missed a few beats. It coughed and spluttered until the engine died.
The blades continued to turn, but the engine driving them had given up by the time the machine dropped like a stone.
Harris felt the heat sear his hands and thighs, but knew he’d be crushed if he let go, so he held grimly on. The pain was intense, but luckily the metal cooled quite quickly once the shell passed through. Harris renewed his effort to pull himself along the length of the turret. Blisters formed on his hands and legs and just as quickly burst. He had passed the point where the pain made any difference; now it just remained at a constant level.
The tank suddenly veered to the left and drove directly at a nearby building. Harris groaned when he realised that the thralls were trying a different approach. He saw the wall some twenty feet away and redoubled his efforts to get to the end.
Fifteen feet.
