by Derek Gunn
He had to stop it from leaving.
Harris pulled himself up into the engine of the train and nodded at the others. Aidan Flemming stood at the controls and constantly turned or pressed a complicated series of levers and dials as they hissed and spat at him like a bed of snakes. Scott Mitchell laid down his shovel and crossed the small distance to help him lay Warkowski on the ground, and then pulled a medical bag from the corner and began to tear at the large man’s clothes to get at his wound.
“Where’s Rodgers?” Tanner asked as he threw another log into the blazing furnace, and all of them stopped as he saw Harris’ face. Tanner straightened as his face dropped and Sandra caught her breath.
“Dee will be…”
“I’m afraid they’re both dead.” Harris dropped his eyes to the furnace as he found he could not meet their eyes. The sudden and brutal reality of death struck them all like a blow. They had gone so long now without any injuries that to lose two of their number in one instant was a shock. Harris felt weak. His wound didn’t help but Rodgers’s death had hit him hard. He had been with him since the start, and Harris had always considered the young man to be the soul of their group.
Suddenly he heard trucks burst into the square and bullets began to spark off the metal of the engine, one passing close to Tanner as it ricocheted around the small cabin.
Harris shook himself as he grabbed his weapon. “Flemming!” Harris shouted as he leaned out of the cabin and sent a hail of bullets towards the trucks. “Get us out of here. Now!”
The young man remained motionless for a moment before snapping out of it. Then he turned back to the engine and began to turn his dials.
Bullets slammed into the last carriage and stitched their way along the length of the train like shadows pushing back the light. Harris shouted at Flemming again and nearly lost his balance as the train heaved and stuttered. Flemming continued to coax the dials and, slowly, the motion began to run more smoothly as the chug-chug of the engine began to gain rhythm.
“Is there anyone in the last carriage?” Harris shouted behind him as he fired at a jeep that raced towards them.
Tanner climbed up into the coal and wood beside him and began to fire at the chasing thralls. “No,” he answered over the noise of the gunfire and the scream of the engine. “The last two are empty but they’re really packed into the rest of them.”
Harris offered up a prayer for the poor prisoners as bullets continued to slam into the wood of the carriages as the thralls began to gain on them. One bullet could do a lot of damage in such close-quarters, and the prisoners would not be able to throw themselves to the ground for safety.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” he shouted at Flemming viciously but knew that the man was doing everything he could. It would take time for the engine to attain its full speed, and until then they would have to deal with the fire from the thralls as best they could.
They were gaining on them! Falconi felt his heart beat faster as they passed the first carriage and continued to draw closer to the engine. The jeep swerved to avoid a traffic light in the road and Falconi nearly fell out. His driver shouted an apology but Falconi ignored it. His driver was doing everything he could but the road did not follow the train tracks exactly and he had to improvise if they were going to stop the train before it reached speed.
He looked back and motioned for one of the other jeeps to pull alongside the train and board from the back, and then he turned back and continued to fire at the cars. He was still too far back to fire on the engine carriage but he continued to fire into the carriages as he drew level. He would rather kill the prisoners than let them escape.
Steele opened his eyes again and winced from the pain. He groaned and looked again at his hand in front of him. It was covered in snow and the cold had numbed it completely. For a moment he thought that he was paralyzed again, but when he tried it moved a little. He willed it to move again and almost cried with relief as he saw his hand slowly form into a fist. The paralysis was receding, thank God, but he would die if he stayed out here in the snow. Of course, with the return of feeling came wave after wave of pain, but he used that to hold on to conscious as he tried to move the rest of his body.
Everything hurt equally and Steele almost laughed. Either everything is broken or I lucked out with bruises. He raised his head and stopped as nausea swept over him, and then pressed on as he got used to the pain. It took another thirty minutes, but by then he had managed to sit up and gingerly examine his body for any obvious problems. He had bled quite a bit, but the blood had mostly dried at this stage, and he had quite a few nasty cuts that really needed attention.
His insistence of not wearing a helmet had been really stupid as his cheek was badly torn, his right eye was still puffed up pretty badly and he had an almighty headache. He pulled himself to his feet slowly and paused to let the nausea pass before he went over to check the bike. It was ruined. The front wheel was buckled and the exhaust had been torn from its housing. He wouldn’t be going very far now. He shouted his anger at the moon above and then he saw a shadow pass across his vision.
He reached for one of the weapons under his arms but he was too slow. The vampire appeared before him as if by magic and grabbed his arm painfully.
“Meals on wheels, or off wheels as the case might be,” the vampire smiled at him and Steele recoiled from the creature’s stench. Vampires always smelled of decay no matter how they tried to cover it up, and Steele tried hard to keep the bile down. This vampire was larger than normal. He was obviously an ancient. Steele had worked with vampires long enough to see through the swagger and bluster of the newer vampires as they used their new powers to impress. This one, though, was different. He was completely at ease and had effectively immobilized Steele with very little effort. He also did not fill in the silence with useless banter so Steele felt the need to continue.
“Lord, I am on my way to Lord Von Richelieu,” Steele managed before the pain in his wrist from the creature’s grip forced him to kneel to the ground. He bent his head in subservience to the vampire as he spoke. They all loved that no matter how old they were, he thought as he tried to bring his other hand to his second weapon without being seen. Just then three more vampires swooped elegantly down from the sky and changed into human form as they touched the ground. Steele cursed to himself and abandoned his attempt to force his way free. He’d have to try and talk his way out.
“I have grave news that must get to my Lord urgently.”
“He must be Von Richelieu’s trained pet,” one of the other vampires hissed as he examined Steele’s bike. “We were asked to watch out for him on our way to Von Kruger’s.”
Steele felt the blood drain from his face. Why would Von Richelieu send vampires to look for him? For that matter, why would they be sent to Von Kruger? Surely word of the escalation of the border war could not have reached the vampire so soon.
“Tell me and I will see if it’s important.”
Steele had little choice but to comply. There was no way he was getting to Von Richelieu on his own.
“A war has broken out between Lords Wentworth and Von Kruger,” he began, trying to inject just enough fear into his voice to put the creatures at their ease. There was little chance of him killing four vampires and surviving, but he had to cover all the options in case the opportunity presented itself.
“We know that,” one of the vampires hissed as he picked up Steele’s bag from his ruined bike. Shit, Steele thought as he saw the creature begin to open the bag. There were items in that bag that he did not want discovered.
“But did you know that it has escalated so that vampire now kills vampire?”
“You lie,” the vampire with the bag dropped it as he approached Steele and loomed before him.
“No, Lord,” Steele replied and forced himself to look at the ground. “It was started by a community of humans living free in the area.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The vampire laughed but the vampire holding h
is wrist suddenly released it and pulled Steele to his feet.
“Tell me.” The creature forced Steele to look into its eyes and Steele felt compelled to respond. Ancient vampires sometimes had the ability to coerce their victims, but it was a talent that had not been used in so long that, while Steele felt an urge to comply, he was able to retain enough of his wits to edit his story.
He still revealed more than he had intended to but the vampire seemed to be satisfied. He released Steele and he allowed himself to fall in a heap where he was able to grip one of his Uzi pistols. He held his hand though as he heard the vampire give his orders.
“You two, bring this human with you and report back to Von Richelieu. There may be more he can tell our Lord. We will continue on and see for ourselves what has happened to our mad cousins.”
If the vampires carried him he would be with Von Richelieu before the night ended. Maybe the bike crash hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.
Chapter 27
Sandra Harrington emptied the magazine and groped blindly for another as the thralls drew closer. She was on the right hand side of the engine compartment; Harris and Tanner on the left and the thralls were closing in on both sides. Scott Mitchell lay on top of the fuel alongside Tanner, but his attention was on the thralls who were crawling towards them from the back of the train.
Her grasping hand knocked against two magazines and her heart sank. Only two left. What do we do then? The magazine she pulled out had tape wrapped around it—one of Pat Smith’s specially coated ones—and she slammed it home and leaned back out. She would have to fire carefully from now on or they would be throwing coals at the thralls when they drew level.
“There’s two of ‘em from what I can see,” she heard Mitchell shout over the pulsing thump of the steam engine, and she looked over at him. “I can’t get them from here,” he continued. “I’ll have to get closer.”
“Why?” she shouted back straining to be heard. “Wait till they get closer.”
“They’re still on the last carriage but if they get any closer they’ll be able to uncouple the carriages with our guests in them.”
Sandra nodded as she realized that he was right. She nodded and the young man began to crawl over the coal and firewood as he made his way towards the first carriage. Jesus, she thought, it’s like we’re trapped in a bloody western.
“I’m out!” Harris heard Tanner shout, and he looked down at his own ammunition pouch and saw only one magazine left. He dipped into his shoulder holster and pulled out a Browning 9mm and handed it to Tanner.
“Wait till they get closer or you might as well spit at them for all the good it’ll do!” Harris shouted. The train was definitely picking up speed, but the thralls were still faster and were almost level with their carriage now. He looked forward and saw with a sinking feeling that the road carried on pretty straight along the train tracks for as far as he could see, though in the blizzard that wasn’t too far. He had hoped that there would be a split that would force the vehicles further from them but the road had been built in a perfectly straight line along the track outside the town for some distance.
Bullets continued to spark along the outside of the engine compartment and only the occasional few got into the narrow area. They’d been lucky so far but, once the thralls drew level, they would have a clear line of fire. He saw Scott Mitchell crawl forward and nodded over to Sandra. “Good idea,” he mouthed to her, knowing that his voice would never carry. He looked down at Warkowski—he was stable but wouldn’t be able to jump up and help them anytime soon with his loss of blood. He was still sheet-white from when Sandra had pressed the white-hot shovel against the bleeding wound to cauterize it, and Warkowski’s screams still rang in his ears. He had been losing too much blood, and they did not have anything else to close the wound with. But he still cringed when he thought of it. He reminded himself not to get Sandra annoyed at him anytime soon.
He turned back to the thralls and steadied his aim. They were just coming level now and they leaned out of their jeeps and trucks like a demented scene from the keystone cops. But this time there would be no hilarious end scene. There was only one way this would end. Either the thralls would die, or he and his men would. He had already lost once to these bastards and was damned if he was going to do so again.
Wentworth saw a flash ahead of him and felt his heart quicken. Von Kruger, he thought with a savage hatred, and his mind cleared a little from the haze that had gripped him and forced him to abandon reason. The creature that he saw was nothing like the vampire master he knew, but he was certain regardless. The creature was heavily armored and covered in gore and blood. His face was filled with teeth that grew chaotically, like brambles in a hedge, but were perfect for tearing at any angle. Despite the chaos surrounding the battleground there was a noticeable distance between the main bulk of the vampires and this creature, as anyone flying too close was torn to pieces no matter what side they were on.
Wentworth looked around him in a daze. It was as if he were waking from a long sleep and he felt the effects of the madness recede slowly as the shock of what he saw sobered him like a splash of cold water. There were less than a hundred vampires in total still in the fight. What have we done? There had been nearly five hundred vampires at the beginning of the night. Four hundred dead. The reality slapped him to his senses and he pulled away from the fighting to take stock. The euphoria of his morphing and the scent of blood in the air still pulled at him, though, and he had to fight to maintain control.
The dead lay strewn on the ground below him, but the numbers were somewhat hidden by the blanket of snow. Here and there he could see vampires on the ground too injured to take to the air but fighting on regardless, their ruined appendages dragging behind them as they slashed and tore at any living thing around them.
The thralls had long gone but he didn’t need them. His stomach was filled with the sweet blood of his enemies, and his wounds and exhaustion were staved off by their healing qualities. He had to end this fight though or there would be no one left to rule over, and both territories would be annexed into those of their neighbors. It was time to face Von Kruger. Only by cutting off the head could he hope to pull something from the carnage around him.
He was no fool, though; Von Kruger would not be easy to kill. For one thing, he had the strength of the demented and an animal grace and cunning developed over centuries. He would have to outsmart him if he was to have any hope of victory. The heavy snow had long ago doused the fires below him, but the metal of the ruined tanks still glowed with an eerie orange glow that splashed weakly over the ground below.
He needed a weapon. He pulled his wings in tightly and allowed the momentum to carry him down. At the last moment he spread out his wings and flew low over the ruins below. Dead vampires, torn equipment and shredded thralls littered the ground. He flew incredibly fast but his eyes still saw everything as he passed over. It was on his second pass that he saw what he needed, and he grinned as he allowed the current to take him upwards as he banked and returned to the point where he had seen his salvation.
Falconi leaned forward and strained to see into the engine carriage. They were finally level but the train was already picking up speed. He would only have one chance to stop the humans before the old engine started to pull away. They still had a few hundred yards before the road turned away from the tracks and he fancied that he could smell the human’s fear.
He brought his hand down and the thrall standing on the back of the jeep with the huge Browning machine gun welded to the floor opened fire. He had forced himself to refrain from using all the ammunition from the heavy caliber weapon until they were close enough to do the most damage, and he laughed out loud as he saw the figures duck back into the compartments as the weapon pumped bullets all around them.
He could see the metal walls of the engine carriage actually dent inwards as the bullets struck. He saw bullets strike the dials of the engine itself, and could see the spray of steam shoot outwa
rd and catch one of the humans. It wouldn’t be long now.
Harris ducked back as the thrall opened fire with the M2 .50 caliber from the back of the jeep. He only recognized the gun because they had a number of them among their own defenses. It was the last thing he wanted to see. The gun had been used in its many versions since the First World War, and it packed a hell of a kick. He heard a scream behind him and a shriek of steam and the two sounds fought for dominance for a moment before Flemming lost consciousness and the steam continued to shriek.
Harris threw his XM8 to Tanner and turned to see to Flemming. The man had collapsed, but he couldn’t see any blood, and he gave silent thanks as he pulled him over. And then he caught his breath as he saw the damage the steam had done to Fleming’s face. The skin was terribly blistered and in places it hung off the bone where the steam had caught him directly. Steam continued to hiss above him and he could hear dials rattle as the pressure began to build. Harris looked up at the complex controls but had no idea how to release the pressure. Some of the dials moved relentlessly towards red but Harris pulled his attention back to Flemming. He had to get him awake or the engine was going to blow. He began to shake him gently and call his name urgently.
“What are you doing?” Sandra grabbed at his hand and stopped him.
“If we don’t release the pressure the whole thing will blow or we’ll lose speed and it won’t matter anyway.”
“The pain will kill him if you wake him.” Sandra reached into her medical bag and drew out a cream and began to apply it to Fleming’s face, keeping low to avoid the bullets that were slamming all around them.
“The fucking engine will kill us all if I don’t.” Harris held her gaze, matching her determination as he tried to get their situation through to her. Finally he saw her look up at the engine and she nodded reluctantly.