by Derek Gunn
“It’s too late,” Atkins managed to speak before he coughed up blood. “It was already too late before we got here. There isn’t much…”
Atkins died in his arms and Harris cursed the stupidity of the situation. They could all have made it back to the Cave by now if he hadn’t forced them to come back. Atkins would even now be holding his son in his arms. If only he hadn’t…
Suddenly Harris was grabbed from behind and was thrown across the room. He hit the wall hard and fell to the floor. He tried to rise but he slipped on the blood on the floor.
“Leave him!” one of the vampires shouted as the other vampires closed in. “I will take care of this one.”
Harris still had his weapon and he brought it to bear on the vampire.
“No, you won’t,” he shouted as he pulled the trigger. There was only one bullet in the chamber and it fired true and caught the vampire high in the chest. For a moment everybody stood looking at Von Kruger, and then the vampire began to grind his teeth as he brought his hand to his chest in a claw. He drove his hand deep into the flesh, closed it, and then pulled a chunk of flesh from its body. He never uttered a sound all the while, and Harris felt true fear as the vampire dropped the flesh and the bullet to the floor.
He felt a hand slap his shoulder and he felt himself being pulled to his feet.
“Quick, I have a helicopter. Move.”
Harris looked at Carter with confusion, but there was no point in staying here. He followed the thrall out the door and into the rain.
Carter grabbed at the human and made sure he was following. He had only wanted the human’s weapon, but, with no bullets in the weapon, it was now useless. His only hope now was to make the human tell him the secret of the bullets. He didn’t know if the helicopter could out-fly the vampires, but he wasn’t going to stay here and be torn apart. The image of Von Kruger ripping his own flesh was still fresh in his mind and he shuddered. What kind of creature can do that without uttering a sound? Just what am I dealing with?
Von Kruger stood and let the pain wash over him. The pain from the bullet had seared through him with an intensity he had never felt before. Even the act of ripping his own flesh had not hurt as much as that initial penetration, though it had been close.
He longed to race after the human and tear him apart for causing him such pain, but he could not move. It had taken everything he had not to cry out and he could tell that his brood were in awe of him. That was good. He would need their devotion if he was to wipe out these humans. He looked around the room. The red light was distracting and the howling of the siren was painful to his sensitive ears, but he let it all wash over him. He had no idea what was going on but it did not concern him. Only the human mattered. In a few minutes he would again be able to move and then he would give chase.
Harris stumbled through the rain after Carter. The wind whipped at him and the rain lashed against his face. The storm had grown worse and the sky lit up with sparks of lightning as the thunder threatened to deafen him. Ahead he could barely hear the thump of the rotors. It was taking a huge risk flying in this weather, but it was certain death to stay. There wasn’t really a choice. He saw Carter disappear into the helicopter and he reached out and grabbed at the door and pulled himself after the thrall.
Once inside, the craft lifted immediately and he was thrown to the side as the pilot struggled to keep control. He began to struggle into a seat opposite Carter when the thrall grabbed him by the collar and a knife suddenly appeared at his throat.
“The bullets,” he shouted over the straining engine. “What are they? Why do they do so much damage?
There was no point in trying to struggle against the thrall. He was far stronger, so Harris pretended that he couldn’t hear while he tried to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon within reach. He couldn’t see anything. Carter repeated his question as he leaned further in and Harris snapped his head forward with all his strength. Surprise was his only hope. Pain exploded in his forehead and his head swam dangerously as his vision suddenly went out of focus. But the thrall let him go and brought his hands to his nose as he screamed in frustration and pain.
The pilot shouted something but Harris ignored him as he pressed his advantage and raked at the thrall’s eyes. Unfortunately, the helicopter swung violently against a sudden gust and his hands merely grazed the thrall’s cheek. Then Carter was on him again with a wildness that seemed to glaze his eyes.
The helicopter bucked again as it was carried helplessly on another gust, and Carter was sent sprawling across the small area. Harris kicked out but missed, and his foot crashed painfully into a fire extinguisher on the back wall. The extinguisher flew out of sight and then Carter was back on top of him, his fists pummelling relentlessly.
Harris felt blackness crawl slowly over him. He prayed for unconsciousness to take him. At least then the pain would stop. But it didn’t stop. It went on and on until Carter heaved breathlessly above him. He couldn’t see the thrall anymore, his eyes were too swollen for that, but he could hear him. Even over the screeching of the engine he could hear the wheezing of the thrall as he tried to regain control of his anger.
“Bastard,” he heard the thrall curse. “You will tell me what I want to know eventually,” he screamed at him and Harris tried to feign unconsciousness but couldn’t help groaning in pain and the thrall was not fooled.
“Where do I get those weapons you use?” Carter screamed at him and Harris felt another blow as the thrall struck him again.
Suddenly he heard the thrall grunt in pain and the pressure on his throat abruptly disappeared. He forced his eyes open and saw a dark shape pull itself inside the cab of the helicopter. The figure was drenched and there was little light in the helicopter so Harris had to squint to try and see more clearly. Lightning suddenly cut through the dark clouds outside and, for a moment, light burst into the small compartment. Warkowski. How the fuck did he get here? Harris watched the big man pull himself forward and bring his massive arm down on Carter. The thrall was slammed against the far wall and Harris took another moment to catch his breath as Warkowski threw himself after the thrall.
“Just can’t obey orders, can you?” Harris muttered as he pulled himself forward to help Warkowski.
Von Kruger pushed hard against the wind. His muscles strained against the force of the storm and around him his brood gathered to give chase. They had easily taken care of the thralls in the plant but he had to find that human with the bullets that caused so much damage. His shoulder throbbed in pain as a reminder of the power of this new weapon. With any normal wound he would have already healed at this stage, but the area where he had torn his flesh from his body had not even begun to heal. At some level he knew now that it probably never would and the pain in his shoulder would remain with him to remind him never to underestimate the humans again.
He concentrated on the horizon in front of him. The thrall and the human were a long way ahead, but he knew where they were going so the distance was unimportant. He would catch up with them before the dawn came. He would discover the secret of this new weapon and then the territory would be his. With such a weapon there was no limit to what he could achieve. He fought against the pain and urged his brood on.
Carter had already recovered enough to stop Warkowski’s momentum by swiping blindly at him and he caught the big man a glancing blow to his shoulder. The thrall was so strong that Warkowski was sent perilously close to the open doorway. He tried to pull himself back but his arm was caught inside a strap and he wasted precious seconds trying to free himself. Shouting in victory, Carter pressed his advantage and launched himself at the struggling man.
Harris threw himself between the two figures and caught the thrall with his shoulder, sending Carter tumbling against the pilot’s seat and sending the helicopter into a dangerous lurch. The three figures were tossed around the small space, and then the night suddenly erupted in bright light again.
At first Harris thought it was more lightn
ing, but the roar that followed it was not thunder. The light remained bright far longer than lightning could possibly manage, and Harris felt his heart sink as the helicopter was caught up in the blast wave and was thrown forward at a ferocious speed.
Too late! He thought before the darkness swept up and pulled him down.
The sky suddenly lit up with a weird, sickly glow that felt unclean to Von Kruger. Beside him one of his vampires suddenly stopped flying and screeched in pain. An intense, white flame surged through the air, sucking his breath from him. The vampires around him all began to scream. He looked around him as their flesh began to melt away from their bones.
A roar filled his ears and threatened to make him deaf. But over it all he could still hear his brood screaming as their flesh was seared from their bodies. He felt himself fall and his own flesh began to burn as he was enveloped by the flames that gushed up toward him. These were not normal flames, though. There was something unclean about them. Something that rotted his flesh even before the flames seared it. The pain was incredible. His body tried to heal but the radiation was too strong and the flames too hot, too intense. The flesh where the strange flame seared did not heal, instead the flesh blackened and began to rot.
He had lived for centuries, but it still had not been enough time to achieve all he had wanted. He clung to life, preferring the agony of the moment to the unfeeling void of death. His eyes burst in the flames and his flesh began to fall away and still he fought against the flames.
And then a strange thing happened. His body stopped trying to heal the damage. It stopped trying to combat the effects of the radiation and began to work with it instead. It adapted, changed, mutated. It felt wrong, corrupt, even more so that his current existence, but it was life and he clung to it. The pain continued as he fell towards the ground below. He was dimly aware of the growing heat but his senses had shut down from the overload. He fell further and changed as he fell.
Sandra Harrington heard the rumble and looked out through the darkness. The distant horizon glowed with a dull red glow that seemed to shimmer for a moment and then began to fade until all that remained was a faint afterglow.
Her heart began to beat faster. What time is it? Is it dawn? Is that east or west? Thoughts tumbled through her mind as she tried to find an explanation, any explanation that did not confirm the sudden dread that was beginning to dawn on her.
She felt a hand in hers and she jumped as she turned to see who had come up to her. She blinked a few times before her mind recognised the petite features of April’s face in the gloom.
“It’s probably a false dawn,” she began as a tear escaped from her left eye and began its solitary journey down her cheek.
April squeezed her hand tighter and dropped her eyes for a moment. She signed with her free hand and Sandra felt a second tear follow the first. April continued to sign with one hand while squeezing Sandra’s hand with the other. Sandra said nothing as she took in April’s heartfelt words with each careful twist of her fingers. Her message was gentle and supportive, and all the more powerful in its silence. The others in the group remained stunned, unable to put into words their sorrow, their loss and their devastation. Words could not express emotion like a lover’s caress could. Words couldn’t describe the emptiness she was feeling now; words were not capable of describing how her world had suddenly ended with the brief flare on the horizon. But, as she watched April’s small hand and she felt the tears come, April’s message penetrated the grief and gave her a focus.
April’s hand finally came to rest and reached up to wipe the tears from Sandra’s face. Sandra looked over to the horizon, but the rain was too heavy to see anything now. She thought of Peter Harris, but the pain was too much for now and she forced her thoughts to other matters. Later, maybe, she would take the positives from his memory. Later she might be able to talk to the others and together they could mourn. For tonight, though, she still had work to do and people to see safely home.
That was what Peter would have wanted.
Father Reilly walked out into the rain with his head bent low against the searing wind. Oh Lord, he thought, what have we done to your planet? The cold in the air was unknown for this time of year and the implications worried him. His thoughts, though, swiftly returned to the reason for his nocturnal foray into the rain.
He had received a message from Emma on the two-way radio a few minutes ago. She had not given many details and had specifically asked him to come alone and not to let the other Wolverines know where he was going. That, in itself, was unusual as the group of young people were rarely apart now. They had continued to trail their designated ‘marks,’ but, as yet, still had not discovered anything that would lead them to their traitor.
Reilly remembered Emma’s embarrassed report as to her last tail on Patricia Lohan. He smiled, despite the rain and cold, as he remembered her attempt to assure him that Lohan was not the traitor during their last team meeting. She had been particularly vague, though no less emphatic, and he had pressed her until she had finally pulled him aside and whispered her report out of earshot of the others. He had laughed after she had finally managed to relay the information and had assured her that he would keep the information to himself.
It had left him somewhat in a quandary though. Other than Ian Phelps, Miss Lohan was one of his main suspects and, with this current evidence, that left his suspicions fairly limited. A lot of effort had been spent on tailing Mr. Phelps in the last week with nothing to show for it. Either he knew that he was being followed, he had no reason to contact his vile masters, or he simply wasn’t guilty. But, if not him - then who?
John Kelly was a boor but he couldn’t imagine him with the balls to be a traitor. He would suspect himself before he even considered Lucy Irving. Ben Thackery was a bully. He was too hard on his children, and Reilly had wanted to intervene many times on their behalf, but had forced himself to remain out of personal affairs unless there was evidence of violence or intimidation involved. And Thackery had not, so far, gone that far.
He shouted and demeaned, but, if he were to interfere, it might make things worse for the children. So he had remained out of it for now. Thackery still had not found his wife and, in fairness, raising three children on your own in this new world was not easy. But there was a line and Thackery operated far too close to it for Reilly’s liking. Was he a traitor, though? Reilly didn’t think so.
Amanda Reitzig was too caring with her patients, especially the children, for him to believe she could possibly put them all in danger. She seemed far too delicate to harbour such evil, though he knew that he could not afford to be fooled by appearances. Penny Arkwright was another whom he just could not see putting her own desires above those of the children that she taught in the communities’ only school. How could such a woman hide a dark side that threatened to kill every member of the community? A sudden image of countless movies where serene old women were revealed to be the evil character at the end flashed through his mind, but he shook his head at their absurdity. And what about Philip Scholes and Paul Williams? How much did he really know about any of them?
He came at last to the area that Emma had directed him to and looked around, peering intently into the rain as he tried to find her. Everything was grey around him and he shivered. This part of town was at the very limit of the community’s designated safe area and he suddenly wondered what Emma had been doing out so far from everything. A sudden chill seeped through him and he felt very exposed as he stood in the centre of the deserted street. Shop windows seemed to stare at him from black, empty sockets. Shattered windows appeared like broken teeth through the rain that seems to laugh at him with demented glee, and the whole scene took on a surreal appearance. Doubts began to fill his mind. Why would Emma ask to meet him alone? And so far from any prying eyes. It was getting dark as well. Surely there was no…
“Father.” He looked around at where he had heard the voice and chastised himself for his thoughts. It took him some time to see her
in the growing darkness. He had been looking among the buildings and other areas where she might have found some shelter, but he couldn’t see her. And then, suddenly, she waved at him and he could see. She was kneeling over by the radio tower, out in the rain. Why would she do that? She’ll catch her death. She looked very small and alone beside the huge radio mast, and he hurried over to her.
He was about to speak when she suddenly launched herself at him and collapsed into his arms, shuddering as her frail body was wracked by grief. He felt suddenly very embarrassed by both her sudden emotion and by his earlier suspicions.
“What is it, child?” he asked as he tried to move her with him toward some shelter. But she pulled away from him.
“Father, he’s dead,” she blurted out. “How could anyone harm someone like him?” She looked at him with such intensity that he was at a lost for words.
“Who is dead, child?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she pulled him closer to the tower and stood looking down at a pile of what he had thought to be merely rubble. At first Reilly didn’t understand, and then cold fingers of fear suddenly gripped his heart. The Radio Mast! Oh my God! Without the radio mast the vampires would be able to find them by flying close to the city. Who would…?
Emma dropped to her knees and lifted something into her lap. It took him a moment to sort out the outline of a head from the rubble surrounding the body. Jack? He felt his strength suddenly drain away and dropped to his knees beside the sobbing girl as he took her in his arms.
“How could anyone kill Jack, Father?”
Reilly felt tears burn his own eyes as he thought about the evil that must drive such a person for them to kill a boy who was as innocent of life’s hardships as Jack Pearson. Pearson must have seen someone destroying the radio mast and had been caught. It was quite likely that the poor boy would have approached the saboteur in total innocence, thinking that maybe he was fixing the unit. My God, what kind of monster lives among us? He held Emma in his arms as he looked around again at the deserted buildings. Was the saboteur still here? Was he or she enjoying seeing the result of their handiwork? For the first time in his life Father Jonathon Reilly questioned his God about why he should suffer such evil to live while the innocent paid such a high price.