by Paul Cave
Alice stood open-mouthed for a second. “I… I don’t understand.”
“I still think what you’ve done is both stupid and reckless,” he reprimanded her. His words stung more than the frozen sleet.
“I don’t understand.” she repeated.
“Alice, where I’m going is simply too dangerous. I can’t afford to get … sidetracked worrying about you or Squirrel.”
“Sidetracked?”
“You know what I mean,” he said.
Her arms crossed over her chest in a gesture of defiance. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“Alice …”
“No, come on Elliot. What do you mean?”
“I mean, I care about your safety, both you and Squirrel. Hell, Squirrel should be at the underground safe and sound. Does Major Patterson even know about this?”
Alice looked away.
“Well?”
“No.”
“Good grief.”
Her resolve wavered. “I’m sorry but I just had to come. To make sure you were okay. Don’t you understand?”
“Of course I do. That’s why I need you to go back, so I know you’re safe. I can’t risk taking either you or Squirrel with me. It’s just too dangerous.”
“Then we’ll take you near, then pull back and return to the underground.” Her chin rose as a new determination formed, and Elliot knew he was losing the battle.
“Just to the outskirts and then you’ll go back?”
She grinned mischievously. “I promise.”
“You’d better,” he warned.
“I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The beast had returned. It took another step and the platform shuddered under its might. Hutson tried desperately to pull herself from under the cable, but her hands failed to find purchase. They slipped repeatedly on the slick metal surface. The beast lumbered over.
“BEN!” she called, but the wind took her plea in the opposite direction, and the cry went unheard.
The monstrous beast stopped at her feet. Its squat head twisted mechanically from one side to the other. She noticed its right eye, just an open wound. The actual eyeball had been ripped away. Leaving a grisly hole. And a crust of blood had matted the beast’s fur into a rock-hard scab directly underneath. Its single, wild eye pinned her to the floor, adding to the already crushing weight.
Hutson looked frantically left and right in search of a weapon. Her firearm lay near Ben, propped up against the railings. Panic washed over her and she flailed about like a speared fish, desperate to free herself. One of her hands scraped painfully against something sharp. The agony dragged her senses back to the fore. She looked at the cable and found sharp pieces of metal tray and a couple of chunks of masonry attached to it. Reaching out, she began to work one of the metal slivers free.
On short, bent legs the beast stepped closer. A gust of wind carried the rank odour of filth and the wilderness over to her. The thing’s remaining eye fixed itself to Hutson’s face. Its head tilted to the left as it struggled to get a better view.
The lieutenant gripped the metal shard tighter. She read hunger in the beast’s eye. But not hunger for food. It stepped closer and with one muscular arm it prodded at her boot, tentatively. Two black nostrils flared. The arm returned to her boot. This time thick black fingers wrapped themselves around her ankle. It tugged effortlessly, and Hutson felt herself slide along the platform. She took a swipe at the huge arm but the attack fell short. The beast pulled at her again. She felt her leg twist painfully underneath the cable. A desperate high-pitched cry of pain burst from her lips. The beast stopped immediately. It looked at her curiously and Hutson held her breath. Then it dropped onto all fours before bending its arms slightly to bring itself closer. Its flat nose twitched again. It snorted as if in agreement.
What the hell was it doing? Hutson thought.
It drew even closer and she got a whiff of its breath. The stench was a choking wave of rot, and it forced her to turn the other away. The beast reared back and then stretched to its full height. Tight fists formed to pound fiercely against its chest. The thing looked infuriated.
Terror struck at the lieutenant and a muted dumbness fell upon her. Her jaw moved silently. Her mind screamed out for Ben, but the name refused to form. The beast released a roar and then rushed at her, its shoulders bunched and its jaws wide open.
***
The walls of books spun as Jacob raced up the spiral staircase. Leaving the macabre harem of bodies behind, his boots clattered noisily on the brass steps. He broke through the dark hole in the ceiling and found himself in a small air-conditioning room. He swept the torchlight over the room. About twenty small box-shaped units sat rusty and idle. Symmetrical in arrangement, they formed a maze of straight channels and equally spaced columns. The low ceiling forced him to bend, and he half-ran, half-crawled, his way towards the nearest exit. A small access doorway stood ajar and he barged through it into a tiny electrical control room. Fuse boards and other distribution units formed a closed metal box.
“Shit!” he snapped.
He turned quickly and pushed towards the door. A metal panel stopped his retreat. Just above his head, he found a square grille and understood immediately that it must have been used to cool the electrics inside. He reached up, ripped the cover away and discovered a dark tunnel. The vent was about four feet by three feet, angled upwards, and just about wide enough for him to fit through. He slipped the assault rifle off his shoulder, tossed it inside and then jumped up.
The vent was a mass grave of insects, their dried carcasses forming a carpeting of hard, crispy shells. He gritted his teeth as he began to pull himself through the air system. Twenty yards in and he reached a junction.
Which way now?
Left or right?
He tried to visualise the layout of the building, but the enclosed nature of the level below had thrown out his sense of direction. He could be pointing east, west, north or south for all he knew.
“What the hell,” he said, and took the passage to the right.
After just ten yards he was forced to make another decision. This time: straight on, left or right. Right would probably take him back to his starting point, and left could lead him anywhere. Straight on seemed like a safe bet. He shuffled along the vent on his elbows for a dozen or so more yards. The tunnel ended abruptly. A strong draught blew against his face. He reached out to find a metal grille blocking his progress. With the flat of his hand he began to pound away at the obstruction.
He managed to push the cover outwards. The strength of the wind sent it spinning into oblivion and almost sucked Jacob directly out of the vent. He tilted his head up and dark clouds rolled violently above. Looking down now, he found himself three levels higher than the observation deck.
He slid further forwards and found the tip of an access ladder. Headfirst, he climbed out of the airshaft. Twisting himself upright he climbed down the ladder. He reached the bottom and his boots thudded hollowly as they connected with a metal walkway.
Directly below him, Jacob saw Ben struggling with The Ray of Hope. So far he’d managed to load the searchlight halfway inside the crate. He seemed to be wrestling with one of the back wheels, which appeared to be stuck against the lip of the ramp. Jacob checked in the direction of the access doorway. Hutson was not there. He looked in the opposite direction and she wasn’t there either.
“BEN!” he called.
The large gunner stopped what he was doing. His woolly head tilted upwards but he was still facing in the wrong direction.
“BEN!” Jacob called again.
As if guided by the Good Lord himself, Ben spun slowly, inch by inch, his eyes heavenward, until he finished face-to-face with Jacob. A large, crooked grin split his face.
“HUTSON?” Jacob yelled.
“WHAT?” Ben asked.
Jacob cupped his hands over his mouth. “WHERE’S HUTSON?”
Ben frowned. “WHAT?”
“WHER
E’S HUTSON?”
The gunner nodded, finally understanding. He pointed to the right and said, “SHE’S OVER TH-” His sentence was choked short. Jacob understood at once by Ben’s facial reaction that something terrible was wrong. The gunner staggered back, his face bleached of colour.
The huge beast had picked Hutson up and tucked her roughly under its arm. It half-dragged and half-carried the lieutenant towards the face of the building. There, it reached out with its free arm and began to pull both upwards, towards the gantry.
Hutson kicked and screamed.
The sound of her terror jolted Ben into action. He raced around the observation deck and snatched up the discarded Browning machinegun. He lifted the weapon and took aim.
“NO!” Jacob cried.
Ben’s finger froze with the trigger almost all the way.
“SHE’S TOO CLOSE,” he yelled.
Ben sidestepped and pulled the Browning into his shoulder. The gunner fired quick, short bursts of three of four shots. Bullets cut through the darkness, ripping up chunks of masonry and metalwork. Jacob yelled for him to stop, but then he realised what the gunner was doing. He was laying down fire to the right of the beast, forcing it to the left and towards the gantry. Jacob dropped to one knee, flipped the M16 to single-fire, pulled the weapon tight and then held his breath. He would only get one chance at this.
The gantry buckled violently upwards. The metal walkway and wires screeched in protest as they twisted and rubbed together. A floor panel directly in front of Jacob burst upwards before disappearing into the night with a whoosh of air. The shockwave knocked him off his feet and the rifle slipped from his fingers. It clattered away, disappearing over the edge of the walkway.
A hairy head appeared where the hole had been punched out. The head swelled out into broad shoulders, and Jacob caught a flash of silver and black hair on the beast’s back. Huge muscles bunched together as it climbed up onto the platform. It stepped onto the gantry. Then turned to the tracker. A single, furious eye held Jacob to the floor. The other eye was an open red crater.
Hutson tried to break free, but the solid arm held her tight. She felt the arm tighten around her chest and her breath was crushed out in a wheeze.
Jacob thrust his arm out in warning. “Don’t fight it,” he told her. Her terrified face stared back. “Whatever you do, don’t fight it,” he said. “Remain calm, let it take you. I’ll be right behind.”
She nodded, understanding his orders. Her legs went limp and her arms wrapped themselves tightly around the beast’s huge forearm.
Jacob began to pull himself up. A colossal roar dropped him back as the beast drew closer. Its jaws opened wide, and Jacob remembered the shattered bone fragments he had found in the thing’s den. He fell onto his back and waited. The single eye looked at him intently, and for a second he thought real hatred burned there. He held his breath. He wouldn’t last two seconds against the thing. Then, unexpectedly, it turned and fixed itself to the face of the building. Using its free arm and legs, it scaled the tower effortlessly.
Jacob bolted into action. He rolled over and looked for the fallen M16. Amazingly, it was directly underneath him, dangling by the strap from a sliver of metal. He snatched the weapon back. Then climbed to his feet. Ben called to him from behind. As he turned, Black Bird appeared out of the darkness. The rotors thudded like thunder. Any chance of communication was drowned out. Resorting to simple hand gestures, Jacob first pointed to The Ray of Hope and then to the Huey. Ben shrugged. Jacob repeated the action but this time more emphatically. Ben nodded, and the tracker turned his back. The gunner must save the searchlight or this trip would be all in vain.
Jacob threw the weapon over his shoulder and took hold of the access ladder. The speed at which he ascended would have impressed the beast. He reached the ventilation shaft in seconds and used it to step up to the next level. Reaching up, his hand found a gutter that ran along the edge of the brickwork. He used it to pull himself up. Once he’d scaled the wall, he found himself on a narrow rooftop. The rest of the levels rose in tiers, which gradually reduced in diameter until the last one became the base of the lightning rod. Each tier had a small workman’s ladder connecting it to the next.
Level by level he tracked the beast’s progress. Now out of breath, he found himself at the foot of the huge lightning rod. A tower of metal crisscrossed upwards, disappearing into the thick of the dust. The beast had already climbed to about fifty feet above.
Jacob groaned.
This was going to be one hell of a climb.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ezekiel looked out and watched as a thousand foot-soldiers marched past. For a second, he felt almost sad that there would be no battle - such an impressive army should be tested, but peace must prevail if his army was to survive. Hell, if their race was to survive, he thought. A spring had returned to their step. The night’s feeding had replenished and energised their resolve. The fifty or so miles would be an easy undertaking now that they marched on full stomachs.
“Impressive,” Brother Trask said.
Ezekiel turned and looked into the round face of the squat lieutenant. A healthy glow burnt on the vampire’s cheeks. Armour decorated his body with a series of metal plates, leather belts and buckles, and a dinted helmet adorned his head, turning him into some sort of medieval warrior. Trask revelled in his position, a true warrior indeed. He’d helped win many battles over the years, and the vampire leader was not going to question or criticise the other’s eccentricities. Trask was one of a few who had actually been born to become one of the undead. The irony of his thoughts made Ezekiel chuckle softly.
“What?” Brother Trask asked. A rifle with spikes hammered through its stock hung at his side.
“Nothing, just glad to have you on my side,” Ezekiel replied.
Trask nodded knowingly. They’d seen many battles together and would probably see many more. For although they planned a truce with the humans, there were still many more vampire factions scattered across these battered plains. And all would be in pursuit of their prize.
“What if they don’t buy it?” Trask asked, referring to the truce.
“They’ll buy it. What other options do they have?”
“The option to fight. As they always have.”
“Man is tired of fighting. Their resolve will crumble once they see our numbers,” Ezekiel commented. He swept his hand outwards. “Look.”
Trask stepped to the edge of the watchtower. Below, the soldiers marched on, taking their first steps towards peace. Behind them came eighteen-wheeler trucks. All had been cleaned of the inhuman decorations that once adorned their rigs, and now the trailers they pulled harboured Ezekiel’s living treasure. Some of the lead vehicles carried banners that fluttered wildly in the wind. Once, the banners had depicted symbols of terror or power: a body impaled on a wooden stake, or a fist clenching the hilt of a dagger. Now, the standards offered peace and reassurance with their portrayals of flying doves or two hands in an embrace of friendship. It had been Ezekiel’s plan to change their standard to one more pleasant; for man needed to be sure that their intended saviours meant no harm.
The vampire leader turned to the towering figure at his side. Thalamus’s dreadlocks flapped wildly about his head like spitting serpents.
“Your intelligence from the south, is it correct?” Ezekiel asked.
The large head nodded and bones rattled in the wind. “My scouts tell me that Raphael has moved deeper into the northern territories. He has an army that’s equal to ours, although he too suffers with his own shortage of provisions.”
Ezekiel nodded. The southern clans were an excellent example as to why the humans needed to form an allegiance. They could not hide in their underground sanctuaries forever. Any number of nightmares could be waiting for them to emerge.
“This may work to our advantage,” Ezekiel said.
“How?” both Trask and Thalamus asked.
“If the southern clans appear at just the
right time, then our offer of salvation will seem like an act of God. Sent there to save them from the cruel fangs of Raphael and his legion of undead soldiers.”
“Perhaps,” Trask agreed.
Ezekiel watched as the impressive army moved away from the prison walls and headed into the surrounding woodland. They dissolved into the trees, a mass of fear, which filtered away, adding to the darkness that already festered there. A thought invaded his mind and before he could banish it and the notion clung to his consciousness, refusing to let go. He pictured a battle between the southern clans, both armies suffering significant casualties, which would lead to a massive reduction in his numbers. It wasn’t a worrying thought that scratched at his brain, either, but a surprisingly optimistic one. Their numbers had swelled to breaking point and an opportunity to reduce them was one to be welcomed. He felt guilty for allowing the thought to develop, but couldn’t deny the positive aspect of such an encounter. The humans they were hoping to assist would not be enough to sustain an entire army. Think of the greater good, he told himself, and with that the thoughts of guilt retreated into the darker recesses of his mind.
Ezekiel felt a small hand pull at the crease of his pants. He looked down and found the little boy standing next to him. He patted the boy’s head and smiled. The boy raised both his arms and held out his hands. Ezekiel leaned down, picked him up and then carefully sat him on the railing of the tower. The little boy watched the procession intently. A fleet of trucks rolled by. And the air around them turned thick with the stench of diesel fumes. The boy held out one hand, and said, “Mine … mine,” as one of the trucks lumbered by. He turned to the vampire leader and stared at him through anxious eyes. “Mine,” he repeated, and a single teardrop rolled from the corner of his eye to the curl of his lip.
He turned back to the truck. “Mine…”
***
The trailer swung violently from side to side, and its occupants were jostled about in the tight, compact space. Hannah and the teenager held onto each other and waited for the rough ride to end. Eventually, they felt the ground below them smooth out and the ride became instantly more bearable. A weak strip of light flickered above them, illuminating the interior intermittently. About twenty bodies had been packed inside and, although the journey had only just begun, the air within had already become stale and hard to breathe.