I fired and fired, finding and embracing that inner calm Marie had talked about. Everywhere I pointed my rifle there was a vamp in my sights and that vamp died. I changed magazines smoothly and resumed firing. I caught a glimpse of Marie; now back in her wolf form, spraying the approaching vamps with her shorty. Anna and John stood off to my left. Anna was taking cool, unhurried aim with her L22, hitting vamps with every shot while John blazed away with a pump action shotgun.
Finally, this was it. No sneaking around, no plots, no plans, no maps, no computers, no suits. This was a situation I could seize by the throat.
CHAPTER
44
There were less than a hundred indominati left by the time they reached the wall and suddenly rifles were useless. I understood the benefits of a bullpup, like Frenchie’s FAMAS or Norse’s AUG. I hadn’t had to give the order to fix bayonets as most of the hunters had already done so and were using them to good effect.
Events fell into a rhythm, with the indominati trying to get over the wall and the hunters trying to hold them off long enough to kill them. Even without their accelerated healing abilities, vampires are very tough and it could take several shots to put one down for good.
A vamp leaped into the air, clearing the wall and landing in front of me. Without thinking I swung the butt of my rifle, John’s little gift connecting solidly with the vamp’s temple, shattering his skull. I quickly reversed the rifle and fired into the stricken figure’s back.
As I brought the gun back up another vamp landed. In a split second decision I dropped the FAL and wrenched my MP7 from its holster. I never got the chance to fire because Phil stepped forward and decapitated the vamp with a single swipe of one massive paw.
I looked at the melee and came to a decision. I had one final trick to play.
“Fall back!”
Everyone who was able turned and ran across the car park to the sandbag wall we’d built halfway back. The vamps came inexorably forward, slowed by the wall but not by much. Not by much, but by just enough. I raised my hand and brought it down in a quick chopping motion. Two more floodlights came on, but these were large UVC lamps. They’d been salvaged from an old viral research lab where they’d been used to sterilize the room in the event of a spill. The vamps stopped, shading their eyes from the weird purple light, screeching in pain. The lamps wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes but, again, it was enough.
“Open fire! Give them everything!” I bellowed.
There was no finesse, no short, controlled bursts, no conserving ammo, just pure, violent, desperate slaughter.
I fired until the FAL was empty and then moved my hand to the underslung shotgun’s trigger. I fired and fired until the shotgun clicked empty. I dropped the FAL and pulled my MP7, emptying the magazine in one long burst.
One of the lamps burned out with an audible pop but the vamps were falling fast. I fired again, short bursts, picking targets. The last vamp fell and silence returned, broken by the second lamp going out. I stood there, my chest heaving, listening to the echoes bouncing around us.
There was some cheering, but not much. Out there, amongst the dead vamps, bodies were visible that were wearing army green. Too many bodies. I remember once being told that the only thing worse than defeat was victory. At least if we had lost we would be dead, spared the sight of fallen comrades.
I walked across the car park, seeing faces I knew, now empty of life. This is when being an atheist bites hard. John and I were both members of BFAF—the British Forces Atheists in Foxholes—but I’d always figured that the hardest place to find an atheist would be in the aftermath. It would be nice to believe that these fallen brothers and sisters were in a better place; that they were with their loved ones. I’d seen that faith in other people since my first combat and I envied it. There was no comfort here, just dead bags of flesh that had once been brothers in arms.
And then I saw a body by the wall, and the sight almost drove me to my knees. I staggered over and looked down.
“Oh shit,” said John’s voice behind me.
I turned slowly. He was standing a little way off, bloodied and bruised, looking at me with sympathy.
I knelt beside the body, brushing aside the blonde hair, seeing the throat that was torn out, the multiple puncture wounds on the neck and shoulders, the face locked into a grimace of pain and terror.
A hand touched my shoulder gently as tears threatened to fall. John held something out to me. It was his silver hip flask, engraved with the vampire hunter’s badge, a gift from Anna. I knew he always kept it full of the best whiskey, usually stolen from whatever safe house we were in. My MP7 was still in my hand. It was time for one over the gun.
I raised flask, my vision doubling, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
My voice wavered and cracked over the single word.
“Norse.”
CHAPTER
45
The ritual had been repeated for each body, the toast drunk by whichever comrade knew the deceased best, and we started to clear up.
We started by removing all of our fallen, placing them in a row and covering them with blankets from the Falcon. I was standing to one side, Norse’s AUG in my hands, his badge and dog tags in my pocket along with his wedding ring. I’d do my best to get them to his family. I knew his wife had died several years ago but he had a brother and two daughters.
We were going to give the fallen a warrior’s burial, cremating them on a pile of their dead enemies. It was what Norse had wanted, that much I knew, and we were about to start piling up the dead indominati when my earpiece clicked on.
“Pagan, we have a situation,” said Happy. “I have multiple heat signatures in a mass, at least three hundred, marching on the compound. Same direction as the last lot came from.”
I thumbed my radio, too drained to get excited about this yet.
“Any idea what they are?”
“From the way they’re moving and the speed they’re coming, I’d say they’re these illuminati creatures.”
“Indominati,” I corrected.
I stood wearily. Marcus, the bastard, had kept back a second wave and now they were coming at us.
“Company! Defensive positions,” I said, my voice loud enough to carry over the area.
Everyone grabbed their weapons and headed back to the wall.
“We have at least three hundred more of those fuckers coming. I want an ammo check.”
The only thing that was keeping the hunters from turning and running was the training and discipline. I hoped it would last. It looked bleak. We were down to the dregs of our ammo. Even reduced in number we barely had a full magazine for each weapon.
Suddenly a car could be heard coming down the road behind us. It hit the curb and bounced into the car park, an old and rusting Austin Princess. Almost before it had chugged to a stop Albert stepped out, an H&K G36 in one hand and a grim look on his face.
“Not too late am I?”
“Al,” I said wearily, “If you’ve brought ammo you’re just in time.”
“Boot’s full of five five-six, just got a fresh shipment. And I managed to scare up a few more grenades.”
I started giving orders, feeling energized. We had improved from no chance to almost no chance, but I’ll take those odds.
“Oh, and I found five of these, too,” said Albert, ducking into the car and coming back out with a Russian-made RPG-7 launcher.
“Al, if you weren’t so damned ugly I’d kiss you.”
I quickly organized my troops. With the exception of myself and five grenadiers, everyone was crouched down by the wall. I’d given Rock Ape my last two FAL mags, and Marie had handed over her last c-mag. He’d taken the GPMG from the top of the Saxon and was busily linking the rounds together with the few that were left in the vehicles to make a belt.
Marie had her shotgun in place of the shorty, standing off to my right. John had retrieved a fallen hunter’s M-16 Colt Commando and, standing next to him, Anna was carryi
ng the new bolt thrower I’d picked up from the Ministry. I’d hoped to test it under better circumstances but, if it worked, she had over a hundred arrows to use. I still had Norse’s AUG, with two full mags, one in the weapon and one in reserve.
Two hunters were at the boot of Albert’s car, frantically loading loose rounds into NATO standard magazines and passing them out as fast at they could.
Out in the darkness we could see them coming, a wall of mindless savagery. It had started to rain, a soft, insistent drizzle accompanied by ominous rolls of thunder in the distance.
“Time for ‘once more unto the breach’ yet, boss?” said John, still finding humor in the bleak situation.
I laughed, I couldn’t help it.
“How about ‘we who are about to die salute you’?” said a different voice.
“No,” I said. “This time we’ll go with ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’.”
The indominati crossed the line I had drawn in my mind and I gave the orders.
“Grenadiers, present arms.”
Five RPGs were shouldered. Albert had found the RPGs in cases, each with two rockets. I had one shot and one reload to work with.
“Fire!”
The conical rockets left their launchers with a roar, accelerating across the intervening space and slamming into packed ranks of feral vampires. The explosions lit the night, reflecting off of the low cloud cover.
The grenadiers had already reloaded and were standing ready.
“Fire!”
The second set of rockets sped towards the enemy as the grenadiers dropped the empty tubes and grabbed their grenade launchers. Albert had come up with a box of ten high explosive rounds and six incendiary rounds.
It wasn’t much, but every indominati we could kill was one less to reach the wall.
“Grenadiers, volley fire … fire!”
The launchers coughed and high explosive death rained down on the vamps. Without needing the command the five grenadiers were quickly reloading.
“Fire!”
Dozens more vamps died. Now we went for the incendiary rounds. The launchers that contained our last rounds came up, mine adding a sixth to the salvo.
“Fire!”
The grenades arced through the night and burst at the feet of the closest vamps, turning them into burning pillars that ran blindly, giving horrific screams that only stopped when the vamp tried to hitch in a breath and flames poured down its throat. The flames spread, engulfing several nearby, but still more than two hundred were coming at us.
“Independent, fire at will!”
We opened up, trying to conserve ammo as much as possible. Norse’s AUG felt right in my hands, the lower recoil of the smaller round allowed me to acquire the next target far quicker than with the FAL, and the bullpup design was compact and easy to handle. I wouldn’t give up my battle rifle for a big clock, but I could understand why some preferred the assault rifles.
We took out as many vampires as we could but, again, the maddened wave of hate kept coming. Anna was coolly firing the bolt thrower, the electric weapon near silent, especially in the cacophony of shots. She was aiming for heart or head, and hitting nearly every time, sending vamps to the ground with feathered shafts protruding from their bodies.
The rain was getting heavier and lightning flashes lit the sky. Dammit, wet and dead didn’t sound like the way I wanted to spend my night.
The first vamps reached the walls. I allowed the melee to go on for only a few seconds before issuing the next order.
“Fall back to the inner redoubt!” I yelled.
The withdrawal was disciplined and orderly, back to the inner wall. I was never as proud of the hunters than I was at that moment. Faced with an implacable, unreasonable foe, outnumbered and facing certain death, they did not flinch, they did not run. We stood and fought. The inner wall was our last refuge, our line in the sand. This far, and no further. Victory or death.
Callie, Bolt and Happy leaned out of the upstairs windows and threw bottles down into the car park. The bottles were filled with anything that would burn: alcohol, fuel from our vehicles, even an old bottle of lamp oil Happy had found in the cellar.
I knelt behind the inner wall, a bottle filled with petrol in my hand, struggling to light the piece of torn sheet that was stuffed into the neck. The cheap disposable lighter I’d picked up from the bar wouldn’t hold a flame long enough to do the job. I snarled in frustration as I spun the wheel again and again. I took a look over the inner wall. The vamps were already over the main wall and were almost halfway across the car park. When I smoked I carried a zippo windproof that would have lit with ease. Why did I have to quit? I thought smoking was going to kill me; now quitting was going to do me in?
“Jack!” yelled a voice.
I looked up in time to catch a brass-colored object that Albert had thrown to me. I opened my hand. He’d thrown me an old soldier’s lighter, hand made in WWI from a .303 shell. Crude, basic, but windproof and reliable as the tides. I opened the cover and spun the wheel. The wick caught first time and burned with a smoky orange flame that transferred to the spirit-soaked cotton with ease. I closed the lighter and quickly pocketed it, making a mental note to return it if we survived. I stood, hefted the bottle, and threw it at the ground as hard as I could. The bottle shattered on impact, spraying burning spirit everywhere and, more importantly, igniting the liquid that was all over the concrete and all over the vampire’s feet. The rain dampened the response but a sheet of flame roared across the car park, toasting the vampires in the lead and giving us precious breathing room. A vampire came stumbling out of the blaze, a man-shaped creature of fire, and collapsed against the wall. Hacker and Siren carefully kicked the body back before it could set the sandbags alight.
“Anyone got any bread? I could do with some toast,” said Hacker as he ducked back behind the wall.
The three in the upstairs windows were still throwing bottles down, trying to keep the fire going, but the rainstorm had become a downpour. Slowly, inexorably, the flames started to die and vampires could be seen advancing again.
I placed the AUG against the inner wall and drew my MP7. This is it, I thought. We’re almost out of ammunition. It’s down to hand-to-hand with a bunch of savage vampires.
“Happy!” I yelled into my radio. “Where’s our fucking reinforcements?”
“I’m trying boss! I’m trying!”
I looked down the line at the hunters that were left. The two who had been pillaging Albert’s boot for ammunition were back. At most each hunter had two mags apiece. Anna met my eyes and smiled sadly. I saw the same quiet resolve in each eye I met, the same desperate courage.
“Alright my lads!” I roared at the top of my lungs. “Once more unto the breach!”
We stood and opened fire, for some of us emptying our last magazines. When they were done we would be down to pistols, bayonets and knives. The fire in the car park was almost completely out and the indominati were coming at us, hooting and screaming, some of them still on fire.
We cut them down by the dozen, firing until our weapons emptied. Along the wall pistols were drawn, the smaller, single pops slowly replacing the crackle of rifle rounds. I had my hunting knife in one hand and my SIG in the other, squeezing off carefully aimed shots, trying to make each count.
The vamps hit the wall and tried to climb over, only to be met with everything we could muster in the way of rifle butts and bayonets. I holstered my SIG as a vamp took a running leap at me. I grabbed it around the throat and pulled it to the floor, my hunting knife slamming through its eye socket and into the brain behind. I was pulling the blade free when a weight hit my back and fangs stabbed into the base of my neck. I gave an inarticulate roar of rage and pain as I reached behind me and grabbed a handful of greasy hair.
As I twisted I caught a glimpse of Marie. Erik had grabbed her from behind and Cameron was wrenching her shotgun from her grasp. Hey eyes were fixed on mine, a look of betrayal and pain that I kn
ew would haunt my final moments. Erik picked her up and turned to run as another vamp pulled my arm around in a grip of steel, wrenched my knife away from me and bit my wrist.
CHAPTER
46
I bucked off of the floor; rage and fear lending strength to already overtaxed muscles. I yanked hard on the hair in my grip, the indominati releasing me as it finally made the connection between the intense burning in its throat and the blood flowing from my wounds.
Suddenly the weight was lifted. Phil stood behind me, holding the struggling vamp aloft before hurling it back into the hoard behind the wall. I kicked out at the one feeding from my wrist and heard the satisfying sound of ribs cracking. It howled in pain, releasing my wrist, and I kicked again. Then David grabbed it by the head and swung it around, slamming its body into the ground and breaking its neck.
I rolled over and struggled to my feet, my commando knife clenched in my uninjured left hand.
A howl split the night. Sorry, Marie, I said silently, but I don’t think I’m walking away from this one. The vamps were climbing over the wall; the hunters were scrambling to stay out of their reach. Anna, the bolt thrower laying some yards away, danced back, her fists raised like a boxer. With quick, snakelike blows she pummeled one indominati to the ground, then spun and planted a kick on another that must have snapped his spine. I saw Siren facing off against two vamps at once, her M14 flicking out, the bayonet keeping the vamps at bay, but for how long? I lashed out with my knife, taking a vamp in the throat as it tried to rush me, sidestepping the dead body as it fell, but it was only a matter of time.
With a start I realized that the howl hadn’t stopped. In fact, other lupine voices had joined in. The howl grew in volume, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Marie was beside me, holding my arm and urgently pointing upwards. I looked in the direction she indicated and saw a werewolf standing on the roof of the Falcon, his head thrown back, his powerful body tense. The howl coming from his throat was being answered by dozens of others. Even the indominati froze, staring upwards.
Pagan (MPRD Book 1) Page 27