Vampire Apocalypse:

Descent Into Chaos

Derek Gunn

Published by Permuted Press at Smashwords.

Copyright 2010 Derek Gunn

www.PermutedPress.com

Prologue

Two Years Ago:

Boston

It was still early evening but the relentless advance of the dark was already heralding its dominion as the sun began to slip slowly below the horizon. In places, patches of light still flared valiantly—though, ineluctably, they too began to give ground with each passing moment. Harris grinned wryly as he thought how fitting their predicament was as he and his fellow survivors defended themselves against the oncoming hoard in their last remaining stronghold. He rated their chances no better than the light that, even now, was relinquishing its last tenuous grip on the cityscape.

Harris watched the shadows advance across the torn buildings that had once comprised the upper east side of Boston and sighed. Broken rocks and piping lay everywhere, spilling from ruined buildings like entrails from a gutted corpse. Sharp angles and jagged peaks reached forlornly towards the sky as if in final, silent defiance of the destruction that had laid waste to everything else around them. They, like Harris and his group, were all that remained in the path of the oncoming, destructive tide.

Harris looked out over the ruined remains of the once proud city and despaired. He and his companions had held out against all odds in the face of a far superior enemy. They had fought a losing battle over the last few months, delaying the thralls’ advance while they bought time for others to flee, though where they might flee to he did not know. They had lost ground continuously. Though in fairness they had extracted a heavy toll for each of their own losses and had frustrated the thralls for some time now. The leaders of the thralls were not usually military men, as those who had risen quickly in the Vampires’ army tended to be those who had abandoned their fellow humans early on in the war, rather than fight. They were not men or women of honor.

As such, their main strategy tended to be to throw as many soldiers as they could at any obstacle, regardless of the costs. Harris and his colleagues had frustrated them continuously by striking hard and fast and then disappearing before the thralls could organize their defense, let alone a counter-attack. They had made the thralls pay a heavy price for every mile they retreated. But retreat they had, and they had left many of their number along the way in silent testament to the inevitable final conclusion.

Strangely, the thralls had not called on their vampire masters for aid. Harris had never actually seen a vampire. He had heard about them, of course. But the first part of the war had passed him by. It had all happened so quickly. At first the stories of whole populations of towns disappearing were ridiculed by most of the press that had still somehow managed to operate in an increasingly insular world. The energy crisis had changed life so radically that most communities existed in isolation. There was no power to spare for running servers so the Internet had closed down long ago. He had heard rumors that some servers still existed, a last defiant bastion of man’s ingenuity and knowledge in a world that no longer cared and could no longer support such excessive use of a dwindling resource.

No one could waste power on computers anymore so most news traveled by word of mouth.

When the vampires had come from the darkness they had moved quickly. They took over whole communities while the world still continued on, blissfully unaware that a rotting cancer was already steadily eating away at their heart. By the time the world woke up to the threat, the vampires had already gathered a sizeable army of men and women who they rewarded with strength and agility far beyond any normal human. Thralls were difficult to kill and many a platoon had been decimated as they had advanced past the thralls they had killed only to find that the enemy they thought dead suddenly rose after they had passed by and had attacked them from the rear. Despite this, though, the humans began to drive the vampire spawn back, but the cost had been so high.

The desperation of the time brought out the best in people and, as it had been during world wars many years before, men and women formed ranks, helped each other and fought back. The remnants of the government had even begun to conscript men and women and, for a short time, they seemed to be winning.

Despite the vampires’ awesome power they still had to sleep during the day and could not travel too far from areas they considered safe. A number of them had been caught and slaughtered when the humans had made particularly deep incursions against the thrall defense, and ever since these safe areas tended to be far behind the front lines. The thralls had done the majority of the fighting though and this worked well for the humans. Unfortunately, there just had not been enough time or resources to fully take advantage of this. Men and women had flocked to help in the fighting but with no training and little equipment, they were merely cannon fodder who had been given a weapon and sent to the front. There was no coherent response against the vampire advance either as many of the communications devices, satellites and wireless technologies had been left to rot during the years of the energy crisis. Without the power to keep the communications equipment running, these marvels of modern technology were just so much junk. Every battle that was fought tended to take place in isolation and, while they did have some victories, they were unable to take advantage on a national scale so the overall gain was lost in the general confusion. And then the vampires had poisoned the water supplies with their serum and everything had gone to hell.

Harris had been staying with his father and had been conscripted late in the war so had only arrived after the serum’s effects had become known. Already the front had collapsed and Harris had found himself caught up with a decimated and demoralized retreating army. In fact, it had only been when one man, Ricardo Juarez, had managed to organize what remained of them into something resembling a fighting unit that they had managed to turn the tide and begin to fight back.

Juarez was dead now, killed by an unfortunate ricochet during a raid, but his spirit remained in the men and women who still fought in his name. They had retreated for hundreds of miles, slowing the thralls while those unable to fight pressed ahead in the hope of making the coast and taking a ship to somewhere where the vampires had not yet spread their vicious rule. In the last few months it had become obvious that the thralls feared the vampires as much as the rebels did. They would have been defeated long ago had the vampires been called to join the fighting but so far, the thralls had resisted. Most likely because they were afraid of what their masters would do if they admitted failure against such a paltry force. As long as they were advancing, no matter how slowly, the thralls seemed to be keeping the vampires out of it.

Now, though, there was nowhere else to go. The families they had bought time for with their blood had left on the ships. For better or worse, they had sailed off in the hope of finding somewhere they could live free. The ships could still be caught, though, so this final group had stayed behind to ensure them the time they needed to get far enough away from land so the vampires could not reach them. The men and women with Harris were all without family; either they had lost children or spouses in the conflict and were still filled with enough hate that they wanted to exact their own retribution or they just had no wish to start again.

Whatever the reason, these men and women had stayed and now they awaited their inevitable fate together. Harris could have left with the others but he felt that he was needed. After Juarez was killed there was a moment when everything was about to fall apart, but two men and one woman, including himself, had come forward and encouraged the others to continue. Two of the others were dead now and one had gone with their family on the ship. Harris felt a responsibility for those he had led to this point so he had remained.

The serum had broken all resistance and cities everywhere were falling under the oppression of the advancing thralls and their vampire masters. The story was the same all over the world. They still received some reports on the long distance frequencies of small communities who still held out, but these communities were growing fewer each day. The time of man had come and gone and now a new predator was confirming their dominance.

Harris and his remaining group numbered only fifty but they had chosen their stronghold well and had prepared even better. Harris was not a military man but he had enough people on the team to advise him. His strength was in his ability to inspire and lead and he concentrated on that. The surrounding buildings had all been mined with explosives and other surprises that had tied up the thralls for the last three days. The thralls had lost hundreds of soldiers as they tried repeatedly to remove the humans from their positions. In their preparations Harris and his colleagues had blown out the surrounding buildings, making it almost impossible for the thralls to bring their tanks into play.

The thralls shelled the area continuously but were forced to do so from long range and Harris and the others were spread out so well that the shelling had been largely ineffective so far. They also ensured that the thrall spotters who tried to give accurate coordinates to the artillery paid a heavy toll each time they came within range.

It was a stalemate at the moment. This morning they had seen the main force retreat back out of range and Harris could see that the troops had been ordered to make camp. The thralls still surrounded Harris and his group, but through the day they made no attempt to attack. Now that the darkness was beginning to fall Harris could see that the thralls were getting ready. Not for an assault, though. He could see the thralls begin to move into positions that afforded them the best view of the rebel’s stronghold.

Obviously they were preparing for a show and Harris shivered as he realized what this meant.

The thralls had either lost too many men or they had run out of time. Either way it made little difference; the vampires were obviously on their way. Harris looked around him and he could see the fear that clouded each face, but he could also see a quiet determination, a knowledge that no matter what happened, they had won a victory. They had managed to gain their friends enough time to make it out of the country and, hopefully, to a place of safety. If they had to die then he was glad that it would count for something.

The vampires came with the darkness. It was hard to tell how many there were as the shadows seemed to stretch towards them and wrap them in their embrace, but it couldn’t have been too many, Harris thought. They would hardly consider fifty humans worth their attention, but it was a testament to Harris and the others that they had been called at all. He wondered idly what their involvement would cost the thrall leaders, but found he didn’t really give a damn.

Hopefully the bastards would suffer before their masters tore them apart.

A cold breeze blew through the ruined building, whistling slightly as it passed through the gaping holes of the shattered windows and torn brick that the shelling had caused. Harris shivered again. The dark had always fascinated him before. He had loved the feeling of standing in the open, staring up at the sky and counting the myriad stars. The night had always been a place of solitude and beauty for him. Now, the darkness was something to fear. Something that hid an evil that threatened to devour them all, something that had come to embody death and not wonder.

He wiped the sweat from his hands against his knees and then checked the magazine yet again. It was still as full as it had been the countless other times he had checked. He wished they would do something. The waiting was driving him mad.

When they came the attack was both an anti-climax and an awesome spectacle. The first Harris knew of the attack was the sound of machine guns chattering in a room to his left. The sound was strangely muted, as if the air itself was reluctant to carry the echo. He heard a brief burst of fire and then a second joined in. Soon there were a number of weapons firing, and then they seemed to stop in mid burst and the first scream filled the night. It was a terrible sound, full of terror and pain, and then it was joined by a second and then a third.

Silence descended over the building as the last of the screams died away. Harris snapped his head from side to side as he watched each doorway and bare window for any movement. There were three others in the room with him and he could see each of them shaking with fear. This wasn’t the noble death they had sought. This was a slaughter.

Just then Harris saw something move and he whipped his weapon towards the door, opening fire before the weapon had tracked to the door. The vampire was already on the other side of the room and Harris wrenched his aim toward the far corner where one of his colleagues was already slipping to the ground with his throat torn out. They were so fast; Harris managed the brief thought before he saw a second body ripped apart in front of him without a shot being fired.

There was a strange odor in the air. It was sickly sweet and old at the same time. It smelt wrong somehow, as if something was decayed but was not quite dead.

There were only two of them left now and, unconsciously, the two men drew closer together as they scanned the room. The vampire seemed able to meld into the darkness so completely that it seemed to disappear. It could merely have walked in and torn them apart. Their bullets were useless against it anyway. It was obviously playing with them, relishing their fear.

Suddenly the man beside Harris shuddered and Harris watched in terror as the man’s head simply fell to the ground with a dull thud. He realized with a sudden thought before he felt the impact that he still hadn’t actually seen a vampire. And then the darkness washed over him and all was quiet.

Chapter 1

The Present:

Peter Harris started awake and shivered, though whether it was the cold or his dream that had caused his body to shudder, he wasn’t sure. The memories of his time before the serum had been plaguing him more often of late, and he was finding it more and more difficult to get a peaceful night’s sleep. He still had no idea why he had been the only one to survive and the guilt he felt because of it made sure that he relived that night every time he closed his eyes. His last memory had been of darkness enveloping him, and then there were snatches of memories where he had suffered terrible treatment by the thralls as they vented their anger on him and then nothing until he had seen Sandra Harrington’s face looking down at him when he had overcome the serum’s effects.

He had told no one of his time before the serum. Somehow it felt too personal…and what did it matter, anyway? He had failed the people who had put their trust in him. He had survived when they had died. He could do nothing about those he had failed now, but he could make sure that it never happened again. And to that end he would never rest as long as there was a human being still in captivity.

He looked around with a start. How could I have fallen asleep? Everyone was still in position and, slowly, his heart began to calm. They had traveled for the last few days to get here and he must have been more tired than he had thought. He looked out over the valley below where the small town lay slumbering. A cold breeze drifted from the north and brought with it fingers of ice that teased their way through the heavy jacket he wore no matter how he secured it. He lay along a rocky ridge, prone on the frozen ground, suddenly aware that his body was numb with the cold. He felt stiff as he stretched his muscles and winced as he rolled to his feet and began stamping to speed the circulation.

On the horizon he could see the faint, tentative caress of the dawn as the sun peeked over the distant hills and cast its weak glow onto the dark canvass of the ebony sky. For a moment he watched the lazy flight of four shapes high in the sky as the vampires returned from their final patrol, just ahead of the dawn’s deadly caress. The vampires seemed to gather the remaining darkness around them as if to shield them from the growing spread of the light. They might be evil incarnate but they were magnificent in the air.

He watched them riding the air currents as they scanned the area surrounding the town. Winter had hit early this year but the transportation problems they had suffered, the lack of food and the myriad of other issues that had plagued Harris and the others, had been alleviated somewhat by the discovery that the vampires’ incredible senses were dulled to almost normal human proportions by the cold.

No longer could they sense or smell their prey at incredible distances. Their vision was unaffected, unfortunately, but their patrols had been cursory at best since the weather had changed. They might be immortal but they didn’t like the cold, and the humans had been busy exploiting this over the last month.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when Harris and the other survivors had pulled themselves from their destroyed headquarters—but, in fact, it had only been two months. In that time they had swelled their numbers to nearly three thousand strong. There had been no contact with other vampires since their victory. The vampires were very territorial and had little or no contact between each settlement. This had left Harris and his group relatively free to plan and prepare for their next foray.

They were under terrible time pressure though with the knowledge that the serum the Vampires used to control their human captives was, in fact, killing those who were forced to take it. Their quandary, though, was that they could not simply take on every settlement directly—there were far too many thralls and they were far too well armed to even consider such an approach. And that was without even considering the power of the vampires themselves, even though many of the newly freed people campaigned for just such action.

The knowledge that people would start dying of the deadly mixture soon made everyone impatient to do something. Some proposed that they tell the vampires of the serum’s deadly side effects. Others argued that such an action would tip the vampires off that a resistance existed at all, and they were simply not ready for that. Their own survival was imperative, though it was hard to reconcile that at the cost of so many others’ lives, especially when many of those who would die were children. The debates raged on with all sides beginning to drift further apart and internal strife reaching critical levels.

While the debates continued, with no one really offering any concrete alternatives, Harris and his team had continued to plan. They had quickly rounded up the remaining thralls. The loss of their vampire masters and the betrayal of their commanding officer had left them reeling and easy targets. It had also helped that a significant number of them had been slaughtered in the attack on the base and the survivors had regarded the humans with a new respect. Their new subservient position, along with their fear of reprisals from the remaining “cattle pool”, as they had labeled the food supply for the vampires, had made them eager to provide information on their former masters.

Harris and his team had discovered that the vampires had a strange social structure, if indeed structure could be used to describe it at all. A master vampire ruled each area, or cabal. This designation of master had, in times when humans had ruled the world, never been bestowed on any vampire with a life history of less than three hundred years and, even then, only on the very rare occasion of another master’s death. The fact that the vampires had hid in the shadows had meant that they would only add to their ranks in special circumstances, so the number of cabals had remained constant and their leadership had remained unchanged for centuries.

Many of the younger vampires had spent decades, even centuries, conniving and jostling for these positions of power, and this had ensured that only the very best ever attained the position of leader of a cabal. Development came slowly to the undead; they received their strength, senses and limited transformation abilities immediately after their resurrection, but after that their bodies took decades to develop further abilities such as resistance to holy water, the cross and the ability to change into other creatures.

Unfortunately for them, their rapid spread over an unprepared world had left them with more cabals than they had eligible candidates to lead them. Because of this, vampires had been promoted or had massacred their way into the position of master based purely on their successes during the war. This had led to squabbling on a scale the vampire overlords had never before experienced and had been completely unprepared for. They were used to an existence in the shadows where their control over their own cabals was paramount to their very survival. Respect was earned over centuries and each cabal leader had always been mature and well tested before they were raised to the position of master.

Now they had a nightmare of petty jealousies and arguments over territory among young vampires who held positions of immense power. But they had no experience and no respect needed to control such areas. Many vampires had fought among themselves. Vampires had been assassinated, their loyal thralls butchered, and whole cities of precious human food destroyed in the aftermath of their victory over the humans. The situation had deteriorated rapidly with alliances being hastily forged and just as quickly broken. A full-scale war loomed and threatened to tear them apart.

Many of the older and wiser masters, not caught up in the insane jostling for power, had banded together in the face of their own destruction and had implemented a council where territorial disputes were to be heard and ruled upon. These masters had seen many centuries of warfare and still retained the respect of the older vampires. They even commanded a certain level of fear among the more recent masters. The various cabals, reluctantly, had agreed to give the council a chance at restoring some order.

Council meetings were held once every six months, but many of these new masters were reluctant to wait that long for a resolution to their immediate problems, and didn’t always agree or abide by any decisions that did come from these courts. The last two years had seen vicious raids into rival territories, stealing of scarce resources and kidnappings and assassinations of thralls who excelled in key positions of power.

The killing of vampires had stopped abruptly after the last vampire to be found guilty of such a crime had been staked naked to the dawn by his peers. The council did provide some order and many of the larger raids did stop, or at least became less frequent as the cabals began to realise that the cost in terms of lost thralls, resources and food was just too high. An uneasy truce had finally limped into being with all sides mistrustful of the other. This had led to the vampires becoming very insular over the last year.

In a very short time each cabal had begun to develop independently, basing their strength and power on those resources that their own territory was rich in. Some areas were rich in food, others in people, and others still in power sources or natural resources. Their ability to defend these resources or steal others’ resources soon became the primary measure of true power. Tradition and respect were ignored and each faction watched its borders and protected its resources jealously. Mistrust grew and rivalries increased until the entire country seethed with a barely contained, but often violated, truce.

The only thing that had prevented a bloodbath from engulfing them all was the power and fear of the last remaining true master on the continent. Von Richelieu was an ancient vampire from Eastern Europe, one of the few that had actually left their ancestral country and sought to grow their influence in the new world. His prowess in military matters had swept away the human’s defenses. His political acumen and ruthless efficiency had quickly removed any other vampire master during the chaotic closing stages of the war with the humans that might have threatened his position in the new power structure.

The remaining vampire masters were all mere youths compared to him, and he had become the only thing that all the others actually feared. None of the new masters were prepared to confront him openly, and they were far too mistrustful of each other to join together to challenge him, so the uneasy peace remained. In the last few months, Harris had learned from the thralls, things had settled down after a revitalized council had put restrictions in place. Von Richelieu had finally decided to take action and he let it be known that all vampires would answer to the council if they continued their fighting.

The council had never had the power to enforce their decisions before, but with Von Richelieu now supporting them, things began to settle down. The fact that he sent out his own lethal vampire enforcers to kill anyone who went against a council ruling soon focused the younger vampires’ attention on the council’s authority. Harris had not been able to find out exactly what these restrictions had been but news had filtered down to the thralls that no forays into other territories would be tolerated. As a result, the thralls had all grown complacent over the last few months and ruled their own areas in much the same way as the fiefdoms of the Medieval Ages.

This gave a much needed reprieve to the humans and allowed them to wean the new recruits off the drug and train them for whatever might come their way. They were under terrible time pressure with the serum’s fatal concoction, but it was also incumbent on them to survive. With this in mind they had decided to try to take advantage of the unrest among the vampires and try to nudge the cabals back into more direct action by playing one against the other.

Today would be the first step in their campaign. Harris did not actually have the full blessing of the newly formed government back at their base. He had tried many times to lay out the plan about how they hoped that they would be able to siphon off people and supplies from the neighboring territories while the other cabals were otherwise engaged. But, now that they had more people to cater for, they also had more representatives in the fledgling government and agreements were few and hard-fought. Harris had decided to present them with a fait accomplit and hoped that the resulting fallout would not be too bad.

He was well aware that his own view was a blinkered one; he was focused only on the task of saving lives while others were just as focused on their own areas and commitments. He knew that he too would have to change as their community grew, otherwise there would be anarchy if everyone just went off and did what they felt was right. But the serum’s effects were non-negotiable—they just did not have the time for debate. If they did not act now then there would be no point in acting later.

They had been lucky that Nero, the master who had controlled their own area before Harris had beheaded him two months ago, had been a particularly singular vampire. He had not made contact with the other cabals for anything and expected the same in return. He had been quite a senior vampire during the war, and many had seen him as a direct threat to Von Richelieu himself. He had only come to America to satisfy a particularly insatiable appetite for carnage. He had already won large estates in the initial battles in Europe but quickly grew bored as territory after territory fell too easily. It was only in America that battles had been fought that satisfied his blood lust—at least until the serum had been used and the human defense had crumbled almost overnight.

He was over four hundred years old but his ambitions and bloodlust had been satiated by the war. At least, this had been what he had informed the council when he had removed himself from the committee and also from the resulting carnage as the vampires fought over the spoils. It was understood by the thralls that Harris questioned that Von Richelieu had let him go mainly because his numerous attempts at removing him had failed. Nero had retained enough respect from the younger vampires so that they turned their greedy attentions toward easier and less established prey.

The surviving thralls had been most informative as to the relations between the cabals. It seemed that the vampires had pretty much kept to the old state lines when carving up their territories after they had taken over. This was the easiest to administer and control, except for some notable exceptions where lines had been stretched to include certain advantages depending on the level of strength and political weight each vampire master could exert.

Cases in point were their own neighboring cabals. The states, formerly known as Michigan and Indiana were now controlled by the Von Kruger and Wentworth Cabals respectively and bordered what had been Nero’s Cabal, in the old state of Ohio. It seemed that there had been a long rivalry between these two states that predated the vampires’ coming. At the centre of this rivalry was the Dade Nuclear Power plant that was situated just over the border in Michigan. Before the energy crisis this plant had powered all the surrounding states and the plant drew its employees from both sides of the state line. The plant had become a popular place to work and had always been seen as a shared resource by both states.

As the energy crisis of the last few years had worsened, however, things began to sour between the two states. Michigan had stopped supplying power to her neighboring states and people had flocked to Michigan, leaving the other states, especially Indiana, with poor resources and too few people to manage what was left.

When the vampires had come, Von Kruger, a two hundred year old vampire from Bonn, Germany, had used his seniority to redraw the map to include the power plant in the newly drawn Indiana state line. Wentworth, the former governor of Michigan, had ranted for over a year before settling down to his fate.

The need for heating and power really only affected the thralls, as the vampires were nocturnal, so he really couldn’t argue too loudly. Von Kruger, as the elder vampire, could have demanded Michigan, as it was more generously populated, but had opted for the warmer state. Wentworth, with a much larger population to feed upon had relented and an uneasy peace reigned.

Neither vampire had given a second thought to the thralls. Wentworth’s army, far bigger and better armed, began to grumble and complain about the arrival of an early winter. They had used up their entire stock of oil and fossil fuels last winter, convinced that they would be able to obtain at least a small feed from the power plant for the next year, but negotiations had broken down and they had been left with nothing. Their barracks were cold, their food was rapidly going bad without proper refrigeration—though the cold weather alleviated this somewhat—and the lack of power left them literally in the dark; they even had to light large campfires each evening to patrol their territory. This strain on their limited resources left the thralls irritable and difficult to control.

Von Kruger’s thralls, on the other hand, had plenty of power; in fact, they particularly enjoyed lighting their state line to such an extent that the immediate area sharing the state line with Michigan was lit up like daylight. Their barracks were warm—however, their food levels were very low. They also had a surplus of fuel as they had stockpiles that they had hoarded before Von Kruger had annexed the nuclear plant which were not as critical now. They delighted in offering these supplies at exorbitant prices to their neighbors.

Ever since the vampires had taken over, the thralls had lived off the huge food stocks that all the states had hoarded during the energy crisis before the vampires had come. The thralls did not see past their immediate needs and lusts and animals had been left untended, fields remained unploughed and all the time the stocks grew lower. Some of the more intelligent cabals had seen the potential disaster and had set their human captives to work, but, for most, it wasn’t until the stocks had become dangerously low that they had even thought of food production. Recently there had been a scramble to find humans who had knowledge of farming and animal husbandry that would be able to coax food from a neglected land, and a search had begun for any animals that may have survived in the wild.

Indiana had a dangerously low human population. Von Kruger had to curtail their feeding habits to the extent that his vampires were complaining of being hungry. Many of the humans were tapped for their blood too often already, and many were dying from a combination of disease and exhaustion. A breakout of cholera last year had taken nearly a third of their already low human population.

Von Kruger had been one of the few vampires to see the oncoming food shortages and had set his remaining human population to work some months before. They had already tilled fields and gathered a growing animal base to feed his thralls and his dwindling human food supply. They had quite a surplus of food now but a dangerously low population to maintain it.

This left an interesting balance of power between the two cabals; Wentworth had an impressive army that could threaten the whole area but had no power, fuel and little food to feed his surplus of people while Von Kruger needed people badly to continue to safeguard and produce the food surplus he had developed. He also needed more humans to tend his power station or risk the plant shutting down or even becoming dangerously critical from a lack of careful attention.

It seemed to Harris that if left alone both parties might come to an agreement that would cater to both their needs. However, Harris judged that it would not take a lot to nudge both parties along a more direct and physical confrontation and he and his team planned to make sure that peace and cool heads did not win out. The resultant fallout would be enough, he hoped, to allow the humans the chance to add to their own dangerously low supplies and growing requirements, and at the same time save as many people as they could in the resulting confusion.

Chapter 2

Once the vampires disappeared from view Harris rose to his feet and brushed the powdered snow from his clothes. The ten other figures hidden along the ledge struggled to their feet and rearranged their equipment in silence. They all wore Gore-Tex “Windstopper” fleeces and, although they were cold from lying on the ground, they remained dry underneath. Breath plumed out from all the figures and created a small fog that the early breeze swirled around them, creating an almost mystical vista as they stamped their feet and rolled their arms, trying to generate heat back into their frozen joints.

Harris looked over the group. He had chosen this group carefully. On one hand he needed the experience of the men that had fought with him before; on the other, he could not strip the camp of all of its best fighters, especially when they were here without permission. To this end he had chosen Rodgers, Warkowski and Steele. The others were all new to the group but very capable, at least according to their own accounts.

John Tanner had been a police officer before the war. At fifty-two he had a slight paunch that bulged over his trousers, though his massive six-foot-three frame went a long way to disguising this. His hair was thinning on top in a small circle like a monk but he had retained a thick mane of hair on either side of his head that had grown down to his shoulders and now curled at the ends, giving him the appearance of an aging rock musician. His face was heavily lined and Harris imagined that every line told a story of the many cruel scenes he had witnessed in his years on the force. His eyes seemed to hold a strange distant look that seemed to confirm Harris’s suspicion but Tanner kept a cool head under fire, knew how to take orders and carried them out to the letter. He had been among the last batch weaned off the serum and had nearly been missed in the confusion of moving to a new base and the sheer numbers of new additions.

The survivors’ numbers had grown so large that many of the jobs and positions had grown from individual placements to whole departments of people looking after food, sanitation, security and offensive operations. Most of the newly awakened were still quite groggy when they were first interviewed and many found themselves assigned to work details not necessarily appropriate with their previous employments.

The sheer volume of people meant that it was easier to assign people and then reassign those that didn’t fit at a later stage; this had led to some hilarious postings, not least of which had been Tanner’s own case. He had commented dryly that he was used to wet nursing others during his interview and the interviewer had taken him literally and he had promptly been assigned to the nursery where his six-foot-three build and gravely voice had nearly sent the young children into shock. Harris had happened to be passing the nursery on his way to visit Sandra in the hospital when he had heard the commotion and had gone to investigate. He had snapped the police sergeant up on the spot for his growing offensive operations department.

Dave Sherman was a different matter altogether. The man was mean-looking, with a personality to match, but his experience in the Marines for the last fifteen years made personal feelings redundant, especially considering he had spent the last five of those years in Special Forces. Sherman had a thin, almost ferret-like face and had an abundance of body hair that seemed to spill from his clothes at his neckline and around his hands. He had obviously given up on the pointless exercise of shaving and he sported a full, thick beard that served to soften his narrow features somewhat. His hair was jet black but his beard, strangely, was almost white and the contrast was quite startling. The man had piercing blue eyes that shone almost fervently from the shadows of his deep-set features, and he had a large, almost aquiline, nose that was hard to avoid staring at when in conversation with him.

Harris still hadn’t quite figured out what made the man tick but Sherman knew his weapons and had passed on invaluable training on how to move in a combat situation, assault a heavily defended target and how to report information under fire. This last was particularly invaluable as Harris and his men had previously relied upon split second timing before with no ability to signal other groups once a raid had begun and this left them vulnerable if the plan changed in any way. Sherman had educated them in how to make signals without electronic means and without arousing enemy suspicions. There was still, however, something about the marine that didn’t sit well with Harris, but he resolved to keep his suspicions to himself unless he was given a reason to look more closely.

Their team might not be able to take on the SAS but they’d do for Harris. Scott Mitchell, Aidan Fleming and Carlos Ortega had all been employed in the retail trade before the vampires had come but had kept themselves fit. They had been put through a rigorous training schedule over the last month and had finally regained their former fitness after two years of inactivity as food for the vampires. They had no previous experience in combat but Harris needed young, fit men to fill the ranks, and these three fit the bill.

The last new member was Deirdre (Dee) Ratigan. At five-feet-six the rest of the group dwarfed her. Her small frame was compact but well proportioned; a little too well proportioned as far as Sandra was concerned, but the Barrett XM-109 rifle strapped to her back spoke volumes about her abilities. The .50 caliber weapon was designed to give individual snipers the firepower to take on light amour, Harris was looking forward to seeing what the payload would do to the vampires; even they had to have a body to attach their heads to. Harris didn’t understand the tech-speak but knew enough to know that anything capable of penetrating an inch and a half of amour plating should do the trick nicely, even without the benefit of Pat Smyth’s magic coating on the bullets.

Dee had an impish face and always wore her lustrous brown hair tied back in a severe bun that couldn’t take away from the sheer perfection of her bone structure. Her eyes shone like a cats and their cerulean hue seemed to spark if you looked at them in the light. Her nose was short, almost too small, but her high cheekbones took the beholder’s attention away from this small imperfection and her smooth, almost glacially perfect skin, seemed to shine with its own illumination. She was not beautiful, her chin was quite pointed and her ears too large for her petit features, but her bright personality and infectious laughter had most of the men in the camp throwing themselves at her in the hope that she would notice them.

She had been a sniper in the army and was a crack shot. Luckily for them, she had been separated from her platoon during the final days of the war with the vampires and she had been swept up in the closing days of the war into their town just before the serum had been launched against them. As soon as she had recovered from the serum’s effects she had immediately demanded that she be allowed to return to the city where she had managed to hide her beloved Barrett.

She had found it still wrapped in an oiled rag under the floorboards where she had hidden it before the chaos of the serum effects had taken hold. The weapon looked massive strapped to her small frame but the ease with which she handled it dispelled any doubts anyone might have as to her abilities. Anyone still not convinced only had to watch her shoot to quickly revise their opinion.

Warkowski had been delighted when he had heard that the group had another sniper, and the two spent hours discussing scopes, wind velocity and ballistics in terms Harris had never even heard before, let alone understood. There had been severe ribbing from the others about the unlikely pair: Warkowski’s huge frame dwarfed her to an extreme that was almost comical, but anyone that knew Warkowski, and what he had gone through to find his family, knew that his only interest was in her abilities. Dee, for her part, liked Warkowski a lot but had set her sights elsewhere.

The team had walked over a hundred miles from their new base and had spent the last day and night in the hills surrounding the town of Bertrand, watching the vampire and thrall patrols, making notes and fine-tuning their plan.

Bertrand was one of the towns that had been annexed onto Von Kruger’s cabal when he had taken the nuclear plant. It was a small town bounded on the north by the larger settlements of Niles and Buchanan, but it was here that the thralls had stockpiled their fossil fuels for the northern part of the state. Harris had no idea why they had picked this small town but he suspected that Von Kruger may have been planning to annex a little more territory and wanted his fuel nearby.

Either way, it suited Harris.

The town was surrounded by lightly rolling prairie lands but the rich golden sea of wheat that used to grow in abundance now lay rotted in fields left untended and abandoned. Von Kruger had been one of the few who had started a policy of farming almost a year ago but had so few people that huge areas like this were left neglected.

The eastern portion of the town rose into gently sloping hills, which slanted down towards the river, and Harris and his team occupied a line of low hills extending along the northern border. The thralls had built a large compound just outside the town, converting the ruins of St. Joseph’s Fort into a fuel depot. As the small party descended from the hills they could see rows of tankers and mounds of coal inside the fort. The once sturdy walls that had seen action against the French and Spanish in times gone by now lay broken and desolate, a testament to a forlorn defense against the vampires two years ago.

The shattered and cracked remains of the ramparts seemed to reach upwards in a jagged line as if grasping despondently towards the brightening sky. Their shapes were mere shadows against the tapestry of feeble light coming from the horizon beyond, but there was enough light to see that their vigil was a lonely one and that no guards paced their ramparts. There were a few guards visible below the fort among the buildings, but this was the early shift and the thralls had become very lazy, preferring to stand near heated cabins rather than brave the cold winds that whipped at the exposed battlements. From their protected positions the guards would not see Harris and his group, so their approach, though careful, was a relatively easy one.

They had left Warkowski and Dee Ratigan back on the higher ground, which gave them an excellent view of the barracks and the main road beyond should any reinforcements arrive during the operation. Harris motioned for the rest of the group to split into two sections; Sherman took Ortega, Fleming and Mitchell, leaving him with Tanner, Rodgers and Steele. He watched as Sherman led his men around a bluff, his large form easily negotiating the uneven ground while his men slipped and stumbled after him. He smiled to himself as he saw the Marine turn and fix the three men with a stare that would strip flesh from bone. The men moved more carefully after that.

Dave Sherman cursed as one of the men behind him stumbled. Bloody amateurs, he thought as he shot Fleming another withering look. It was just as well that the thralls were over-confident and bloody useless or they’d all be dead. He moved on with the other three following sheepishly. The men he had were the best of a bad lot, but at least they were fit; some of the men he had been given to train had been just useless, men who thought that, just because they had done a little shooting with their friends before the war, that that made them soldiers.

It still amazed him that with so many in their community there were so few military, or even trained personnel. It was a problem he had discussed at length with Harris and one that, while Harris was sympathetic, had no answer for except that they make the best of what they had. Sherman had a lot of respect for Harris. He was no soldier but at least he knew his limitations. He had a good strategic mind but was prepared to defer to those more experienced than him when planning an operation.

This had worried Sherman at first. While it was commendable for a leader to listen to others, it was dangerous if that leader continued to defer to others during the chaos of a field operation. Command had to be concise and definite during combat. Luckily for them, Harris was a man who listened when planning but once decided, commanded his men well. Sherman had no ambition to lead. He had been a Sergeant and was happy to lead a squad and leave the overall command to someone else, as long as they didn’t get them all killed. Besides, it allowed him more free time for other exploits. He felt himself growing aroused as his mind drifted and he forced himself to concentrate on to the task at hand. There would be plenty of time later for those pursuits, he promised himself.

Their mission was to ensure that reinforcements were not called, or that if they were, that they could delay them long enough for the others to complete the mission. To this end he led his men around the fort to the building at the far side that housed the communications; at least, it was the only building that boasted an aerial. They had seen men enter and leave that building throughout the previous day, none staying for any long periods, so they had marked this as a priority target.

Communications had regressed over the last two years as mobile masts had either been destroyed or proved too costly in power to keep serviced. Satellites had proved less than reliable, as lack of maintenance had meant that there wasn’t always one in range when you needed it. The thralls didn’t use them, preferring simple radio transmissions, as they did not need specialized men to operate them. As a result, centralized radio communications became the order of the day. It was short range but cabals had little desire or need to communicate with each other so short range was just fine for the thralls.

Steele had rigged up a receiver that allowed them to hack into any local transmissions so they were aware that no patrols were due to arrive today, though anything could happen to change those plans. It was essential that they take out the communications without any alerts being sent if they wanted to succeed here today.

Sherman motioned for his men to lie low as a thrall passed a few feet from their position. He lifted the strap of his weapon over his head and rested it on the dirt beside him and then reached down to his thigh and slid his bayonet free. He motioned for the others to stay where they were and then eased himself into a crouch and followed the guard.

Thralls were incredibly lucky in many ways, as far as Sherman was concerned. They had the strength of three men, could run all day without keeling over, and had amazing senses. Oh, nothing like their masters, but far better than any soldier Sherman had ever seen—and he had seen some of the best. In fact, the only drawback that he could see was that they were slaves to their masters and that they were so full of themselves that they didn’t use their abilities.

Instead of taking advantage of their incredible abilities they preferred to strut around and satiate their lusts with food and sex as and when they wanted. They could do so much more.

Sherman had often thought how great it would be to have their abilities, but he wasn’t prepared to take the downside. The thrall in front of him should have heard him, he should have been able to turn and swat him away with ease, but instead Sherman reached the guard and slit his throat before he showed any sign that he had heard the Marine.

Sherman let the guard fall to the ground and spat on him with contempt. To have such abilities and to waste them was unforgivable. Sherman motioned to his men and they followed him toward their target.

The building that housed the radio was a small porta-office that, according to a sun-bleached sign in front of the building, had once housed the office that handled the administration and ticket sales for the tour of the nearby fort. It was a small structure with two rooms partitioned from each other by a stud wall. There were windows on three sides, though they were small and allowed the men to approach easily without being detected. The building was situated outside the grounds of the fort itself, but close enough that the structure lay within the shadow of the fort’s high walls. Sherman shivered as he passed from the growing heat of the sun into the cooler gloom. He made a cutting gesture to Fleming and pointed at the wire that led to the roof. He then turned and led the others towards the front of the building.

He checked once more for any stray guards and then moved to the door. Mitchell and Ortega took up positions on either side of him and scanned the area immediately around them. Sherman reached for the handle when, suddenly, the door was pulled inwards and a guard appeared. The guard’s face was still turned towards the interior of the cabin as he finished his conversation with someone inside. Sherman reacted immediately, shot the thrall in the throat and pushed past him before he had fallen.

The guards might be lazy but, once alerted to danger, they were amazingly fast. Sherman fired at the radio operator first and took the man with three shots to the head. There was a guard to the operator’s left who had been leaning against the radio table, but by the time Sherman had moved to cover him, the thrall had disappeared. Sherman cursed and scanned the room. The enclosed space of the room was filled with shouts, thumping feet and sustained fire as Mitchell and Ortega over-reacted and entered the room with their fingers frozen on the triggers. Bullets flew everywhere and machinery buzzed and sparked as bullets destroyed the equipment.

Sherman couldn’t find the thrall who had escaped and he was deafened by the bedlam around him. He felt a sharp pain in his thigh as a bullet ricocheted off metal and tore into his calf. His leg collapsed and he fell heavily to the ground. The wound hurt like hell but it had probably saved his life as more bullets ripped through the air where he had stood moments before. He fell awkwardly on his arm and his aim was spoiled as his own bullets smashed through the window and added to the mad cacophony. He had a moment to see the thrall grin as he brought his weapon to bear, and then suddenly the guard pirouetted madly as round after round hit his large frame. The bullets continued on past the guard and continued to slam into the wood behind him until Ortega’s gun finally clicked empty.

Sherman looked up into Ortega’s smiling face and grinned as the man replaced his empty magazine. He had spent weeks training these men to shoot in short, controlled bursts, and for the first time in his life he was happy that they hadn’t listened.

Harris looked at his small team as they waited for the allotted time to pass. Sherman and his men were making their way around the back of the town and it would take them at least ten minutes to get into place so they had a little time yet before they needed to move. John Tanner sat quietly fidgeting as he checked his weapons yet again; Harris had noticed that the man did not like to be still for very long. He got very nervous when there was nothing to do and had plagued Harris over the last week or so about when they would be going out.

The new community was hard to get used to, especially in their new quarters with its cramped living space, so he could understand the man wanting to get out. He hoped, however, that this nervousness did not signify anything that he needed to be worried about. Police work was very different to military operations and he hoped that the man was able to make the leap; otherwise, he might have to send him back to the nursery.

Rodgers caught his eye and Harris couldn’t help feeling better, despite his own nervousness. Rodgers had an infectious, happy-go-lucky attitude that never failed to cheer everyone around him. It wasn’t that the man was too stupid to be nervous or even scared so badly that he was demented; it was just that Rodgers accepted whatever fate could throw at him. He would do his best to come back alive, but if he fell then there was no point in worrying about it—although Rodgers had been unusually quiet of late and the grin on his face looked forced. Harris made a note to himself to have a talk with him to make sure everything was okay when he had the chance. Things had been so busy since they’d emerged from their old head quarters that no one had time to talk things through.

Steele sat on his left and alternated between checking the guards’ positions and confirming Sherman’s route. Steele was an enigma to Harris. He was a fantastic asset, there was nobody he would rather have with him in a firefight—the man was incredible. He could move like a ghost and his ideas and strategies for their upcoming campaigns were brilliant. He understood exactly how the enemy thought and how they were deployed. He had moved freely between many communities during his service to the vampires and had seen the different ethics of each community; he was simply invaluable.

It had been Steele’s idea to get each of the cabals to fight each other and make their job easier as they consolidated their own position. But, at the end of the day, he had also callously worked against his own kind until recently. Could he really trust Steele? What would it take for him to change sides again? On a personal note, Harris really liked Steele. The man was quiet, but despite what he had done over the last two years, he seemed to have a strong moral code. He did not use his strength or position to demand favoritism for better quarters, food or supplies. He attended all the meetings but didn’t enforce his will on others. He stated what they should do and why, he would argue his point sure enough, but not aggressively and had always accepted strategies that did not agree with his own.

Outside of training, he kept to himself, and most of the people who knew of him kept their distance. They were pleased that he had helped them, but they were slow to give him their trust. Steele seemed to accept this, though Harris had argued with his colleagues relentlessly that they could not have survived without his help and that he deserved better. People tended to shrug and promise much, though things always seemed to go back to normal as soon as Harris moved away. Steele had, however, seemed to have formed a bond with one survivor.

The fledgling community still did not have a reliable system for keeping track of all those awakened—there were just so many after they had liberated Nero’s city. So it was possible that families still had loved ones alive and well but in a different area, though at this stage it was increasingly unlikely that anyone who had not found their family or friends would do so now.

Still there were many lost souls in their community, people who wandered the corridors searching for loved ones in the hope that they would just bump into them. One such soul was a small girl of around fourteen called April. She was mute, and as no one could sign, she was reduced to carrying a pad on which she would write her questions to everyone she met about her family. It was generally accepted that her family were dead, but the girl continued to search regardless and everyone was so busy rebuilding the community that no one really had time to sit her down and explain the situation. Steele, though, had made a huge effort and had spent a lot of time helping the girl search. The two had become a familiar sight as they passed between the numerous buildings that made up their new hub.

There had been many who whispered about sexual perversion and questioned Steele’s motives, and Harris was embarrassed to admit that the thought had crossed his own mind briefly, but he was certain now that there was nothing to it, just two lonely people who didn’t have anybody else and were comfortable with each other’s silence. Harris had talked to Sandra about April and her unhealthy search for a family that was quite probably dead, but she had smiled at him and told him that both April and Steele had stopped searching quite some time ago, soon after they had found each other, in fact. Now they were just happy to be doing something with someone who cared.

Whatever else he might do, Harris was convinced that Steele would never let anything harm April and he was prepared to accept the man at face value until he gave him a reason not to. He looked at his watch—there were still a few minutes yet…

“Shit,” Steele muttered as he heard the crackle of gunfire. “That’s too soon, something’s gone wrong.” He fixed the others with a level stare. “We’ll have to go anyway.”

He didn’t wait for their reply; really, they didn’t have a choice. They were committed now.

Chapter 3

Steele launched himself out of the protection of the slope and weaved his way towards the town in a low crouch. He kept his eyes on the guards ahead and his gun pointed at the closest, ready to shoot but holding fire until the last possible moment. There was still a huge advantage to keeping their attack on this side of the town as quiet as they could until they were in position, despite the noise coming from Sherman’s men. The guards may not be patrolling the fort’s battlements at this time, but, if the guards made it to those fortified positions before they managed to get closer, then they would be torn to pieces.

This was a small garrison town but the number of guards was inordinately large due to the nature and size of their charges. Steele had passed through this town on his way to crush the human resistance months ago and had noted at the time how critical its supplies were. On his way here he had crossed many states, and it had been a struggle to obtain the fuel he needed to get to his destination. Fuel was a rare commodity and he would have had no chance of getting any amount without the papers from Von Richelieu himself ordering all parties to provide any and all assistance to him.

Even with those papers, most towns could only afford small amounts, just enough to get him to the next town. Here, though, it seemed they had fuel to spare and he had obtained almost a half tank when he had promised that he would put in a good word for the camp’s officers with Von Richelieu on his next visit. Steele had spent a little time poking around while his bike was being fuelled and had seen the sheer volume of this cabal’s fuel wealth. If the council knew just how much fuel Von Kruger was hoarding they would commandeer a fair amount of it for their own purposes.

That was why Steele wanted to start here. Von Kruger could not really complain if fuel—that should not really exist in the first place—was stolen. But he would retaliate with a fury born of deep insult and grave loss. Just what they wanted him to do.

Steele wrenched his mind back to the present and threw himself flat as the first of the guards finally looked up and saw him. He fired as he lurched forward and saw the guard stagger back as his three-round burst took him in the chest in a staccato motion. The guard’s own shots cut the air where Steele had been only moments before. It was a mistake to think that, just because they were lazy, that the thralls were not well trained. They were in mortal fear of their masters and trained hard to show them that they should retain their master’s favor. Their enhanced strength and reactions were also far in excess of anything that humans could hope to attain. In fact, the only thing that gave humans any chance at all was the fact that the guards had had nothing to do for almost two years and had grown complacent.

Once they woke up to the danger it would be much harder to fight them. Of course, by that stage, they would be killing each other.

Hopefully.

Steele rolled as he hit the ground and came up firing at the guard beside the one he had killed. The XM8 Heckler and Koch bucked in his hands but the gas-powered action used to eject the spent cartridge and chamber the next one was far less violent than the recoil system employed by older models. The three-round burst took the thrall in a neat pattern in the chest, slamming hard into his heart and tearing the muscle to shreds. The thrall dropped to the ground without firing a shot.

Steele liked the new XM8, despite what the US military might have thought of the weapon before the vampires came. It was shorter than the old M16, but its special rifling meant that it lost no velocity. It used standard 5.56 NATO rounds, so they would have no trouble finding ammunition, and it came with an option of a 30 or 100 round magazines, so even their less accurate men would have to hit something.

It was light too. He was still surprised at how people who had never before fired a machine gun always seemed to say that it was heavier then they thought it would be. What did they expect? Anyway, the XM8 was as light as they come, and it also came with some very cool extras like laser sights and a single shot, under-barrel grenade launcher, for those who wanted to make more of a mess.

Steele had found a cache of the weapons, still in their boxes and destined to be returned to the factory. Steele was well aware of the history of the gun and the political reasons why it was never adopted by the military in pre-war America. He, though, had been delighted to get them as it made those people who could not really handle the weight and recoil of the other weapons they had far more useful.

A round passed close by his face and he shook himself. This wasn’t the time for daydreaming. He lowered his hand to the under-barrel and braced himself as the grenade launched from the weapon. Three thralls were sent into the air like dolls cast carelessly aside only to land in shattered heaps on the ground. Steele chambered another round and then returned to firing three-burst rounds at the thralls that poured from the barracks.

Harris weaved his way towards the main fuel depot, alert for any movement ahead. He ignored the barracks, trusting that Tanner and Steele would take care of any resistance from that area. He trusted also that Rodgers was still with him but didn’t take the time to check; he either was or he wasn’t—it was too late to abort now, anyway.

Bullets whizzed past him, one snatching at his jacket and scoring a shallow graze along his arm. Pain knifed through him and he felt something warm spread along his arm. He threw himself down and fired blindly in the direction of the shots. He crawled towards a small ditch to the side of the road but the level of fire increased around him and forced him to stop and try and bury himself as far into the ground as he could. Dirt shot upwards in small plumes as each round sought him out but there was nowhere to go.

He wasn’t going to make it. He tried to crawl back but the bullets began to stitch across the ground, tracking him relentlessly. He only had seconds before the line reached him but he couldn’t see anywhere to take cover. The bullets were only inches from him when, suddenly, they stopped. For a brief moment silence reigned and Harris watched in shocked relief as the small cloud of dust from the last impact settled gently back to the ground. He looked up tentatively.

Nothing.

He couldn’t see the thrall who had been shooting at him but there was no answering fire when he lifted his head either. He looked back and saw Rodgers behind him. He looked as confused as Harris was. He heard a distant boom, a much deeper sound than the normal popcorn-like crackle of gunfire that came from where Sherman and the others were. The sound seemed to reverberate through the valley like rolling thunder and he suddenly made the connection. Warkowski and Dee were on the ball. He forced himself up and ran towards the wall surrounding the fuel depot and flattened himself against it as he waited on Rodgers to join him.

He peered around the corner and pulled backwards quickly as bullets thumped into the wall and sprayed shards of rock into his face.

“I can see one of them behind a rusted truck on the right but I can’t see the other one!” he shouted to Rodgers over the noise of the guards’ fire. “You take left and I’ll go right.”

He looked at his companion and saw him nod his understanding. Harris slid the loading mechanism back and then forward for the grenade launcher to lock a shell in place and turned back to the edge of the wall. He snapped his head round the corner, pulled the trigger and jumped back behind the wall as more bullets thumped into the wall. He heard the deep thump of the exploding grenade and then launched himself around the wall again. Bullets spat around him, causing the ground to erupt in small plumes of dry dust as he ran. Behind him he heard Rodgers grunt but there wasn’t time to check on him.

The rusted hulk of the truck where one of the thralls had been hiding was now a mass of smoking, tangled metal and no bullets came from that direction. One down, he thought. A bullet grazed his ear and he was sent spinning as nausea flooded through him and sent him tumbling to the ground. The bullets had come from behind a fuel truck over to his right and he stumbled back to his feet, fighting dizziness as nausea threatened to send him sprawling again to the dirt.

He rolled behind the still-smoking wreckage of the first thrall’s hiding place, ignoring the blood and viscera that littered the area. He took a second to let his stomach settle and took deep breaths as he fought the nausea. His head was splitting and it thumped painfully where the bullet had grazed him.

More shots drew his attention as the thrall continued to fire at Rodger’s helpless form. He had been hit almost as soon as he came around the wall and lay in a small depression in the ground. The thrall didn’t have a clear shot from his position but he was able to keep Harris from moving by sending the occasional round in his direction.

Any minute now more thralls could arrive from the building they had identified as a possible second barracks and it would all be over. They had hoped to take out the building before the alarm was raised, but now he imagined men streaming from the barracks and taking up positions around them. They had to get that thrall and catch the others before they got too entrenched.

The thrall was positioned behind a fuel truck, but if Harris used a grenade to flush him out the smoke from that much burning fuel would be seen in the next town and re-enforcements would soon be on their way. However, they weren’t set up for a sustained firefight either. What could he do?

He moved down the length of the ruined hulk, retching as he crawled through the gore of the dead thrall. He couldn’t see past the depot wall to the other barracks, but no thralls had appeared as yet so he might just have a bit of time. He heard the boom of a sniper rifle but the bullet crashed into the metal a good ten feet from the thrall’s position. It would seem that neither sniper had a clear shot, so it was up to him to flush the thrall out.

He rolled from his cover and slid in behind an empty barrel.

The high-pitched ping of a bullet ricocheting of the metal let him know that the thrall was well aware of his position. He was stuck. In the distance he could hear the crackle of gunfire. Somebody was still alive and fighting. He just wished he knew what was happening.

Steele launched a grenade through the door of the barracks and threw himself to the ground as wood and shrapnel flew through the air. The explosion deafened his ears and he didn’t hear the rumble of the vehicle behind him. He also didn’t hear the bullets that tore into the ground around him. In fact, the first he knew of the enemy behind him was the agony that shot through him as bullets slammed into his back and sent him sprawling to the ground. Dust filled his throat and he retched violently as waves of blackness swept over him, bringing with them blissful oblivion.

Sherman saw Steele fall as he hobbled from the communications building. He could see Tanner rush over to the fallen man despite the bullets that slammed into the ground around him. There were four thralls in a makeshift armored vehicle—it looked like an old pickup with metal panels welded around the body. Tanner fired back at the thralls but his bullets made little impact on the vehicle’s armor and one of the thralls had now shifted his fire towards him. He wouldn’t last long if he stayed where he was.

He wished now that he had attached the grenade launcher to his XM8, but the added weight spoilt his aim and he had left it in his pack. Bullets spat at the ground around him as two more of the thralls in the vehicle saw him and turned their attention toward him. He pivoted to the side and threw himself toward the end of the building but his injured leg collapsed and he fell some way short of the intended cover.

Bullets tore into the ground around him and one nicked his shoulder as he scrambled desperately towards the wall. He shouted for Mitchell to take out the vehicle and hoped the man heard him; Mitchell wasn’t that bright and would probably stay there all day with a rocket launcher in his hands and not fire until actually ordered to. He sighed in relief as he heard the hollow pop as the grenade shoot from the barrel. Good boy, he thought. There were two more hollow pops before the first grenade exploded, followed by two more explosions so close together they sounded like one sustained peal of thunder.

Sherman lifted his head and saw the burning wreckage of the vehicle. There was no damage to the ground on either side of the vehicle so all three grenades had obviously hit the target; he really would have to give his men a lecture on conserving ammunition. For now, though, he merely nodded at the men and allowed them to grin happily at their handiwork.

“Mitchell, see if Steele is still alive,” he ordered and motioned to the other two to follow him as he loped toward the other barracks, cursing with each step as the pain in his leg jarred with each impact.

Harris heard the huge explosion and then saw a large plume of smoke writhe into the air, staining the clear sky like a beacon demanding attention.

“Shit,” he mumbled. The smoke would be seen for miles. They had just run out of time. He chambered a grenade and sent it sailing towards the fuel truck. The resulting blast of heat that seared across the ground scorched the area around him and he felt the heat sear through his clothes. The depot was filled with thick, cloying smoke but he broke from his cover and ran toward were he judged the barracks to be. He couldn’t see anything as he ran and he trusted to luck to get him there without serious injury.

He broke from the smoke as if moving through a veil and suddenly he found himself staring at three thralls who were just as surprised as he was. They stopped their advance to bring their guns to bear but Harris just kept running, and he continued towards the thralls spraying bullets in front of him as he ran. The thralls took a moment to get their weapons level and another to aim and in that time two of them had been hit by Harris’s wild fire. The third though, had him dead to rights and even spared the time to grin at him before he pulled the trigger. Harris braced himself for the pain but instead the thrall’s head suddenly disappeared in a shower of blood and bone. The tale-tale deep boom rolled across the valley and Harris promised a kiss to whoever had fired the shot. He hoped it was Dee Ratigan, but either way he was going to kiss one of his snipers for their amazing skill.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and he threw himself into a forward roll and came up ready to fire. Sherman staggered on his injured leg as he saw Harris aim at him and he hastily raised his hand in greeting and Harris sighed as he removed his finger from the trigger.

“Rodgers is back there!” he shouted and Sherman sent Ortega back into the smoke and then hobbled over to Harris.

“Not exactly to plan, eh?” he grinned as they watched the plume of smoke roil upwards.

“Is it ever?” Harris replied simply. “Any casualties?”

“Steele took a few and went down. I sent Mitchell to check on him.”

Harris nodded and then turned towards the barracks.

“Are there any still in there?” Sherman asked.

Harris shrugged, ratcheted the slide on the launcher and sent a grenade in through the window. A few seconds later the building disappeared in a shower of debris.

“Not any more,” he mumbled. “Come on, we’ve work to do,” he added coldly.

Chapter 4

Sandra Harrington grimaced as she pulled herself up from her bed. It had been two months since she had run screaming at Nero, forcing him back onto the spear and impaling herself at the same time. She had nearly died then; she would have, too, if Steele hadn’t been there to stem the flow of blood and stabilize her until they had gotten her to a medical facility.

She only remembered fragments of that day. The death of her father still lay like a heavy blanket over her. There was so much more she had wanted to say to him, feelings and memories she wanted to share. They had been separated for much of her early years but the last two years had gone some way to making up for his earlier absence. She had wanted to tell him that. She had wanted to explain that, despite the danger and terror of the last two years, she had been happier with him that she had ever been. She had wanted to explain that the constant arguments and frictions they had had didn’t mean that she didn’t love him; in fact, it showed just the opposite—that she wanted his approval and understanding.

Harris kept reminding her that he must have known how she had felt. If everyone else in the complex had been able to see it, then Dan Harrington couldn’t have missed it. He might be right, she sighed, but she still would have liked to have told him.

She staggered a little and shot out her hand to steady herself as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She hadn’t been up much over the last few weeks. The spear had torn through her chest, narrowly missing a major artery but still shredding enough muscle to keep her bedridden as she healed. She really shouldn’t be up now, but Regan had called for an election and, as one of the few remaining council members, she just had to attend. It was even more critical that she attend with Harris and the others out on unapproved mission, as Regan enthusiastically reminded everyone at every opportunity.

Phil Regan was one of the ‘newbies’, as they had come to call those who had recently been weaned off the serum. She thought back to the old complex before the last attack and smiled as she remembered how everyone had thought that two hundred and fifty residents was a huge number. Now they supported over three thousand souls, from the age of eight upwards. They hadn’t found anyone younger than that. Her blood still boiled when she thought of how the surviving thralls had explained that the blood of infants and children under ten were considered a particular delicacy by the vampires. The bastards had gorged themselves over the last two years and had eradicated an entire generation.

They now had people scattered all over what remained of their town but within a three-mile circumference so they could easily return to the numerous defensive areas that had been set up. Some had returned to their original homes if they were within the limits dictated by the council, others lived in nearby hotels or office blocks, anywhere that was structurally sound and could be defended, if necessary. They hadn’t had any contact with other cabals, but they hadn’t expected any based on the vampires’ reluctance to mix among their own kind and the early arrival of the cold weather.

They had enough food to last through this winter but next year would be a little lean. Harris had spent all his free time visiting her and had filled her in on all the assignments. They now had people trained in critical professions and crafts. They had engineers looking at the town’s power grid, plumbers looking at sanitation and running water, and gardeners and horticulturists looking at re-planting neglected fields. They had plenty of people working at re-building their defenses and facilities. They spent every waking hour working to carve out a place where they could all survive and grow, but all the time they had to be careful that the town did not look any different than it had under the vampires.

Fields were ploughed but covered at night with green and dun colored sheets to hide the freshly turned soil; power was restored to critical facilities but from outside the town looked the same as it always had. Their supplies of fuel were almost non-existent—another reason for Harris’ mission—but what they did have was helping to prepare the community for what lay ahead.

With the huge increase of people came a need for the original group to adapt. Before, where one person could control certain important functions such as food assignments, security and so forth, they now had teams working each area. The small committee did its best to cope but none of the original group was actually trained for civil administration and, increasingly, they found themselves unable to cope with rising demands, civil decisions and the growing number of conflicting views.

Many of the newly awakened had their own ideas on how things should be done. Some wanted to rebuild, to train their people and increase their supplies. Others wanted to wait until they were fully ready and then go out and slowly retake the surrounding towns, still others just wanted to stay put and hide from the vampires and ignore what was happening around them. Sandra could understand that people were scared, some were just plain selfish, but they all had a responsibility. The newbies had only just gotten back their freedom and they didn’t want to risk it again so quickly, but the serum was a deadly concoction and, if they waited until next year, there might not be anyone left to rescue. There was just no way for a small community like theirs to survive indefinitely in this world. They had to grow or die.

Someday the lack of contact by Nero’s cabal would be noted and investigated. They would be discovered and they would be wiped out without breaking a sweat. Their only hope lay in growing as quickly as they could. Harris’ plan called for a series of raids on the neighboring cabals, which would further degrade the already strained relationships between the different factions. Using these raids as cover, they could swell their own supplies and numbers until they reached a point where their power base was large enough to withstand a concerted attack. Before the serum was introduced, the humans had been starting to turn the tide on the vampires, so, if they could grow quickly enough by taking on each cabal individually, they could grow to a size where their increased numbers could take on any coalition forces that the vampires might draw together.

Unfortunately, the original group was in the minority now and such a plan was risky and would require severe rationing. It also required most of the people to make themselves available for military service, and this did not sit well with many of the new residents. This growing discontent was providing the perfect opportunity for other factions to gain support in areas where they would not normally have been able.

Phil Regan was one of these people. He knew politics, having served on election campaigns as a speechwriter. He didn’t advertise that none of his campaigns had been successful but he did know how to write a damn good speech and was able to deliver it with great emotion and credibility. In committee meetings, though, he was petty, disruptive and power hungry, but, to his growing base of supporters, he was open, handsome and, according to his manifesto, the future.

Peter Harris was the closest thing the committee had to a public face and he just didn’t have the skills to compete. He was impetuous and intolerable of others when they didn’t give 100 percent in their assigned duties. He worked himself ragged trying to rebuild their community and this left no time to wander around and take the time to meet the people. He was everything the community needed—honest, hard working and caring, but had none of the skills to portray this. Regan, however, had none of those qualities but all of the necessary PR skills to make it appear as though he had.

A battle had been raging in the committee for over a week now. Harris argued that a unique situation existed at this moment in time between the two neighboring states that might not only set the cabals at each others throats but could also give them an opportunity to save more people and obtain fuel and supplies in the resulting confusion. The committee had agreed but Regan had not. His growing support within the community had forced the committee to allow him, and a number of his supporters, on to a new, larger committee and the resultant arguments had lasted all week.

Harris was used to arguments, he had spent his time arguing against her own father often enough, but, while those arguments were based on mutual respect and a desire to do the right thing, Regan argued for personal advancement and power building. He put his own safety and position ahead of anyone else. Unfortunately, only the members of the committee were privy to his real motivations.

Harris had finally stormed out, gathered up his crew, and set off on the mission without approval. Sandra could see that this was probably the humane and correct thing to do, but his impetuous actions had left the core committee in a precarious position. Regan argued that if they did not have the power or the tenacity to control their own members then they could hardly be trusted to look after such a large community.

The old committee had served admirably to this point but they needed to pass the reigns to those who could better handle the growing needs of the new community. To this end, Regan had used Harris’ departure to demand that an election be called and to let the people decide who should lead them. They were, after all, a democracy, were they not?

It was this election that had Sandra stumbling from her sick bed to attend a public debate that would decide the future of their community.

The room was filled with people and the noise of the various heated exchanges struck Sandra like a physical blow as she entered. There was a raised platform at the far end of the room and she could see a few of the committee members trying vainly to restore order. Regan sat back and watched the room, the smile on his face indicating that the chaos in the room was exactly what he had wanted.

Patrick Smyth, their resident scientist, waved his arms franticly and banged a small gavel on the desk as he tried to restore order. Smith was a lovely and quite brilliant man, but he was not accustomed to addressing large crowds and he was drowning in the sea of abuse and raised voices that swept over him. He caught sight of Sandra and his eyes portrayed a deep sadness that she had never seen before. Sandra made her way towards the desk. Patrick was the only member of the original committee behind the desk and Regan sat with five of his closest supporters, so the balance of the debate was clearly against him.

Regan stiffened as he caught sight of Sandra, and she smiled to herself at the look of annoyance that creased his face. He obviously hadn’t expected her to make it.

“Ah, Sandra there you are,” he announced and his voice immediately brought calm to the proceedings and conversations trailed off as people strained to see how things developed. “We were just discussing Peter’s heroic outing.”

I just bet you were, she thought as she finally made it to the edge of the raised platform. She was exhausted already and cursed herself as she had to stop to catch her breath. What was worse was that Regan took the opportunity to jump down to her and help her to her seat. She really didn’t want to appear weak, and certainly did not want Regan to appear any more dashing and helpful than he already was. He grabbed her by the arm and squeezed hard as he directed her to her seat. She didn’t have the energy to resist and had no choice but to let him lead her. She seethed with anger but maintained a congenial smile throughout; there was no point in giving him any more ammunition.

She dropped into her chair with relief and Pat turned to her, concern etched all over his face.

“I’m fine,” she whispered and winked at him. Regan took his time returning to his seat, and by the time he had settled himself the room had become quiet again.

“As I was saying,” Regan continued, “what one member of the community does directly affects the survival of all of us. If one person eats more than their share or doesn’t do the tasks assigned to them then we all suffer. After all, we are in this together, wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

Sandra could see exactly where he was going but had no choice but to agree. “What you say has merit,” she answered, “however...”

“There is no ‘however’, my dear,” Regan interrupted and Sandra suppressed the urge to slap the smile from his face. But the damage was done—a low mumbling of resentment began to spread through the room. “Eating more than one’s share is only a minor infringement; what young Peter has done is far worse. His actions threaten to expose us all and put our families in the gravest danger.” The mumbling in the room grew louder as Regan expertly steered the people where he wanted them.

“We can’t just sit here and hide for the rest of our lives!” Sandra could feel her control slipping as she formed her response, and her voice cracked slightly as she tried to be heard over the growing noise. “We are running low on fuel and food and do not have enough of either to survive in the long term if we do not get them elsewhere. Peter and the others are out there risking their lives—yet again, I might add—so that you can feed your families and keep them warm over the next few months.” She paused for breath and the room quieted as her message began to get through. “Yes, it’s a risk, but their plan is an excellent one that will set our neighboring factions against each other while we benefit. The gains from their excursion will see us all comfortable and safe during the winter, and by next spring all the work we are doing in the fields will bear us enough food so we can be more independent. Until then, we have to get our supplies anywhere we can.”

She was getting through to them, she could feel it, and took a moment to glance over at Regan. Outwardly he remained calm, but Sandra imagined she could see gears smoking in his head as he frantically tried to regain the initiative. She decided to push on with the committee’s main argument.

And in so doing made her mistake.

“The serum is killing families all over…”

“What proof do we have of that?” Regan’s voice easily cut through the rumblings of approval for Sandra’s impassioned plea and the crowd went suddenly quiet.

Sandra faltered as the question took her by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Regan rose from his chair and a hush fell over the room as every eye followed him. Sandra might not agree with him but she had to admit the man knew exactly how to work a room to his advantage. “And this is meant as no disrespect to Doctor Smith, but are we certain of that? We keep hearing of this impending disaster, but what if the results were misinterpreted? I mean Pat is very good at his job, but how qualified is he to make that call? What kind of doctor did you say you were, Mister Smith?”

Pat Smith flushed and his podgy cheeks grew redder under the intense scrutiny. He was a private man, more at home in his lab than trying to calm a room full of people. He was a chemist by trade but the committee had decided long ago to keep that detail secret. They had a dangerous shortage of medical staff, and none of those they had had any researching skills so could not confirm or deny Pat’s startling findings. At this time they needed everyone’s cooperation in weaning their survivors off the serum. This was a priority if they were to save as many people as they could, and they could not afford useless debate while others died.

The fact that Regan was prepared to use this information shocked Sandra. Regan was well aware of the chaos this would bring to their community. He had just raised the stakes and put the honor of the whole committee into question, regardless of their motives.

“Yes,” Regan continued to a rapt audience. “Our leaders have not been entirely honest with you. Mister Smith.” Regan took great pleasure in emphasizing the word ‘Mister’. “Though I am sure he is excellent at what he does, he is not actually a doctor. He is merely a chemist.”

Every eye in the room moved to Smith and Sandra as the room filled with angry voices and Sandra couldn’t help shooting Regan a look of pure hatred.

Regan let the shouting build like a conductor extolling an orchestra to greater heights. Sandra struggled to be heard as she appealed for calm. “We had very…” she began but the shouting drowned her out and she had no choice but to let the angry tide wash over her and hope that they would listen when they eventually calmed down.

Regan watched impassively, a look of sad resignation on his face, though Sandra was sure that he was delighted with the crowd’s reaction. The larger community that they now served had been straining against the authority of a committee that had not been duly elected by them all for weeks now. There had been more griping and disagreements than usual but nothing serious till now. The committee had promised a full election and had delivered on that promise. Unfortunately, they had been forced to be quite severe in their rationing and work assignments lately in order to keep the community going until the election could be organized. They had few provisions and so much work to do as the community grew far beyond their current supplies. Their actions, though necessary, had caused resentment among the new arrivals that had been spared the horror of the vampire attack two months ago. These people did not truly appreciate the precarious position of their community in this new world. And unfortunately, the number of new arrivals was far in excess of those who had a better understanding.

Regan was tapping into this resentment but Sandra had not expected this sort of attack. He might be a bastard, and she might not have agreed with all of his ideas, but she had believed that he had the community’s’ interests at heart. Obviously, though, the community’s needs came second to his own ambitions. This latest attack, though, was designed to throw the whole community into chaos and that threatened their very survival. If they split as a community, then they would all die.

He raised his hand and the room began to come to order. “It pains me…” he continued and appeared close to tears. God, he is playing us so well, Sandra thought and only her knowledge of what he was doing kept her from falling for his act. “…but I feel that everyone deserves the truth.” There was a sudden rush of shouted approval and Regan waited a moment as he let the support grow. “We will only survive in this new world if we work together. We come from a world where mankind’s mistrust and dishonesty led to our downfall. Countries fell too easily to the vampires because they did not trust each other enough to coordinate a united resistance and I’ll be damned if I will be a party to such deceit now.” Shouts of agreement and approval swept over the room like a physical wave.

“We need to grow as a community before we can even attempt to take on the vampires,” he continued, and people shouted their agreement. “The effects of the serum are merely conjecture at this point and we should not threaten our families on the guesswork of a man who is more used to dispensing cold remedies than investigating complex biological viruses.”

Pat Smyth began to rise, his balding pate now as red as his cheeks as anger flushed through him. Sandra knew what Regan was trying to do and knew that he was baiting Smith, hoping that he would lose control. Regan knew that Pat was impetuous and could never hope to win against him, especially when Regan spoke the truth. She placed a hand on Smith’s arm and kept him in his seat with surprising strength. Nothing he said would get through today. They had lost this battle by seriously underestimating their opponent. Today’s performance had laid down a marker and she resolved to make sure that next time they would be better prepared.

The election was in three days but the result would be a foregone conclusion as word of today’s meeting got around. They would have to come up with something fast if they were to survive. Regan’s demented ambition for power would tear the community apart and the resulting fallout would see the death of millions as the serum began to kill those still enslaved to its effects. They had to do something this year or there would be no world left to save.

Regan was well aware that Pat’s findings were not conjecture; he had seen the evidence Pat had presented. The evidence was beyond doubt. In fact, the committee had shielded the community from the stark reality of the horrible death that waited for all those still taking the serum. The children would die first and the pain that each child would experience as their blood vessels burst and their organs swelled and shut down one by one was deemed too terrifying for those who still had relatives in other states who might still be alive. Regan’s callousness in revealing this secret in order to discredit the committee worried her. It rocked her to her very core that such a man could command such power in their community and she felt nausea sweep over her as she staggered from the room. Behind her the crowd still chanted his name as if he were their savior.

Chapter 5

The smoke drew them like a beacon. They had tried repeatedly to raise Bertrand since they had seen the first sign of smoke on the horizon but only static answered them. Something was wrong and cold fear spread through Captain William Carter with every mile. He was responsible for this area, and that responsibility brought with it power and prestige. However, when there was trouble, it could also bring about quick and violent retribution at the hands of the vampires. The supplies in Bertrand were critical to the cabal’s survival as both a bargaining tool and as the critical supplies they would need to fuel an invasion, if negotiations broke down.

Command in Von Kruger’s thralls guard was hard to achieve and even harder to keep hold of in times of relative peace. Those above you ruthlessly guarded themselves and those below constantly tried to find a weak chink they could use to topple you. This constant threat of attack from all sides allowed little time for anything else but self-preservation. While it was true that Carter had been forced by his commanders to place such large quantities of fuel in Bertrand, ostensibly to make it easier to supply their spearhead, should they invade. But it had been his own decision to set up his headquarters in nearby Niles instead of the small backwater town. He had left a large complement of soldiers in Bertrand, of course, but Niles had far more comforts both in flesh and food supplies and he had pandered to those comforts. This would be his undoing if anything had happened to the supplies. He watched the smoke spiraling up into the otherwise cobalt sky and wished fervently that some fool had merely blown himself up. The huge trails of smoke on the horizon, however, were far too great for anything as minor as that.

He knew with a certainty that gripped at his stomach and twisted it violently that he was looking at the portent of his own death, and the dread increased with each mile they traveled. He snapped into his handheld radio, demanding that Bertrand reply as he began to see the outline of the small town in the distance. They were close enough now so that the hand radios should work but still static seemed to mock him when he lifted his thumb from the device.

He could see the old fort now though smoke billowed around it like a veil and teasingly revealed part of the structure only to hide it again as the wind caught it and wrapped it back into its embrace again. He could see a tanker on fire and hope flared that it had only been an accident after all and that his demands over the radio had been ignored due to the town commander’s own fear of reprisal from his superior. He saw the first body on the ground when they were still half a mile away and his heart sank. There could be no doubt now. They had been attacked. There would be no reprieve for him.

The truck slid to a halt on the dusty surface of the road and men spilled out from the truck and ran into the smoke. For a moment Carter thought they had been swallowed by a living entity, but then he saw the first of the men return and their shouted reports began to form a picture of the carnage that lay hidden behind the veil of smoke. He tuned out for a moment and thought of how he would report this to his superiors. Would they make him report directly to the vampires to distance themselves from this grave error in judgement? Probably. The vampires did not take failure well and usually made an extreme example of anyone bringing them bad news. And this news was as bad as it got.

Not only did it show his incompetence but it also heralded what could possibly be a major incursion by the Wentworth cabal. A small spark of hope began to smolder in his chest as he realized that he might be able to use this catastrophe after all. If he could show that there had been nothing that he could have done, even if his headquarters had been here, then he might yet survive. Surely he could divert some of the blame to their intelligence division. Those bastards strutted around full of their own self-importance, demanding regular guards like him drop everything at their every whim. Surely they should have been able to predict such a large incursion.

Carter looked out over the carnage and began to formulate his report. There was enough destruction to safely estimate a huge attacking force. He did not care if his report wasn’t accurate—his life was on the line now and only a full-scale invasion could save him. He began to walk through the shattered remains of the fort, trying to piece together the attack. There were no tire tracks other than his own men’s vehicles so the enemy had not attacked en masse. That was not good. If they had not used vehicles then it had probably been a small commando raid and that did not fit in with his plan.

The fuel was still mostly intact, only one tanker had been destroyed and another was missing, but the main storage tanks were still undamaged. He could not understand why Wentworth would risk such an attack and not leave his enemy crippled. Why would he steal one tanker and leave the bulk of the supplies for his enemy to use against him? It made no sense, but good strategy was not something he needed to be concerned about. He had to show that there had been no possible hope that he could have driven off the attack.

He looked back towards the men he had brought with him. He had been so harried when the news of the smoke had come to him that he had grabbed what men were on watch and rushed towards Bertrand, leaving word for the others to follow as soon as the main force was ready. It wasn’t that he was particularly brave, rushing off the save Bertrand, it was merely that he was so scared that blame would be laid at his door that he had rushed off without thinking that the town could still be under attack. Luckily, it had not been, though as he watched his small squad shift trough the smoky scene he thanked his luck that there had only been a few men available. A plan began to form in his mind.

He shouted orders at his men to form up and they jumped to his command. There were ten guards in all, men he had known for two years now. He had shared with them the pleasures his masters had promised since the beginning of the war with the vampires and had no regrets for the many diabolical acts he had initiated.

The men lined up together and waited on his command and Carter took his time as he surveyed the men. He reached behind him and felt for the automatic that hung from a strap over his shoulder. Calmly he raised the weapon and opened fire on the thralls that still stood at attention in front of him.

The last two had recovered enough to move but Carter had acted with such speed that they had only managed to bring their weapons to bear when the bullets slammed into them and sent them flying back into the dust.

Carter looked over at his men and shrugged. Now he could say that he and his brave men had dutifully been on patrol and had returned in time to see Wentworth’s forces in the process of stealing their supplies. They had fought hard and saved the fuel supplies though his entire patrol had been killed in the firefight. He walked to the truck they had arrived in and took a parcel of explosives from the back. He looked back towards Niles and could see a large dust plume in the distance; his re-enforcements would be here soon. He had to hurry.

He pulled his men into positions around the walls as if they had died while attacking the fort. Then he moved to the main tanks and placed the explosives by the main pump and set the timer to one minute and grinned as he imagined his story of how he had managed to save the supplies with only seconds to spare. The dust plume grew closer and he could hear the roar of the engines as they raced toward him.

He pulled his handgun from its holster at his side and calmly placed the muzzle against his arm. He could not possibly have been the only survivor without some injury. Calmly he pulled the trigger and fell to the ground in agony. God it hurt, he thought and a wave of nausea swept over him. He heard the trucks arrive outside the fort and he smiled as he imagined how he would be hailed as a hero. There would be plenty of opportunity to rise in the ranks in the upcoming war, especially for the man who had risked so much to save his cabal’s supplies.

“What do you think?” Rodgers asked as he drew back from the edge of the hilltop and winced with the pain that shot through his leg. He turned towards Peter Harris who still lay beside him, surveying the carnage below.

“Looks like we may have hit the jackpot,” Harris grinned as he lowered his binoculars. “I was worried that our attack was too small to convince them that Wentworth had come across. I thought that it would take at least a few more raids before we could actually get them at each other’s throats. But it looks like our friend there may just do the job for us.”

“It’s amazing what they’ll do to hide their incompetence,” Rodgers agreed. “What do you want to do with the fuel?”

“Keep it hidden for now; it’s too risky to move it by day. Besides, we can’t move Steele at the moment.”

“How is he?” Rodgers asked as he massaged his own wound.

“Luckier than he has any right to be.” Harris scowled and then gazed into the sky as if lost in thought. He blinked as he snapped himself out of it and turned back towards Rodgers. “You know,” he said, suddenly excited, “we could siphon off what we can carry and then leave the truck over the border. We could leave it somewhere that Von Kruger’s men are sure to find it. I know it’s a lot of fuel to give up but it might just be the nail in the coffin if Von Kruger’s men were to find it.” He looked at Rodgers as the man considered the new plan.

“It might just work,” he replied slowly as he thought it through. “We’d have to make sure they found it, of course, but I’m sure we could arrange that.” He burst into a wide grin. “You are an evil bastard, you know that, Harris? They’ll tear each other to pieces.”

“And we’ll be here to make sure that there aren’t any cool heads ruining it for us.”

Chapter 6

Sandra Harrington sat in the small room and fumed. The committee, minus Peter who wasn’t due back until tomorrow, shuffled around or sat talking in low tones around the large table. The air was filled with chatter, scraping chairs and the tinkle of crockery as some poured themselves coffee and tea from the table in the corner. Won’t be long before the coffee runs out, Sandra mused as she watched Phil Regan talking to his cronies before they took their seats. Then the world truly will end.

There was something different that she couldn’t put her finger on at first. It wasn’t just the obvious presence of a public gallery that disturbed her, though it hardly helped. The outcry from the debate had left a room full of angry people demanding an explanation for what had been revealed. The shouting had been so loud that it had attracted others who had not attended and it wasn’t long before word spread throughout the community. Of course, the whispered reports of what had happened had been embellished each time it had been repeated so that the story had been blown out of all proportion very quickly.

Sandra had tried to calm the room but her injuries had flared up again and she did not have the energy to take on such a mob. It had been Regan who had finally managed to calm the room, and he had suggested that a small representative group should come to the committee so they could put their questions directly to them. Sandra was well aware that the situation was playing perfectly to Regan’s plan but she had no other choice but to agree to his terms, and the crowd had begun to disperse. Though there was still an air of angry outrage amongst them that did not bode well for an understanding audience.

There was only room for twelve men and women in the room as well as the committee. The same number as a jury, she thought idly as she scanned the angry faces of people she had known for only a few months. There were no reassuring smiles from any of them.

Despite the strained air, though, there was something else. She had noticed it as soon as she walked into the room, something in the air, but each time she thought she had it the notion would dissipate like fog caught in an early morning breeze. It nagged at her and made her already black mood far worse. And then, suddenly, it came to her. For the first time she could remember there was a definite feeling of division in the room. The gallery sat away from the committee, though the table was large enough to accommodate them all. Even among the committee, people had chosen seats that set them within one camp and away from others leaving an empty space in the middle of the table that seemed to scream its presence at them like the tolling of their own destruction.

Everyone had been informed of what had happened and she could see by the grim faces around the table that they were more than aware of the repercussions that they could anticipate. She fully expected Regan to be severely censured, but throwing him off the committee would only play into his hands. She knew that no matter what they did, it was too late. Word was already sweeping through the community and anything they did here could only be a matter of damage control.

The committee had changed a lot since their early days when they had met secretly in their hideaway in the docks. Sometimes she fancied that she could still smell the petrol and fish fumes that she always associated with those times. For a moment she thought about her father as he had been then with his large frame matching his equally large personality. It had been his strength that had given all of them hope. He had not been the first to overcome the serum’s debilitating effects but it had been him that had organized those first few into a force that now included nearly three thousand. She missed him a lot. She still woke in a sweat with the image of his throat gushing blood and Nero’s triumphant smile as he reached for her. In one way, though, it was a good thing that he did not see the petty jealousies and power plays that plagued them now. Human nature had two very different sides, she mused, and the darker side would always try to tear down that which others had built with their very blood.

She shook herself from her thoughts and glanced around the room. Lucy Irvine sat in her usual place and let the conversation and general noise of people flow around her, as she remained focused on the papers in front of her. Sandra looked at the woman and was startled to notice that she had aged quite a lot in the last few months. It had always been difficult to put an age on Lucy for as long as she had known the woman, but now, as Sandra really looked at her, she could see the deep worry lines that creased her face, her hair was not quite as neat as usual and it had lost its platinum sheen so that her hair was now pure white. It was her eyes, though, that showed the most startling change. They had always sparkled with an inner fire, no matter how bad things had gotten. Now Sandra could see a deep sadness there that shocked her.

Pat Smith sat beside her and quietly fidgeted. She had seen him lean towards Lucy earlier, attempting conversation, and had received a sharp rebuke. Sandra looked over at him and caught his eye. She could see the struggle in the man’s face; he obviously wanted to move and sit beside someone more friendly but felt it too rude just to get up. Sandra was not really in the mood for conversation so she merely shrugged noncommittally and continued scanning the room.

Father Jonathon Reilly sat like a coiled spring in his chair. His massive frame looked awkward on the small chair but he sat with an easy grace despite this. He was chalk-white and looked quite unwell—in fact, he had not yet recovered from his wounds but refused to allow himself the time to heal. He had been badly wounded during the battle with Nero and they had thought him lost. It had been almost two days after they had pulled themselves from the ruined headquarters that they had found him. He had been barely alive, impaled on a stake with a vampire clutched to him in an embrace that had torn his own organs to shreds but had proved fatal for the vampire. But, ironically, it had been the stake that had saved his life as it had plugged the hole and stopped the bleeding.

He had not, however, come out of it unscathed. He had terrible internal injuries, had lost a kidney and his stomach would probably never heal fully, at least not until they found a surgeon capable of sorting out the mess inside him. Till then all they could do was stitch him up and order him to rest. His face was drawn and heavily lined and his hair had begun to thin alarmingly. His clothes no longer fit him well with the weight he had lost since his ordeal, but he refused to wear civilian clothes, preferring ‘the black suit of his office to pampering to vanity,’ as he put it. Despite his injuries, though, he had insisted that he was needed and had spent the last two months consoling not just those who were newly awakened, but also those who had survived the last attack but had lost loved ones.

How do you give hope to those who have lost everything they hold dear? How do you explain God’s will to people who had been used as cattle for the last two years and who now found themselves in a world with far more danger and even less hope than before the serum took away their will? Sandra did not envy him.

Beside him sat John Kelly. He was the current chairman of the committee, which worked on a round robin format, giving each person two weeks in the position before passing it on to another member. Kelly had been on the original committee but was still as unlikable as he had always been. He was a wiry man with a thin face that was actually quite handsome, in a sharp kind of way. His voice was high and reedy and he tended to speak through his nose when he got excited, but, at 35, he was still a very eligible catch in the community. His eyes, though, were cold, and Sandra found it hard to like him. Kelly, though part of the original committee, could not be relied upon for support, and he seemed to delight in voting against anything that Harris might put forward. It had been his casting vote that had stymied Harris’s latest request for approval for the current raid.

Phil Regan took his seat and caught Sandra’s eye and smiled. Sandra snarled in response and looked away quickly, instantly regretting her action as it gave him another small victory. His cronies Ian Phelps and Patricia Lohan sat on either side of him, smiling at Sandra as they took their seats. Ian Phelps had been a builder by trade and he knew every trick in the book when dealing with people, whether they were honest or dishonest. He was very good at finding what it was that people wanted and making sure that they understood what they would have to do to get it. His addiction to alcohol was plainly visible in the burst capillaries in his face and in the large gut that drooped far over his belt, but his eyes showed a keen intelligence that you would be very unwise to underestimate.

Lohan, in comparison, was beautiful. Her figure was well proportioned and the clothes she wore accentuated her body to great effect. Her cheekbones were high and prominent but a small nose softened the lines and gave her an innocent, impish look, though the woman was anything but innocent. Her hair was auburn and reminded Sandra of the sky on a stormy morning in autumn, and her eyes were a deep brown that held you when you spoke to her. Sandra was honest enough to wonder whether her feelings towards the woman were tinged a bit by jealousy but she was fairly certain that her impression was based more on intuition than envy. As far as Sandra was concerned, Lohan was the most dangerous woman that she had ever met and she feared her far more than Phil Regan.

Regan wanted to rule, he felt it was his right and his destiny to lead others. He needed to dominate but he was also quite naïve. He was an evil bastard who would step on anyone to get what he wanted, but he lacked the intelligence to set in place the schemes needed to get him to the top. Left to his own devices, he would not get very far, but Lohan and Phelps were a different story. They were the ones who were prepared to do anything to make sure Regan made it to the top. They would use the man’s natural charisma, something they themselves lacked, to get to the top, and then who knew what would happen? Sandra shuddered as she saw an image of Regan grinning broadly as a smiling Lohan slit his throat.

The final member of the committee was Denis Jackson. He was new to the group but was well capable of ensuring that his short time on the committee did not mean that he was in any way ineffective. He wore his clothes well, preferring bright colors that clashed against his dark skin, but seemed to suit his ebullient personality regardless. He was quick to smile but he was clever and he often caught nuances around the table that Sandra had missed entirely. Although he was a new member he was not allied to the other new members or with Harris’s older committee members, preferring to sit on the fence and watch the proceedings before committing himself to a course of action. He had proven himself honorable in his decisions to date and Sandra could not see him siding with Regan.

“We have a lot to get through,” Kelly banged the flat of his hand on the table and the room grew quieter. “Thank you,” Kelly continued and then looked around him with as stern a look as he could manage. “It seems we have a problem,” he paused as he glanced towards Regan, but then seemed to lose his nerve and moved quickly away and scanned the other faces around the table. Unfortunately, Regan and his colleagues sat directly opposite him so he was forced to turn back to them as he swept the table.

Lohan and Phelps grinned broadly at him as they caught his eye and Kelly dropped his eyes to the few papers in front of him as his skin blushed. What’s going on? Sandra felt her stomach drop as she watched Kelly’s reaction.

“It seems that some information had been inadvertently released…”

“Inadvertently, my ass!” Sandra was well known for her short fuse but, she hoped, was also known for her integrity. She was damned if she would let Regan appear as the only honest member of this committee. She leaned forward as she interrupted Kelly. “He knew exactly what he was doing …”

“Sandra,” Kelly placed his hands on the table in a calming gesture, “I’m sure there was no…”

“You weren’t there, he enjoyed playing to the crowd,” Sandra continued, raising her voice to drown out Kelly’s attempted interruption. “He used the information to set himself up as an honest broker for the elections …”

“That’s ridiculous,” Regan finally decided to enter the discussion. “It was not my intention to cause a rift, merely…”

“Bullshit!” Sandra leaned halfway across the table as her anger took over. On one level she was aware that she was not doing the committee any favors losing her temper like this, but she had gone too far already and was powerless to stop herself. She was about to continue when Father Reilly interrupted. His voice was not raised or angry in any way, but his tone was filled with a threat that defied the calm manner in which he spoke.

“Perhaps you could tell us all what your intentions were, then, Mister Regan.”

“I merely wanted to answer Miss Harrington’s question. In the interest of the greater public good, I was trying to explain why these raids were not in our best interest. Unfortunately, in so doing I, inadvertently, let it slip that Mister Smith was not a doctor. It was an accid…”

“It’s not really something that one lets slip, is it Mister Regan?” Denis Jackson interrupted and Sandra was pleased to see that she seemed to have the lion’s share of support around the table. “I mean… it’s not really something that one would normally bring up in conversation. You are just as aware as the rest of us of how important this issue about the serum is. Mister Smith may not be a doctor,” he nodded to the contingent of men and women who made up the public gallery, holding each of them with his gaze before finally continuing on to the next, “but we are certain that his findings are accurate and that our fellow human beings all over the world will start dying in the coming months if we do not come up with a solution.”

He paused again and swept the visitors with his eyes, trying to impress upon them the importance of his words. “Women and children will die first, their brains will start to bleed internally and they will die without knowing why. In a few months the food supply will get so low for the vampires that they will scour the country for humans. It will not be long before they smell us out, and then they will start again, using cruelty and fear to keep us in line rather than chemicals. Or maybe they’ll just tear us all apart in a food frenzy. Is that what you want?”

He looked earnestly at the members of the gallery and Sandra could see doubt in their eyes for the first time. The horror of what Jackson was describing hit them all hard. “We did not hide this from you for any personal gain,” Jackson continued in a softer tone. “We just did not want to be bogged down in pointless arguments while others died. Though, in our arrogance, we have caused more damage in not trusting you with the truth than we realized, and for that I am truly sorry.” For the first time he dropped his gaze and the gallery seemed to sigh with relief. A low murmur swept through the small group and Sandra could see that Jackson was swaying them. “But petty power struggles are not the answer. It has left us all in a delicate situation. And you, Mister Regan, it would seem, in quite a positive light. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That was not my inte…” Regan began but he was interrupted again.

“No, I’m sure it wasn’t,” Jackson continued, “but you must appreciate our position and how this whole situation appears.”

“Of course I do.” Regan was a shrewd judge of people and he could see the effect that Jackson’s impassioned plea had had on the gallery. He smiled as he looked earnestly at the public gallery, and Sandra could not help admitting that he was really good at this. If it had not been for the two grinning hyenas sitting on either side of him she might actually have believed him. “And let me state that I will immediately tender my resignation from the committee. Under the circumstances, I am sure …”

“Oh no,” Father Reilly interrupted with a smile that did not reach anywhere near his eyes. “I’m afraid it is you who do not understand us, Mister Regan. We wouldn’t hear of you resigning. You are far too valuable a member of the team.” Sandra could see the members of the gallery sit up, their faces etched with confusion.

“But I thought…” Regan began but was interrupted yet again by the low rumble of the priest’s deep voice.

“Yes, I’m sure you did. But I’m certain you would prefer to help repair the situation you inadvertently…” he paused as he said the last word before continuing “…caused rather than throw fuel on the fire as it were.”

“Of course,” Regan spread his hands but the smile on his face was more pained and he no longer looked as pleased as he had. Sandra saw him glance at Lohan but the woman didn’t have an answer for him so he shrugged and returned his attention to the priest. Sandra was certain that it had been Regan’s plan all along to be thrown from the committee for his revelation of their dark secret, and the resulting backlash would see him voted into power in the coming election. But, they could hardly ignore the situation either and leave it unanswered. She shook herself from her thoughts as Regan continued.

“Anything I can do to help,” he smiled and Sandra saw Lohan suddenly grip Regan’s arm in warning, her face dropping as she suddenly realized that he was being manipulated. But it was too late and Father Reilly leaned forward and grinned, though he seemed far more like a predator than a pastor as he eyed Regan.

“That’s wonderful,” Reilly smiled. “Then you won’t mind delivering the committee’s response to the rest of the community, explaining what your intentions were and how you had misunderstood the situation. In the interest of the greater public good, of course,” he added with a flourish and winked at the members of the gallery.

The laughter of the members of the gallery was like a release valve and the members of the committee relaxed as the laughter returned but Sandra kept her eyes on Regan and his two scheming playmakers. She could see by the look of pure vitriol that Lohan shot toward her that this play was far from over. She shuddered as she wondered if they might have been better off letting Regan leave the committee. Reilly may have won this battle for them but a cornered rat is far more dangerous than a greedy one. Suddenly she wished fervently that Harris had not gone on his latest mission. She had a terrible feeling that they would need his expertise very soon.

Chapter 7

April Cassavetes wandered the halls of the supply base in silence. All around her people hurried about on unknown quests or stood and chatted with others, while still others guided machinery to move boxes from one place to another or unloaded crates from vehicles. The noise of the busy station swept over her, organized chaos as Lucy Irvine liked to call it, but the bustle was lost on her as she traveled on in her silent world.

She caught snatches of conversation from those she passed as she watched their lips. She had gotten really good at that lately but did not let on, and she did not want people to be any more guarded around her than they already were. She understood that people felt awkward around anyone that was different, but she was deaf, for Christ’s sake, not a mutant.

She had been born deaf so she had no idea that she was missing anything. Because she could not hear she had developed her other abilities and saw much more than anyone else she knew. Other people could see but they very rarely really looked closely at anything. Because she had to, April looked at everything in detail. She had to study machinery before she passed it because she could not hear its engine; she had to be aware of her environment and where everything was in that area because she would not hear a shouted warning. She had done this since she was very small, and because of this she automatically noticed everything around her. She was able to remember what people wore, to know whether exhaust fumes were coming from a tail pipe, and whether people meant what they said by looking into their eyes and interpreting their body language.

People felt sorry for her, she could see it in their eyes and she could read it on their lips when she entered a room and people whispered to each other. She was used to being treated differently and she had had more than her share of people who had tried to take advantage of her, mistaking her silence for stupidity or shyness. Her third grade teacher had learned the hard way that she was not an easy mark when she had left him doubled in pain, clutching himself, before she had called the authorities.

Even her parents had treated her differently, as if her deafness had been their fault. They always seemed to be trying to make up to her. She loved them dearly but their constant attention had always been wearing. And now that she was alone again, everyone seemed to think that she needed to be treated as special when all she wanted was to be accepted and to be treated normally. In fact, the only person in all her life who had ever treated her the way she wanted was Steele.

He treated her as an equal, the only allowance he made to her condition being that he always made sure he was looking at her when he spoke. He had found her wandering the halls a few weeks ago and had listened to her story and how she was looking for her parents. She had been surprised that the man could understand sign language—but then there were many things that surprised her about Steele. He had been kind but firm and had told her that they were most probably dead but that he would help her look if she wanted the company.

She had known deep down that her parents were gone but his offer had been a shock and she had numbly accepted it. They had grown close over the following weeks as they spent their free time together. She had gotten a job with Lucy Irvine keeping the supply books up to date so she had a lot of free time lately with the supplies being so low. She might be only fourteen but she had seen the knowing glances that people cast at Steele on their walks, and she had blushed many times at their whispers, which were like shouted accusations as she watched the poison spill from their lips.

She had heard that Steele had worked for the vampires before he had joined the community and the whispered accusations of the things that he was supposed to have done hurt her deeply. She knew that he was a very dangerous man, she might be young but she wasn’t stupid. But his heart was purer than most she had known. She could tell that he too was searching for something, something that he had lost some time ago, so she chose to ignore the hateful lies and accept the man for what he was. She preferred to judge people by their actions and, as far as she could see, Steele was far nicer and more sincere than most of the population. She never told Steele what they said about him but she noticed that he stiffened slightly as he walked past these groups so he probably had a fair idea.

For the first few days Steele had helped her come to terms with her new status as an orphan but as she grew more resigned to this she began to see that Steele was probably just as damaged as she was. There was a gaping hole in the man. He hid it very well but she was used to looking closely at people and studying their features and body language, and she could see that he had far more issues than were obvious at first glance. He wore a haunted look in his eyes but she had seen those same eyes sparkle with genuine affection when he was with her. Not in a sexual way, she was old enough to know the difference, but like an older brother. As much as he helped her, she knew that she also helped him find something in himself to make him get up every day and continue the struggle. And that was enough for now.

She had missed him over the last few days. She worried about him. She had met most of the team who were going with him and pitied anyone that tangled with them. All except that brute Sherman; there was something about the way he looked at her that made her squirm. She had seen that look before and knew what lay hidden behind the man’s genial smile. She would have to be careful around him.

She came to the door of the stores and was about to announce her arrival by knocking on the open door, her vocal cords worked fine but she knew that people only saw her with pity when she tried to form words. It was difficult to pronounce words she had never heard spoken so she generally kept quiet. As she raised her hand to knock she suddenly saw two figures in the corner. There was something about their movements that sent an alarm through her and she moved quickly to the side of the doorway to minimize the chance of her being seen.

The first man had his back to her and blocked the other’s face, but he kept glancing around as he spoke and she was able to catch the movement of his lips each time his face moved to the side. She didn’t recognize the man speaking and couldn’t see the other man at all, though by his bulk she was fairly certain it was a man. She caught snatches of the conversation but not enough to get a good understanding of what was being said. Somehow, by their furtive nature, she doubted if what they were doing was for the greater good.

“…we’ll have to…bastard Harris when…it’ll be too late.” The men shook hands. And then, abruptly, the first man turned and headed quickly to the door. April only barely had enough time to straighten up and announce her arrival by calling to Lucy that she was here before the man suddenly loomed before her. She used her voice and purposely forced the words out as an unintelligible mess and looked blankly at the man as he passed. He barely glanced at her, but she did catch his lips forming the words, “Stupid half-wit” as he passed.

She didn’t recognize the man, but that was not uncommon with all the new people. She smiled blankly at him, re-enforcing his impression of her, as he pushed past her. Then she moved into the room, calling again for Lucy but hoping to see the face of the other man. She only caught a brief glance as the man was forced to move to the side as Lucy entered from the far door but she could have sworn that the man had been Ian Phelps. What was he doing down in the supply centre? Normally he wouldn’t dirty his hands with common folk. She would have to let Steele know about this. He would know what to do.

Chapter 8

The stink of fuel hung heavily in the air around the vehicles by the roadside. Thick palls of smoke belched from cold engines that had not been started since the war with the vampires. The throaty rumble of the engines as they growled into life shattered the early morning air and their smoky pollution rose upward and spread across the sky like a cancerous growth. William Carter stretched his stiff shoulder as he rearranged the sling and sighed. He looked down at the bandage as the throbbing continued and then at the new insignia on his shoulder and smiled despite the pain. It was just his luck that he had nicked an artery when he had shot himself and had nearly died before the doctor was able to stop the blood pouring out of him. It still hurt like hell but his new rank of Major had helped ease the pain. He was still a little weak from the ordeal but he could hardly refuse his superiors’ newfound confidence in him.

He had been careful not to embellish his story too much but it had been necessary to concoct certain elements to fit with the evidence. He looked back at the line of trucks and armored cars along the road and whistled. Von Kruger had been livid that Wentworth would dare to attack his fuel supplies, and had ordered a full retaliatory action. Carter hadn’t thought at the time he had arranged his heroic tale that such a full-scale operation would result from his actions, but he could hardly go back now. He had not really thought out his plan very well. He had intended to tell his superiors that he had not really gotten a good look at his attackers but certain parts of his story were already established before he had come out of surgery and he had had to improvise.

By the time they had found him he was unconscious and they had rushed him into surgery to close the artery and replace the blood he had lost. This, he found out later, had been the subject of much debate, as blood was never given to thralls. The vampires would never condone such waste. The surgeon had removed the bullet from his shoulder and it had been identified as a .22 caliber round, so they knew that he had been shot within the range of a pistol, so he must have seen something. Von Kruger had been most eager to learn as much as possible about the raid so he had approved the use of the replacement blood. It meant, however, that when he woke, and in fairness to himself he had still been quite groggy, he had had to describe his attackers.

He had not seen another soldier other than Wentworth’s men in years so he had stuck with what he knew and described them perfectly. In reality he was only confirming the conclusions his superiors had already made, so it wasn’t really his fault. He had expected a lot of shouting between the states with Wentworth denying his involvement, and that it would all blow over after a while—after all, it was only one fuel truck and a few guards that they had lost. He hadn’t expected the entire south brigade to be mobilized.

Everything had spiraled from there and he had been caught up in the preparations for war like a leaf in a gale, unable to stay still long enough to think. He was still terrified that someone would discover his lies and that he would spend an eternity being tortured by the vampires. As a result of this every time he was asked to contribute or to confirm a point about the attack he ended up telling his superiors what he thought they wanted to hear.

He had even received a promotion for his bravery, which he had been delighted with, but now found himself leading this brigade. There was a severe lack of men tested under fire in Von Kruger’s army and his superiors wanted men who had proven their courage under fire to lead them. His superiors had also assumed that he would want the honor of leading the retaliation for the killing of his own platoon. However, that came with a whole new set of problems. Namely, that he was expected to lead from the front.

Sometimes even the best of plans bit you in the ass.

What if they find out that Wentworth never sent those men? The thought kept coming back to him and sent his stomach into convulsions. But who else could it have been? It was unlikely that any other large force of men could have made it from another state without being seen by someone as they crossed at least two borders to get here. The vampires would have spotted any such convoy in their nightly patrols.

No, it had to be Wentworth. But surely he must know that Von Kruger would retaliate or demand compensation? Was Wentworth that desperate for fuel that he would risk that?

Wentworth had far more guards and far better armor than they did, so they would be a difficult foe to defeat; however, it was unlikely that they had sufficient fuel to run the majority of their heavier weaponry. That swung the advantage over to Von Kruger’s forces. His own tanks and armored cars were filled to the top and raring to go. However, if Wentworth was expecting an attack then he could lay in wait for any invading force and tanks did not need fuel to just sit and wait. They could be torn to pieces as soon as they crossed the border.

And he would be the first across the border.

He went over the plan again in his head. He was to be one part of a three-pronged attack on a town five miles over the border. He couldn’t think of the name of the town, he had been too awed at the planning meeting to take much in. He had never been to such a session before. He usually received his orders via the radio, or in rare cases through a dispatch. He rarely even met his direct superiors; they preferred to spend their time in the larger cities where their every need was pampered to. Along with his superior officers there had also been three vampires at the meeting. He had not even seen a vampire in years, not up close anyway. He had forgotten how terrifying they were. They seemed to carry the very darkness with them and shadows seemed to loom around them like palpable shields. He was glad that they had ignored him, as he would never have been able to sustain his lies if they had questioned him in earnest.

The plan had been set in motion remarkably quickly and Carter suspected that this had been planned for some time now and they had merely been waiting for an excuse to put it in motion. They had good intelligence on the town and the map that he had received after the briefing had held all his objectives, his route and even a suggested deployment. It was just as well that he had not taken a single note during the briefing. He was to attack from the southeast; his main objective was to take out the local military headquarters. The expected garrison was in the region of two hundred in total and for that he had a force of seventy-five guards, two armored trucks and three tanks. Easily enough to crush an unsuspecting enemy force without armor, but pathetically few to take on a fortified town that lay in wait for them.

He looked at his watch and signaled the radio operator in his truck to give the order to advance. He ducked down into the armored cage as the engines revved around him and built to an impressive crescendo. He sighed as they passed the dirt-encrusted sign that welcomed them to Michigan, though the words were no longer visible. There were very few signs left on any of the roads now, though some trappings of the old world could still be found dotted around.

Most, however, had been torn down long ago for their precious metal as resources had become more and more scarce. He suspected that Wentworth had left this sign in place to make sure there would be no excuse for crossing the border by mistake. Mistaken border crossings would be the least of his worries when he saw this battalion coming towards him, though. The trucks rumbled over the border and Carter felt his stomach suddenly settle for the first time since he had woken from surgery. He was committed now and that knowledge seemed to have a calming effect. If they were expected then it would be a short battle, and if they were not then he could look forward to more glory. It was too late to worry now either way.

Harris watched the convoy pass the border and head into enemy territory. He felt conflicting emotions as he watched the thralls invade Wentworth’s state. He felt some responsibility for the carnage that was sure to follow. Hundreds would be killed or maimed as a result of his plans, and even though they were thralls, they had been human once. He countered this responsibility with the argument that these men and women had chosen to become thralls and no one had forced them to treat humans with the contempt that most of them did.

He thought of Evans, the General whom Steele had told him about. He had resisted the control the vampires had over him and had helped them all survive the assault on the ‘Cave’. If he had done his job properly he would have stayed out of the range of the rebels’ guns and merely leveled the upper floors with his artillery, burying their small community under tons of rock. But he hadn’t. He had deliberately delayed the heavy armor and then sent it through the waterlogged approach. Finally, he had blown up that same artillery and, in so doing, exposed his own complicity.

If Evans had still retained some part of his true self was it not possible that others did as well? Some of the thralls had jumped at the chance to gain the favor of the vampires, but others, he knew, had only done so to try and save their families. The plans he had set in motion would not distinguish between those who deserved to die and those who did not. It gave him nightmares that he had to balance that against the extinction of every captive human over the next few months from the serum’s effects. Things had grown far more complex than they had been when they merely bit at the thralls’ heels with their infrequent and ineffectual raids. Now, his decisions had to take into account far too many issues and he really was not sure he was up to the job. It was a hell of a responsibility, and one that he wished he could pass to someone else, even someone like Phil Regan, who obviously craved the power.

It seemed that such decisions sought him out though. He had not wanted to lead during the Vampire War but circumstances had conspired against him and thrust him forward. He had not asked to lead now either but he had no choice. He had failed before and been responsible for his team’s deaths, though he was not sure what he could have done differently. He still had no idea why he had been the only survivor, and he still woke most nights in a sweat with his team’s cries fresh in his mind. Was he about to do the same now?

The responsibility ate at him constantly and his fear of another failure was what kept him going. Father Reilly had told him a few months ago that he could only relinquish the responsibility when he was happy that the job would be done as well, or better, than he could do it. The only problem was that he knew that there was no one he could trust to do as good a job. Whether he liked it or not, he was good at it, despite his previous failures. He had not told Father Reilly about his previous command; every time he had tried the words would just not come. He felt deep shame for his own survival and worried that others would think that he had somehow purchased his survival with the blood of his friends.

He pulled away from his position and made his way carefully down the rocky outcropping towards the small cave where the others waited. He sighed deeply as he descended with troubled thoughts heavy on his mind. It was still early and the sky was still in transition with the horizon painted in the dull grey of false dawn. The breeze carried with it the stink of fuel and he shuddered, though whether it was from the cold or from the anticipation of the day’s events, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Well?” Warkowski asked him as he dropped to the level ground in front of the small cave. Harris always marveled as how quiet the big man could be. He had a knack for blending into his surroundings that was uncanny and Harris was happy that the big man was on their side. He had discovered earlier that it had indeed been Warkowski’s shot that had saved his life and, true to his word, he had hugged the big man and planted a kiss on his cheek. It had given them all a much needed light relief, especially in light of Steele’s and Rodger’s wounds.

Rodgers would be fine, if a little sore for a while, but Steele would take longer to heal. He had been hit three times. While none of the bullets had hit anything vital, thank God, one of the bullets had merely grazed his side but it had torn a chunk of flesh away and it had bled terribly. The second bullet had struck him just above the kidney but, luckily, he had been turning at the time and the bullet had missed the organ and had exited in a neat hole just below the left rib. The third bullet was still lodged in his back and caused him agonizing pain every time he moved as it grated against the bone. He was sleeping now.

He was lucky to be alive at all but it complicated their return to base. They had planned to walk and so avoid the vampire patrols, especially in light of the attack that was beginning just a few miles away. They had not expected there to be such a reaction from their first raid, and certainly not such a quickly organized retaliation. They had expected that it would take a number of raids over the next few weeks before anything major happened. Now the vampires would be more vigilant with all that was happening.

On top of that they would now need transport to carry Steele back and that meant leaving a trail. They had only survived till now because the vampires did not know about them. Even before, when they had attacked the town openly, they had survived only because the thralls had grown so complacent that they did not really consider the rebels a threat. If they had known then, it would be a completely different story, one that he was not sure they could have survived. It was essential that they continue to grow their numbers in secret.

“They’ve crossed the border,” Harris answered and he could see that the different emotions that crossed the faces of those before him. Elation for their success was tempered by the realization of what was about to happen.

“What do we do?” Rodgers asked as he stood and crossed over to Harris.

“We’ll have to split the team, I’m afraid,” Harris sighed as he scanned the faces in front of him. “Aidan, you’ll have to stay here and watch Steele until he wakes up.” Aidan Flemming nodded. “Dave,” Harris looked over at Dave Sherman where he sat cleaning his weapon, “we’ll need to get as many civilians out while the fighting is going on as we can. Can you get transport for us, something that will blend in?”

Sherman nodded and rammed a clip into the XM8.

“Rodgers, Ortega, you’ll come with me,” Harris continued. “We’ll try to sneak out as many as we can in the confusion. Dee and Warkowski can give us covering fire.” Harris looked at the faces in front of him and nodded. “Okay, people. Let’s move out.”

The rumble of the tanks seemed to roll through the hills like distant thunder. At first those few guards on the early shift thought that a storm was coming and cursed their luck at being on sentry duty. The town was spread out over a mile and it nestled in a low valley that protected it from the southern winds but left it open and unprotected to the northerly winds that cut through the town far too often for the guards’ liking.

It was a small enough town but it had still retained a large company as it was the first town of any size close to the border, and so it served as the only base for a hundred miles. Most towns lay abandoned all across the state with most of the surviving population held further south where the weather was warmer. Duty in this area was normally a punishment and morale was low at the best of times.

Their strategic location meant that they had vampires resident in the town so, no matter how low morale got, desertion was unheard of and guard duty during the day was maintained with surprising dedication. They had built a low wall all around the town in the early days of the vampire’s rule but had quickly fallen into a bored routine that had left the wall unfinished and far too low to serve any real defensive purpose. Guards on the night shift were only vigilant while the vampires were near but when the creatures returned an hour or so before dawn the guards tended to return to the warmth of their barracks.

For this reason the first anyone knew of the attack was when the tanks crashed through the low walls surrounding the town. The sudden roar of engines and sustained cacophony of noise as the attacking forces opened fire caused guards to spill out of their barracks in total confusion. The guards were completely unprepared for an attack and the sudden noise and appearance of the metal behemoths sent most of them running back into their barracks where they crashed against those still coming out. Deep booms shattered the morning air as the tanks spit forth shells and the ferocious noise of the explosions as the shells slammed into their targets woke any who had not heard the initial approach.

The thump of more shells and the shriek of explosions were joined by the lower stuttering of machine gun fire as the attacking forces spilled from trucks and armored cars and began to fire relentlessly into the throngs of confused defenders. Many of Wentworth’s guards were cut down before they had a chance to organize any sort of defense but a few did manage to overcome their shock and began to return fire. They took a heavy toll as they retreated back towards the relative safety of their barracks and used the building as cover to lay down severe fire against the unprotected attackers. While the building may have been effective against small arms fire it did not afford any protection against the tank’s heavy shells and they were soon torn to pieces as the tanks destroyed them piteously.

Carter smiled as he watched Wentworth’s men crumble as their barracks were destroyed one by one. In the distance he could hear the dull thump of explosions as the other strike forces took out their targets and crippled communications, possible retreat and re-enforcement routes and took control of the humans that were held here for the small contingent of vampires.

They had their orders regarding any vampires they might find and those orders had been very clear. On no account were the vampire lords to be harmed or even disturbed in any way. Their food, however, was fair game and Carter wished that he had been leading that attack. Intelligence put the number of humans at two hundred, quite a lot, he thought, to support ten vampires. But, by all accounts, Wentworth had more than enough resources to spare that number to keep his clan happy. Von Kruger, however, had very limited resources where blood was concerned and he would be well pleased with the influx of fresh food. The guard delivering two hundred humans would likely receive a large reward.

The cacophony of battle rose around him as the last of the enemy guards fought back as best they could but they were hopelessly outgunned and it did not take long for the remaining guards to surrender. He was well pleased, although it did nag at him that Wentworth’s men had not expected them. Surely they would have had patrols in place to warn of such an attack, especially after their own recent raid. Maybe the raiding party was part of an elite squad and the regular guards had not been informed. That must have been it; he decided and stepped down from the safety of his armored car to accept the enemy’s surrender. This war might work out all right after all.

Harris pressed himself against the corner of a building and waited till the armored car rumbled past. He held a grenade in his hand with the pin out but the clip still clasped firmly in place. The guards traveled with reckless confidence. Those few defenders who had tried to form a resistance had been viciously dealt with by a bombardment from the three tanks that poured their fire into the buildings they had occupied. Nothing remained now but rubble and a few shell-shocked survivors who stumbled from the wreckage. The armored car was now headed for the pen in the town square where the humans were kept.

Unlike his own previous prison, these humans were kept in a large fenced area that took up most of what had obviously been the town square. They lived in tents and were crammed together, leaving the rest of the town empty and unused. Harris felt his anger boil over at such cruelty. The human cattle could not go anywhere with the serum suppressing their will so this enforced deprivation was purely for the guards benefit so they did not have to police a wider area.

One of the attacking guards stood up through the car’s turret now that the defense had been broken and smiled as he surveyed the humans in the cage before him. Once the car rolled past, Harris threw the grenade into the open turret. The guard did not realise what had fallen down the hatch until the screams of the men below him reached his ears, and by then it was too late. There was a loud thump as the grenade exploded and the car continued on until it veered off to the left, hit a building and came to a stop. The guard who had stood in the turret fell forward to the ground, leaving his legs behind him in the car.

Harris heard the deep crack of Warkowski’s and Dee’s rifles as they picked off any guards that roamed about the town. The tanks had moved off towards another stronghold of enemy resistance and he could hear the chatter of machine guns and the explosions as the battle continued. The humans were a low priority for the thralls right now and that suited Harris.

He whistled and Rodgers appeared to his left with Ortega following close behind. The men raced towards the gate and fired a quick burst into the lock. Harris pulled the gates open and looked around for Sherman. Seconds ticked by and there was no sign. In the distance the boom of the tanks had stopped and only the occasional burst of machine gun fire split the air. The fighting was winding down. They had to move or the attacking forces would discover them.

Suddenly a large dun-colored truck appeared around the corner. For a second Harris saw the green of a thrall uniform at the wheel and he looked around for somewhere to hide. Then he recognized Sherman at the wheel, wearing a thrall uniform, and he felt relief flood through him. The truck wasn’t large enough for all of the captive humans—they would only be able to take about thirty or so, and that would be stretching it. There just wasn’t time to get sufficient transport organized with the way things had gone. The situation had deteriorated far more rapidly than they had planned for and they were reacting ‘on the fly’ as it was. In any case, they would have no hope of getting all two hundred captives back to their camp even if they had enough trucks. They had to think practically, no matter how mercenary it appeared to be.

He turned to the others. “Remember what we discussed.” He kept his face calm but what they were about to do still ate at him. “Take the youngest and the fittest, the rest we have to leave.” The others merely nodded. They had argued about this over the last day while they had watched the preparations for the attack. They had no right to play God. How could they decide who would survive and who wouldn’t? Just because someone was older did not mean they could not contribute to the community.

Harris had found himself making more and more of these types of decisions lately and his soul felt heavy with the responsibility. He knew that it made more sense to take those who could contribute most to the community but age and fitness were not always a guarantee of the best contribution. He knew this but there was no better way he could think of at this time and he had argued until the others had agreed. But, as he passed through the faces of those blank-faced men and women, he cried openly as he separated those who would come with them from those they had to leave.

Some day, he promised each face silently. Some day I will come back and free you all. But he knew as he looked at the remaining wretches that it was unlikely that they would be able to return here in time to save those that were left.

“There are only ten of them and they’re asleep,” Rodgers pleaded as the truck raced through the back streets. “They won’t even have set traps.”

“No,” Harris said emphatically. “We’ve talked about this. There must be no evidence that anyone but the thralls were here. And they would never kill a vampire.”

“But they’re so close,” Rodgers insisted.

“I know but we have to play this right or everything will have been for nothing. When Wentworth hears of this he’ll send his troops in force and we’ll get the war we need to hide our own siphoning of resources. We have to be patient.”

The truck burst out past the town limits and raced out towards the darkening horizon. It was still early morning but an angry weather front was closing in from the North and already the dark clouds roiled across the sun like oil across water and threw long shadows out before them. The air grew noticeably cooler and the men shivered as the adrenaline oozed out of their muscles. They were careful to use one of the routes that the thralls had used to approach the town so their tracks would not be seen. After a few minutes snow began to fall and soon the truck was swallowed up in the approaching storm.

Chapter 9

The room was vast, that was the first thing Ralf Falconi noticed. A spear of light blazed from behind him and spilled into the room but it seemed to lose its luster as soon as it hit the gloom. The feeling of space came more from a sense of emptiness than from anything he could actually see. There was an echo as his boots clicked on tiles that seemed to reverberate far more than one would expect in a normal room. He could see the outline of sharp angles in the dark that he assumed were pieces of furniture but the light was too dim to be sure and the obstacles seemed to wrap themselves deeper into the shadows as he opened the door further.

There was a coldness in the room that defied the waning heat of the early evening outside. The cold seemed to cling to the room and suck at his very core as he entered further into the darkness. There was a smell as well, a faint odor that left him feeling nauseous, though it seemed to drift in and out of range. The room reeked of perfume but that wasn’t what made his stomach lurch. It was something else, something that hid behind the stronger odor but was far more powerful. It seemed to tease him, letting him catch a faint hint only to dissipate abruptly and hide behind the heavy smell of perfume that saturated the room. He couldn’t quite place it but it smelt like a mixture of spoilt fruit and mould. It was as if something had decayed, become putrescent, but had not actually decomposed. It was, he supposed, the smell of living death. His hands shook as he closed the door and he stood for a moment shaking more from fear than from the biting cold before he summoned the courage to announce his presence.

“My Lord,” he croaked finding his throat dry and brittle. He coughed and then repeated his greeting. His words seemed to swirl around him, bounce against the walls and come back to mock him as he stood and shook in the dark. He should not be here, he kept telling himself. He was too junior an officer to speak directly with their cabal master but he also knew that his superiors were well aware of the likely reaction to the news he carried. Wentworth was not known for his good humor at the best of times. By all accounts he had been a bitter and petty man when he had been alive and death had not done anything to improve his disposition. In fact, all it had done was provide him with the power to act on impulses he had never had the courage to entertain before.

Falconi fully expected never to leave this room, but it had been made clear to him that the alternative could be far worse. As he stood in the room he imagined terrors in the dark around him and he was no longer sure that he had made the right decision. Someone had to tell Wentworth of the attack and he cursed his luck that he had been the one that had brought the news from the border.

“I assume you have a good reason for disturbing me,” the words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He had never met, or even seen, Wentworth before, but his voice was not what he had expected. It was high-pitched, almost whining, more like a petulant child than a terrifying vampire. It had a nasal tone that reminded Falconi of his cousin who always seemed to have a cold, and he allowed himself to believe that their vampire master was not as bad as…

He suddenly felt a vice grip his throat and he was lifted off the ground. The hand that gripped him was far colder than the room and the chill seemed to burn into his throat. He tried to breathe but the grip was firm and his lungs began to burn, a deep pain that felt like a hand had reached into his chest and squeezed. His eyes bulged and his head throbbed but he still could not see anything. It was like the hand that gripped him was part of the darkness itself.

Just as suddenly as it had grabbed him the hand released him and he fell to the ground where he frantically tried to suck air into his starved chest but the sudden coldness of the air hitting his raw throat made him retch. The darkness seemed to loom around him and he felt consciousness slip from him for a moment.

He wasn’t sure whether he had blacked out or not but he found himself on his back and then the same voice snapped again.

“Lights.”

A sudden flare of light burst in the corner, though again its glare seemed to have trouble penetrating the darkness. Falconi looked around and could see a deeper darkness looming over him. There was a heavy musk in the air that reminded him of body lotion but it was spoilt by the same smell of decay he had noticed earlier. He was in awe of the figure above him. Was Wentworth able to command light? Falconi’s eyes snapped over to the feeble light and he could see the pale outline of a bed, not a coffin as he had expected, and he saw something move under the covers.

He caught his breath as he imagined horrors borne in darkness swirling beneath the covers but, as his eyes grew more accustomed, he could make out a figure on the bed. It appeared almost white in the glow of the light, almost ethereal, and he slowly made out a tussle of long hair and delicate shoulders. It was a woman, he realized suddenly.

He had heard that Wentworth liked to retain the trappings of the old world. Vampires could not perform any sexual acts, unlike the thralls who experienced far more pleasure than when they had been merely mortal. The flesh of the vampire was dead and so any pleasure that the flesh had been capable of before was now denied them, though the reputed pleasure of fresh blood far outweighed this loss.

Wentworth, however, still liked to surround himself with female companions and expensive lotions and perfumes. Falconi had seen some of the females he had cast aside. The women did not last long as his companion and their pale and wretched husks were only fit to be shot when he tired of them.

“Well?” the voice came again and Falconi felt the fear pluck at him as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Sir,” he paused for a moment as the smell of corruption assaulted him when he drew near the figure. “There was an attack at the border.” He paused, bracing himself for a reaction. He had imagined being struck, torn apart or at the very least witnessing a demented rage, but the darkness remained silent around him. He could not see Wentworth but the smell was strongest just in front of him so he directed his attention there.

“And?” The voice seemed to float in the air from nowhere in particular.

“And,” he began and faltered. He did not know quite how to describe what had happened. He had not expected such a calm acceptance of his news and had not prepared himself to deliver a coherent report. Somehow this serene reaction was far more frightening.

“Sir,” he continued though his body shook uncontrollably, “we were attacked just after dawn by Von Kruger’s men. They had tanks and armored cars and at least two hundred men.” Falconi began to embellish his report as he began to see that there might be a way to survive this meeting after all.

“Which probably means there were around fifty of them but you want it to appear that you were vastly outnumbered,” Wentworth chuckled and Falconi decided that to argue would be pointless. There had been more than fifty but less that the two hundred he had reported. However, he decided that it would be unwise to contradict the vampire.

“You are sure it was Von Kruger’s men?”

Falconi nodded and then spoke as well in case his motion could not be seen. “Yes, sir. No question about it. They wore Von Kruger’s colors and the tanks sported the decals that we know he uses. We’ve watched them parade in front of us for months, flaunting their fuel and equipment.”

“Indeed,” Wentworth agreed. “I assume that my high council is outside the door, too afraid to bring the news themselves.”

Falconi did not know how to reply. Would it be disloyal to agree or should he come up with an excuse for his superiors that would ingratiate him to them? The decision was taken from him as the door was suddenly wrenched open behind him. He hadn’t heard any movement and had felt no displacement in the air around him, but somehow Wentworth had moved past him and crossed the distance to the door in the blink of an eye. The sudden flood of light from outside blinded Falconi but he caught the brief impression of two figures outside the door before Wentworth pushed past them and called for Falconi to follow.

“Come, Captain we have work to do.”

Falconi walked to the door on legs that shook with the relief of a reprieved man. He was still blinking as he reached the door so he did not notice anything about his superiors until he actually reached the door and stepped in their blood. His superiors had been attacked so quickly that they were still standing when he reached them. His immediate superior was on his left and the man had only just realized that his stomach had been ripped open. The cut had been so swift that it had taken a moment for the blood to appear or even for the nerves to send the pain to his brain. The man’s face grew suddenly pale and then grey almost instantly as his blood poured from the wound in a torrent. The other man still stood but his head leaned at a severe angle. Falconi watched in shock as the man’s head fell forward and dropped to the ground. The body remained standing for a moment longer and blood jetted towards the ceiling in high arcs before the body folded to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut.

He followed in a daze.

Falconi watched Wentworth as he planned his reprisal and began to understand why the vampire was in charge. He had been a small man in life, with a slightly portly frame. His face was pinched and his plump cheeks gave him an innocent, almost chipmunk-like appearance. He was instantly forgettable in appearance but he had a keen mind and, from what Falconi had heard from those who had known him before the vampires had come, he had been an excellent speaker. It certainly had not been his looks that had landed him the position of mayor.

Although he sounded petulant, Falconi began to see that the vampire was not in the least bit huffy. Wentworth was, however, ruthless. In his previous life there had been laws and conventions within which he had to work to get what he wanted. Not now though. In his current position he was able to demand anything and get it. And he jealously guarded what was his. Falconi had been aware, in his position as local commander, that an attack was always a possibility, though no one really thought it would ever happen.

Except, it seemed, for Wentworth.

The vampire had a plan already in place for just such an eventuality. One aide had made the mistake of asking why they did not contact the Council and let them handle it and the withering look that Wentworth had sent him had been enough for the aide to soil himself on the spot.

Falconi stood back and watched his master at work. He was really quite incredible, despite his diminutive stature. The man exuded power and confidence. His eyes seemed to shine with an inner glare as he issued orders. Wentworth did not shout, somehow Falconi had assumed that the vampire would over compensate for his size, but his orders were quiet and confident and no one dared ask for them to be repeated.

The plan was also a good one and Falconi began to feel sorry for Von Kruger’s men. They may have more supplies and fuel but Wentworth’s plan was genius. He began to like his new direct superior. He was still terrified, of course, but somehow it was comforting to have the vampire on their side. The poor sods on the other side of the border wouldn’t know what hit them.

Chapter 10

Von Kruger had left orders with his men to maintain patrols along the entire border. He expected retaliation but he did not expect it to be overly troublesome. Von Kruger was a vampire with centuries of experience. He did not have any regard for those beneath him, especially not young upstarts like Wentworth who were still merely children among the ranks of the undead.

What he did not consider was how cunning Wentworth might be. His experience with humans was limited to an existence of centuries in secret, when he had viewed them only as cattle. Even during the brief few months during the war the vampires’ sheer ferocity and power cut through the human’s resistance far too easily to credit them with any respect—of course, the serum also had something to do with that. He was used to dealing with powerful opponents who developed their strength and cunning over centuries; he was used to a structure that relied upon tradition and mutual respect among the vampire lords. He had no experience with dealing with those who had spent their lives in a position of weakness and who had relied upon their minds rather than their strength to achieve their aims.

In this he underestimated his opponent terribly. His men were also overconfident in their assumed position of strength. They had the best vehicles and equipment and plenty of fuel to power them. They had transport and a supply line that could deliver men and supplies where and when they were needed, although the general consensus was that there would be a brief retaliation that would be easily dealt with and then the status quo would resume. After all, they were only retaliating against an attack that Wentworth had instigated. So he could hardly complain to the council.

The generals deployed their men openly in a show of strength along the border. It was assumed that the attack would begin at dawn. Why at dawn, no one had asked, but dawn was the accepted timescale and Von Krugers’ men settled down for a night under the stars around campfires that lit their camps like beacons as the darkness rolled in.

Falconi could see the disposition of their enemy clearly against the backlight of the fires and the lighting that illuminated the camp nearest him. The tanks lay silent, appearing as darker, angular shapes to the side of the camps. His men would be decimated if they attacked from the front. Even if they had the fuel to spare to bring their own tanks forward, the noise of their approach would warn the other side and allow them plenty of time to redeploy their heavy armor to concentrate fire on their own smaller force. It didn’t matter, in any case, they did not have the fuel to even get their tanks to the front let alone take part in a sustained battle.

Von Kruger had fewer men than Wentworth, but their armament was far more impressive and easily made up for their smaller numbers. Falconi looked behind him toward his own camp and saw over a hundred vampires gathered there. Wentworth would not deploy vampires against thralls. For one thing, it would escalate the current squabble beyond where he was prepared to go. It was inconceivable that a thrall could kill, or even raise a hand to, a vampire, so he could not use them in the attack. However, there was nothing to stop him using his vampires to help reposition his forces to a more strategic position.

As he watched the first of the vampires gripped their thrall charges in their powerful arms and leapt into the air, wrapping the darkness around them and transforming in a blink of the eye. In seconds the dark shapes disappeared into the night and Falconi shivered. The vampires were terrifying; no matter how many times he saw them his stomach still knotted and his heart beat faster. He again reaffirmed that his decision to join them rather than fight during the war was the correct one, but something still nagged at him, even after all these years. Something that rebelled against the fear and refused to allow him to forget what he had been.

Falconi savagely repressed the feeling and headed down to his men and crossed over to Wentworth. The vampire grinned at him and Falconi nodded at his master with more than a little trepidation. There was something very unsettling about the vampire’s grin. It was far too feral and served to remind the thrall of how different the vampires were to the humans they had once been. The prospect of the slaughter to come was exciting, he felt a quickening of the heart himself, but it was as if Wentworth would be happy to slaughter his own men as easily as the forces they were deploying against, and it made Falconi question his own sanity in pledging his allegiance to the vampires.

“They won’t know what hit them, sir,” he forced the comment but found himself looking away from the vampire, lest he notice his doubts.

“They certainly won’t,” Wentworth replied and then reached out and pulled Falconi to him. For a brief second Falconi thought that he had done something wrong, that somehow Wentworth had sensed his subject’s doubts. His body tensed as he anticipated the claw that would tear through his body at any moment. But then he felt his stomach lurch as Wentworth shot upwards and, suddenly, he was flying.

His body rebelled at first as his equilibrium went awry and he struggled against the vampire’s grip. His legs kicked out in all directions and his arms rotated as he tried to regain some semblance of balance. As realization slowly began to penetrate his fear-soaked brain he slowly let his body grow limp. There was little point in struggling against such strength anyway, and, as he had done two years ago when faced with a similar decision, Falconi accepted the easier path and allowed himself to be carried along on the path of least resistance. Large wings beat powerfully above him and the cool night air snatched at his clothes and sapped his warmth. His face quickly grew icy and it was painful to open his eyes with the speed of their flight. Despite this he reveled in the feeling and forced his eyes open to study the ground below. They were hundreds of feet up to ensure that they were not heard but he could still see the deployments of the enemy below.

There were more camps along the border than he had thought and he paled as he saw the line stretching into the distance, each one marked by the pinpricks of light from the fires. Each camp seemed to be a few miles apart immediately below them but some of the camps further along the chain were farther apart as natural geography provided its own protection from attack.

The plan was not to take out all of the camps but Wentworth had not wanted to attack an isolated camp either. He had wanted Von Kruger to know that his weaponry did not scare him so he had chosen the two main camps in the centre for his lesson in warfare.

Wentworth was not a general by any means, but he had plenty of men around him who were, and he had had two years to perfect this plan. Falconi began to feel himself dropping as they passed over the camp and soon he stood firmly on the ground, if somewhat shakily.

“You know what to do,” Wentworth stated. He did not expect or wait for a response. “Do not let me down.”

Falconi looked into Wentworth’s piercing eyes and saw the threat that lay there. He shivered. If the night did not go as planned there was no way that he would return to face that stare. Either he would return victorious or he would be dead.

Once the vampires left, Ralf Falconi felt briefly that he was entirely alone. The dark surrounded him, and seemed to press inwards on him as the moments ticked by. The responsibility of his command was far greater than anything he had ever had before. Before the vampires had come he had been a small-time criminal. He had run rackets and protection for the larger families as their local representative. He was used to being in command, but only with small groups of people.

He had remained in his position by being more vicious than any of the men beneath him and by being just a little smarter. When the vampires had come he had merely traded one set of masters for another. To him they were little different to the men he had served all his life. Nameless bosses who imbued him with power and left him alone as long as he showed the right respect and made sure their cut reached them on time each month. The vampires had promised an easy life; all he had to do was keep the population docile and carry out any orders that were sent his way. So they lived on the blood of their captives; his mafia bosses had lived off the blood of their victims for years. He had decided very quickly that he would be on the side of those who ruled rather than those who opened their veins and meekly gave their blood.

The recent run of events was more than a little daunting, though, and as he stood in the dark all he could hear was the thump of his heart as he frantically tried to remember what he should do. For a brief moment he lost it. He considered running blindly into the dark and hiding from the vampires—surely they would not have the time or resources to look for him. Surely he was not important enough. He moved one leg and felt a tremor run through him.

He took a second step and then he saw Wentworth’s eyes in his mind and he stopped. The eyes seemed to float in front of him, mocking him with their baleful stare, their piercing black pupils drawing him in and sending a bolt of terror through him. He realized with a start that Wentworth would look for him no matter where he went and no matter how well he hid. He really had as little choice as he had had when he was sixteen and had been approached by the local boss.

He could either join the family where he would make great money and have any of the local working girls he wanted, or he could suffer a beating he was unlikely to ever recover from. There was really no decision to be made. Life had never had many choices for Ralph Falconi, though he had never really looked hard for alternatives, either. He had always chosen the easy route. In school, when he had actually gone, he had found it easier to steal money rather than earn it, get others to do his work for him with threats, if reason did not work.

It had been no surprise that he had been singled out for a position with the local family. He felt a calm come over him as his recent doubts began to recede back to the quiet corner he had prepared for them He was never quite capable of dispelling them entirely but had long ago learned to live with dealing with their infrequent resurfacing before he was able to force them away again until the next time. Once he had made his decision the thump of his heart began to subside. He could hear faint noises around him as the men surrounding him fidgeted while they waited for their orders. His fear began to subside and the darkness seemed to lift from his shoulders and the details of the plan began to flood back into his brain.

“Okay, men.” When he spoke he did so with a confidence he did not really feel, but he began to imagine the pleasures that would be his when he completed this mission and his confidence grew. “Two teams, move out to your positions. If anyone makes any noise before we’re ready to go I’ll rip them to pieces myself.”

The press of the bodies around him gave him confidence and he moved out with his thoughts full of the carnal pleasures that would be his in a very short time.

At three o’clock in the morning most of the fires had burned low and only their smoldering embers marked the positions of the camps along the border. The night was cold and thralls lay shivering, wrapped tightly in blankets, tarpaulins and anything that might keep the chill from their bones. The previous hours’ confidence and grandstanding had degenerated to a cold huddle as the heat of their overconfidence had long ago surrendered to the night’s icy fingers. The previous day’s storm had left the ground packed hard with ice, and the clever ones slept off the ground on vehicles or boxes, anywhere to avoid the bone-sapping chill that, even now, had many of the thralls tossing fitfully in their sleep.

Falconi looked through his night binoculars and could see the occasional flare of heat walking through the camp that denoted those on guard duty. The guards did not stray too far from the waning heat provided by the dying fires so they were easily identified and marked. Falconi had two hundred thralls with him. He had sent half of his force to the next camp a mile or so along the trail. Once the fighting started the other camps would react to the noise of the attack and come to re-enforce their colleagues so, rather than stick to the original plan developed by Wentworth and his generals, Falconi had added a few tweaks that he thought would increase his own odds of surviving.

The original plan called for him to attack the two camps, disable as many of the heavy armor as they could, kill as many as was prudent, and then run back towards their own lines where they would be covered by friendly fire. While this was a fine plan overall for the Wentworth cabal, it did not fill Falconi with much confidence for his own survival. Ralph Falconi may have only been a low-level criminal but he had always been blessed with a higher than average intelligence that had kept him alive up until now.

As he looked into the quiet camp he began to see the flaws of the original plan that would most likely get him killed. The camps were far too close for him to achieve his goals and get out before the other camps arrived and cut them to pieces. The problem was that it would be obvious where the attack was coming from as soon as the first shot or scream announced their position. The other camps would rally quickly and he and his men would be torn apart. Wentworth and his generals would still have a major victory if they destroyed the tanks but Falconi wanted to be alive to enjoy his promised rewards. On the other hand, he could not return without destroying all the armor in the two camps assigned to him either.

He decided to compromise a little and split his forces further. There was no time to pass on his improvements to the plan to the other group so they would just have to make do. He turned from the camp and issued orders to the squad leaders that squatted beside him. He sent the three smaller groups along the chain of camps with instructions to take out as much of the armor as they could and make as much noise as they could before returning to camp.

He promised each squad leader many more rewards than he was capable of delivering but was certain that few of them would survive the night’s events anyway. He watched the men disappear into the darkness and settled down to wait for them to get into position. If the enemy were not sure where they were being attacked from then they would not be able to organize a strong counter attack but would also have to split their forces. The camps on the periphery of the attack would rally around those camps nearest them and, with his own assigned camp being in the middle, he should have plenty of time to get his job done and get back across the border before the enemy forces managed to get to him.

If all went well he might even survive the night.

The first explosion of the night made everyone jump. There was an intense white flare about a mile in the distance that briefly illuminated the area surrounding the explosion, and then it seemed to implode and disappear before a reddish orange glow appeared and cast eerie shapes around the illuminated area. Falconi cursed, the attack was not meant to begin for another ten minutes so something had gone wrong somewhere. He raised the binoculars but the light from the fire was far too bright and ruined the night vision.

“Right,” he shouted to his own men, “get into the camp; destroy everything that has an engine.” They had spent the last thirty minutes placing charges and taking out any guards on the periphery of the camp. These were set to detonate on a timer so there was still nine minutes before those charges would blow. They had not been able to get at the majority of the tanks, though, as most had been parked close to the fires and were draped with the sleeping bodies of the enemy thralls. The plan had been to enter the camp under the confusion of the destroyed outer vehicles, plant more explosives and then get out.

Now that plan was shot to hell.

He launched himself from their position and aimed a long burst at the sleeping figures on the nearest tank. His men fanned out to either side of him and the noise of gunfire filled the night. Thralls died as they struggled from sleeping bags or tightly packed blankets, many of them did not even have the time to free their arms, let alone grab their weapons. Falconi felt no pity for them as he watched them die. In this world only the strong and intelligent survived.

He had twenty men with him but they slaughtered many times that as they swept through the camp. Deep booms of explosions filled the night as his other teams set about their own slaughter. The armor surrounding the camp suddenly began to blow, had nine minutes really passed already, and then the tanks on the inner circle began to go up as well. Bodies, still wrapped in their blankets, fell on to the campfires and the smoldering embers engulfed the material greedily. Soon flames licked upwards, tentative at first and then growing stronger as the awakened pyre devoured clothes and flesh. Shadows danced around the camp as the flame’s ochre incandescence cast an eerie glow on the carnage.

In the distance Falconi could hear the roar of engines and the deep thump of shells as the surviving tanks fired them. The high-pitched chatter of .50 millimeter guns from the enemy armor filled the night, and Falconi knew that the other camps had already begun to fight back. The level of noise on either side of him as the enemy rallied and poured their fire into his men was frightening and he was glad he had created a buffer between himself and the hell that poured over his men in the other camps.

He called to his own patrol, only twelve left he saw in the undulating light from the fire, and signaled for them to return to the border. He looked back briefly on the camp and saw the burning, mangled remains of the mechanized equipment and the many dark mounds that testified to a hard fought victory. He smiled. He felt himself growing aroused as he thought of the rewards that would soon be his. This war could very possibly be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Bloody War is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, Major William Carter moaned as he shot up out of his sleeping bag and cracked his head against the metal of the tank’s interior console. He had spent an uncomfortable night so far in the command chair. He really had thought that being inside the tank on a cold night would be better than being outside, but now he was not so sure. The metal shell of the tank seemed to intensify the cold. He had opened the hatch earlier and the air outside had seemed far warmer than the icy interior but he had made such a fuss about taking over the tank that he did not have the nerve to move.

He had only just drifted off to a fitful sleep when he had heard a loud thump in the distance but the sound had been somewhat muted within the metal cocoon of the tank’s cab and he had not been sure what he had heard at first. He heard a commotion outside as a guard began to shout. He lifted himself painfully from the chair and opened the hatch. There were a number of men pulling themselves from their sleeping bags on the tank around him and in the distance he heard more explosions.

“What the fu…?” he muttered as he saw the horizon light up with strange tawny illuminations to the east. A guard shouted up to him about an attack and his brain finally began to join up the pieces. “Christ,” he shouted down to the thrall, “you mean they actually attacked us?”

The thrall looked up at him with a strange expression and Carter ignored him as he scrambled from the tank. The thump of explosions was constant now, almost like thunder rolling through the mountains; only this thunder was interspersed with the tinny chatter of machine gun fire. His position was right next to the first of the now glowing areas where the attack was centered but he could see that fighting had also broken out in other areas further along the border. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whichever Gods might still be around that he had not been deployed in any of those areas.

Someone would pay dearly for not securing their perimeters—assuming, of course, they survived the night. He had deployed his own patrols in a skirmish line and had assigned his personal guard to shoot anyone not keeping to their assigned patrol area. It was obvious to him that Wentworth might send out a commando raid to try and take them by surprise. He had heard one shot early in the night and assumed that an example had been made as he had heard nothing since. Surely the others had deployed their own patrols? How had the enemy gotten through?

Another volley of explosions roared from the camp next to his and he shook himself from his deliberations. He shouted a stream of orders to the men who surrounded him, and in seconds vehicles roared into life and men assembled in the pale light of their own smoldering fire. Diesel fumes filled the air and he gave the order to advance.

It would only take them a few minutes to close the distance, and he imagined himself as the rescuing hero. There might yet be something to be gained from this little war, after all.

The path between the two camps was lit by the pulsing glow of the many fires that consumed the ruined vehicles that now dotted the approach to the border. Yesterday, as the tanks had been deployed, the line of vehicles had been as impressive an array of armor as you were ever likely to see anywhere in the world. Row after row of gleaming metal behemoths had been arrayed with their barrels pointing towards the border, waiting for the next day and the carnage they would exact on any forces foolish enough to approach them.

Now, however, all that remained were twisted husks whose fuel burned furiously in the night and announced their defeat-like beacons. Von Kruger had wanted to make an example of any attack that might occur so he had ordered his tanks filled with fuel so that they could take full advantage of any assault by retaliating with all his might and driving the enemy forces back as far as they could travel. Wentworth would not be able to contest any territory gained in such a maneuver if it had been him who had instigated the original attack. But he had been outmaneuvered and now hundreds of gallons of fuel burned brightly and illuminated the entire area.

Bodies littered the ground around the tanks and inside the camp as well, but it was impossible to see what uniform they wore in the undulating light. Carter saw a number of men on their feet in the camp and he ordered his crew to open fire. He did not intend to take any chances, besides he was doing them a favor. Any of Von Kruger’s forces still alive in those camps that had been over run would be better off dead rather than face their masters and explain why they had lost so badly.

He signaled for his vehicles to spread out and approach the camp in a horseshoe formation to ensure that they did not get hit from behind. Gunfire erupted to his left and bullets slammed into the armor just beneath him. He dropped quickly back into the cab of the tank and ordered the gunner to respond to the attack. It wouldn’t do to be showered with honors posthumously, now would it?

His tanks powered through the camp and destroyed anything in their path, cutting through enemy and friendly forces with equal indifference. Ahead he could see the occasional flare of machine gun fire in the next camp, and he ordered his men to continue forward.

Chapter 11

Wentworth watched the pinpricks of light flare into life in the distance and reveled with each roar of thunder as another tank blew up. The horizon was filled with individual fires and he gave up counting when he reached fifty. He noted that the fires spread further than his plan had called for and he made a note to watch his new commander carefully. The Captain was no fool and could be an asset or a threat, depending on how he was handled.

There was now a huge hole in the defenses of the enemy. Most of the forces close enough to the areas under fire had by now mobilized and moved to re-enforce those who were pinned, leaving their own designated areas unguarded. Wentworth turned to his men and signaled phase two of the night’s operation. Around him trucks, armored cars and as many tanks as they could fuel, which was not many, roared to life and began to approach those darker areas in the defenses. Once behind enemy lines they would turn and attack the enemy forces from the rear.

By the time someone figured out what had happened they should have taken out enough of the enemy armor to make sure that Von Kruger would think twice about flaunting his superior forces again. He had also assigned a number of his thralls to steal as much fuel as was possible during the confusion. If luck remained with them they might actually do well out of this little incursion.

Von Kruger tore through the night air with each powerful stroke of his wings. A vampire’s ability to fly is more suited to riding air currents that flying at speed but Von Kruger ignored the pain in his shoulders and continued towards the glowing horizon.

The radio had alerted him to the attack only moments ago but the panicked report had been cut short before they had been able to get confirmation. His radio operator had frantically tried to contact other camps but static mocked him with each attempt. Those they had got through to had known next to nothing. Von Kruger had never been patient and his four hundred years of existence had not tempered his disposition in any way.

He had called for as many of his clan as were in the area, and he had taken to the air to find out for himself what had happened. He had left most of his clan behind in his haste, and his anger grew with every stroke. The horizon had been merely a large undulating glow in the distance when he had begun his journey, even for his keen eyes. But, as he drew closer, he began to make out the individual fires and their numbers shocked him.

How could they have taken so many? His mind burned with more questions with each stroke and his anger grew as the terrible reality became apparent. Someone would pay dearly for this, he vowed. He saw dark shapes below him speeding in his direction away from the fighting and he was outraged that his forces were in retreat. He began to angle his descent towards the vehicles; he would not tolerate such behavior from his forces. As he grew closer the lead tank turned sharply to the right and the other vehicles followed in a precision movement that did not have the appearance of a frantic retreat. He paused for a moment, allowing his wings to fan out and ride the breeze as the vehicles continued their breakneck pace back towards the lines.

He was confused. Were they retreating or merely repositioning? He watched the vehicles spread out in an arrow formation and it dawned suddenly on him like a slap as the tanks opened fire on the exposed rear of his own forces. The clever bastards, he fumed as he watched his exposed ranks being torn apart by the enemy armor.

This was the final straw. Somehow, Wentworth had managed to rout his far superior forces. He must have cheated somehow. There was just no way Wentworth could have achieved this defeat with his paltry forces. He would never hear the end of this, from Wentworth or from the other lords on the council. This would be seen as weakness. He would be considered easy prey for any forces that wanted his vast resources. He could not allow it.

Von Kruger had always been impetuous. He had always found it hard to temper the animal instincts that were the very core of the vampire within him with the cunning needed to remain cloaked and undiscovered in a world where they existed in secret. He had reveled in the freedom that the open war with the humans had granted him and he had feasted, gorged on his enemies with a reckless abandonment that had threatened to leave his territory, and those around him, devoid of all life. He had pulled himself back from the brink only when the council had sent a delegation to inform him that he would receive no supplies of blood from the other cabals if he continued such recklessness. They would not move against him, of course. He was too feared for that and he controlled far too much of the human’s technology to be dismissed as merely a mad glutton. But there had been some logic to their argument, so while, he had bowed to their wisdom, he had never forgiven them for their interference.

He had come to regret his decision over the last two years, and he yearned for the madness and glory of battle once again. Vampires were creatures of chaos. They should not be waited on with glasses of blood taken from cattle farms. They should use their strength to take what they wanted and feed by ripping the life from the living. They were becoming soft and he yearned for a challenge—any challenge, lest he go mad with boredom. Surely it was better to die wiping out the hated humans than to exist as soft, pathetic farmers for eternity? He closed his wings and dropped towards the battle at a frightening speed. His rational mind tried to remind him that very heavy penalties could be levied against him for any direct attacks on the thralls but, as his ferocity grew, his rationality began to recede further and further. His mind seethed and his blood lust finally overcame him and he exalted in its potency.

He attacked the first tank, ripping the turret from the main body like it was paper. His arms bulged with a strength borne of fury and he tore the vehicle and its occupants to pieces. The sudden flare of blood from a gutted thrall corpse filled him with a burning urge and he sank his teeth into each of his victims and gorged on their blood. It had been so long since he had gorged and he lost himself in the feeling.

He was sick of feeding on captive humans, drinking from glasses and becoming civilized. His mind no longer thought rationally. He acted purely on impulse as he continued to tear into the enemy thralls. He was dimly aware that other vampires had begun to arrive. Some of them held off at first, unsure if they should cross the taboo enforced on them by the council. Others happily tore into the remaining thralls and the stink of death and blood rose upwards towards the others and, finally, the lust took them too and they joined the carnage.

Wentworth saw the thrall with radio phones still on his ears approach him at a run and he frowned. Did the operator not have runners to send his messages? He wondered idly. The thrall ran to him and spent a few moments trying to regain his breath.

“Sir,” he began and then paused as he sucked in another breath. “Sir, our tanks are being torn apart.”

“What. How?” Wentworth was shocked. There was no way that Von Kruger’s forces could have anticipated their plan.

“I just received a report from the main force,” the thrall paused as he looked at the vampire lord and he swallowed hard.

“Out with it,” Wentworth snapped impatiently.

“Sir, they are being attacked by vampires.” The man paused and seemed to brace himself for his master’s reaction.

Wentworth’s face drew back in an ugly snarl that pulled his flesh tightly over his prominent jaw. His teeth seemed to grow longer as the thrall watched and the vampire’s eyes seemed to deepen and darken at the same time.

Wentworth shot up into the air, his arms turning to wings as he jumped. Bones crunched and stretched in moments and lifted the vampire clear of the ground. He uttered a call that could not be heard by the thralls below, but there were many ears sensitive to such a call and they flocked to him.

Below, the thrall looked upwards as he heard the thunder of wings above. The night grew even darker as the moon’s pale light was suddenly eclipsed.

The war had just escalated.

Things had changed. In all his planning, Wentworth had never anticipated that Von Kruger would lose his reason and actually attack his thralls. There had been a time, late in the war with the humans, when some of the cabals could see the imminent defeat of the humans and began to attack their neighboring cabals as they began to grab as much as they could before the war finished.

Thralls could not attack their masters, the fluids passed between the vampire and a human when creating a thrall did something to the thrall’s physiology that prevented them from acting against their masters. Wentworth did not understand how it worked exactly, but it did, and it had to. The vampires depended on the thralls for their safety during the day and they had to be absolutely certain that they were safe while asleep. Otherwise they would be easy prey against any thralls brave enough to risk a revolution.

To re-enforce this, the vampires made sure to regularly pass these fluids to their closest thralls just in case the conditioning’s effects waned over time. No one was really sure if it would; thralls had been used for centuries to safeguard the vampires during the day but they had always used careful breeding in the past where whole generations of families were bred to serve the vampires. They knew no better and lived only to serve their masters. Now that the need for thralls had grown to such an extent they had bestowed so much power on humans they knew nothing about and whose loyalty had not been adequately explored. To counter this threat, the vampires preferred to over-infuse their servants rather than take a chance that their loyalty might degrade over time.

The main problem with allowing fighting amongst the cabals was that it would pit thralls and vampires against each other. It was possible in such a scenario that a thrall might be forced to protect itself against a vampire and that their conditioning might weaken as a result of that encounter. If they survived the encounter, they might not be as loyal as before. This type of disloyalty might spread if not identified, and then the vampires would be helpless.

Continued warfare among the cabals would only serve to further weaken the conditioning, so the council had banned any conflict where vampires and thralls came in direct contact. What Von Kruger had done was unforgivable. It was not even as if it was a last resort. This was only a skirmish. The fact that it had been going badly for Von Kruger was no excuse to retaliate in such a fashion.

Wentworth now had a problem though. He could well afford the loss of the thralls, he had plenty of humans to replace any he might lose tonight, but he really could not afford to have his armor destroyed. He could not assume that the council would demand replacements from Von Kruger’s own supply. For one thing Von Kruger had many contacts on the council and, as one of the older vampires, he still retained a lot of weight in matters like this. For another, if Von Kruger continued to tear his forces to pieces there would be nothing to stop him from turning the battle and smashing through Wentworth’s own paltry forces. In the light of day he could claim that he had been attacked and had merely responded with justifiable force. He could claim to have had no involvement in the action at all. Where was the proof?

No, if Wentworth wanted to survive this night he would have to break a few rules himself. Vampire had not fought against vampire in millennia. There had been duels for the leadership of a cabal over the centuries, of course, but their very survival had always depended upon their secrecy, so open warfare among the cabals had been viciously suppressed. It had been centuries since the last time, as far as Wentworth was aware, though as a relatively new vampire he relied on others to fill in any historical background. Things had changed now that they ruled the world. The council still forbade any direct violence but they were not here at the moment and history tends always to be written by the victor.

If he had to set his vampires against Von Kruger’s in order to emerge the winner, then he was prepared to do that. Von Kruger’s main cities were a long way from the border so he could not have too many vampires with him, while he had nearly a hundred just a short distance away. He had already dispatched one of his vampire lieutenants to the nearby towns to gather more vampires and bring them here. If Von Kruger wanted a war then he would have one. He called to those around him to follow and he flew towards the fighting with powerful, even strokes. There was still time to save what was left of his forces and maybe replace any equipment before the dawn came.

One way or the other, there would be a victor tonight.

The melee was fast and incredibly violent. Wentworth and his vampires flew high above the border and their incredible eyesight easily made out Von Kruger and his forces as they were finishing off Wentworth’s invading force. The vampires were totally engrossed in the carnage and never even saw them. Von Kruger had seven vampires in his party, each one drenched in blood and gore as they played with those thralls that still lived. Wentworth had twelve vampires with him, and many more should already be on their way.

Wentworth brought in his wings, closing them firmly against his sides, and dropped towards the grisly scene below, picking up speed as he plummeted down. The others followed. They might be reluctant to attack other vampires, but Wentworth was their master and they would obey him in all matters. There was no physiological superiority between vampires. One vampire dominated another through sheer strength and fear. Wentworth was far younger than most of the vampires he led but his authority was unquestioned; at least, it was now with the heads of those who had questioned him still gracing his headquarters for all to see. Besides, there had been a great rivalry between the two states for some time now and Wentworth’s vampires were still sore about losing the power station.

The first pass left Von Kruger and his squad dazed. Wentworth and his vampires tore through them, ripping flesh, breaking bones and leaving their victims reeling with the shock of the attack. Wentworth and his squadron continued high into the sky and banked almost lazily as they came back for a return pass. Von Kruger and his vampires were already healing from their wounds but the pain was intense as the damaged flesh and bone began to knit back together. The energy needed for such healing was incredible and only their previous gorging had allowed their bodies to mend at all.

By the time the others came back towards them most of the serious damage was already repaired, though each of them was close to exhaustion. Von Kruger saw Wentworth among the pack and he rose into the air to intercept him. His body cracked painfully as he changed. Muscles ripped and stretched, bone popped from sockets and broke to accommodate the changes. Flesh tore and blood flowed around his changing body. For a brief second he felt blackness threaten to overwhelm him and he thought for a moment that he had gone too far, but he forced his mind to focus on the change and he used the pain to keep his thoughts clear. He was an ancient vampire and he would not be defeated. He let his anger boil through him, giving him strength and clarity and then, suddenly, the change was complete and he lashed out at Wentworth with a huge talon.

Wentworth was too new a vampire for his flesh to metamorphose like Von Kruger and the vision that transformed before him gave him pause. It was a creature from a nightmare. Its face was contorted into an insane snarl, its teeth long and far too numerous for its mouth. Its body was like that of a lion but it had wings sprouting from its back and talons that ended in viciously sharp points on its legs and at the tips of the wings themselves.

Wentworth ducked beneath the first blow but he did not see the wing that followed the first swipe and he felt the point tear into his side and gouge a long furrow along his side. Blood spurted from the wound, quickly drenching his clothes. Blood was the most precious commodity to a vampire; if they lost too much they lost their strength, their healing abilities and finally their very life essence. Wentworth began to lose height, his body already beginning to heal around the wound. But he had lost a lot of blood and vampires could not replenish blood by themselves. He would have to feed.

He looked upwards and saw Von Kruger following him down, his face pulled back into a grotesque grin, a parody of the creature he had become and the remnants of his own features. Wentworth hit the ground hard and he felt a bone snap in his shoulder. He rolled away as fast as he could but sharp talons raked his back and pain exploded through him. Von Kruger landed lightly next to him and seemed to shimmer as he changed again. He still wore that insane grin on his face as he bent towards Wentworth as if to whisper.

Suddenly one of Wentworth’s vampires flew directly into Von Kruger, bending the master vampire double and carrying him away as the two figures struggled. Wentworth looked around quickly and took in the situation. Von Kruger’s vampires were all much older than any of Wentworth’s and they fought with a ferocity borne of ancient abilities and arcane knowledge. They had all changed to a fighting shape they were comfortable with and they held their foes, outnumbered though they were, easily at bay. Every vampire he could see was bleeding from deep wounds that ravaged their bodies, but still they fought.

Wentworth pulled himself to his feet and felt the world swirl around him dangerously. His body was no longer healing but fluids still seeped from his ruined flesh. He heard a groan to his left and he looked over toward the shredded ruins of a tank. He saw one of his own thralls pulling himself from the wreckage, his eyes glued to the scenes of violence around him.

“My Lord,” he began as he noticed Wentworth stagger towards him. Wentworth ignored the soldier, grabbed his head roughly and bent the thrall’s throat to him. He sank his teeth into the thrall’s exposed flesh and blood spurted into his mouth. Immediately he could feel warmth spread through his body. Liquid fire seemed to thunder through his veins at incredible speeds, filling him with strength. His wound began to heal again almost immediately as he continued to suck greedily.

All too quickly the blood stopped and the thrall was empty. The hunger still gnawed at him but it had been enough, barely. He looked for Von Kruger and he saw him behead the vampire who had saved him. Wentworth suddenly grew cold with fear. He had attacked Von Kruger and his vampires but he had never had any intention of actually killing any of them. It just was not done. His attack had been merely to stop them tearing his thralls and their equipment to pieces, and if they inflicted a little pain then so much the better. But to kill another vampire went beyond insane. Wentworth watched as Von Kruger flung the dead vampire to the side, and then the ancient master saw him and snarled.

Wentworth could see no sanity or control in those eyes, only battle lust. For the first time since he had become a vampire Wentworth knew true fear. He looked around him and saw that his cabal was busy, and then he noticed something else. The sky was beginning to grow lighter. In all the confusion he had lost track of time. It was nearly dawn.

The first tentative tendrils of light began to scratch at the sky. It would not be long before the light spread out towards them and killed them all if they did not leave now. He screeched out a call to his squadron and, with a last look at Von Kruger, he spread his arms, the flesh shimmering and changing as his wings grew, and then he launched himself into the sky and headed back towards his side of the border.

As he passed over the remains of the battlefield he could still see sporadic fighting. It would be a whole day before he could count the cost of tonight’s carnage. Though one thing was certain; things had changed irrevocably.

Major William Carter watched the dark shapes of the vampires launch themselves up into the brightening sky. He had only caught the end of that encounter but the vampires had moved so quickly that he was not entirely sure what had happened. His forces had made their way through five camps and all enemy forces had now been repelled back behind their own lines.

However, as he surveyed the smoking husks of the destroyed and damaged vehicles around him he realized that the cost had been far too high. Hundreds of thralls were dead, thousands of gallons of fuel had been destroyed or stolen and even some of their tanks had been captured and driven back across the border. In all, it had been a debacle. There were few survivors in the camps they had retaken, though any who had survived would take the full responsibility of the failure and he did not envy them.

He had been lucky that his forces had been beside the attack zone and not part of the front that had been breached. His luck was still holding, but he realized, the rules had just changed yet again. The repercussions from tonight would be far reaching. There would be worse to come and he no longer relished the chance for further advancement. It was getting too dangerous in this new world.

Chapter 12

Harris and his small group arrived back at the headquarters five hours after polling had started. Any good the committee had managed to salvage from their open meeting had been quickly eroded when news that their main candidate had failed to turn up for the election.

They tried hard to explain that Harris was out saving others, that his actions were critical to all of their futures, but it was hard to sway people when your candidate was not present. It was made worse as well by the fact that Regan had made an amazing speech. He had managed to apologize, appear contrite and garner new support all at the same time. It was a masterstroke of public speaking and a testament to the man’s abilities. It was just a shame he was such a rat.

There was a late surge of support for the original committee when Harris arrived back at the base with another thirty bedraggled and under-fed prisoners newly rescued from their mission—but his insistence in seeing his wounded safely to the hospital, though commendable, did not endear him to those still undecided. They wanted to be wooed for their vote, and by the time Harris did finally appear at the polling station his ragged appearance and bloodstained visage put some voters off. In the end, the result was predictable.

It would not be announced officially till the end of the week, but few doubted that Regan would win the election and the scramble to fill the various positions of power began almost before the poll closed.

Harris was bone tired as he left the polling station and headed towards the rooms that served as a hospital. He had not had the time yet to check in on Sandra and he felt guilty as he walked along the corridors of their new building. People passed by, some of them nodding to him and others quickly looking away as if embarrassed. He didn’t recognize most of them and he realized with a start that he really had been away on missions too often of late.

Everything had changed. The community was growing faster than he could keep track of. Decisions were being made that would have an impact on thousands of people rather than just a handful. What had begun as a small resistance had grown to a level that had outgrown him, and he felt isolated. It was getting so that he was more comfortable out on missions that he was in one of the number of buildings that now comprised their headquarters.

It was no wonder that he were losing support. He had been brought up to date on what had happened and he could see that his actions had only made things worse. But he would do it again if he had to, as he still saw that what he had done was the right thing to do. They had saved another thirty people and had set in motion a plan that could save many more lives. He could have stayed home and shook hands with the voters, could have pleaded for his seat on the government, but he was not prepared to do this at the expense of people’s lives. Everything they did now had an impact on their future and carries with it a responsibility that was bigger than any one person. Even the simplest of decisions were more complicated and he was no longer sure he was the right man for the job.

He was finding that issues of morality sometimes had to take a backseat to necessity. Choosing who would be taken with them and who would have to stay till the next time, if the next time ever came at all, were gnawing at him. What right did he have to choose? It was better that some were saved, of course, but he just did not feel qualified to have the last word. The faces of those he had left behind haunted his dreams and he did not know how much longer he could go on.

Even though he had not spent too much time studying their faces he was able to recreate their features perfectly when he closed his eyes. Their faces joined those of the men and women who had died in Boston, and it was too much for him to bear. And now, if they lost the election—or when they lost the election—would anybody care about the millions who would die from the serum’s effects? Was Regan serious about ignoring the evidence? Did he not realise that if the vampires had no food that they would scour the planet for the last drop of blood?

His thoughts were interrupted as he came to the room that now served as the recovery and observation ward. Sandra was sitting up, watching the new arrivals being shuffled towards beds where they would spend the next few days being weaned off the serum. Harris inhaled sharply as he saw her and forced a smile as she noticed him. She looked terrible. Her eyes seemed to have sunk further into her skull, her normally luxuriant hair was flat and lank, and her face was pale, so pale she nearly blended in with the pillow propped up behind her.

He had been told that she had been overdoing it but the reality of her appearance was still a shock.

“Hey you,” he smiled as he drew closer and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

“I’ve waited two weeks for you to come back and that’s all I get.” She smirked up at him and grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close for a full kiss.

“How are you?” he asked when she finally let him go.

“Bored,” she pouted. “They won’t let me leave.”

“That’s probably because you’ve been sneaking out too often for the last few days.”

“But someone had to try and remind people that there are other issues to consider other than hiding away and hoping the vampires will just disappear.” Harris could see the spark in her eyes. She cared too much. Ever since her father had been killed she had tried to keep busy, though her wound had kept her bedridden for some time now. She did not want to spend time thinking, she wanted to do something. Unfortunately, things in the community were changing too quickly for her to be able to keep up and the enforced rest was driving her mad.

“I know,” he soothed and reached for her hand.

“How did it go?” she asked, squeezing his hand and smiling. Harris could see the toll his absence had taken on her. As well as losing her father and nearly losing her own life, Harris had been gone for nearly two weeks and the stress and worry were taking their toll.

Harris filled her in on the events of the previous days, mentioning, but not dwelling on, the wounds both Steele and Roberts had received.

“So what happens now?”

“Well, hopefully by the time we go back out both sides will be too busy watching each other to notice us pilfering their supplies. If the fighting escalates we might be able to get to the outlying towns and rescue more people if more guards are pulled to the front. But there’s just no way we’re going to get into the cities.” Harris had agonized over it for a long time now but there was just no way he could justify a major assault and risk so many lives when the chances of success were dubious at best. It still didn’t stop him from feeling guilty, though. Millions would die over the next few months and there was nothing they could do.

“Anyway,” he brightened, “I’ve had a talk with the doctor and he’s going to let you out tonight. I’m going to cook you a meal and I’ll have you back by nine. How does that sound?”

She nodded and then yawned.

“You get some sleep and I’ll be back later.” He stood and watched as her eyes grew heavy. She was a long way from being recovered yet but the doctor had been optimistic, as long as she let her body recover. He moved away and went in search of Steele.

His wounds were not as simple. One of the bullets had lodged close to a nerve and they did not have a surgeon, let alone one skilled enough to remove it.

Down the corridor he heard an eruption of shouting and cheers. Through the din he heard a name being chanted over and over. Oh God, he thought, that’s really all we need. The words seemed to mock him as they reverberated along the corridor. REGAN, REGAN, REGAN.

It appeared that there was a new sheriff in town.

“Hey, Pat,” Harris stuck his head around the door and greeted the small man bent over his desk.

“My dear boy,” Pat Smith beamed as he recognized Harris and pulled away from his microscope, blinking myopically as he adjusted to the focus. Smith’s face was usually quite somber from spending most of his time in his lab searching for a way to help in the fight against the vampires. He had already done so much. He had discovered the fatal side effects that the serum would soon wreak on those humans still held in captivity.

He had also invented the coating that allowed their ammunition to tear the vampires to pieces. Harris had no idea how it worked but it had something to do with using the properties found in wood that accelerated the vampires’ metabolism. In short, it leveled the playing field—somewhat.

There wasn’t an endless supply of ammunition, by any means, though they had a good supply in their stores that they had found in a nearby army base. The ammunition they had found did not fit the weapons that they had wanted to standardize, though, so they still had to issue too many different types of weapons and it was difficult to keep track. Training was also a problem as people were trained on one weapon and had to make sure they were issued with the correct ammunition or there would be chaos if they were attacked by surprise.

And that only related to normal ammunition. When dealing with the special bullets each one had to be coated individually with the coating and then repacked into the clips so it was impossible to keep everyone happy.

Smith beamed at Harris, crossed the room quickly and hugged the younger man. “We were worried about you,” he said and Harris could see the stress behind the man’s smile. Regan’s stunt had been directed to cast doubt on Smith’s findings for the purpose of increasing his own support, but it had done far more damage than that. Father Reilly had pulled Harris aside after he had visited his men in the hospital. He felt that Smith had taken the charge against him personally and his inability to answer it at the time and save his friends the problems they now faced had sent him scurrying back into his lab. He had not emerged since.

“What’s this I hear about you disappearing in here?” Harris hugged the man tightly.

“Forget about that, Peter,” Smith moved back to his desk and picked up a number of sheets of paper. “I was hoping you’d come to me before the meeting.”

Harris frowned. He knew that Regan had called a meeting to discuss how the reins of power would pass from the current council to his newly elected, and already chosen, new government. The man wasted no time. Though why Pat would want to attend was beyond him. While he was part of the council he rarely attended unless he was specifically needed.

“What’s wrong, Pat?” Harris asked as he saw the nervous twitch at the man’s mouth.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” he began but then looked at the papers in his hands as if unable to look at Harris. “Some researcher I am.”

“Pat,” Harris reached for the man’s arm and smiled reassuringly. “Pat, you have to stop taking everything on to your own shoulders. You have done more than anybody to ensure everyone’s survival. Now tell me what’s up”

“After Regan accused me of basing my theories on flawed grounds I went back to all my research.” Harris nodded as he leaned against a nearby desk and settled in to hear his friend out.

“At the time I was doing the research I was looking at its effects on humans, you understand.”

Harris nodded and shrugged as if to say that there was no other way to look at it.

“This time, I studied the effect the serum was having on the blood itself, rather than its ultimate effect on humans.” Harris raised his eyebrow but stayed silent, happy to let the diminutive man come to the point in his own time.

“The blood is permanently damaged by the serum over time, the cells themselves are changed.”

Harris leaned forward. “Are we still in danger?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Smith sighed hurriedly. “Once we clean the serum from the body the new blood that the body generates washes the effects clean over time. This explains why the newly weaned people are so tired for such a long time, though. Now I know about it I can develop a few pick-me-ups to help with the blood re-generation.”

“That’s great, Pat, but it hardly requires a meeting with Regan at this stage.”

“Give me some credit, dear boy,” Smith clucked as he laid the paper on the shelf and stared directly at Harris. “We are not, as you well know, the only ones who depend on blood.”

“The Vampires,” Harris whispered.

“Exactly so.” Smith agreed. “Based on the research I used in developing your ‘magic bullets’ I have applied the same theorems. I also had some frozen samples to try out. I’m afraid that these cannot be relied upon for truly accurate data as the parasitic cells quickly die off outside the vampire’s body. But, as with the coating on the bullets, we know that anything affecting these cells has a knock on effect on their metabolism.”

“Are you telling me that they’re sick?” Harris tried to keep his heart from racing.

“If I’m right,” Smith sat back on his chair, “not only are they sick—they’re dying.”

“Holy shit!”

“So all we have to do is sit back and wait for them to die.”

The words seemed to hang in the air in the council room as Pat Smith finished explaining his latest findings.

This was exactly the reaction Harris had expected from Regan, and the one reaction he could not accept.

“It’s not as easy as that.” Harris rose and addressed the council. Everyone was there, including Sandra, despite the doctor’s frown and threat to rescind her pass for that evening’s dinner. Harris looked across at the new members that would now comprise their new government. He didn’t recognize many of them and he despaired for their community as he looked along the sea of uncaring faces.

“What do you mean?” Regan eased back in his chair. “If they’re dying then we don’t have to risk our lives in these foolish forays of yours.”

“I can’t predict which will happen first.” Smith leaned forward and tried to put across the information as succinctly as possible. “The serum changes the human blood and adapts the coagulation agents in the blood itself. Literally the blood will no longer sustain the parasitic cells. First the vampires will begin to become more prone to outbursts of violence as the cells begin to die off. They will need to feed more regularly and that will only accelerate the symptoms. They will become far more violent and less rational until; finally, they will begin to die. But first they will be driven mad by the constant thirst.” He paused as the stress of overwork began to take its toll. Harris put a hand on his shoulder and finished for him.

“What Pat means is that if the serum does not kill the human prisoners then the bloodbath created by the vampires’ insanity certainly will. If we wait it out then there’s a big chance that all the human prisoners will be slaughtered before the serum even has a chance to kill the vampires.”

The room descended into silence as everyone considered the information. Harris looked along the faces of the older council members and could see their understanding. He looked over at Regan and could see no compassion there at all.

“So what would you do, Harris?” Patricia Lohan asked as she leaned forward and placed her chin on the back of her crossed hands. Her movements were lithe, her smile seductive, but the coldness she exuded ruined any façade she may have wanted to portray. Harris was suddenly reminded of a cat watching a cornered mouse and he paused for a moment before answering.

“We should warn them.”

“What?” Ragan exploded from his chair. “Are you actually advising that we try and save the murdering bastards? I thought you wanted to kill them?”

“I do,” Harris admitted with a sigh. “But not at the expense of the entire human race. If we tell them of the danger and they stop using the serum then it will give us more time to rescue more people.”

“You are aware, of course,” Lohan smirked as she ran a pen over her lips, “that by warning them we would also be hanging out a sign that we are here and that we have a nice clean blood supply to tide them over. Once they know that they will scour the country searching for us and, come the spring when they get their full senses back, they will find us easily.”

Harris couldn’t hold her gaze. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“And still you suggest we should do it?” Regan spluttered incredulously.

Harris did not answer. He was well aware of what he was suggesting and the danger that he would expose them all to. It was a question of morality though, of doing what was right. He had not expected Regan or any of his group to understand, but he had to try.

“We would have been discovered eventually but, admittedly, I had hoped to have a force large enough to fight back by that time.” Harris was well aware that his argument sucked but he pressed on regardless. “This way we will have to let them know a little sooner than planned.”

Lohan coughed slightly and all heads turned toward her. “There’s also the fact that if the vampires can no longer use the serum to keep their captives in line that they will resort to cruelty and fear to replace it.”

”I’m aware of that,” Harris frowned at her. “It buys us time though.”

Ian Phelps suddenly snapped his pen in two as he leaned forward hurriedly. “Harris,” he began, his face open and, for the first time, Harris saw that the man was truly bewildered. “I’m having trouble grasping this.”

Regan laughed.

“No, I’m serious,” Phelps interrupted the community’s new leader before Regan could steer the conversation away. “I’m intrigued. I have a lot of respect for you, Harris.” He looked at Harris earnestly, “No, really I do. I may not agree with you but you are a clever man. Surely you never really thought you could save them all?”

Harris looked at the man. He had questioned his own thoughts and motivations many times trying to make sure that he was being realistic in his goals and was not developing a God Complex. He still hadn’t found an answer that he was happy with.

“If the current campaign is successful then there is the potential to rescue quite a lot of people.”

“Specifically?” Phelps pressed him.

Harris could see where Phelps was steering the conversation now but he was committed to his course of action and had to hope that there would be enough cool heads to see past Phelps’ petty sniping. “There are some two hundred thousand people between the two states by our conservative estimates. I believe we have a good chance of rescuing maybe ten thousand of them.”

Phelps nodded and pursed his lips as if agreeing. He gave the others just enough time to take in what Harris had said before he began. “Harris, even in the best possible scenario we know that the states will not wipe each other out.” Phelps paused as if waiting for agreement from Harris and, seeing none, he continued. “Sooner or later other states will become involved and a truce will be made. There is really only a limited opportunity to get any prisoners out, and we can only hope to sneak a handful at a time without discovery. On top of that we can also only handle so many survivors at any one time. Both in spiriting them back here unseen and in how many we can actually accommodate with our current space restrictions and food supplies. Stop me if I’m wrong here.” He paused and looked around the table.

He waited but no one interrupted so he shrugged and continued. “And if we warn the vampires we are here, don’t you think they might join forces to find us rather than continue to fight each other? How many people will you be able to save then?” Harris had to hand it to Phelps—he had effectively shattered any shred of credibility Harris might have had.

Phelps eased back in his chair and then thought better of it and leaned back over the table. “For that matter, how would we even make contact with them to tell them? Would they even believe us?”

“There would be only one way to be sure the message is taken seriously.” Harris dropped his gaze to the table.

“My God.” Phelps suddenly realized what Harris was saying. “You really do think you can save them all, don’t you? You’re bonkers.”

“What are you talking about?” Regan turned towards Phelps, his voice rising slightly as he lost the significance of what was being said.

“Harris plans on going to the vampires in person to tell them of the serum’s deadly payload.” Phelps let his pen drop to the table and looked around at the others.

“But that’s suicide!” Regan exclaimed and looked at Harris with incredulity.

Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket as the committee members looked at their hands or the papers on the desk before them. Harris looked around the table but could only see shock and horror in their faces rather than the compassion and understanding he had hoped for. Finally he looked to his side towards Sandra. He had not had time to talk through his plans with her and her icy glare did nothing for his case.

Chapter 13

“I’m not going in half-cocked, you know,” Harris insisted but Sandra had already brushed past him and he was forced to hurry after her despite her slow pace.

“I have no intention of committing suicide, I’m not mad.”

She stopped briefly and held his gaze. Her eyes were filled with tears and they shimmered with barely held rage. One solitary drop rolled rebelliously down her cheek and she brushed it away angrily.

“How dare you do that to me,” she paused as anger and exhaustion took their toll. “Do I mean so little to you that not only do you plan on getting yourself killed, but you weren’t even going to let me know? Were you going to send me a letter?”

“It wasn’t like that; I’m only just back…”

“Exactly,” she snapped. “You’re only just back and already you’re planning another trip. And this one you don’t even plan on coming back from.”

“I do plan on coming back.” His voice rose in volume before he could stop it and she started as if struck. “I’m sorry,” he continued quietly, “I haven’t had much sleep. Can we sit somewhere and talk? I never had any intention of even mentioning it until we’d spoken but Phelps had me on the ropes and I…”

“I think he pushed you over the ropes,” she answered and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “Peter, I will not lose you. I’ve lost too many people already.”

Harris looked into her eyes and took her hands. They were cold. She looked so frail and her face was ashen from exhaustion and worry. Her hair was lank and lifeless from too long without sunlight, and he hated to burden her more but things were spiraling out of control. He felt like a leaf buffeted from all sides during a storm.

He loved her so much and he hated what he was about to put her through, but they weren’t just fighting for their small community anymore. They were fighting for a world, and if he had to fight Regan as well as the vampires and the thralls, then he would do so.

“I have a plan…”

Steele glowed with happiness as he hugged April. It was the first good thing to have happened since he had woken up, and he felt his despair lighten somewhat as he felt her tears roll down his neck. His wounds still hurt like hell but he ignored the pain in favor of the contact. The way things were going he might not feel anything ever again soon enough so he relished the feeling regardless of the pain it brought. It gave him something to hold onto, to remind him that, for now at least, he could still feel.

Three rounds had torn through him, one had ripped straight through his side and, while there was little chance of infection from that one, it had caused the most physical damage. The other two had lodged in his flesh and, while their resident nurse had easily removed one of them, the other had been a different matter. They still had no surgeon, or even a proper doctor in their community, and one of the bullets was perilously close to a nerve. His caregivers had told him flatly that there was no way of removing the bullet without a proper surgeon, and even then it might be touch and go with the equipment they currently had.

There was nothing they could do so they had sewn him back up and left the bullet where it was with a warning that, while he might feel fine for now, the bullet could rub against the nerve at any time. If it did then he was likely to be paralyzed. It was also possible, even likely, that the paralysis would be permanent.

Everyone had been supportive. No one had actually used the word ‘paralyzed’ but Steele just couldn’t get the picture of himself in a wheelchair out of his mind. Harris had already been around and had tried to cheer him up with talk of using his knowledge and skills to train others, but he had been firm that his days of going on missions were over. They just couldn’t take the chance of him losing the use of his body at the wrong time.

He supposed he should be grateful, in one way. On the trip back he had drifted in and out of consciousness but had picked up enough from the concerned expressions of those caring for him that they had been worried about his very survival. Somehow, though, he just couldn’t raise himself from the feeling of depression that had descended over him since he had heard the news.

A few months ago he would have put a bullet in his brain rather than end up paralyzed, but that had been before he had met this group, and especially April. He had had a sister her age before the vampires had come but she had been lost early on in the campaign. In many ways it had been her death that had been the cause of the despair that had led to his damnation. It was a cruel irony that what he now felt for April might be the very thing that could redeem him.

His sister, Catriona—or Cat as she had liked being called—had followed him around to every army base he had been assigned to. Their parents had died many years before and Steele had tried his best to look after her, though his many missions away were not ideal for raising a young girl on the brink of being a teenager. There had been a suggestion of her being taken into care when their parents had died but she had run away five times and always turned up at whatever army base he had been assigned to so. Eventually, everyone had given up and let her stay. They had always had a fiery relationship, but one which was based on a deep love for each other that was tempered by their need for family.

It was unusual that she was allowed to live on base at all and not forced to stay in housing close by. But Steele was very good at what he did and his superiors had pulled a few strings and turned a blind eye to allow it. The army wives had been very supportive and looked after her when he was away, but, with no one keeping a close eye on her, Cat had become a bit wild, especially on an army base with so many men around.

It had been early in the campaign with the vampires that Steele had returned to the camp to the news that Cat was dead. He had been so shocked that he had numbly accepted the version of events. He had even missed her funeral and it had taken him a few days before his brain had begun to work again. He had blamed himself for her death, convinced that if he had been around, that she would still be alive. Everyone insisted that it had been a terrible accident but one which was nobody’s fault. He would just have to accept it and move on.

One of the camp councilors had gone through the events with him to show that it would not have made any difference if he had been on camp, and it had been during one of these sessions that he had noticed that something was wrong. Some of the events the councilor spoke of didn’t tally with what he had been told and, as he talked to a few more people he began to sense that something was being hidden. Everyone else he talked to had the same story his commander had told him. Exactly the same story. It was as if they had learned the words from the same script. Something was very wrong.

He began to investigate, and after breaking a few arms and cracking a few skulls he learned what had really happened. Four special service soldiers had come looking for him one night and had seen Cat when she answered the door. They had been drunk. What had started as harmless flirting and a few crude comments and innuendos had turned into far more. They had pushed their way in and when Cat had started screaming they had panicked and hit her. Before they had left they had raped her and left her lying in a pool of blood while they continued their drunken binge.

She had been found the next day but she had died during the night from blood loss. One of the men involved was the son of the camp commander and he had spun a story to keep the men out of it. They buried Cat before Steele returned so he never saw her body or the trauma that the men had inflicted upon her. Anyone not prepared to keep quiet was threatened with a transfer to the front and everything would have remained hidden if Steele had not started digging.

Steele had seen enough of human nature in his years in the military. He had seen how some of those in command used their positions to grow rich by selling guns and ammunition, leaving the men doing the fighting with inferior weapons and supplies. He had seen this happening over many years but the war with the vampires was a fight for survival and not just a political war. This latest betrayal convinced him that maybe humans were just not worth saving. He had found and killed the four men, slowly and painfully, and had strolled into the commander’s office and beheaded him in front of a delegation from Washington. He had used the commander’s head to buy his way into the vampires’ camp and had begun working for them as he tried to deal with his rage. He didn’t think about what he did. Each time he killed he did so with calm ruthlessness and saw only the faces of his sister’s killers with each life that he took. In all the time he worked for the vampires he never killed an innocent and always did his best to spare all the women and children he could.

In reality he had done no more than all those who had become thralls but he still hated himself. He had managed to avoid the serum but, as his rage had finally begun the recede, he began to realise that his path would bring him only more pain and despair. Each night he slept fitfully as his soul tried to deal with the rage in his heart. He knew that he was damned but he had no idea what he could do. Humanity was enslaved and it was far too late for him to turn on his masters.

It was only when he had come to this town and had met Captain Egan that he had begun to see another path. The thrall Captain had shown him that not all humans were bad and that some of them were even worth saving. He began to realise that no matter how vicious and evil some humans could be it was no excuse for what he had become. Being with Harris and his friends had rekindled feelings he had thought gone forever. But it had been his time with April that had brought back those happy memories of his sister. At first it had been hard, the memories were just too vivid, but he began to learn that the memories did not have to hurt, they could also bring joy, if he let them.

While he had been away he had thought long and hard about his relationship with April. He worried that he was the one who was using her. That she might be uncomfortable but was afraid to say anything to him. He certainly had not detected that she was afraid of him but it had been so long for him since he had had human contact that he was out of practice.

He had concentrated hard and was quite adept at sign language now, though there had been many hilarious mistakes where he had signed the wrong phrase and had sent April in fits of laughter. Sign was difficult but he had plenty of time between missions and he really did enjoy the girl’s company. She was very like Cat in many ways, though not so much as to be morbid.

It wasn’t that he was trying to replace his sister, that could never happen, but April was alone and her vulnerability seemed to call out to him. He had wanted to do so many things with his sister, bring her to so many places, and now that would never happen. Maybe now he would get the chance to show April some of what he had planned for Cat. Maybe he could be the brother April had never had and in being there for her maybe he could also fill the hole that still threatened to envelope him.

He was well aware of what some people thought but he chose to ignore them. They could keep their sick thoughts to themselves. He had stopped worrying about what others thought long ago. He did worry, though, about what April thought and how people would treat her. He had not had a chance to talk to her since the rumors had begun so he would have to talk to her now.

His initial worry about whether she would want to see him at all, especially in light of his injuries, was shattered when she had flown into the hospital room and thrown herself over him, burying her face in his neck. She held him tightly and it hurt like hell but it was worth every stitch that would need to be reapplied. He would talk to her about the rumors later.

When the pain had subsided a little.

The election was over and the results were in, although the result was not quite the landslide that Regan had thought it might be. He had won, by quite a margin thanks to the spin he had managed to put on the recent events, but he did not have the total clean sweep he had been hoping for. Harris watched Regan as he sat among his new inner circle. He had called a meeting of the new government so that they could assign each member with his or her main responsibilities.

The biggest problem any government faced with an electorate who did not know them was that they could not involve the voters and get their support going forward unless the voters felt they had been part of the formation of the ruling committee. Because they had such a mix of people in their small community, and because most of these groups had little knowledge of who actually made up their current committee, it had been decided that everyone would get a chance to put their own names forward for election. That way, individuals who were popular within certain groups and understood the needs of that group would have the chance to have those interests heard.

There had been fifteen places up for election and there was a minimum number of votes required for a candidate to be deemed elected. If too few people reached the required number then those positions which were unfilled by the voters would be filled at the discretion of the new leader of the community. The person with the most votes in total would lead the new ‘government’ and would also have final say as to what positions each member would hold on the committee.

The result was something of a quandary. Voters had filled ten positions by direct vote, leaving five positions to be filled by whoever would lead the community going forward. Father Reilly retained his seat, as did Lucy Irvine and Denis Johnson. All three were popular and well known in the community. Pat Smith had lost his place, as had Sandra Harrington, a direct reaction to the fact that neither had done any canvassing. The fact that Pat Smith had been working in his lab and Sandra had been in hospital had obviously not been taken into account.

The voting had been closer for the top position than anyone had realized. The appearance of Harris with thirty rescued people in tow as the election drew to a close reminded those who had not yet voted what it was that he was trying to achieve. In fact, many who had already voted tried to change their votes when they saw the bedraggled survivors but were refused. It was a matter of too little too late. There were just too few left who had not voted, and in the end Phil Regan had received the most votes.

Ian Phelps and Patricia Lohan had the dubious honor of having polled the lowest number of votes but, on receiving confirmation of his new position, Regan immediately re-instated both of them. He also named John Kelly as one of his discretionary seats; some people wondered at this and suggestions were made that this was payment in lieu for services rendered while he had served on the previous committee. Though nothing could be proved. This made some pause and wonder about how long Regan had been planning the election and how much more he had hidden from them. However, to most it passed unnoticed.

He had two more places to fill, but, as yet, no one knew who they might be. The two empty chairs on either side of Regan’s group were like a physical divide that separated them from the rest of the members of the new government as they sat in closed session to plan out who would take which area of responsibility.

Each member of government who had been voted to a position would receive a portfolio that gave him or her the final say and responsibility for their designated area. Major decisions would still need a vote by the entire committee, but the day to day running of the community, supplies and resources, would be the responsibility of the relevant member. There were only ten portfolios so this session was crucial for how the government would work together for the foreseeable future.

This would mean that whoever controlled Agriculture would control all the details and decisions that pertained to planting, harvesting and finding the resources required for a year’s successful harvest. Someone else would control the storing and distribution of this harvest, and someone else would control all matters around the security of the planting fields and the stored supplies.

Each portfolio would ensure each member of the government would hold quite a lot of power in the community, but some of these portfolios brought with them a lot more power than others, and Harris was worried. The portfolios would be decided by a vote. One member of the government would put a name forward for a position, not his own of course, and then the others would either ratify that vote or not by a majority vote. In the event of a tied vote Regan would have the deciding call.

Harris knew that Regan would be trying to get his people voted into the main positions of Administration, Resource Management and Security. Administration would control the community’s workforce. It was their decision who was assigned to each sector and how many of the community’s scarce numbers would be assigned to each work detail. Without the cooperation of whoever controlled Administration it would be impossible to staff any other area. Resource Management controlled all non-living resources. All equipment, vehicles and weapons would be controlled by whoever ran the resource management portfolio and the power they would wield was obvious. Security was to be split into two sections, internal and external. The internal security force would effectively police the community. They would be the law in their community, and whoever controlled the law had a huge say in what would be allowed and what would not.

There were other areas controlling Housing, External Security, Social Services, Food (excluding Agriculture), Foreign Affairs (while there were no other communities as yet the position was considered important enough that it would be assigned for a future they hoped would someday become a reality) and Health.

There were five new faces that were a completely unknown commodity to all sides. Harris didn’t know the two men or three women who now sat with him on the government panel but he hoped that they would give a much needed balance to the committee rather than a further fracturing that would ensure that nothing would ever actually get done.

The first of these was Ben Thackery. Thackery was a brute of a man who used his sheer size and overbearing confidence to bend others to his will. He was a man who could very easily become a bully and Harris did not yet know enough to decide whether he already was or whether it was merely his size and forceful personality that made him appear so. He was a huge man with broad shoulders that made even Warkowski look wimpy. His hands were massive and were lined with the scars of a man who had used his hands all his life to support himself. Thackery had been a farmer, and a good one from what Harris had heard. He had supported his family and had balanced the rising costs of modern farming against the constant eroding of what he was paid for his hard work. Before the vampires had come he had been close to bankruptcy, as most of his fellow farmers had been, and he had been pivotal in organizing these men into an effective union that had tried, with some limited success, to ensure that they were paid a fair price for their labor.

He was an obvious candidate from the start as many of the men and women who had followed him in the old world had again listened to his promises that he would look after their interests in the new government. He had found his three children but his wife was still missing, and the cynical among the electorate might have commented that he had played the sympathy card a little too much during the election. Though Harris respected any man who stood up for his ideals. It would become clear over time whether Thackery would be willing to work with others or whether he would use his influence and power to look after his own agenda.

Amanda Reitzig was an anomaly. She was diminutive and seemed to huddle in her chair as if the loud din of conversations around her swept through her like physical waves. She seemed to be too quiet and unimposing to have received even a single vote, but her outward appearance was deceptive in the extreme. She was a firebrand when it came to her area of expertise. She was the community’s first real doctor, though she had yet to complete the exams the old world had insisted on before she could officially use the term physician.

While she appeared quiet outside of her surgery, no one dared enter her hospital without paying her due respect. She had fiery red hair that matched her volcanic temper if someone tried to stop her doing her job. She had a line of freckles across her nose like the trail of a small bird, giving her an impish look that made her look far younger than she actually was. Her small stature further added to this impression. She had plain features, with a nose that was a little too large for her small, round face and a chin that was a little too weak for her to be called pretty. Her eyes, though, more than made up for any physical imperfections. They were a startling green and they shone with an inner fire and with such intelligence and fun that most people only ever remembered her as beautiful.

Parents liked her and children adored her, and she had been voted onto the government without even putting herself forward. In fact, the first she had known of her involvement in the election at all had been when she had been informed that she had actually been elected. No one had thought to stipulate that a candidate had to actually apply for candidacy so it was ruled that the people had a right to elect whom they wanted.

Penny Arkwright was a widow, and her unfortunate tendency to purse her mouth gave a severe, and in no way representative, impression of her personality. She was a clever woman of indeterminate age. If Harris had to guess he’d put her in her late fifties—though he would not dare guess out loud.

She was a fair woman and had received her block of votes from women, mostly mothers, who knew her from the small school she had set up for the children of the community. She was highly intelligent and well respected, and Harris had high hopes that she would keep all of them grounded.

Philip Scholes worried Harris. His eyes never seemed quite capable of meeting those of the people he spoke to. Harris had always subscribed to the school of thought that only people who had something to hide could not look you straight in the eye, at least once during a conversation. It wasn’t as if the man was shy, he had no trouble letting his views be known. In fact, it was his views that Harris worried most about.

Scholes believed that the current situation should be taken advantage of here and now. They should eat, drink and be merry for now because there was no future anyway. They should enjoy themselves while it lasted and not worry about anybody else. His views differed slightly, though very importantly, from Regan’s. While they both wanted to bury their heads in the sand and ignore the larger issues affecting the human race, at least Regan did want to build for a future by planting food, rationing supplies and building their community with as little risk as possible. Regan did see the need to rescue others; he was well aware that the community still needed far more people in skilled positions to ensure that harvests would be successful and that their health was adequately catered for. Where he and Regan disagreed was in the timing and methodology.

Scholes, however, didn’t care. He wanted them to ignore the serum, ignore the dwindling supplies, and just enjoy the time they had left. The fact that he had gotten elected at all was worrying as it meant that there was a large enough section of the community who agreed with him.

Paul Williams made up the last of the new faces and Harris knew nothing at all about the man. Strangely, no one he talked to knew much about him either, but he had developed a committed following in the community by seeming to support everyone’s view to an extent and failing to push forward any of his own. He seemed to appeal to people because he came across as a friendly brother, or in the ladies’ opinions, a favored brother’s friend.

He was a handsome man standing just over six foot tall. He had jet-black hair and a trimmed beard that seemed to emulate his indecisive personality by hovering somewhere between a goatee and a full beard. Nothing about the man was overly memorable, and when Harris had introduced himself earlier he had come away not knowing much about him. He was polite and nodded amiably enough but never seemed to fully agree or disagree with anything. Fence sitting was something they could ill afford with the committee balanced as it was.

Regan laughed and Harris’s attention was drawn to him, and for a moment Harris caught his eye. Something seemed to pass between them and Harris was confused. It wasn’t that Regan was a bad man, he just had his own ideas about how things should be done and they didn’t always coincide with Harris’s or those of the older committee members. His main focus was on what they had now and ensuring that they could survive with what they had. He just didn’t believe that the serum was as big a threat as Harris knew it to be. Or if he did, he was not prepared to risk what they had for the greater good.

It was in this that the man was defined. Some people had a very strong sense of moral responsibility and it was these kinds of people who had pursued the case for humanitarian ideals all through history. Great leaders were those who were able to balance the greater good against policies that were not always popular. Unfortunately Regan wasn’t a great leader but the caliber of his advisors was the biggest worry for Harris. They had their own agendas and, without the correct focus, Regan could end up leading them all to ruin despite his good intentions. Harris wondered if Regan was aware just how far he could really rely on his lieutenants.

Regan broke the eye contact with Harris and then called the meeting to order. Harris’s thoughts, though, were not on the meeting as they should have been. Harris, too, was not a great leader. He was too easily distracted and too eager to save others to really make the hard decisions that would be needed of them all if they were to survive. It was a shame that the two most charismatic people in the community were too blinkered by their own agendas that neither could see that the best solution might just be midway between the two. However, Harris at least recognized some of his own failings, and he did try to surround himself with people who could provide the balance that he himself lacked. Even as the meeting came to order Harris was unable to fully concentrate and he felt his thoughts shift towards the border as he wondered what the impact of their last mission had been.

Chapter 14

The sun began to slip behind the horizon and the shadows raced over the land like greyhounds released from their traps. As Falconi watched the advancing darkness he felt a paralyzing sense of dread flood through him. Fires still burned on the battlefield and thick smoke still clung stubbornly to the ground, hiding the many grotesque and torn bodies that still littered the landscape.

He had spent most of the day trying to gather and reorganize his shattered forces, though why he was bothering he really did not know. He had cleared away any bodies that he could get to, but most of the carnage had occurred over the border and Von Kruger’s thralls still patrolled there. He wondered idly why they did not clear away their own dead. Maybe there were not enough of them to clear away the bodies and still patrol the border. He wasn’t in any position to take advantage of this and attack anyway so it didn’t really matter.

He sighed. The situation had deteriorated badly and far too quickly for anyone to follow. The vampires seemed to have gone mad. He had never see vampires fight before. He had volunteered to be a thrall because the family he had run numbers for had been wiped out. He had been offered a simple choice: live and have access to pleasures he had only dreamed of before or have his throat ripped out. He chose survival. He was even able to admit to himself that he would probably have chosen to be a thrall even without the threat of death. The power was incredible, and now that he commanded his own forces he would be able to live like a king.

Of course, that was before this damned border war had started. This wasn’t just a skirmish. He had been involved in border crossings before, and every time there had been a few killed on either side and things had returned to normal soon after. No one could afford a protracted war with resources as limited as they were. And the vampires had never become involved before, no matter how badly it had gone for either side.

The vampires had always remained aloof. They were always there, but on the periphery, as if to remind the thralls that they were there but never usually taking an active part. Last night was the first time he had seen them fight. In reality he had only seen them as darting shapes in the flickering light of the surrounding fires. It had been more like a demented strobe light show than a fight, with figures blurring and disappearing faster than he could follow. But the destruction they had left behind them was only too real and he was still shaking with fear hours later.

Tanks and vehicles had been ripped to pieces like paper models. Hundreds of thralls had been torn apart; their bodies emptied of blood and discarded contemptuously around the battlefield. Since he had become a thrall he had reveled in his power. His strength and speed were far greater than any human’s. He had begun to believe himself like a God among his captives. But his power was nothing compared to the vampires. For the first time in years he felt vulnerable and afraid.

He had spoken briefly with Wentworth, or, more accurately, he had listened while the master had ranted at him. He had never been so scared in his life. Despite the approaching dawn Wentworth had remained behind after his surviving vampires had long gone to make sure that his orders were understood. The vampire had been enraged at what had happened, and Falconi could see madness dance within his master’s eyes. He had ranted and raged about Von Kruger, so filled with anger that Falconi had been convinced that the vampire would strike him down at any moment. He had watched as the vampire seemed to struggle with himself, forcing down his anger so that he could pass on his orders coherently.

Blood seeped from everywhere on the vampire’s body; some of the wounds were so deep that bone and organs were visible through the lacerated flesh. Falconi could see that the vampire was weak but he still exuded a will that was impossible to ignore. At one stage Wentworth had been so crazed that he had attacked two thralls who had stood on either side of Falconi. The master had surged forward with such speed that Falconi did not even see him until he was gorging on the two soldiers, ripping at their throats and sucking greedily while most of their precious blood had splashed on the ground. When he had finished, the vampire seemed to calm slightly, though his eyes still blazed with a madness that Falconi found deeply unsettling.

Wentworth had ordered all reserves to be called up immediately. He had already sent his own vampires to gather his brethren so Falconi only had to worry about his own forces. He would also have to summon as many humans as he could, unless he wanted his own men to be used as food for the coming hoards of vampires. The nightmare of logistics in getting these soldiers and humans to the front with little transport available flashed through his mind, but he did not dare voice these concerns to Wentworth. He did not think that the vampire would be able to refrain from beheading him. He had merely nodded and watched meekly as the vampire lunged into the air and disappeared into the brightening sky.

Falconi had only managed to breathe after he had lost sight of the vampire.

Falconi had fretted all day as more and more problems came to his attention. The sun’s steady progress across the sky was like a tolling bell marking the passing hours until Wentworth returned. There just was not enough fuel to transport the humans that the vampires would need after their long journey. There were not enough thralls available to guard the humans and patrol the front lines. He could strip their other borders of guards but that would leave them open to attack should any of their neighbors decide to take advantage. Where could they even keep the humans if they could get them here? There just weren’t enough facilities to cater for that number of people.

He had handled each complaint that had come to him from his men in the same manner. He had listened calmly to the problem, nodding as the officer laid out the issue. When the officer had finished Falconi had merely motioned for the man to follow him as he led him to a point where they could view the area where the vampires had fought the night before. He had wordlessly handed binoculars to the officer in question and indicated the patch of ground where over a hundred thralls lay strewn around, their bodies ripped to shreds. He had then reminded them that less than ten vampires had caused the destruction they were now looking at, and had then informed them that over a hundred vampires were on their way and would arrive over the next few hours. He assured them that at least the same number of vampires would also be arriving on the other side of the border and that if they did not have sufficient humans to feed them then the vampires would use the thralls instead.

After that most of the arguments had stopped, though the physical problems had not disappeared. Necessity was the mother of invention though, and he had given his officers sufficient incentive to come up with their own solutions. Falconi looked out again at the destruction and watched as the sun began to sink further beneath the horizon. He had done everything he could to get his forces in place in time. It would take a few days to get them all here and he would leave the other borders dangerously exposed, but he would get his men and the humans here. Already he had accomplished more than he had thought possible, though whether it was enough or not would be decided by Wentworth’s mood when he woke up.

He did not know what had changed that had brought the vampires into this conflict, but, whatever it was, it had changed everything irrevocably. The coming night would have major repercussions for everyone. If they survived.

Dee Ratigan watched the town with a growing sense of unease. She had remained behind after Harris and the others had left to keep an eye on the proceedings. She had spent a long, cold night listening to the fighting and watching the sudden flares of light on the horizon but had not been able to keep track of what was happening with any certainty. The previous night’s conflict had shocked her, regardless. The thralls had never committed so many forces to their previous border skirmishes and she was worried that this sudden escalation was quickly getting to a point where there would be open warfare between the states, and that was not necessarily what they wanted.

They had engineered the current fighting to keep each side occupied and looking the other way while the humans pilfered supplies and rescued as many as they could while each side blamed the other for the losses. A full-scale war would only make it more difficult for them to move around unseen and would tie up those very resources they wanted to steal. But, even in the planning for a worst-case scenario, they had not catered for the carnage that had occurred last night. It had been difficult for her to observe the fighting with any real clarity during the night but the cacophony of the battle and the towering flames that dotted the horizon were like a scene from hell rather than a small border disagreement. The yellow/orange glow that had painted the night had only hinted at the carnage that lay hidden in its undulating caress, but the dawn’s first probing fingers had revealed a scene that had shocked her deeply.

She had remained in hiding—riveted in place was more accurate—as she tried to piece together the night’s events through her powerful scope. There was ample evidence of explosives damage, tank fire, and plenty of thrall bodies littering the ground where bullets had ripped the life from them and left them in broken heaps all along the battlefield. But that wasn’t what worried her most. In one section she could see the bodies of over a hundred thralls who appeared to be have been torn apart. It was as if they had all been torn apart by an explosion, but, from what she could see, there were no accompanying scorch marks to explain it.

It could be that the distance and the growing heat haze from the surprisingly warm winter’s sun was playing tricks on her. But there was also a distinct lack of blood covering the ground around the bodies, and the only other alternative frightened her to the extreme. The vampires had never gotten involved before. Why would they now? If the fighting escalated to include the vampires, then the rebels would have no chance of moving about undetected. She had to get the news back to the others, but she didn’t want to report suspicions, she wanted to be sure before she brought back her findings.

She yearned to return to their camp and check on Rodgers. The last she had seen of him was when he had been loaded into the truck packed with glassy-eyed prisoners. He had winked at her but blood had been pumping from his wounds and she was sick with worry. She knew that his wounds weren’t too bad but any wound in this new world could be fatal with their lack of antibiotics and blood plasma. He wasn’t as badly hurt as Steele, she knew, but she wasn’t in love with Steele. As she thought about that she caught her breath. That was the first time she had admitted, even to herself, the strength of her feelings for Rodgers, and it took her back a bit. She wasn’t even sure if Rodgers felt anything for her, though she had dropped enough hints. He either had no interest at all or he was particularly senseless where women were concerned. Having talked to Sandra Harrington about it, she was fairly certain that Rodgers was just senseless and would need a more direct approach.

She wasn’t entirely sure where her feelings had come from. Rodgers was not the kind of guy that she had ever gone for before, although the fact that she spent most of her time alone with her weapons as each successive male friend had either let her down or wanted something far shallower than she had been looking for made her think that maybe she had been looking at the wrong type of guy up till now. Rodgers was different. He lived life and enjoyed it. He was able to find good in most people, something that she had long ago lost the ability to do. She felt a sudden warmth spread through her despite the cold of the ground, and then she wrenched her thoughts back to the present. If she continued to give in to her fantasies she was likely to make a mistake and, out here, that would mean death. And not just hers.

She continued to watch the small town from a distance and saw the bustle of activity begin even before the light had banished the myriad dark corners around the buildings. At first she found it hard to gauge exactly what they were doing—they seemed to be ignoring the town’s shattered defenses and instead seemed to have most of their resources tied up expanding the cage in the centre of the town. She thought about this as she watched the thralls working and, a realization slowly began to dawn on her sleep-deprived brain. Suddenly, all thoughts of Rodgers were banished from her mind. Judging by the size of the new cage, the thralls were obviously planning on catering for a huge number of humans and that could only mean…

Oh my God, she thought and rolled back down the small hill where she sat shaking for some time before she could make herself move again. The others had to be told.

Chapter 15

Dave Sherman watched as April left the building that served the community as a hospital. The building was a short distance from the main complex of apartments they now used as their main living quarters. The complex had been a great find. Set on the outskirts of the main city, it included apartments, shopping and leisure facilities all interconnected through a series of clever tunnels that crisscrossed the entire complex. While many of the facilities were useless to them now, it did give them cover from any vampires that might fly over the area. While this might a minor risk with the insular nature of the vampires’ current setup, that could easily change. The hospital was set apart from the complex for the purpose of confinement in the unlikely event of a breach of quarantine. Sherman lay comfortably on the roof of a nearby building and watched the girl through his powerful scope. He could see the red blotches around her eyes that betrayed the tears she had shed while visiting Steele. I’ll give you something to cry about, he thought as he grinned lasciviously from his hiding place.

He felt himself grow excited and shifted his position. He savored the feeling as adrenaline pumped through his body but he forced himself to be patient. The community was still too small for one of their number to just go missing, especially someone so young. He cursed Steele for the millionth time. Before he had shown an interest in the girl, there would have been no one to notice her going missing. Sure there might have been a half-hearted search, but no one really knew anything about the girl and the rigors of their new life would soon have made her a distant memory. And he would have had all the time in the world for his plans.

But not now. Now, Steele would move heaven and earth if she went missing. Sherman cursed again. He cursed his luck that Steele had survived. When he had seen him fall on the raid he had been delighted, but the bastard looked like he was going to pull through. Unless of course he got the wrong medications. A plan began to form in Sherman’s mind as he began to put his scope away. It wasn’t as if there was any real security in the hospital. He should be able to slip in and out without too much trouble. Sherman watched April turn the corner and relished the way her young body swayed. Soon, he thought and then he slipped from his hiding place and approached the hospital.

It was time to visit his old friend Steele.

The hospital smelled funny. There were the familiar odors that Sherman associated with hospitals of course, but, overlying these, were strange smells that he could not place at first. The building had been a dentist’s surgery before the vampires had come, and most of the equipment they had found had been pushed into storage to make way for the beds and operating tables they needed. It would have been far easier to use one of the city’s hospitals but there had been no usable living facilities near either of the two, so the council had decided to move what they needed to this surgery.

It was still a major worry for the small community to spread themselves too far. If they were discovered they needed to have everything and everybody close to hand if they were to have any hope of surviving an attack. The hospital was small but sufficient for now.

Sherman walked through the main doors and immediately noted the positions of everyone he could see. There was no receptionist; there wasn’t the need in such a small community at the moment. He could see two nurses; one was checking a list against a trolley filled with vials, bottles and tablets, while the other was hurrying from one room to another in answer to a low but incessant beeping. Neither nurse paid him any attention and he smiled. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.

The nurse with the list picked up a number of bottles, balancing them in her arms, and then turned and disappeared into a room further down the corridor. The second nurse had still not re-appeared but the beeping had stopped so she could appear at any moment. Sherman crossed swiftly to the trolley and surveyed the jumble of pills and bottles before him. He had no idea what he was looking at. Each bottle was carefully marked, each tray of tablets noted and identified, but his knowledge of medications was by no means up to the task. Maybe it would be more difficult than he thought after all.

“Can I help you?” He turned so quickly towards the voice that he startled the nurse and she almost dropped the papers she was carrying.

“I’m sorry.” Sherman smiled a wide and disarming smile that immediately put the girl at ease. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he continued and dropped his eyes to the floor as if embarrassed. The girl was no more than nineteen or twenty. She was very pretty with dark features, soulful eyes and a jumble of auburn hair tied into a bun under a small white headdress. Pity she wasn’t a bit younger, Sherman thought as he noted the girl’s body under her clean-pressed uniform.

“I’m looking for my boss. Steele. He came in earlier.” Sherman blushed as he brought his eyes upward to meet hers before he dropped them again. He had a lot of practice acting embarrassed and lost with women. He found that no matter how young or old, all females responded to a helpless male, and he was not disappointed this time.

The nurse reached out and took his arm and began to lead him down the corridor. “Mister Steele is in number four. Were you with him on the raid?” she asked and he could see her interest as her eyes roved over his large frame.

It would be so easy, he thought. If only she was younger.

“Yes,” he answered and met her gaze for a moment as he noted her smile.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, as if she was about to say something, and then the second nurse reappeared and the moment was gone.

“Amanda,” the older woman snapped, “stop fraternizing and get back to work.” The older nurse didn’t even break stride as she disappeared again into another room.

“Is she always like that?” Sherman nodded his head towards the room where the older woman had disappeared and he smiled again as he let his eyes linger.

“Oh, she’s not too bad, I suppose,” Amanda answered, and then she blushed as she realized she still held his arm. Maybe I could make an exception in this case, he thought. It has been so long after all.

“I hope you won’t think me too forward.” Sherman dropped his eyes again as he continued. “But would you be free later? Maybe we could …”

He left the sentence open ended and waited.

She reached for his arm again. “I’d love to.” She smiled and her smile was far more knowing and mature than her years. They arranged to meet later after her shift, and she quickly shuffled back towards the medication trolley. He continued looking at her as she hurried away, and he shrugged. This might work out better than he had thought. He might even be able to learn a little about the more toxic medications from her before he gutted her. He preferred them far more innocent, but any port in a storm would do for now. Whistling gaily, he followed her directions and knocked on the door to number four and entered to visit a pleased, but surprised, Steele.

Preparations continued all through the day, and Major William Carter watched it all with a growing sense of dread. It was only when the sun rose that the full reality of the night’s violence had become clear. He had stood shaking on his armored vehicle as he watched the darkness peel slowly back, revealing more torn bodies and shredded metal than he could count with each passing moment. The dawn’s weak orange glow cast its eerie light over the grisly scene. Smoke from the gutted vehicles spread a thin veil, almost like a morning mist, that thankfully obscured the scenes in the distance. He had no doubt that the carnage hidden beyond the veil mirrored the slaughter he could already see but he was thankful that he was spared the full impact of the night’s madness. He considered clearing the worst of the debris and burying the bodies, if for no other reason than because the sight of the terror on some of the faces of the thralls unnerved him. But there just wasn’t time.

He had to prepare for when the vampires came back. He couldn’t give a shit what they did further along the border, but he wanted his designated area to be presentable and defensible. The border he was now in command of spanned a distance three times the size of that which he had been in charge of last night. And he had no more guards or resources to police it and prepare for the coming darkness.

That was another problem, as well. Von Kruger had not left any word as to his plans for the oncoming night so Carter would have to prepare his men both offensively and defensively so as to cater for whichever mood Von Kruger woke up in. He had seen the brief and violent meeting of the vampires, thankfully from a distance, but the unexpected escalation terrified him.

He had never seen vampires attack each other before—for that matter; he had never seen vampires actually attack anyone before. Their power was more assumed than witnessed, mainly because there were no survivors of any action taken against the vampires themselves. Once they had revealed their presence to the world two years ago they had already gathered a large number of soldiers and it had been the thralls who had fought and died for their new masters. It seemed that they were about to fight and die again now two years later, only this time the masters themselves were doing some of the killing. He knew that the vampires frequently disagreed over territory and resources, but he had never heard of those disagreements escalating to this scale before.

His main worry now was not the actual extent of the deaths he had witnessed but more that it had been his report that had set this whole situation into motion. This was no time for any of the vampires to begin to question what had led them to these circumstances in the first place. He would have to make sure that he was ready for anything and had everything under control so they did not look to apportion blame in his direction.

His men grumbled that they had had no sleep or food since yesterday. They also complained about the bodies and that they would begin to smell as the day progressed. He had told them plainly that they were free to clear away any bodies after they had dug enough trenches, cleaned and checked the engines of those vehicles that were still operational, topped up the fuel and generally ensured they were ready to move out at a moments notice if required. He had also reminded them that they were free to explain their discomfort to Von Kruger when he returned if they so desired. As he expected, no one was up for that so the complaints died away during the morning.

Carter spent the rest of his morning doing an inventory of his supplies, men and equipment so that he would be fully briefed when the vampires asked. It wasn’t a situation he was looking forward to reporting. He had two hundred thralls, having added to his previous compliment with the stragglers from those areas that had been attacked last night.

Wentworth’s men had been incredibly successful during their raid, frighteningly so, and more than a hundred thralls lay dead along the border. The number of dead didn’t worry him half as much as the fact that he had been only a few feet away from being one of the dead himself. The equipment, though, was far more worrying. Twenty tanks had been completely destroyed, nine more could be scrapped once they salvaged the parts that still worked, and five more were too damaged to move but could be used defensively. That only left him with a further eight tanks in his section that were fully serviceable. He had twelve trucks, having lost just three of those, and fourteen armored cars remained from a pool of twenty-two.

He had no idea what the situation was in the other sections but if they were anything like his then Von Kruger would go demented when he found out. Though, based on his actions last night Carter believed the Vampire Master was already mostly beyond reason as it was.

He decided to spend the afternoon trying to work out a way he could report the bad news and still retain his head.

Chapter 16

The community was in an uproar when they heard Dee Ratigan’s breathless report. She had driven all the way on a motorcycle, disregarding many safety guidelines put in place to protect the community, in her rush to tell the others what was happening. No one thought to reprimand her when they heard her news though. Details were carried by word of mouth more swiftly than the official runners could hope to match, and each retelling led to more and more embellishments to a story that, in reality, was already terrifying. It was shocking enough that a war had started but the news of the preparations to cater for large numbers of humans in the border town could only mean one thing: The vampires were coming in force. And that made their own situation a precarious one.

“You see,” Regan spluttered as he shouted to be heard above the general din of panicked conversation in a vain attempt to regain control and mask his own growing dread. “This is exactly what I warned against from the start.” He paused for a moment as he tried to stop his hands from shaking and hid his discomfort by slamming one palm on the table as he thrust out his other hand and pointed at Harris. “You’ve brought them to our very doorstep, Harris.”

The committee had hurriedly called a meeting to discuss the situation but it had quickly degenerated into chaos. Harris sat quietly and listened on one level to the rising din of overly loud voices around him but his focus was miles away on a border that was about to erupt into chaos. His mind was not on the danger the situation posed, but on the opportunity it presented.

“Now, it’s hardly on our doorstep.” Father Reilly tried to calm the room by speaking calmly, though with no less volume than Regan. The other members of the committee seemed to sense the calm of his tone and a number of them stopped their own conversations to listen. There was still a low din of whispered conversations but these too dwindled away as they seemed to notice the quiet descending over the room. “I mean,” Reilly continued in a softer tone than still held those around the table riveted to what he was saying. “The border is nearly a hundred miles away.”

“What if it escalates?” Regan countered. “What if they come here?” Wisely he did not ask any other questions. Panicked he may be, but he knew how to command a room and he could see that he had struck a nerve.

Father Reilly, too, knew when to speak and when not to. There was no answer he could give. The vampires could very likely come here either to seek aid from their neighbor or even as an independent witness in the escalating struggle. Even if they did not come looking for Nero it would be very suspicious if Nero did not guard his own borders with forces of his own. In such a situation it would not take long for them to discover the fledgling human community, and that would only serve to unite the vampires against them.

They were in trouble either way as far as he could see.

Reilly looked over at Harris. His presence at the meeting in full combat fatigues made it clear that his attendance was merely a formality as far as he was concerned. He had already decided what his next course of action would be and it did not involve hiding away and hoping the situation would resolve itself. Reilly knew that even though Harris sat at the table his mind was already planning how he could use the distraction of the conflict to rescue some of the people that would be brought to the front to feed the vampires. Reilly sighed. While it was admirable that he was trying to help others, he cursed Harris’ shortsightedness. Why couldn’t he see past his burning need to save others? Some of the ones he had already saved still needed him. Why couldn’t the boy see that?

“It’s not ideal, I’ll grant you.” Reilly knew immediately that he should have kept quiet but he had felt compelled to fill the void after Regan’s question, and it was obvious that Harris was not about to answer.

“Not ideal.” Regan jumped on the words like a lion on wounded prey. “It certainly isn’t ideal that all we have worked for—in fact, the very future of the human race, as Harris constantly reminds us—is now under such threat because of his insistence in taking wild and unwarranted risks.” Regan leaned back smugly as whispers rolled around the table like a Mexican wave at a football game.

Regan smiled. “This is exactly what a number of us have been discussing before the news arrived.” Regan paused as he looked around the faces of the new committee. “We have been concerned for some time now about the way things have been done here. Certain members of this committee have wantonly put the safety of the entire community at huge risk to salve their own egos.” Regan let his face show sorrow as he looked earnestly at the people before him. “We have decided - that is a number of us have decided - that it would be better if certain responsibilities were handled by, shall we say, more balanced people.”

“Now wait a minute.” Father Reilly leaned forward as he spoke but he looked over at Harris before he turned towards Regan. Harris seemed to be oblivious to what was happening. “Are you telling me that you have been having secret meetings…?”

“I think it is more accurate to describe it as an unofficial chat between concerned individuals.” Ian Phelps spoke from behind Regan and only leaned forward to address the rest of the table when he had nearly finished. “We did not want to bore the rest of the committee with trivia.”

“Rubbish,” Reilly spat the words in a fit of unusual anger. “Is this your plan?” He addressed his question towards Regan but then sought to involve the rest of the table. He was shocked to see more eyes drop from his stare than he had expected. My God, he thought, we’ve been played. “This is totally preposterous. Everything has to be voted…”

“Oh, I think you’ll find we have enough votes to make that a formality,” Phelps smirked. “In fact I think you’ll find that we have already filled the positions that matter.”

“What? But…”

“I wonder what your thoughts would be if you were out there and not here,” Harris spoke quietly and some of the committee members had to ask those beside them what he had said.

“That’s not the point…”

“No,” Harris interrupted, injecting an edge into his voice but keeping the volume low. The room quietened completely as all the members of the committee turned towards him. “That’s exactly the point. How many of us here would be free right now if Dan Harrington had decided that he was too scared to take a chance to save others? His memory is soiled by the actions of us all.” Harris paused and looked around the table. Some of the people tried to meet his gaze defiantly but they soon withered under his intense stare. People shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny and Harris let the silence draw out until it was almost unbearable. He saw Regan open his mouth to speak but Phelps motioned for him to stop. Like a good lapdog, Harris thought.

“We have become complacent and comfortable. It is this very insular and selfish attitude that led the human race to this situation in the first place. I don’t profess to have all the answers but I do know that this is not something we have a choice in.” Harris paused and took a breath as he surveyed the faces before him. “Do not fool yourself into believing what you may have been told; these people are being brought to the border for one reason only. To be torn to pieces as food for those vampire bastards as they tear each other apart. I for one cannot, and will not, sit idly by as this happens. You can do what you want.”

“You no longer have the authority for…” Regan began as he stood up.

“Authority,” Harris spat the words back at him and Regan ended up half standing as Harris continued. “Do you think I care how your precious committee carves up the power structure? It means nothing if we can’t save enough people to survive.” Harris shook his head. “Can’t you see that there is no future for us as we are? We will never survive in this world when the food begins to run out. The vampires will tear this world apart looking for blood when they begin to starve. The madness will take them and they will gorge on every living thing without remorse and without any concept of tomorrow. Do you really think that our pathetic defenses can withstand their power? We have to grow quickly or we’re all dead anyway.”

“That’s enough!” Regan shouted as he banged his hand on the table and the sharp contrast to Harris’ low voice made everyone jump. “The people of this community have chosen how they want their future secured, and they have entrusted me…”

“Oh grow up.” Harris raised his voice for the first time. “This is not about securing a power base. It’s way too late for that. This is about the lives of every human left on the planet.”

“It’s always the same with you, Harris,” Phelps reached out a hand to Regan and eased him back into his seat. “You’re like a broken record. ‘We have to save everybody’” he mimicked as he raised his hands and shook them. “We can’t save them all, Harris. Accept it. If the serum is working as fast as you say then it’s already too late. We’ve moved on from your Lone Ranger days.”

“Phelps,” Harris pronounced the name as if it were a curse. “We really can’t afford your brand of grandstanding. This is real, people. It won’t go away just because you ignore it. These three,” he pointed at Regan, Phelps and the still silent Patricia Lohan, “do not care for your future. They only care about their own. The rest of you won’t even have a future if you bury yourselves here.”

“That’s quite enough, Harris,” Regan stood again. “You are no longer required to manage our external security; John Kelly will handle that from now on. The rest of the positions will be…”

Harris didn’t listen to the rest. He turned from the table and walked out of the room. It was time to organize his team. He would tell them all what had happened and let them all make their own decisions. He was going to the border either way—alone, if he had to.

Chapter 17

It was afternoon and the shadows were already lengthening. Darkness was only two hours away and they were nowhere near ready. Falconi watched as the final touches were put to the huge enclosure that now filled the centre of the town. The humans already huddled in the centre of the enclosure looked pathetically small in the huge space but they would be crushed when the others arrived.

Falconi had accepted the fact that the majority of the humans would not be here in time for the vampires’ arrival. In fact it would be another twenty-four hours before all the reserves got here, but he would have over a thousand here before dark, he hoped.

He looked at the terrified faces of those humans in the enclosure and felt nothing. He was no longer human himself. Why should he care? They had chosen to be food by not joining the vampire’s thrall army. He was well aware that not all humans had been accepted as thralls by the vampires. After the serum had crushed the humans’ will to fight, there had been thousands of defections by desperate humans promising their allegiance. But by that time, there had been more than enough thralls and there was a severe shortage of food. The vampires had ordered all the others herded into the cages across the country and the serum had soon silenced their cries of despair. In the last two years Falconi had learned to ignore any pity he might have had. He had his own worries and would waste no time on the doomed rabble in front of him.

The town’s defenses had been rebuilt but they would not survive a sustained attack by tanks. He had seven hundred men in and around the town with a further fifteen hundred due over the next few hours. Transport was their biggest problem and he knew that garrisons had been stripped bare all over the state, dangerously so, and the excess thralls were even now being force-marched here. Thralls were amazingly resilient compared to what they had been before the change. They would be well able to jog for miles without a break and still be able to fight when they arrived.

His biggest worry was that all of these resources would not actually be here for when Wentworth arrived. And while he knew he could not have done anything more, he worried that Wentworth would not be satisfied and that he would simply rip him apart in a fit of anger. There was no way to be sure, so he merely turned from the enclosure and looked up at the sky. There was a stiff breeze coming from the north and he could smell something in the air. He noted a huge bank of cloud roiling across the sky, its black core pregnant with rain, and he shivered. There was snow on the way. He sighed. A storm was coming, in more ways than one.

“I’m coming too.” Sandra forced herself from the bed and began to pull her clothes from the cabinet in the corner.

Harris didn’t try to argue. He knew there was no way to dissuade her. And, if he was honest, he was pleased to have her with him. He would need everyone he could get. He was certain that his team would already have been told to stand down by the committee but he had to come here first.

“Aren’t you going to argue?” she asked over her shoulder as she struggled into her clothes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harris smirked and watched her bare skin as her nightgown slipped before she had managed to get her trousers on.

“One word,” she grunted as she overbalanced and nearly fell.

“That’s what I’ve always loved about you,” Harris laughed, “you were always so graceful.”

“Bastard,” she said as she finally managed to stop herself falling and straightened up.

“Oh, and your eloquence, of course,” he added as he dodged one of her shoes as it flew from her hand.

“What’s happening, Peter,” she asked, suddenly serious as she turned toward him.

“People are scared,” he answered as he handed her shoe back. “It’s too much for them to cope with. The vampires, the serum, survival, food shortages. They can’t cope, so when somebody offers an easy ride they jump at it. Can’t really blame them”

“I can blame Regan,” she retorted as she straightened her hair.

“It’s not him,” Harris sighed. “It’s Tweedle Dum and Dummer pulling his strings that are at the root of this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing for now,” Harris answered and turned to leave the room. “First we’re going to see if we can save a few of the people that are coming to the border. If we survive that then I’ll worry about the politics. It’ll all change after tonight either way.”

“What do you mean? How will it change?”

“Come with me,” he answered cryptically. “There’s one more thing to do here before we go to the others.

“So that’s it.” Harris finished, sat back in his chair and regarded April and Steele.

“Is that all you want?” Steele laughed.

“I was going to do it myself, but with the current escalations I…”

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing,” Steele interrupted him. “I mean, telling the vampires that we exist is a huge risk.”

“I know.” Harris wiped at his forehead. “I just can’t see a way around it. We have to stop them using the serum though or we’re all dead anyway. It may take a little longer but we’ll all die regardless. Besides,” he paused as he looked Steele in the eye, “it’s really only a matter of time before someone notices that you never came back from your mission here and send someone to investigate.”

Steele looked at Harris and could see what the decision was costing him. He may have decided what was best but it was obvious by his pale complexion and his haunted mien that he was still not completely comfortable with what he was doing.

“Is this all we have?” Steele indicated the four of them in the room.

Harris shrugged. “I’m hoping that I can get a few more to help. It all depends on how quickly Phelps can lock down the complex, so we have to move quickly.”

“I’ll need to take most of the fuel the camp has if I’m gong to get there, though.” Steele raised his eyebrow. He knew what that would do to the community. They had little enough fuel as it was to power the generator. If he took what he would need to travel almost to the far side of the country he would have to leave them dangerously short for the rest of the winter.

“I know,” Harris replied with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think we have a choice, though. There’s too much riding on this.”

“You’re not going to be popular around here.”

“With any luck we’ll both be killed. Then all they can do is spit on our graves,” Harris laughed.

The men jumped as April slammed her hand on the table to attract their attention and then gesticulated madly. Harris had no idea what she was saying but her hands moved with such grace that he was mesmerized. Her face was scrunched up in concentration and her eyes burned with anger as she directed her focus at Steele.

“She says we’re both mad,” Steele repeated after she had finished.

“I’d say she said a lot more than that,” Sandra arched her eyebrows and then winked at April. “We don’t really have a choice, love,” Sandra said as she reached for the girl’s hand.

April managed a quick series of hand gestures before emotion took over and she buried her head in Sandra’s shoulder.

“What did she say?” Harris asked.

“She asked what she would do without me.” Steele sighed heavily and laid a hand on her head with surprising tenderness.

“You’ll never be alone while we’re here,” Sandra assured her but forgot that the girl could not see her lips, so the words, if not the sentiment, dissipated impotently into the air.

Steele pulled the girl gently back from Sandra and repeated her words in gestures. She nodded weakly but all present knew that it was little solace for April.

As the four of them left the hospital they were shocked to see ten fully armed men and women in full armor and packs standing in their way. For a moment Harris thought that Regan had sent them to arrest him but then he saw the smiles on the faces of the soldiers and he relaxed.

“We heard you were going off half-cocked again so we thought we’d tag along.” Rodgers grinned at him and Harris couldn’t help laughing at his friend’s return to form.

“You realise this goes against the committee’s orders.”

“Oh, you mean the other raids were actually sanctioned?” Rodgers raised his eyebrows.

“There are different levels of disobedience.”

“No there’s not,” Warkowski thundered as he hefted his rifle. “I take my orders from you, Harris, not any committee.”

“Didn’t expect to see a law abiding cop here, Tanner,” Harris joked as he spied the ex-lawman.

“I wasn’t great at obeying orders before the vampires came, doesn’t seem much point in starting now.”

Harris looked along the grinning faces before him. Dee Ratigan stood next to Warkowski but she had an arm entwined around a still-grinning Rodgers.

“You finally got him to do something, then?” he asked Dee as he nodded at Rodgers.

“Nope,” she grinned. “Got tired of waiting so I took the initiative.”

“Good for you.” He grinned and nodded to Scott Mitchell, Aidan Flemming and Carlos Ortega. His eyes met those of Dave Sherman and he tilted his head to the side in question. “You sure about this?”

“I wasn’t doing anything else today,” Sherman shrugged. “Tomorrow, now that would have been a problem.”

“You better get going, Steele,” Harris nodded to the other man. “I’ll need somebody…”

“I’ll give him a hand and catch up with you later.” Sherman was already moving forward.

“No, I need you to organize the explosives so we’re not delayed.” Harris looked along the faces. “Ortega, go with Steele and help him get his vehicle fuelled and out of storage. You may need to force your way in, but remember, Lucy is one of the good guys, so no violence. Tell her I’ll explain when we get back.”

Harris looked back at his men and frowned as he saw something cross Sherman’s face, but then it was gone and the man was smiling again. He soon forgot it during their hectic preparations. Phelps was no fool; he would come after them as soon as he could find any troops who would follow him. Of course, thankfully, there weren’t too many left for him to find.

Sherman cursed as he was led away to prepare the explosives. The day had started off so well. He had met the cute nurse, Amanda, last night and had spent an enjoyable night wooing her. He had been attentive and interesting, regaling her with stories of dangerous missions while ensuring she saw his sensitive side. He had assured her he was very interested in her and her job and had spent hours probing gently about her position and how important it was. He had slowly come around to asking her about the dangers of issuing the wrong medications and had listened patiently while she explained about the different cases she was responsible for. He had feigned interest and asked what might be the worst medication that she could issue in error, and once he had her answer he was finally able to spend the rest of the night gutting her.

She had died a little too quickly, though, and this morning he still felt a little cheated, though still in a buoyant mood. He had hid the body quickly and had planned to return later for a more thorough job after he had taken care of Steele. Amanda was due on duty at nine o’clock so he hoped to get to the hospital, issue the medication to Steele, and get out before her absence was noted.

It was just his luck that he met the rest of the platoon on their way to the hospital too. They assumed that he, like them, had decided to offer their support to Harris and, as he had no other reason to be at the hospital, he had been forced to play along. Now he was stuck and he’d have to go on another mission. He had hoped to get to Steele while he was fuelling his vehicle but that plan had crashed as well. In fact, the only good news so far this morning was that, as Steele related what he was about to do, Sherman realized that there was no way in hell he was going to survive. So he would not have to kill him after all.

He was only a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get to do it himself; the main thing, though, was that he would be out of the picture and that sweet young friend of his would be all alone when he got back from this mission. Life was looking up.

Chapter 18

The light was draining from the sky like blood from an open wound and Carter could feel the weight of the oncoming darkness as he strained to hear the approach of the vampires. His stomach churned, knotting with nerves and tension as he waited for the first signs of his masters. There was nothing more he could do. Around him the tanks and gun emplacements that still remained functional squatted like deadly, dark shapes against the lighter tapestry of the sky. He had prepared as well as he could, given his reduced resources, but the twisted and ruined outlines of those tanks and vehicles that he had not been able to salvage were still far too numerous to ignore. He wondered briefly if he should have removed the destroyed husks, if for no other reason than it would have looked better, but he knew he had acted correctly. That was assuming that the vampires used the same logic as he did, of course.

He had made a decision earlier in the day that terrified him but also filled him with a resolve he had not experienced in quite some time. His decision would have major repercussions for them all, so much so that he was oblivious to how momentous it was. At first his men had flatly refused to obey his orders, but, eventually, they had relented, especially after he had sent them to examine the torn and gutted corpses of the thralls who had borne the brunt of the vampires’ last attack. He had based his decision purely on self-preservation but, by the end of the day, his men began to refer to him as master rather than the ‘sir’ that his rank demanded.

He knew that Wentworth had his headquarters closer to the front than Von Kruger and, crucially, that he and his men would be on their own for at least twenty minutes before their own vampire overlords would reach them. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that Von Kruger, or any of his clan, would come to their rescue. If it suited them then they might help, but, for all intents and purposes, he and his men were on their own. They would have to face Wentworth’s vampires alone. He had no idea how many there would be—the thought of just one of them was terrifying enough—but a sky full of them was incomprehensible.

He had deployed his men along his area of responsibility; the areas of the border outside his jurisdiction were not his concern. He couldn’t care less if those men were torn apart—in fact, that would slow the vampires down and give him more time to prepare. But he wasn’t going to sit idly by and wait to be torn apart. Every time he devised a new strategy he had to fight against a strange sensation that seemed to act against him. He was only too aware that the very chemicals that made him a thrall and granted him his strength and amazing abilities also ensured his loyalty. Any time he tried to plan against a vampire attack the details became cloudy and he found it hard to concentrate. In frustration, he had driven out to the site of the vampires’ attack and forced himself to study the slaughter. Strangely, he found it easier to make his plans against the vampires in the middle of the chaos that they had wrought. The grotesque, twisted bodies and the smell of their decomposing helped against the strange effects of his enforced obedience. In fact, by the time the sky had turned amber he was quite enjoying the new twists that his mind was coming up with.

He was no fool. He knew that even if he survived against the initial assault and Von Kruger won the day that he would never be allowed to live after killing another vampire, let alone as many as he was planning to kill. Everything had changed. The old world, if two years could be described as that, was gone. Whatever happened tonight, the dawn would bring with it countless changes, not least of which would be the new status of thralls in this world.

Snow began to fall, lightly at first, and the wind caught the flakes, swirling them around lazily, almost hypnotically, before a gust would suddenly catch them and cast them violently into his face or against one of the tanks. Most of the flakes did not survive the treatment and they quickly melted once they touched the warmer surfaces. Cold air snatched at him and he shivered as he surveyed the sky. The temperature had dropped drastically in the last hour. If the snow continued like this it would start to stick, and that would only add to his problems.

None of the vehicles had snow tires so any mobile attack would be fraught with danger. His stomach churned again and his bladder ached. He forced his mind off his discomfort. All he needed was for Von Kruger to arrive while he had his trousers around his ankles. The image of him wilting under the vampire’s stern gaze while his pecker was in his hands was too much, and he laughed. What’s the worst he can do? He thought as he looked at the pale, bloated face of one of Wentworth’s thralls in a gutted tank beside him and he shrugged. I can only die once, after all.

Though what he did not know was that there were far worse things than dying.

Far worse.

The escape from the community’s stronghold was a very emotional and worrying event. Sandra couldn’t help but feel like a fugitive. She had no doubt that what they were doing was the right thing, but the potential for disaster weighed heavily on them all. Whatever the outcome of the oncoming night, their existence would change drastically. After tonight, the vampires would know they existed. They could no longer hide away, silently orchestrating unrest between their neighboring states. Now they would have to stand alone against the full might of the vampires. If a whole world failed to stand against them, how could their small community hope to? They were doing this for the good of humanity and the irony was that they were acting without the mandate of the only cognizant group left that they knew of.

In order to save a world they had had to betray their friends, stealing precious fuel and equipment like thieves instead of colleagues. Even if they succeeded tonight, what would it achieve? How many could they save while the vampires fought amongst themselves? For that matter, how many could they care for and feed back in the community with the resource shortages they had? Would they even be allowed back into the community with their drugged charges? Questions flooded her mind as their vehicles slipped out of the city. She looked back but darkness was already creeping across the buildings like a spilt inkwell, enveloping the cityscape slowly but ineluctably into its embrace. She looked around at the faces around her, smiling wanly at those that caught her eye. Each person here was present more as a confirmation of their loyalty to Harris than from any particular noble urge and she wondered if it would be enough to sustain them if, and when, they returned.

She sidled over to Harris and slipped her hand into his. He looked up briefly and smiled at her distractedly as he quickly returned to the papers in front of him. She looked at the crude drawings and noted the countless scribbles and crumpled papers littering the floor around him. Obviously the plan was not coming together as easily as he would have liked.

“You know you can’t hope to save them all, don’t you?” she gently reached out and eased his face towards hers. She could see the anguish in his eyes and wondered if the pressure would ever relent. Harris was incapable of turning off. She supposed that it was an admirable quality in some ways, but there was also the risk of descending into fanaticism. He hadn’t quite slipped that far, but she would have to watch him. Sometimes you had to take a step back or you were in danger of falling off the edge.

“I know,” he sighed as he crumpled another sheet and let it fall absently from his fingers, “but this is the best shot we’re going to get.”

“Just remember that we can’t feed the thousands even if you could get them to the Promised Land, Moses.” She kissed him on the cheek and left him to his planning.

Steele turned his Honda TS1300 onto the highway and eased the throttle higher. He had forgotten how much he loved the feeling of driving at night. The wind snatched at him, easily penetrating the layers he wore and forced his heart to thump faster as it tried to keep him warm. His wound still ached but he had enough painkillers to keep the worst of it at bay for the journey. He doubted he’d need them on the way back—there wouldn’t be a return journey.

Karma, he thought. It was just his time to pay for all the things he had done. The fact that he would have a chance to do some good, to make a difference would, he hoped, have some impact on his final judgment. By delivering his message to Von Richelieu he would accomplish two things. One, he would hopefully buy humanity time by stopping the serum being used. And two, he would most likely doom what remained of those who remained free.

He hadn’t really spent a lot of time deciding if this was the right option or not. In his view it was the only option. Whatever the impact on the small community who had given him a reason to live, and whatever the impact on April in particular, it would be wrong to put the needs of such a small number ahead of millions. He did not know how it would all work out, and he would most likely never find out. He hoped that what he did would have a positive impact though. And, he had a small surprise that might just buy his adopted family a little more time than they were expecting.

Now all he had to do was get across the country without being shot, crashing or having that damn bullet rub against his spine and leaving him useless and paralyzed by the side of the road.

Piece of cake.

Ian Phelps fumed as he watched the two vehicles blend into the darkness and disappear. For a minute he considered sending his forces after them, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the men and women who were left would obey such an order. Now was not the time to lose face. He would have to be cleverer than that. Most of the team had left with Harris, and those that remained had only done so because they had not had the time to join him. He had seen the disappointment on their faces as they had arrived in full kit only to see the vehicles disappear in the distance. He would have to remove these men and women and replace them with people who would obey him and not Harris if he were ever to truly be in command.

Harris was dangerous. He was a loose cannon who could very well get them all killed. Phelps had spent a long time gaining support in this community, and he was damned if he’d let an idiot with a God complex ruin it for him. The situation could still be contained. Even if Harris did succeed and came back with his vehicles filled with more wretched survivors he could still outplay him.

He would welcome them all back with open arms; take in his pathetic booty and honor the sacrifice they had all made. He would appear the bigger man. He would wait and wait. He would ensure that all the heroes of the raid were reassigned to new positions, commensurate with their great sacrifice, of course, and when no one expected it, he would strike. Revenge was far better served cold. All he had to do was wait for Harris to make a mistake, and that shouldn’t take too long. The bastard just couldn’t help himself.

Snow began to fall and he looked up and smiled. A new beginning was dawning. A new beginning with him in control. Regan had been useful getting to where they were now but it was nearly time for him to have an unfortunate accident. It would be tragic, of course, but their future required great sacrifices. He had his own ideas about how the community would grow from here, and he should not have to suffer an idiot like Regan for much longer.

Thank God Harris had not had time to do anything about his ridiculous plan to tell the vampires about their existence. Was the man mad? So what if the serum killed the humans still in captivity? It would also kill the vampires. All they had to do was remain in hiding for a few more months and then they could emerge as masters of a new world. At least…he would emerge as master. Patricia was a useful Lieutenant but she had a very limited imagination. As long as he kept her involved she would be happy to be his second-in-command. She didn’t have the vision to rule and, more importantly, she accepted this.

Oh yes, he thought as a smile crossed his usually dour features, this was working out nicely.

Falconi paled as the first of the vampires arrived. At first he thought that he had imagined it. There was a distant rustling, like leather rubbing against sandpaper, but it was early yet and the sun was still setting so he had ignored it at first. The sound continued, however, and grew in volume, persisting like the nagging droning of bees in summer. He looked up but storm clouds filled the sky, their steel grey hue making it seem colder than it was. He couldn’t see anything. The sun had stayed low all day, as if the oncoming night had infused it with a sense of lethargy that prevented it from pulling itself up into its rightful place. The storm clouds only further served to overshadow the day, and by early afternoon it was already like early evening.

They’re here, he realized suddenly and shivered. Falconi looked up and felt his stomach churn as a sea of blackness suddenly blotted out what remained of the sun’s feeble illumination. He was reminded briefly of an old war film he had seen where the night sky was blotted out by hundreds of bombers as they headed towards their destination to drop their rain of death over Germany. He remembered thinking at the time that the sheer power and majesty of those huge machines must have been incredible as their thunderous growling shook buildings as they passed high above. The vampires’ passing was even more frightening than that though. The lack of bone shaking engines heralding their power was even more ominous as they filed past in relative silence. Their bulk washed above him, rolling blackness across an already pale sky as they passed, like a cancer corrupting and twisting everything it touched. The landscape around him seemed to disappear as the darkness cast a shadow as evil and total as he could have ever imagined. He wondered idly if the light would ever come again.

He took a breath, held it, and prepared to deliver his report. He remained in place for what seemed an age, but nothing happened. The vampires continued to pass overhead, their rustling grating on his nerves. How many are there? He felt very small as he stood in the lighted clearing, the flames valiantly holding back the blackness around him and illuminating his presence for his masters, though in truth they did not need the light. He was able to admit now that the light was more for his benefit than theirs. He could not bring himself to face them in total darkness. But it looked like he would not have to. He felt relief flood through him, and then a colder fear gripped him. Where was it all going to end? The recent escalations, the changes in behavior in the vampires, their unprecedented displays of anger, and now they were charging into battle without forming some cohesive plan with the rest of their forces. It just didn’t make sense. What is going on?

Chapter 19

“Steady,” Major William Carter urged his men as he watched the silent tide of ebony roll towards them. God, there are so many, he thought as his bowels threatened to lose control. His whole body shook with fear and from something deeper, something primal that nagged at his core. He had prepared himself all day for this moment when his body would try to rebel against any action that threatened his masters. His own strong sense of survival had forced down the programming all day, allowing him to encourage the men, beat them when necessary, and cajole them when not.

They had prepared as best they could. Each man stood in defense of the border with weapons ready. Machine guns and grenades stood side by side with staffs of pointed wood, their points wickedly sharp and pointed upwards toward the oncoming mass. Their orders were simple. If the vampires passed over them then they were to defend against the anticipated thrall follow-through attack, but, if the vampires attacked, then they should take as many of them as they could before they were overrun.

Now that the time was upon them and the vampires were so close Carter felt his resolve slipping. There were just so many. What had he been thinking? They were too powerful. He looked along the line of his men and could see their own doubts and fears plainly on their faces. If one of them ran, then they would all collapse. He forced himself along the line; encouraging the men with a confidence he did not feel and supported their bravery with a certainty he no longer felt. Maybe the vampires will ignore them, he thought briefly as his legs wobbled with each step. He looked up and saw the darkness begin to split into smaller groups as the vampires began their descent. Each group seemed to be composed of three or four dark shapes, and each one picked a point along the line of thralls and fanned out along the border.

Carter lost sight of most of them as they blended into the darkness, but he didn’t care what happened further along the line. He only cared for himself. His stomach churned as he saw three smaller groups of vampires swoop towards him. He saw one thrall falter and drop his staff as he backed away from the front line and Carter immediately rushed forward and thrust his own staff into the thralls back and out through his chest. Other thralls around the fallen soldier paled and looked between Carter and the approaching vampires.

“There are only a few of them,” Carter shouted. “They will not be expecting us to fight back. Hold fast and we will all survive, falter and I guarantee you will die.” He saw thralls nod and set their jaws as they turned to face their masters. Words spread along the line of men and Carter beamed as he saw the effect of his speech.

Now, if only he could believe his own words.

The vampires came in with a confidence borne of superior strength and a disdain emboldened by the knowledge that their targets could not fight back. Peter Jacobs stretched his wings out to catch the drafts of air. Wentworth had allowed him the honor of tearing the thralls to pieces. He was a new vampire, like Wentworth, but had quickly risen in the ranks because of his inherent vicious streak and the fact that he had been able to adapt more quickly to his new powers than most of the others.

Wentworth had nearly three hundred vampires in his cabal throughout the state, and just over a hundred had already answered the summons for the attack. The others were on their way from towns and cities from across the state but it was unlikely that they would arrive tonight. Jacobs found it strange that no orders had been sent for some of the vampires to remain behind and guard their other borders, but he was hardly going to question Wentworth. It was strange though. Wentworth was a planner, a vicious planner, yes, but one who would not normally ignore logic for the sake of a direct response.

Von Kruger had broken so many old rules that such retaliation was justified, of course, but surely Wentworth was overreacting? The older vampires in the other states could very well use this opportunity to strike at them while they were occupied here. Territorial disputes rarely ended with anyone having to return captured land. Vampires were usually of the opinion that if you were too weak to hold your territory then you deserved to lose it.

Either way, Jacobs would follow orders. But he couldn’t help but wonder at Wentworth’s un-characteristic behavior. Of the one hundred and twenty vampires in the current force, Jacobs commanded twenty-four split into six smaller task forces. Each group was spread out over the five miles of border and was ordered to tear a hole through the thrall defenses and leave the remains for their own thrall forces to mop up.

As he swept down, Jacobs smelled fresh blood on the air. His mouth salivated wildly; there really was no substitute for ripping into live flesh and draining a body of its blood. He had become a vampire early on in the war, so had experienced the joy of battle and of gorging on humans, something that all the easy access to the blood of captive humans just could not duplicate. He looked down at the thralls below him but he did not study their numbers or their deployment. They were inconsequential. Doubts and concerns slipped away as he felt the tug of battle and the scent of blood. He surged down, eager to be first to tear and rend and gorge.

He felt invincible.

Carter watched the vampires come at them and he forced himself to stand tall. He gripped his sharpened staff until his hands went numb. The vampires rode the air currents, their wings spread out in impressive spans that never failed to impress him. They were magnificent. He watched, almost hypnotized by their grace, and then his mind seemed to click into focus and he shouted to his men to prepare.

The vampires were approaching slowly and Carter felt a spark of hope in his chest. They could have approached them with such speed that they would not hope to have put up a worthy defense. They should be coming at them at blurring speeds, but their current approach was designed merely to terrify. They did not think that the thralls were any threat to them. Why should they?

“They are overconfident men,” and with good reason, he added to himself. “Let us show them we are not merely frightened sheep. Show them we are more than slaves.”

The first vampire swooped down a fraction of a second ahead of the others and five thralls lurched forward to meet their former master. Carter saw the vampire’s wide grin of anticipation slip as the thralls moved toward it and not away in terror as he had expected. For a brief, delicious moment he saw fear in the vampire’s eyes and then the men plunged their staffs into the creature and its shriek split the night.

The other vampires could not pull back from their descent. They were fully committed to the attack but they did manage to bring their talons forward to rake and tear at the thralls that stood against them. The night erupted into chaos. Talons ripped living flesh and wooden staffs tore into undead flesh as the thralls crowded around to vent their rage and terror on their masters.

Staffs plunged deeply into his body and Jacobs screamed. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought as the pain brought him to his senses. The smell of blood had overwhelmed him and made him ignore the fact that his enemy was not retreating in terror as he had expected. He surged backwards, ripping staffs from the hands of the thralls around him and sending the soldiers flying helplessly in every direction. He lashed out and carved a deep furrow across the chest of one of the thralls. Pain surged through him but the smell of fresh blood in the air urged him on.

He swiped at the wooden staffs with his backhand, smashing the frail wooden handles easily but leaving their sharpened points still in his flesh. They hurt, but at least he could move freely now. He would remove them later when he had time. He grabbed the nearest thrall and wrenched him towards him before tearing into his flesh and sucking greedily at his exposed throat. The pain eased and he felt a new strength surge through him, numbing the pain and filling his muscles with more power than he had thought possible.

He bellowed in rage and ecstasy and set about the thralls around him. He was dimly aware of his colleagues being pressed back by the thralls. He noticed that one of his number lay on the ground motionless, a hastily but accurately thrown staff sticking out from his heart but none of these things truly concerned him. He felt the bloodlust pull at him, calling to him to lose himself in its powerful embrace, but he held back, keeping his mind sharp and his wits sharper as he fought back.

Carter watched his men mill about the vampires. He saw one thrall throw his staff at a vampire. For a moment he thought the thrall had panicked and he was about to shoot the soldier when he heard a shriek of pain to his left and a vampire dropped from the air like a sack. There was no great flash or sudden disintegration like he had seen on television years before. The vampire was dead, as quickly and easily as any human when you hit them in the right place. This gave the other thralls heart and they redoubled their efforts. A sea of staffs were thrown towards the vampires and their sharpened points penetrated flesh easily, though none hit the vampires with the same accuracy as the first had done.

Blood seeped from the vampires’ wounds and their cries of pain and surprise and outrage filled the night. Thralls, suddenly finding themselves unarmed, looked around, frantically searching for something else to use as a weapon. Automatic weapons fire filled the night, their bullets penetrating flesh and causing terrible pain to the vampires, but none of these wounds would kill them. As the initial flurry of deadly wooden weapons ran out the vampires could see that their enemy was no longer armed with deadly weapons and they set about attacking the thralls nearest them as they waded into the panicked throng.

Carter saw his men begin to waver. The guns were useless in such a fight. He had to do something or all was lost. He gripped his own staff and ran forward, bellowing his anger and terror. His men heard him over their own cries of fear, and they watched as he surged forward and plunged his staff into the chest of the nearest vampire. The vampire reached for him, catching him with a glancing blow across his face before he pulled the staff back and plunged it again into its heart. The vampire slumped towards him and Carter lifted his foot and pushed the body off his spear.

He leaned forward, wiping his own blood from his eyes as the cut across his forehead seeped into his eyes. He pulled another spear from a vampire’s dead body and threw it to the nearest thrall and turned to the others. He must have looked even more frightening than the vampires with the blood dripping down his face because the men suddenly stopped screaming.

“Keep your staffs and tear these bastards apart.” The thralls cheered and surged forward, swamping the remaining vampires as they recovered their spears from the vampires’ flesh and from where they lay on the ground and plunged them with renewed vigor into the remaining vampires. The creatures swept around them with viciously sharp talons, and many of the thralls fell only to be lost beneath the advancing feet of those that followed them. Despite the terrible toll, the thralls began to move forward and the vampires began to retreat. For the first time in over two years the creatures knew defeat.

Jacobs saw his men fall beneath the surging tide of the thralls. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought as his mind began to panic. They are our slaves. He pivoted back away from a thrusting spear and tore at the thrall that had attacked him. He had numerous wounds on his body, and each one stung where the wood had penetrated his flesh. He had never known such pain. Why wasn’t he healing? He had killed countless thralls but they just kept coming, and now they held grimly to their wooden weapons. He saw the last of his men suddenly disappear under a wave of rabid thralls and suddenly realized that all was lost.

He did not think about what retreat would mean; he did not even consider Wentworth’s response. He just acted as he had done all his life. He took the easy path. He tensed his muscles and leapt upwards, changing his arms into great wings as he leapt. He would think about the disgrace later. For now he had to get away and heal. He spread his wings but they felt so leaden and each wound stung so badly. He surged upwards but something was wrong. He felt as if he weighed as much as a whale. What was wrong? His body began to convulse as it reacted to the poison in his system from the wood. He felt his wings shake and watched in horror as they began to shimmer and change back into arms. He flapped uselessly but his arms could not catch the wind currents and he began to fall.

Below him he saw the thralls eagerly watch him fall back into their grasp. His body began to shut down. His great strength began to ebb away; his eyesight began to grow unfocused, like it was before he had become a vampire. The pain swept over him in waves, and then he felt the impact as he struck the ground. After the first few spears tore into him he became completely numb. He remained conscious, but he couldn’t feel anything. Not until the big bastard who had rallied the thralls approached him with an evil smile and a wickedly sharp machete.

Carter pulled away from the vampire and presented its head to the cheering thralls around him. He reveled in their cheers and a feeling of triumph and relief flooded through him. They had won. He looked along the line of the border and saw fires and destruction as far as he could see. The other thralls had not fared so well, obviously. The vampires had already moved on, oblivious to what had occurred here.

The repercussions of what they had achieved would be far reaching though. Thralls had stood against their masters and won. The world was changing and all they had known before was now gone. The balance of power would shift, especially if he could rally his forces before the vampires realized the importance of what had happened.

“Master,” one of his men shouted over the cheers of the other men. “Wentworth’s thralls are on the move.”

Chapter 20

Steele thundered through the dark, feeling reckless and alive. He ran the risk at this speed of being heard by thralls or seen by a passing vampire, but, if half of what Dee had reported was accurate, then it was unlikely that he was in any danger from patrols. The engine throbbed between his legs, its drone monotonous and hypnotic, almost lethargic in its uniformity. In fact, combined with the drugs he still took to keep the pain at bay he would have nodded off long ago had it not been for the freezing air that snatched at him and chilled him to the bone.

His mind was filled with conflicting emotions. The last time he had traveled this road he had been on his way to suppress a vague threat for Nero. The vampire master had not provided much detail to the council when he had requested a specialist in guerrilla warfare. It took a lot for a vampire to appeal to the council for aid, the loss of face alone was substantial and the favor they would ask in payment would not be small.

He had always known deep down that the happiness he had found with the other survivors would never, could never, last. It was only a matter of time before he would be missed. While he was not that important, Von Richelieu would miss his pet eventually and send someone to find out where he was. It would also be unusual for Nero not to contact the council after his troubles were overcome; the council would require their payment and would send an envoy to Nero eventually. When that happened the fledgling human population would be discovered and the full power of the vampires would descend on them. It was too late for him, but hopefully he would be able to delay that inevitable encounter as long as possible.

He really did not know if such a small community could survive in the long term, all the odds were against them—and that was with everyone working together. With the current fractured leadership, he despaired. However, if anyone could find a way, Harris would do so. He thought briefly about Harris as he crossed the border into Von Kruger’s state.

Harris was haunted by something that even Sandra knew nothing about. At first Steele had been fairly certain that Harris would self-destruct. Whatever was hidden deep inside him would eventually be too much for him and he would either, take one chance too many and die on one of his missions, or he would just give up under the weight of everything that was stacked against him.

But that had not happened. Steele could see the haunted look in Harris’ eyes still, but he seemed to be able to use it to fuel his resolve rather than letting it swamp him. That was quite impressive in someone so young. Tonight was going to be pivotal, though. If they could use the conflict between the vampires to their advantage then they could certainly add dramatically to their numbers, but how many could they realistically cope with? He didn’t know, especially with a ruling council riddled with petty power posturing and downright evil intent. They didn’t have enough food for any large intake of people, and they didn’t have sufficient beds to cater for that many serum withdrawal patients, either. Not that Harris would consider that anyway. He was focused on the rescue only and making sure that there would still be humans left alive next week and next year to rescue.

Steele didn’t think that he would have the strength of character to make those decisions, as Harris has done. Maybe that was why he had given up so long ago when his sister had died, and Harris had not. He did not know much about the man’s background, none of them really talked about what they had been before the war, it just seemed so pointless. But something had happened to Harris that drove him so relentlessly.

Whatever it was, Steele hoped it would be enough to get them all through the next few hours.

Harris was as ready as he was gong to be. There was no time for in-depth planning. There weren’t enough of them to rescue the number of people that would be in the holding cell and there was no way that the community could handle the number he would like to bring back anyway. But, he was ready regardless.

Already he could hear the deep thumps of distant cannon fire and the lighter, more rapid chatter of machine guns. They were only a few miles from the border here, and the occasional flare of light pinpointed the scene of the battle being fought in the distance.

They approached from the south; there was no point in being careless and coming from the direction of their base—just in case they were seen. The thralls had repaired the town’s meager defenses and they had to waste precious minutes dismantling the wall around the town so they would be able to get out quickly if required later on. Harris signaled his team out of the truck and motioned for the engine to be cut. He listened intently to the noises of the town and scanned the darkness as best he could for any sign of the thralls.

He motioned for Dee and Warkowski to scout ahead, and the others began to tear at the newly laid bricks across the road. The wall was only four feet in height, but it was high enough to damage any vehicle that might force its way through, except a tank, of course but they didn’t have one of those. Harris sweated as they began to tear the wall down. No matter how silent they tried to be they still had to break the wall, and the noise seemed to reverberate around the streets like pistol shots with each blow of the sledgehammer. The cement was not completely dry from the day’s earlier repairs but was sufficiently hard to require a hammer to loosen the mortar.

They wasted over thirty minutes clearing the road, stopping regularly as other sounds intruded. Once he heard engines fire into life mere streets away and he imagined that the thralls had heard them and were on their way in force. Another time he heard the easy banter between two thralls as they walked along the next street. He signaled everyone to remain silent and each of them stood silently, most of them with broken bricks still in their hands, as they waited for the guards to pass. Sherman looked at him with his eyebrows raised but Harris shook his head. It was too early in the night to take out guards whose disappearance may be noticed at the wrong time. Better to leave them to their patrol for now.

Finally they had cleared sufficient space for the truck to pass through easily and everyone climbed gratefully back into the truck, many of them sucking on numerous grazes on their hands. There was a glow of light ahead of them where numerous lights powered by a generator were positioned around the main square. The low hum of the engine throbbed in the air and Harris was grateful for the noise as it allowed them to get their vehicle close to the square without undue attention.

Unfortunately, it also meant that there was probably a larger guard presence in the square than they had planned for. There was no way the thralls would waste precious fuel to light an area just for their human captives. Harris looked at his team. He had planned a speech, something to mark his pride and gratitude for their confidence in him but, in the end, he found that his mind drew too many parallels between this and the last time a group of friends had placed so much trust in him. He looked at his small group now but all he could hear were the screams of that other group as they had died two years ago in Boston.

He was embarrassed by their trust in him. He felt unworthy in light of what had gone before. No matter how many times he had brought them back safely it just never seemed to dull the pain of the time he had survived and everyone else had died. He did not know why he had survived—many times he wished he hadn’t. At least then he would either be dead or a mindless captive somewhere. He couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was different, though. Yes, he was nervous. His past was foremost in his mind, as it always was as he began a raid, but something felt different tonight.

After tonight everything would change. If Steele completed his mission the vampires would know all about them. He had wrestled long and hard about sending Steele. He was well aware that their small community could never survive a direct assault by vampires, but with the war escalating as it was, he hoped that the vampires would be too busy with their own troubles. If they did stop using the serum then they would have to completely change how they incarcerated their captives. This would not be easy considering the sheer numbers of humans they held, and Harris hoped that it would allow them the time they needed to prepare. He knew he was taking a terrible chance with the lives of all the men, women and children in their small community. He was only too aware that he did not have a mandate from the people to do this, either. But the alternative was to let millions die from the serum, and he could not do that. Even if it meant they would all die in the effort. There was no doubt in his mind that their small group could not survive long term anyway in their present numbers. They had to grow as a community or risk dying in isolation.

He rationalized his actions with the knowledge that the serum had to be stopped to ensure everyone’s future. Once he had done that he hoped that his guilt would ease, though it was not for himself primarily that he did this. There could be other small groups of survivors in other parts of the world. He fervently hoped that there were. He prayed regularly that the people he had helped escape two years ago had actually gotten away and were even now building a future. There had to be other groups, but they would all die if the vampires lost their sanity and their main source of food. They would destroy everything in their rabid search for blood. They were bound to uncover any survivors, no matter how well they were hidden.

In many ways it would be simpler if he did not come back from tonight’s raid. His presence in the community was becoming more tenuous every day, and he had had enough of fighting, both with the vampires and with the constant bickering in the council meetings. He was drained. He had been given two years and he had done everything he could to ensure the community’s survival, but he felt now that he had come to a crossroads.

He felt a strange calm inside him that he didn’t usually feel once the mission had started. Normally his stomach would be knotted with tension at this point. He accepted his fate. He should have died two years ago anyway.

“You all know your positions,” he scanned their faces. He felt tears welling in his eyes and he hastily drew the balaclava over his head to hide them. “It’s been an honor knowing you all.” He saw their confusion at his words but he did not elaborate.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Warkowski frowned as he listened to Harris. He was talking as if he did not plan on coming back. He had seen men before in his years in the military that had that haunted look. Usually just before they took a stupid risk or crashed out of the army for mental reasons. He would have to watch him. Harris was their focal point. His was the will that drove them all. Warkowski was honest enough with himself to know that he would never take such risks for others if Harris was not so dedicated to doing what was right.

He was a good man himself but he would not risk everything as he had done over the last few months if he did not have a role model showing him what it meant to be selfless. He had been happy to take part in raids when it meant that he would hopefully find his family but, if he was honest, once he had rescued them, he would have been happy to become a farmer and let someone else look out for the captives. He had considered resigning but never had the courage to face Harris’s disappointment. He knew he owed his family’s life to Harris, most of his friends in the community did. It was just a shame that more people did not tell him how influential he was.

It took huge commitment to go against everyone for something you believed in, and Harris had had to do that constantly over the last few years. He saw the tears in Harris’ eyes and he felt a deep dread in his stomach. He would have to watch Harris this night or they might all lose something more precious than they realized.

Sherman watched the people around him as they prepared to leave for their positions. God it was sickening how bloody good these people were. He was finished with it all. Why should he risk his life for people he didn’t give a damn about? It had been fun in the beginning, and it beat farming for a living, but it had changed since then. Up till now they had gone on small raids where the risk was relatively low, especially for someone who knew how to appear to be involved while staying relatively far from the fire fights. But Harris had them invading a fucking town now. A town crawling with vampires. Next the bastard would have them storm vampire head quarters.

No, it was time for a change of leadership. It was unlikely that Steele would return from the vampires’ lair, and if Harris were to have a tragic accident then it would leave the top job vacant. And if the bloody thralls were too useless to kill him then he would have to make sure that the job was finished for them. Phelps had already come to him secretly regarding taking over Harris’s position, so, while it would be tragic, everyone was aware that Harris was forever taking too many chances. His death would not be questioned.

Bastard has a death wish anyway so I’ll probably be doing him a favor, he thought.

Chapter 21

Von Kruger was annoyed. He could see the brief bursts of light in the distance that signified the beginning of the offensive. He could hear the rumbles of explosions and the screams of terror, and he could taste the scent of blood in the air. And he was still too bloody far away to do anything about it. Wentworth and his cabal would decimate his thralls. His precious tanks and equipment would be so much scrap metal by the time he got there. He had miscalculated badly yesterday. He should have attacked Wentworth’s forces earlier in the evening. Why he had delayed he did not know. The old taboos and rules no longer held the same power that they once did. He wasn’t sure why but he felt more free than he had in years. The old ways were past. It was a new age; one where the strongest would survive and the all others would fall in line or die screaming.

He had taken an extra thirty minutes to organize his forces when he had awoken. There was no point in arriving at the border with only some of his forces and the rest arriving in uncoordinated pockets. His summons had been sent yesterday and he had lost four loyal vampires as they flew into the dawn to deliver his messages to the far reaches of his province. It had been worth it though. Cabal members were arriving with every moment and his confidence grew with each addition.

He gathered his youngest vampires to him. His cabal numbered more than four hundred in total and nearly two thirds were older vampires who had followed him from Europe. They would be his core. The younger vampires could still be very useful to him of course but their loss would not trouble him too much. They danced around him in anticipation as they sniffed at the air, and he cast his voice out to them all, extolling their courage and their loyalty. And then he sent them on their way.

They would be his first strike, his spearhead. They would target Wentworth’s forces and tear through them with all the eagerness of youth and raging hormones in their race to seek his approval. Who cared if they died proving their loyalty to him? They would weaken Wentworth’s forces and allow him to sweep in and destroy all those who remained after the first wave.

After tonight he would rule twice the territory, and then he would move against the others. He would use the new vampires as his main thrust and eventually they would all either prove their worth or die in his name. The council should never have granted them recognition anyway; they were far too young to wield such power. When he finished there would only be the strongest left. And he would rule them all.

The council was weak, and it weakened all vampires with its petty compromises. Vampires were creatures of violence, not farmers of mindless humans. They had all grown weak over the last two years. They did not hunt for their food anymore; instead they sipped from glasses delivered to them at a dining table. It sickened him how far they had been degraded. The council had to die. But first he had to deal with that upstart Wentworth.

The time was here. He launched himself into the air and he reveled in the power running through his veins. They had gorged on humans before they had left and when they had run out of them they had killed any thralls who had been close by. They were ready for anything. Their power was at a peak. Nothing could stop him.

Joshua Caine led the first wave of Von Kruger’s vampires, and he gloried in the power. The wind carried the scent of fear and blood, and his mind buzzed with anticipation. There was no plan; there was no need for one. He would destroy anything in his path. Human, thrall or even vampire. Von Kruger had told them that tonight they would rewrite the rules. They were to kill and feed on everything that stood against them. There were no boundaries, no rules and no ruling class.

Success would bring with it rewards undreamt of and failure would bring death. The thunder of the wings of over a hundred vampires around him filled his head, and the power running through his veins was intoxicating. The border suddenly appeared before him and he could see the many fires of broken and burning tanks and vehicles stretching along a line that disappeared into the distance. Bodies lay everywhere, and dark shapes swooped around the carnage, diving and attacking any forces still left alive. Wentworth’s vampires were busy gorging and did not see them. This would be easier than he had thought. He signaled to the others and then dropped from the sky, his attention focused on his prey.

“Should we not attack now, sir?” the vampire asked and cringed as Wentworth loomed over him.

“Let them fully commit first,” Wentworth explained more calmly than the aide expected. “They have more forces than we do so we have to even the odds with guile. We will attack when they cannot pull out of the attack.”

Caine tore into the back of a vampire and felt the sudden spray of blood splash over him. The vampire screamed and twisted around to face him but Caine ripped at its face with his talons before it could fully turn. Caine shouted with joy and pressed in for the kill. Would he be the first vampire to kill another in this new war? The honor filled him with pride as he brought his talon down in a sweeping arc.

It wasn’t to be that that easy though. His victim had just fed and his wounds were already healing as soon as Caine’s talons left its skin. His surprise attack may have given Caine first blood but the other vampire was recovering far too quickly for his liking. Caine ducked as the other vampire suddenly swiped back at him and narrowly escaped damage to his eye. The vampires moved at a ferocious speed, each movement merely a blur to any thrall or human, but each feint and attack was countered easily by the combatants as each sought for the upper hand. Caine brought his feet into play and raked at his enemy’s exposed chest and stomach. The two figures fell to the ground with Wentworth’s soldier taking the brunt of the fall.

Caine pressed his attack and brought his talon down viciously along the vampire’s chest. Skin peeled back and blood shot out from the wound, spraying into Caine’s face and driving him wild with bloodlust. He was so intent on the blood that he did not see his opponent begin to morph. New vampires were not able to change their shape, except for the all important flying bat-shape. No one knew why this was the case but it took years of practice to form any other shapes. He realized with a terrible sinking feeling that the screams that filled the night around him were mostly those of his own men. They had caused a huge amount of damage initially, some of Wentworth’s vampires already lay motionless on the ground, but now he realized that their targets had all been well fed and most of them had survived the first assault. They had easily soaked up the punishment and were even now fighting back. All around him he saw figures begin to shimmer as the vampires took on new, terrifying and wickedly efficient shapes designed for close-quarter fighting. His cabal began to falter.

His opponent cried out in pleasure as his own transformation was completed, and then Caine felt himself driven back against a nearby tank with enough force to send his body deep into the metal. The vampire leapt at him, ripping and tearing the metal around him as if it were paper. Caine fought back but his razor-sharp claws grazed harmlessly off the creature’s hard carapace that now covered his chest and lower regions. Only its face and its evil red eyes were uncovered. The vampire’s mouth had grown so wide and its teeth so numerous that Caine was not prepared to go anywhere near it. His arm could disappear into that maw far too easily.

He ducked under the next blow. The creature was just a little slower than before with its heavy carapace making him more sluggish and Caine managed to scramble to his feet. He could not get a good look at his opponent in the dark as the many bright fires splashing light over the carnage around him ruined his night vision. The bastards had planned this, they had set a trap. Wentworth did not have a lot of older vampires—most of the mature vampires tended to gravitate to a master that was at least as old as they were. Von Kruger had by far the greater number of ancient vampires than any of the surrounding states, but Wentworth had used those he did have to set this trap. He had to report to Von Kruger. Caine jumped and spread his wings as he surged upwards. For a moment he felt elation at having survived, but this was quickly tempered by the view he got of the battlefield below. Many of his strike force lay dead or dying with pathetically few of the enemy dead to balance this. He had failed. But surely Von Kruger would understand that he had been against a superior force?

He shouted an order for retreat and then looked upwards only to see the night sky descend towards him. It was strange, the darkness seemed to be alive as it shifted and undulated. It was only when the first teeth tore at him that he realized that the sky was filled with vampires.

“That evens the odds,” Wentworth laughed as he watched his men tear into those vampires that remained. For a moment he shuddered as he thought about what was happening. Vampires had not fought like this ever before. They were a race that survived by working together in secret, but something fundamental had changed, and now over a hundred vampires lay dead on the ground before him. He imagined that he should feel different, frightened even that such a change could happen so quickly, but he was surprised to feel nothing at all. Just an eagerness to start the next round.

There was a loud explosion to his left and the chatter of machine gun fire erupted. The thralls were still fighting over the border but it really had no bearing on the overall outcome. Whichever vampire was triumphant would have little trouble decimating the forces that were left. The thralls would obey whichever vampire was in control. He turned away from the noises and shut them from his mind. He had another trap to set.

Harris looked out over the square. As Dee had reported earlier the cage now filled the entire town square and there were nearly a thousand humans by his reckoning held in the prison. The cage was a very temporary affair, and so large that the thralls had not used walls at all in many cases but instead had used the buildings around the square itself to complete the prison. There were lines of fencing strung between these buildings to complete the closed in structure. It would be a simple matter of breaking a window or even opening a door to get out of the prison, but none of the glassy-eyed humans in the cage were capable of doing even that to save themselves. He felt anger boil through him as he watched two thralls laugh as a group of humans walked repeatedly into a door in a vain effort to escape, each of them aware how close salvation was but completely incapable of simply turning the handle.

There was no room for any trucks in the square itself so they would have to get their charges to walk quite a distance to the waiting vehicles. That complicated matters as it was like herding sheep, and not something that you wanted to be doing if you had thralls shooting at you. They had come in one truck and Sherman, Flemming and Mitchell had all gone to see if they could liberate some more transport. He knew he could not take all the humans in the cage but he was going to take as many as he could. If they could get a few more trucks then they could squeeze nearly twenty people into each, pathetically few, he knew, but if there was any other way he couldn’t think of it.

The vampires were really escalating things without any thought to the future. If they used the number of humans here to sustain them during the fighting then they would not have enough food to carry them through the next few months unless they found a new supply. He had never known the vampires to do anything without extensive planning. Their very existence over the last few centuries demanded such preparation. It seemed that Pat’s theory was on the money. Something was definitely changing them.

He checked his ammunition pouch, counting the magazines and ensuring that the ones marked with red tape were within easy access. They would use normal ammunition on the thralls but, for the vampires, they had Pat’s special bullets. These bullets were still in short supply because each one had to be individually coated in the extract that Pat had developed and then re-loaded in to the magazines. It was a time consuming process, and one that was becoming more and more difficult to get a resource for with the changing priorities back at base.

Harris and his men had had to coat and pack their own ammunition for tonight’s raid, and the six magazines he had seemed pathetically few in light of the number of vampires that would be abroad tonight. Hopefully, they would be too busy killing each other to notice them, though the way things were going, recently, it probably wouldn’t be that easy.

There were five thralls in the square, and at his signal all five would die with a bullet in their brains. He hesitated another moment as he surveyed the square. Once they started there was no going back. He jumped as a large explosion filled the night. They were still at it then. Good. He hoped that they kept killing each other all night. That way they might remain undisturbed. He raised his hand and a moment later the five thralls collapsed to the ground.

It had begun.

Sherman held up his hand to hold the others in position. The motor pool was outside of town, moved there obviously for easy access to the border for the ongoing conflict. The main force was already engaged in frantic fighting about two miles away but there was a command post with at least twenty thralls in the camp doing various chores from patrolling to moving or fixing equipment.

Too many for them to take out without a fire fight, and any such activity so close to the border would only run the risk of attracting reinforcements. On the bright side he could see over fifteen vehicles in the pool—obviously these were the ones used to transport the humans to the front. Some had obviously been sent back to get more supplies as there was no way a thousand humans could have been transported so quickly in so few vehicles.

There was also a train, still hissing and spitting steam like an exhausted dragon, toward the back of the camp. Trains were still used for transport in many states, but the more modern diesel and electric trains were now only used for scrap. Steam had made a comeback. With plenty of trees available for their insatiable appetites and, with no bleeding hearts around to warn of global warming, the thralls merely chopped the trees that were handiest along their route.

The train was old, more like a museum piece, but it obviously still worked. The cars that it pulled, however, looked more like something from a western movie. They were made from wooden slates on an iron bed and contained no seats at all. They had obviously been used to transport livestock before the vampires had come, maybe a long time before they had come Sherman amended—say around the late 1800s—and it seemed that that was exactly what they had been used for now. The captive humans could be packed into those cars, almost two hundred in each car if they really packed them in. It would be freezing, of course, but they would survive.

Harris had briefly considered using trains before but they were far too big. It didn’t help that they sent a huge plume of smoke into the air like a giant finger pointing to their position. On the other hand, they did take a lot of passengers.

Sherman lay on the cold ground as the snow fell around him and ran through a number of scenarios. He was aware of the other two shifting nervously beside him and blowing constantly on their exposed fingers, but he ignored them. A track ran from here all the way to their own base—at least, it went to within ten miles their camp. They used it themselves as a navigational tool, many times. If they took this train they couldn’t just park it close to their base, but there was a fairly large train station only twenty or so miles away where they could keep the train under cover of the huge station roof. Once it cooled down no one would be the wiser.

It would be crazily dangerous, of course, but it was just the kind of mad scheme Harris would love. And just the kind of thing that might just get him killed. They could still use the trucks to get a smaller number out but they could use the train to take the majority. Of course, he would lead the trucks and slip away quietly while Harris could take all the chances with that noisy behemoth.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill him, after all. Sherman pulled back from the edge and began to lay out his plan to the others.

Falconi watched the vampires arrive from Von Kruger’s side of the border and watched in amazement as the dark figures swooped, gauged and tore at each other at amazing speeds. He found it almost impossible to track them with his binoculars but he could see enough to know that his worst fears had been realized.

He had hoped that there might be a brief battle, and that they would come to their senses after Wentworth had had his revenge for Von Kruger’s unprovoked attack on his thralls. But that had not happened. Wentworth’s vampires had torn Von Kruger’s thralls to pieces all along the border and then Von Kruger’s vampires had arrived and now hundreds of bodies lay strewn about like so many rag dolls.

It had gone way too far now for there to be any other result than full and total annihilation of one side. The vampires fought each other in the air and on the ground but the decimated forces of the thralls, those still alive at least, tried vainly to scramble out of their way. Many were snatched and sucked dry as the vampires needed more and more blood to heal from their horrendous wounds. This was the moment he needed. The first phase of the vampire attack was winding down and Wentworth had scored a huge victory. Now was the time to drive home the advantage before they could recover.

He shouted orders to his men and there was a flurry of activity as men picked up equipment, started engines and formed ranks. He would have to leave most of his tanks behind as he did not have the fuel for them, but still his organized forces should easily be able to handle what was left of the enemy thrall forces.

It wasn’t as if many of them had survived the vampire attack.

Carter watched the enemy thrall forces move relentlessly closer. They stretched out over almost a mile of border so, while they looked impressive, there was little substance behind the first two ranks of men. They had little or no heavy armor either. From his vantage point he could only see three tanks and two of them were too far away to pose any problems for now, though he would have to keep an eye on them.

He had organized his forces in three heavily manned phalanxes that allowed him to concentrate his firepower on one point. This type of focused attack, on a point where the enemy was spread thinly, would allow him to punch right through them and come at them from behind before they knew what was happening. There was one tank coming directly towards them, though and he had sent a team with their only remaining explosives to take it out. The tank was running slightly ahead of its support forces and it should give his men the time needed to lay in wait in a hollow, fix the explosives and get out before it blew. Of course, whether they got away or not was not really his concern. Blowing the tank was his only worry.

He had placed his flame-throwers at each end-point of his forces and slightly forward. The bulk of his forces lay prone and hidden behind the darkness and the smoke that swirled across the battlefield. Fires still lit large areas in pulsing flashes but he had placed his men as far from these as he could. He had also ordered as many bodies dragged into the area in front of them as possible so the enemy would assume that there had been few survivors. He would let the thralls come deep into his trap before he opened fire, and then the flame-throwers would seal his trap from the rear.

His main problem was ammunition. He simply did not have enough to kill all of the soldiers that were approaching. Von Kruger should be here soon with the bulk of his forces but he would be far too busy to help, even if he was bothered to do so. What he needed was a diversion, something to make the enemy commander split his forces. Unfortunately miracles were rare for the forces of evil.

Sherman finished planting the explosives and retreated back to the meeting point. He was taking a big risk but he hoped that the main forces would be too busy to react. They had planted explosives along the far end of the motor pool and close to the command camp. He always was a believer than if you cut off the head, that the body would run around without any cohesive strategy for quite some time before somebody organized a response. In that window he hoped to put his plan into effect.

They would take two trucks to Harris in the centre of town and Flemming would drive the train. They had lucked out a little on that. He had overheard two thralls talking about the train going back out tonight to pick up more humans so its departure would not raise any undue attention. Their only problem lay in knowing when exactly it was due to leave. The last thing they wanted was the real driver running after the departing train and raising the alarm.

If he didn’t come soon then they would have to leave without him and hope that the resulting confusion was sufficient to keep its departure from the thrall’s notice. The explosives were set to go off in ten minutes so they had that long. Flemming was confident he could handle the old engine, and he was busy stoking the furnace at this very moment.

Nine minutes.

Flemming straightened his back and wiped the sweat from his face. God, it’s hot, he thought as the heat blasted from the furnace. He kicked the door closed and ran his eyes over the controls. He had told Sherman that he could handle the train, but its controls seemed far more complex now that he was looking at them. He had driven a train before, one of the diesels that his uncle had worked on. It had been years ago, a lifetime, it felt like, but it had been fairly simple. There was a knack to easing the power into the wheels as you released the brake slowly but he had been confident that he could do it. But the controls that faced him now did not look anything like those he had used before.

He was fairly certain he had found the brake but he could not find how to drive the power from the furnace into the wheels. There were countless dials, and all of them hovered dangerously around the red marks on their glass-fronted gauges. He had to release the pressure soon or the whole thing would blow with far more force than the explosives they had planted.

Eight minutes.

“What’s he waiting for,” Sherman muttered as he watched the train continue to spit steam but remain stubbornly motionless. He scanned the area around him but none of the guards seemed to be paying him any mind as he sat in the truck with the engine idling. “If that fucker doesn’t move that train in the next thirty seconds I’m going to tear his balls off.”

Just then the train lurched forward with a screech of brakes and steam pressure. Heads turned and thralls stopped in the patrols as the train suddenly stopped its forward motion with another screech of brakes and what seemed like a shudder. Then the train began to back up slowly and Sherman sighed in relief as the thralls returned to their patrols. Except for one. He caught a brief view of a thrall hurrying from the command camp and beginning to run towards the departing engine. The driver, Sherman pursed his lips and looked at his watch.

He was no bloody hero but if that thrall raised the alarm then it would get them all killed. There wasn’t much time left before the whole place went up, but the time that was left was critical if they wanted to get away safely. He looked again at his watch and then cursed as he slipped out of the truck. He signaled for the other truck to leave and then he slipped into the darkness, drawing his knife and lamenting his luck.

Six minutes.

The driver grabbed the nearest thrall guard and shouted at him as he gesticulated towards the stuttering engine. Flemming could hear him over the noise of the engine but he dared not peak out to see how close they were. He was doing his best to get the train moving but he couldn’t get power evenly from the furnace to the engine so it continued to backup in spurts that were attracting far too much attention.

Flemming looked frantically around the cabin. The furnace poured heat out at him and sweat ran constantly down his face and stung his eyes. The dials continued to reverberate madly and he expected something to give at any moment. He pushed the large silver handle further up and the train lurched again but then shook so badly that he had to ease it back again. He looked around. What was he missing? Just then the driver appeared and pulled himself up into the cabin. He shot a withering look at Flemming and then ran his hands over the controls in a quick, but assured, series of movements that stopped the engine from stuttering and allowed the engine to continue backwards smoothly before he pulled at the brake to bring it to a halt. Just then a thrall guard appeared and began to pull himself up into the cabin. Flemming moved before he got the chance to bring his weapon into play.

He kicked out at the thrall and sent him flying back onto the ground where he lay stunned for a moment. The driver whirled around and grabbed for him before he could follow through on his attack on the guard. He felt his arm wrenched upwards as the driver grabbed at him and pulled. The thrall’s strength was incredible and Flemming felt his head swim with the pain. The thrall pushed him against the furnace and the heat seared at his flesh, burning his cheek and sending waves of agony through him. He pushed back with all his strength as adrenaline surged through him.

He felt the driver suddenly loosen his grip as he stumbled back against the woodpile at the back of the cabin. It was amazing what adrenaline could do, he though as he threw himself forward and pummeled the thrall with a madness borne of pain and survival.

“Hey!” he heard a shout in the distance but ignored it until he was grabbed suddenly by the shoulder. “Hey, he’s dead. And you will be too if we don’t get out of here.”

He looked up through the haze of pain and anger and finally recognized Sherman. He suddenly looked towards the ground where the other thrall had fallen. “I got him,” Sherman followed his gaze. “Now can you drive this thing or are you going to continue on like a demented dog in heat all the way home?”

“No, I saw what that bastard did. Jesus,” he cried as his fingers touched his ruined cheek, “that fucking hurts.”

“The women will love it,” Sherman answered as he helped him to his feet. “There’s no time for me to go back for the other truck we’ll…”

The night suddenly erupted in a cacophony of light and noise as the explosives went off all around them. Sherman looked out of the cabin as they continued to move away from the motor pool. A truck blew close to him and he felt the intense heat of the blast as the fuel plumed outwards and then pulled back as the vacuum sucked it back into the blast only to send it out again in an upward spiral of smoke and flame. Sherman ducked back into the cabin. He could feel the vibrations through the floor of the train as each explosion added to the madness of the night.

Chapter 22

Falconi heard the first thump of an explosion behind him and he looked back just in time to see a fireball surge into the night’s sky.

“What…?” he began and then a second came only to be followed by another and then even more explosions followed so close together that they rolled into one long peal of destruction. Did they get behind us? He wondered. And then the screams began around him as thrall forces surged from the smoke ahead of them and laid down a withering volley of fire. His men began to fall to the ground, though whether they were taking cover or were already dead he really did not know.

He looked frantically around, trying to figure out how to rally his men when huge gouts of flame gushed from the darkness on both sides and his men were caught in a crossfire of liquid flame that melted flesh on contact.

Bullets twanged around him, grenades exploded and men screamed in pain and terror. Falconi couldn’t think. There was no time to consider a response. His men were too spread out and the enemy were packed together and extracting a heavy toll on them.

The tank, he thought suddenly as a shell thumped from the armor closest to him. The shell whistled past him and exploded among one of the tightly packed groups of thralls. Falconi laughed as he saw enemy soldiers flung upwards in grotesque parodies of a circus-balancing act. That’ll teach ‘em to pack their men so close together, he thought as he shouted around him for his men to rally to him. He was filled with relief when he saw many of the bodies on the ground begin to move as his men got to their feet.

Another explosion split the night behind him, but this one was far closer. He whirled in time to see the turret of the tank split from the main body as the remains shuddered to a halt. Flame still leapt from the darkness on their flanks and the heat began to force his men inwards in a mad race to avoid the spurting liquid death. His men had lost their shape and cohesion and their return fire was erratic and far less effective than the smaller enemy force’s relentless attack.

His own men were terribly exposed, backlit as they were by the flaming tank and the burning camp behind them. He had to do something. He could hear radio chatter close by and he ran toward one of his men who sat huddled in a hollow. He jumped down into the hollow and demanded an update. The noise was horrendous around them and the man was near panic but he managed to get the main gist of the situation. The rest of his forces had encountered little opposition as they had poured across the border, but some of them were retreating from their own vampires who were fuelling themselves for the coming battle with Von Kruger’s main force. Bastards, he cursed. As if it wasn’t bad enough to have his forces decimated and his rear command compromised and very probably destroyed, now his own masters were attacking them and taking what precious few men he had left.

His mind raced as he struggled to find a solution. Even if they won out here their fate was already sealed. The vampires were so crazed with bloodlust that they didn’t know or care who they got their blood from. Why were they killing each other when they should…

He stopped as an idea hit him like a brick.

Carter saw the white flag swing from side to side like a disembodied giant butterfly and its starkness against the surrounding darkness made him start for a moment. They can’t be surrendering, he rationalized, they still far outnumber us. As he peered into the darkness he could just about make out the figure of a man as he approached bravely with his weapon raised above his head in one hand and a white flag in the other. He saw the thrall cringe as bullets flew around him but, to his credit, he kept coming. A brave man. Cater shouted for a cease-fire and slowly the stutter of fire grew less and finally stopped. He raised his head, stood up and strode confidently towards the enemy lines.

As he drew closer he could see that the enemy commander was blackened with smoke and that blood covered much of his clothes. A hand’s-on commander, Carter appraised the man and nodded a greeting.

“You want to surrender?” Carter asked nonchalantly.

The man laughed and Carter was surprised to see that the laughter actually reached his eyes. “Hardly, we out number you ten-to-one at the moment.”

“So why are we talking?”

“This,” Falconi swept his hand around the battlefield, “is not about us. It’s their fight.” He pointed up into the black sky.

“So?” Carter asked cautiously.

“How many men have you had torn apart today to heal their wounds?”

Carter looked into the man’s eyes and saw no subterfuge there. This was a man who had been betrayed and had had enough. He had been annoyed himself as the vampires had constantly toyed with his own remaining forces as they swooped down on his men and ripped them to pieces as they feasted. There were hundreds of humans back at their base but they chose to play games with them instead. He was just as pissed but he did not know what to do about it.

“What are you suggesting?” he ventured as he watched the other man.

Falconi watched the eyes of the other man. What he was about to suggest went against everything they had been created for. But he had never signed up for this madness.

“When the dawn comes and one side walks away victorious they will not care who sustains them in their victory gorging. We have no chance if we weaken each other much more.”

Carter smiled. “You are suggesting an alliance against the vampires?”

“You don’t seem as surprised as I expected.” Falconi shifted his machine gun and studied the man in front of him. He was smaller that usual for a commander of men and his untidy appearance and stubble spoke of a long campaign.

“We’ve already had our first encounter with our glorious masters tonight.”

“The fact that you are still here and in such numbers speaks volumes. And the fact that you got behind us and destroyed our camp proves you are more than you seem.”

“The five we killed were over-confident; it may not be as easy next time. As for your camp, I’m sorry to say we had nothing to do with that.”

Falconi paled. This man and his men killed five vampires and he jokes about it. God, this night really does signify the end of the old world. And more worrying of all is the fact that, if it was not his forces that attacked my base camp, then there is another force I know nothing of in this play and they are behind me at this very moment. He forced his face to remain calm as his mind raced.

“I suggest we stop killing each other and plan for the time when we will be forced to fight for our very lives when our masters,” he spat the word, “come calling for their due.”

Carter couldn’t believe his luck. They could not have lasted much longer as it was but now they really had a good chance if they combined their forces. There was no way that they could defeat the vampires but with any luck there would be few enough of them left that they would gorge on the captive humans rather than risk an armed force in their weakened state.

“I must lead my soldiers back to camp and investigate the explosions there.” Falconi had no choice but to leave the field of battle. The level of destruction back at his base camp hinted at a large force behind him and he had to investigate immediately or risk another surprise attack at a crucial time. But he had no idea who it might be. There was just no way that anybody else could have come so far into their state without some warning. His forces were thinly spread over the state but he had left enough guards to cover all possible routes—at least, enough to get a warning to him if one of the other states used this conflict to attack his other borders.

“I will take half my men and leave you in command of the rest, if that is acceptable.”

“Of course,” Carter replied and grinned as the enemy commander turned and gathered his men and began to head back towards the town. This just gets better and better. Now I command two forces. If the vampires would just kindly kill each other over the next few hours I will be very well placed to rule two whole states.

Chapter 23

“What have they done?” Harris paled as he heard the explosion. The night’s sky flared briefly and then suddenly plunged back into gloom as if the darkness had rolled out a heavy blanket and smothered the glow. Harris’ heart thumped in his chest as he waited. Was that it, he thought as he strained his eyes through the darkness? Suddenly there was another flare, and then another as more explosions followed. Flames leapt high into the sky and illuminated the entire area around the thrall camp. “That’ll draw them for miles,” he whispered. He rushed down toward the cage where Sandra and Rodgers were already breaking the lock on the door.

“What happened?” Rodgers asked with a worried frown creasing his face. Harris missed the happy-go-lucky Rodgers who had always been quick with a smile and a joke no matter how bad the situation got. He had seen too many of his friends die lately, and over the last few months Rodgers had grown more insular. It worried Harris but he hoped that Dee would be able to bring him out of his depression.

“I don’t know,” Harris grabbed the gate with them and helped them to pull it open. “But there’s no way the thralls will ignore that. We can expect company any minute. We’ll have to just grab the first thirty or so and pack them into the truck we have. I’ll go back and see if Sherman and the others need any help.”

The others nodded and went into the cage to pull the first bodies toward the waiting truck. Shit, Harris cursed. We were so close to getting so many clear. He turned and headed towards the pulsing light of the thrall camp and began to run.

He heard the strangest noise as he cleared the town centre. It was a deep, rhythmic pulsing intermingled with a screeching, high-pitched hissing like high-pressure steam. It was so out of place that he could not place it at first and then he saw a metal behemoth roll out of the shadows. He was stunned as the old engine materialized from the darkness with a slow, periodic clicking as the wheels hit the track breaks.

A train, he thought. Shit, if only we could only use something like …

“Hey, Harris!”

He jumped as he heard the shout. He dropped to the ground as he looked behind him but could not see anyone at first. He brought his weapon to bear but it looked clear ahead of him. Orange light bled into the darkness from the flames and painted the night sky with an eerie canvas. He still couldn’t see anyone and the noise of the approaching train left him deafened to everything else as the engine spat and hissed as it labored toward him.

“Harris!” He heard the shout again and looked towards the engine cab in time to see Flemming lean out and wave to him. What the…?

He saw Sherman behind Flemming and his look of confusion turned to one of shock as he realized what they had planned. They can’t be serious.

“What do you mean it’s too dangerous?” Sherman shouted over the noise of the engine. The three men were in the engine cab and Flemming was bringing it to a gentle halt towards the back of the town and close to where their truck was parked. “What exactly do you consider tonight’s little excursion? It’s no crazier than any of your other schemes, and this time you finally get to make that big impact you’re always looking for.

Harris went quiet as he thought of the implications of Sherman’s plan. It was sheer madness to escape with such a large and noisy vehicle. The smoke billowing from the funnel could be seen for miles and the noise was incredible. On the other hand, they would be able to fit almost all of the several hundred humans in the cage onto the train and would increase their numbers by almost a thousand if they could get them back safely. That would be enough to put up a good fight if they were discovered.

Steele would tell the vampires of the serum’s effects, and in so doing the vampires would be made aware of the human’s existence. However, they still had two things going for them. One: the vampires would be busy trying to keep their human captives in line without the serum and two: they would not know exactly where they were. Von Richelieu only knew that Nero had requested Steele to help him with a problem. He would have to scour the state to find them, and they had hidden themselves well. If they could get these people back safely then they might really have a chance.

He looked at Sherman and nodded slowly.

“I thought you’d like it.” Sherman grinned at him, and for a moment Harris had the impression of a wolf regarding its prey, but then it was gone. The train shuddered to a halt close to where the others stood near the over-full truck they had arrived in. Flemming hadn’t quite got the hang of stopping yet but was improving all the time.

“We’ll have to hurry,” Harris shouted over the hissing steam as he leapt to the ground to the shocked stares from Sandra and the others. “The damage you caused back at the camp was just too extensive for them to ignore, even with all that’s going on.”

“Cool, we get to play John Wayne,” Rodgers exclaimed as Harris passed him. Harris was so pleased to see his friend’s old humor return, no matter how briefly, and they all laughed despite the terrible cacophony of destruction that surrounded them.

As Steele passed across the border between that of Von Kruger and a particularly violent Vampire called Hennessey, he began to watch for patrols in earnest. Hennessey’s men would have been on high alert with all the activity between his neighboring states and, no doubt, would be eager to exploit any advantage he could if one side were to be weakened.

It would take him two days hard riding to reach Richelieu’s headquarters. By that time news could already have spread about the war between Von Kruger and Wentworth. If even half the details were known by the time he got there, a late ex-employee would be the last thing on Richelieu’s mind. He would have to think of something to make sure he was seen quickly and not thrown into a cell while he waited on his master’s pleasure. Either way the last thing he wanted was to run into a patrol that would delay him further because some local vampire lord wanted to see if he could gain ‘brownie points’ with the council in capturing him.

Steele wasn’t entirely sure if the papers he carried would still be valid or whether Richelieu had already sent word for his detainment, if sighted. It had been some time since he had left on his mission, but not excessively so. He didn’t want to take the chance, either way. The lives of millions lay on his getting the knowledge of the serum’s effects to Richelieu so he could do something about it.

It was by no means certain the vampire would bother, of course. But Steele gave his old boss more credit than to petulantly disregard the news of the serum’s dangers out of hand. Of course, in this new world of insular communities, it would take time for the order to disseminate across the country and to other countries even if he did take the threat seriously. It was entirely possible that they were already too late. He had to believe that there was still time, otherwise everything they were doing was for nothing.

Either way, it was essential that he get the information to Richelieu quickly and then it was in hands other than his. He drove with no lights, which was crazy he knew, but he couldn’t risk being seen by vampires passing overhead. Thrall patrols he could handle, he thought as he moved his hand to caress one of the twin compact Uzi machine pistols secured in a harness under each arm. The guns were a marvel of engineering, weighing only 1700 grams. And at only 240 millimeters in length they were capable of spraying 9mm bullets at an incredible rate of fire. The bullets he had were all coated with Pat Smith’s magic formula so he should even be able to handle one or two vampires but he would be empty far too quickly if there were more than that. It was better to avoid patrols if he could.

Sandra Harrington shook her head as she split her attention between the train and the town centre. There was no sign of anyone coming this way from the camp as yet, though she had seen a large force enter the camp just a short while ago. It wouldn’t take them long to expand their search, though.

She could barely see Cortez and Sherman weaving in and out of the buildings between her position and the enemy camp. The two men were laying traps and explosives wherever they could in the hope that it would slow the main force enough to get the train loaded and away. Both men would then retreat to the truck, which only held ten people in the back, now that the majority was being taken by train. She was to travel with Sherman after they had finished setting their traps, and all her arguing had gotten her nowhere.

She could tell that Harris thought the train was a huge risk. He obviously felt it was one worth taking, just not one he was willing to let her risk with him. She had argued viciously with him but she was already too exhausted from her previous injuries. She knew she had lost her argument when she had had to sit down during their argument to rest. Harris had simply told her that she wasn’t up to it. She had then gathered her remaining strength and stormed off when he had turned away from her and began leading the captives from the camp to the train. She still fumed at his dismissal of her. She knew that he was trying to protect her, but that wasn’t his call to make. She had decided to sneak on board the train anyway—there was just no way was she letting him go off half-cocked without her again. She’d rather die with him than mourn his loss. She had lost too many friends and family, one more would break her.

They still needed the truck, though. Good, working vehicles were just too hard to come by, and besides, there was too much fuel in it to waste. Sherman had suggested, and Harris had quickly agreed, that they would take some people and head home using a different route so as to maximize their chances of getting back safely. She had never known Sherman to be so enthusiastic about anything; usually he grumbled about having to go anywhere and pointed out constantly that the men in the team were untrained. Maybe it was the fact that they were rescuing so many that had got him into the spirit.

It was an incredibly audacious plan—if it worked, she reminded herself. Taking such a slow and noisy vehicle to escape in was a huge risk, though Harris was like a child as he filled each of the cars with the former captives. It was looking like they would be able to take everyone and the relief for the whole group not to have to choose those who would be rescued was more than she could measure.

They began filling the cars from the front and worked their way back as each filled up. If they had cars left over they could decide whether to bring them along empty or unhook them to gain more speed. They might not find such a large mass transport again so Harris was reluctant to leave any of the wooden cars behind if they could manage it. She laughed as she saw Rodgers skip back to the holding cell to get more people to the train. It really did feel like Christmas, she thought, as the snow continued to fall lightly. It had begun to stick in some places, and the ground, some trees and most of the buildings, were already beginning to get a light dusting of white. Now if only they could get back safely they would have real cause for celebration.

Falconi cursed as he saw the destruction in the camp. Someone had methodically destroyed most of the vehicles in the motor pool and ensured that the resulting explosions carried on to those behind in a chain reaction. In fact, the only reason there were still any vehicles left undamaged was that the wind had changed direction and it had kept the roaring flames away from six or so trucks and four armored jeeps towards the back of the pool.

He had sent his men to rescue those vehicles but they were having trouble getting through the carnage of hot, twisted metal. The occasional explosion as fuel reached a critical heat and blew didn’t help their efforts. If the wind changed again he would lose the vehicles and the men he had sent in to get them.

Who had done this? And why? Their only enemy that he knew of was Von Kruger’s thralls, but Carter had denied any part in the destruction. He had no reason to lie; in fact he struck Falconi as the type of man who would relish the opportunity to take credit for accomplishing such a daring raid. But if not them—who?

He pushed the thoughts aside. He had to coordinate a response. He had already sent twenty-five men back towards the town to check with the guards he had left there. The only reason someone would have to destroy the vehicles was because they did not want to be followed. They had no fuel to speak of so the only other thing of value was their human work force and food supply. It was critical that he bolster the detachment of guards in the town immediately. If the damage had already been done and the humans were taken, then he would need transport to follow them. The main bulk of his men waited anxiously as the others waded into the inferno to rescue what was left of their working vehicles. He had already lost four men to unexpected explosions or sudden wind changes and their pitiful screams as the fire had seared them had made replacements difficult to find. God, if he survived this night it would be a miracle.

Lieutenant Angelo led his detachment towards the town. Captain Falconi had warned him that there might be unknown forces in the town, but Angelo couldn’t see anything and was quite confident he could overcome any obstacle that might be waiting for him. He was a thrall, after all, and pretty much indestructible, so he led his men straight down the main approach to the town.

He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew that the explosion had obviously been caused by somebody, but was also fairly certain that any army that resorted to such a diversionary tactic was obviously low on numbers or were using the explosion as a diversion for an attack on another flank. If it had been a full assault from one of the other states then they would have attacked by now. As it was, whoever they were, they had already lost any momentum the diversion might have given them and the time for any concerted attack had past. So it must be a small force that wanted to hide their activities, and his patrol of twenty-five thralls would easily be able to handle that. He sent four of his men out as scouts to check the houses around them; it was always wise to be careful and to be sure that you didn’t leave any enemy forces in your rear. He also wanted to ensure that the rest of his men did not approach the town bunched together, but otherwise did not worry too much.

His men were relaxed but alert as they approached the town. Buildings and houses began to grow more numerous on either side as they passed the town limits. All of the buildings were deserted and had been badly weathered by the relentless summer sun and cold winters. Paint had peeled away or cracked from houses, business signs hung from rusted polls, flags lay limp in the still air, and what grass was still visible through the falling snow was coarse and overgrown from neglect. Angelo hated the winters and switched his weapon from hand to hand as his fingers grew cold against the metal. He had ordered each man to remove their gloves before they had set off for the town, and had ignored the groans of dissent as his men had reluctantly complied. They had tried gloves over the last few months as the weather had turned cold but they just got in the way when reloading. Sometimes it was difficult to get your finger back through the guard, so they were only allowed to use them in camp.

It beat the army, though, no matter how cold it got. The power that ran though his veins was intoxicating. He had his pick of the human women, after his superiors, of course. Life was good. It was just a shame that the attack couldn’t have been organized for the spring.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a small two-storey detached house a few yards ahead blew outward just as one of the scouts opened the front door to check inside. The scout was picked up and sent halfway across the road with the force of the explosion and landed in a broken heap some yards away. Wood flew everywhere as shrapnel from the explosion burst outward and filled the air with deadly projectiles. He threw himself down and covered his head. He heard cries of surprise and pain around him. Damn, he thought as fear gripped him. That was too close. If he had been any closer to that explosion he’d be burger meat right now.

He looked up and surveyed the scene. There was a heavy dust in the air and the snow continued to fall gently through it. For a second he was captivated by the way the moonlight seemed to diffuse though the mist and catch the snow, and then he shook himself as the first rifle shot split the night. One of his men surged to his feet right beside him and was already running towards cover when his head exploded like a ripe melon. Shit, that was some shot. He pressed himself harder against the freezing road as the dead thrall stumbled and fell just in front of him. A second shot rang through the night and another cry answered it. Thralls could survive almost any wound from a bullet but a high-powered shot to the head was well beyond even them. They couldn’t stay here; he raised his head again to see what options he had.

Angelo was not a coward but his own health came first. He shouted for his men to move forward using the buildings around them for cover while he remained in place and watched their advance. There was plenty of time to follow them when they had flushed out their sniper.

His men were well disciplined and set about their task despite the danger of the sniper. They were far more afraid of what might happen to them if their vampire masters were informed that they had disobeyed an order. Each one knew that there were far worse things than death if the vampires decided to make an example of one of them. Each of the men surged to their feet and ran to each side of the street using abandoned cars and building walls as cover as they leapfrogged forward towards the sound of the firing.

Two shots rang out and two more thralls dropped to the ground and didn’t move again. The rest of the soldiers reached cover and started to return fire in the general direction of the sniper. Angelo watched his men from the ground. The cold seeped at his body and already his flesh was numb but he remained in place and continued to watch. Two more shots rang out and one thrall slumped forward while the other screamed as he pressed his hand against his ruined face where the bullet had torn his cheek and most of his lower jaw away.

They moved after each shot, Angelo noticed, as he saw the sparks of light come from different locations ahead of them. They were both on the same block of buildings though and that meant that he could surround them. He shouted out and smiled as his men snapped their heads towards him almost in unison. He signed for seven of his men to retreat back toward him and continue around the back of the buildings to flank the snipers. He signed for seven more men to take the right flank and ordered the remainder to continue forward. There seemed to be only two snipers so if he split their attention he would have a better chance to reduce their effectiveness. He rolled off the road into the grass verge and then, when there was no sound of a shot, he surged to his feet and joined the men on the left flank.

Warkowski watched the thralls split their forces and whistled to attract Dee’s attention. He signed for her to pull back and she nodded and slipped away, keeping low. He checked the thralls once more and sent a shot over their heads to keep them honest and then eased himself back from the edge. He stopped briefly to pull a thin wire from its housing and stretched it until it reached the handle to the roof’s door. He tied off the wire and then eased the door closed as he pulled it behind him.

Rodgers watched anxiously as the last of the high-powered shots echoed faintly into the night air. He felt his stomach knot and his heart race as he watched for Dee to return. He no longer got any pleasure from these raids. At first, it had been exciting—fun even, despite the fact that it was dangerous. In the past the raids had all gone well and they had always come back as heroes, adding to their ever-growing community. No one died, except thralls and vampires, and, though life was not easy, he had coped with it. But that had all changed when Nero had attacked them.

Suddenly people around him were dying and fear began to eat away at him. He had always been a loner, using his humor and smart comments to hide a deeply felt insecurity with others. He had always felt he had to be the funniest person in a room just to be noticed. He wasn’t what you would call good looking, so compensated for this by forcing an outward appearance of good humor in the hope that his personality would attract those that his looks would not.

He had only volunteered for Harris’s group because he did not have any other skills that the community could use, and he did not want to be singled out as useless. Though, increasingly over the last two years, he had realized that he had used his humor to hide his terror. He was petrified each time he went on a raid now; terrified each time he had to shoot his gun, and especially when they encountered thralls. He was afraid of losing anymore of the people he loved more than he was of dying himself.

He had continued to go on the raids. He feared ridicule much more than he did dying though, he had lost far too many friends for humor to hide his fear any longer. Lately he had just remained quiet and sullen as he tried to reconcile his fear of rejection with that of a violent death.

He had spent some time trying to get up the courage to talk to Father Reilly, but the priest’s intimidating appearance and stern face always put him off. He realized now that he had been dying inside for some time, that his confidence had been slowly eroding away. It seemed every time he made a good friend—they died. The faces of Scott and Bill Anderson and Vince Crockett flashed across his mind, and then he imagined Dee Ratigan’s small body torn apart by bullets, and he gripped his weapon tighter as he strained to see through the darkness.

It had come as a complete surprise to him when Dee had grabbed him and kissed him yesterday. He had noticed her, of course, but considered her far out of his league. Her inclusion in the team had only made him more sullen at first as he tried hard to impress her but, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t pull himself from his depression. That had changed when she had kissed him. They had not had long together, but one night had been enough to show him what he had to live for now. Dee had shown him that, while it was possible, even likely, that he would lose more friends, that they were all fighting for something bigger than any of them.

He had been embarrassed at this and had slowly revealed to her the fears that he wrestled with constantly while they had lain together. He had been surprised at her gentle laughter, and for a horrible moment he thought she was laughing at him. He had begun to pull away but she had held him tightly in the dark and assured him that everyone felt fear. Her simple confirmation that his fear was completely normal had filled him with a relief that had brought tears to his eyes. Of course, the fact that he now had someone to share his fears with somehow made it all far easier to cope with.

Of course, when your girlfriend was always in the front lines it was difficult not to worry, but he had begun see past his self-pity. Of course, the sex hadn’t been too bad either. He continued to look toward the rally point where she was due to appear. Unfortunately, his over-vigilant focus on the same point meant he neglected to keep watch over his entire allocated area and he failed to see the movement of dark shapes as they passed between the buildings to his right hand side.

Chapter 24

Falconi sighed. They had managed to rescue seven vehicles before the fire had grown too intense for his men to continue. He had lost a total of ten thralls to the heat and the numerous explosions. But it was a fair trade, he judged, as he scanned the line of vehicles. Four trucks idled in front of him and his men were already piling into the back. There was even one armored jeep with an imposing Browning fitted to a swivel panel in the back. He had one tank still functional and the rest were armored pick-ups that could take a lot of damage along their metal shields.

He ordered those who could not find room in the vehicles to follow on foot. He also decided to keep a small, but potent, force in the camp itself, just in case his new ally decided to take advantage of the situation. The trucks rumbled past and he jumped into the front seat of the armored jeep as it passed by and headed back to town. In the distance he could hear the crack of a high-powered rifle and he urged his driver to hurry.

Angelo hurried along an alley and motioned for his men to spread out. They hadn’t heard any gunshots for the last few minutes, so either the snipers had gone or they were moving to another position. Either way, he declined to send any men into the building they had been in before. He’d have to be stupid to think the building was not booby-trapped.

As they came towards the end of the alley he could see that the street opened out into the town centre. He flattened against the wall of the alley and quickly scanned the square and felt a cold hand grip his heart. The cage was empty. Most of the lights around the large square were off, but there was enough light from the moon above to let him see that most of the humans were gone. He could see a number of people still gathered at the far end of the cage, and he could see that a number of them were armed. They seemed to be directing the zombie-like captives from the cage back towards the south end of the town. Shit, he thought. There had been almost a thousand humans in there earlier and their presence was the only thing between the vampires’ hunger and his throat. How the hell did they get them all out so quickly? And how the hell were they going to transport that many?

He didn’t know who these people were. It was unlikely that they were thralls from another state; there just weren’t enough of them for it to be a full-scale attack. It didn’t really matter anyway. He had to stop them or he and his men would likely take their place on the menu. There didn’t seem to be many of them and there didn’t seem to be scouts keeping watch. Bloody amateurs! He sent three of his men into the square and ordered the rest to approach around the back of the buildings that made up the town centre on the right. He cursed the fact that he didn’t have a radio, but the batteries were far too valuable to waste on a mere Lieutenant. He would have to hope that his other men were still on track and would take up their positions as ordered. He followed his patrol into the square, keeping low and in the shadows. He had to reach the rest of his men and get them to surround these bastards who were putting his very existence in jeopardy. He grabbed one of the three men with him and sent him back to find Falconi and let him know what was happening.

Looks like he’d need the Captain, after all.

Dee Ratigan ran from the building and dodged through the shadows back towards the square. It wouldn’t take the thralls long to figure out they’d left their positions so they had to hurry. The explosion had slowed the advancing thralls down, and they had managed to kill a few but there were still too many to deal with. Sherman had set four more traps on the route but either the thralls had managed to avoid them or the charges had not detonated for some reason. Either way, they had more thralls on their tails than they could hope to deal with. Just before she had left she had also seen the lights of a number of vehicles leave the ruined camp though her scope. It wouldn’t be long before the main force made their way here and overwhelmed them.

The rifle on her back was her pride and joy, but it was damned heavy. She found it hard to slip easily through the alleys when she had to watch that it did not catch against the walls and she knew she was losing time. Suddenly she was through and the square opened out before her. The cage looked almost empty and she offered up a prayer of thanks that they were almost ready to go.

As she approached she could hear the hissing of a train but there were no signs of trouble so she continued on towards the cage. She was used to Harris and his changing strategies. A train though, she smiled to herself, Jesus, where did he get that? The train was making a hell of a racket now that she was in the square and she was surprised that she had not heard it sooner. The snow or the town’s buildings must be muting the noise, she thought as she hurried on. She saw Rodgers perk up as he spotted her and she couldn’t help but smile as he waved at her like an eager teenager meeting his date. A warmth flooded through her despite the danger, and she increased her speed as she ran to meet him. It was at that point that she heard the chatter of gunfire to her right and her body exploded in pain.

Angelo saw a figure darting across the square, and he held up his fist to halt his men. There was a strange hissing noise on the other side of the square beyond the buildings but it was so out of place in the otherwise quiet night that it took him a moment to recognize it. Those buggers have a train, he realized with a start. No wonder they blew the camp to pieces. He had to stop that train.

Shadows danced around the figure as those lights that still cast their glow around the square swayed in the rising wind. It was difficult to be sure, but it looked like the figure was female. As the figure darted towards the cage he saw the large rifle slung across her back and he cursed. That’s the bitch that nearly took my head off. He signaled for his men to kneel, brought up his own weapon and took aim. The train could wait a few minutes.

There she is, Rodgers felt his heart skip as he saw Dee burst from the shadows and cross the square toward him. He shot up and waved as he turned back toward the others for a moment.

“Dee’s here!” he shouted and then the sound of gunfire snapped his head back towards her just in time to see her fall to the ground. He screamed and ran toward her, taking only enough care to follow the noise of the gunfire with his eyes as he ran. In the far corner he could see small spits of light from a number of weapons as they continued to fire towards Dee. He couldn’t be sure but he thought there were three of them, and he opened up with his XM8 and sprayed the entire area around the thralls with a deadly hail of bullets. He didn’t care that most of his bullets went wild as he ran. He had to get to Dee.

The spurts of light seemed to stop as he had reached Dee. He dropped his weapon as he fell to his knees and gathered her in his arms.

Angelo threw himself to the ground as bullets flew past. Shit, I didn’t see that other guard. He heard his own soldiers grunt behind him and then they both fell to the ground. One of them simply slumped forward, dead before he hit the ground. The other one rolled around and screamed in pain for a moment before he too stopped moving. Angelo paled and looked over at the bodies. He saw bullet holes stitched along their chests and legs. Painful yes, but nothing that should have killed them that quickly. And Peters had screamed as if he had been torn apart. Angelo felt fear grip him. Bullets shouldn’t kill thralls that easily. Just who are these guys?

He saw the human fall to the ground and bend to hold the female. He watched as the man frantically checked the woman for wounds and then grinned as he pulled her still body towards him.

Wouldn’t want to leave you all alone now, he sneered as he lined up his sights.

Warkowski saw Dee fall as he reached the end of the alley. His first impulse was to run out to her, but the thralls were still firing so he held back and brought his rifle forward from its sling on his back. Suddenly he heard an agonized cry and he saw Rodgers bolt from his position and run toward her. He saw Rodgers fire on the thralls and was surprised to see two of them fall immediately and remain still. He frowned at their quick deaths until he realized that Rodgers must have used his special ammunition. It was worth noting that the thralls too were vulnerable to their special ammunition—very vulnerable, from the evidence. It would be worth mentioning that to the others.

Warkowski brought his rifle up to his shoulder and used its sights to sweep the area more closely. He saw three thralls flat on the ground. Good, he nodded and then lowered his rifle and hurried out toward Rodgers and Dee.

Rodgers ripped at Dee’s jacket and pressed cold-numbed fingers to her throat as his eyes swept her body to judge the damage. She wasn’t breathing, he thought with a hollow feeling, and then he saw her eyelids flutter. He still couldn’t feel a pulse but his hands were so cold that he abandoned the search and gripped her hand instead. He looked into Dee’s eyes and felt a tear drip from his eyes.

“Where are you hit?” he asked as he grinned like an idiot.

“That’ll do your reputation no good at all,” she smiled weakly as she brushed away a tear.

“Shush.” He smiled, feeling relief flood through him.

Just then he heard the metallic click of a magazine being slammed home. He heard a shout to his left and he looked up with a sudden feeling of dread. One of the thralls was still alive and was already preparing to fire.

Warkowski screamed a warning but the thrall was already firing before Rodgers could react. Bullets struck him, rocking his body with each impact, and Warkowski watched as if in slow motion. He heard Dee scream, first in shock and then despair as Rodgers slipped away from her. The thrall stopped firing for a moment, taking the time to lower his angle of fire. Bullets stitched along the ground and then Dee’s body began to convulse as he found the range. Warkowski drew his pistol and screamed his rage as he ran forward, pumping shot after shot into the thrall.

The bullets each hit their target and the thrall collapsed, but Warkowski continued to pump the trigger until the magazine was empty. By the time he reached the thrall all that remained of his head was a wet pulp.

Warkowski forced himself to calm down, and then crossed to where Rodgers and Dee lay. He knew long before he reached them that he was too late. He only took a moment to look at them and tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he saw their hands still firmly clasping each other. And then the square erupted in more gunfire and he ran as fast as he could toward the train.

Chapter 25

Harris saw the thralls spread out into the square, ripping down the barriers that had only hours before held nearly a thousand humans captive. Warkowski was still halfway across and bullets sparked in the night as they slammed into the ground around him. Harris laid down covering fire but there were far too many thralls. He glanced quickly behind him but there were still too many prisoners waiting to be loaded onto the train, and Sandra and the others were far too busy to help.

Harris glanced over the far side of the square and saw the still forms of Dee and Rodgers on the ground. He felt his stomach knot. It was all happening again, he thought and a demobilizing fear began to spread through him. He couldn’t see his friends die, not again. It just wasn’t fair. He continued to fire at the darting shapes of the thralls, but he was reacting to their movements after they had already moved rather than anticipating where they were going. All he was doing was wasting ammunition. He had to get his head straight. They were so fast, nowhere as fast as the vampires, of course, but faster than he could track.

Harris was overwhelmed by the impending defeat, and it slowed his own reactions. He kept darting his attention behind him to check on the train, and then when he looked back to the square the thralls had advanced far further than he would have thought and he lost more precious seconds as he tried to find them again. His mind was flooded with doubt as his past defeat and the death of those he was responsible for threatened to immobilize him.

Just then Warkowski grunted and fell forward to the ground.

“Noooo!” Harris screamed as images of the dead flooded through him. The faces of friends, their features cold and still in death flooded his mind. Images of the world as it used to be fought with those of the hell they lived in now. He looked from the still forms of Dee and Rodgers to the figure of Warkowski, and his mind threatened to shut down. Suddenly he saw a flicker of movement from Warkowski, and then the big man tried to rise.

Harris’ mind suddenly cleared. He could still save Warkowski and Sandra and over a thousand others. He forced down his doubts and concentrated on what he could control. He felt a peace flood through him for the first time in years. He loaded a new clip, noticing that it had red tape around it, denoting that it was one of the specially coated ones. There was no time to change it now. He ran out into the square towards Warkowski, firing as he went.

With his mind now clear he was able to fire more effectively, and he saw a number of the dark shapes fall as the stutter of the XM8 bucked in his hands. He reached Warkowski and bent down to check his wounds. On one level he noted that the thralls that went down tended to stay there, whereas he was used to them rising again quite quickly as their rapid healing kicked in. But he did not have time to dwell on it.

Warkowski had been hit in the side and was bleeding heavily, but he was conscious. Harris grabbed him and pulled him to his feet, ignoring the man’s grunts of pain. Bullets shattered concrete around them as Harris struggled with Warkowski as he made his way back to cover. They were still thirty yards away, but the thralls were gaining with no covering fire to send them diving for cover. Harris felt a bullet tear at his ear and felt warm blood run down his neck and soak his collar. Another bullet slammed into his shoulder and he fell with Warkowski and both men cried out as they hit the ground. The mad chatter of machine guns and bullets striking concrete suddenly stopped as thralls rose to their feet and fanned out as they approached them. Harris groped for his pistol as his XM8 was tangled around his back and Warkowski was too heavy to move to bring it to bear.

He pumped shot after shot at the thralls, but they didn’t do any good. He even saw some of them smile as the bullets hit them. The low caliber bullets were more of an annoyance to them than any real danger. Warkowski had passed out and Harris was helpless as the seven thralls drew closer.

Suddenly the night erupted once again with gunfire, but this time it was the thralls who screamed. Bullets stitched among the remaining soldiers, splitting flesh and sending blood spraying outward. At first the thralls staggered back and grunted as the heavy caliber bullets tore into them. One or two even fell to the ground under the relentless assault of fire, but then they steadied themselves. The fire behind him suddenly stopped as the shooter reloaded and the thralls brought their own weapons to bear and began to fire.

Then the strangest thing happened. The thralls began to drop their weapons and clutch at their wounds in agony. They screamed terribly and tore at their wound, ripping at their own flesh in their frenzy to get the bullets out. Harris looked back and saw Sandra slam another magazine home and then send another hail of fire into the thralls.

As the last one fell Harris finally freed himself from Warkowski’s weight and struggled to his feet.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” she smiled, but her eyes held a deep worry as she saw the amount of blood staining his clothes. He didn’t have the energy for a response and motioned for her to help him with Warkowski. As they finally got him to his feet they heard an explosion only a short distance away. One of Sherman’s traps, he thought with a sinking feeling.

“Come on,” he urged, “there’s more of them on the way.”

Wentworth heard the explosions back toward his own lines and called one of his lieutenants over. He was about to send him to investigate when his scouts returned and announced that Von Kruger’s main force had arrived. He quickly forgot about the humans, there would be plenty of time when he had finished with Von Kruger.

He had deployed his vampires in different tiers, keeping his older and more battle-hardened vampires almost three hundred feet above his main forces. Their orders were to circle above and attack from behind when the main forces were engaged. Wentworth did not have as many older vampires so he had to rely on guile. He also had two other detachments far to the east and the west hidden on the ground and waiting for his signal. The air was filled with the scent of death and blood from the battlefield below. It was so intoxicating that he was constantly at war with himself as he felt himself pulled to abandon his plans and just fly straight at his enemy and rip and tear until only one of them was left. He knew at one level that this way would mean certain defeat and death. But the lure was strong regardless and he had to constantly hold his forces in line as they too threatened to abandon their orders and lose themselves to their base natures.

He strained his eyes into the night and could see the darkness seething ahead of them with countless dark shapes. Von Kruger and his vampires were flying straight at him in one huge mass of power. For a moment he felt fear grip him. There were so many. He knew that Von Kruger had more vampires than he did, but the sheer reality of his forces was shocking. Von Kruger had never been a great tactician, but the bluntness of his assault was worrying. He couldn’t be that confident of victory that he would attack with such an obvious approach. What am I missing?

Von Kruger lost himself in the scent of blood that rose up from the ground below. Even from this distance his senses could pick up the scent in the air, and his mouth grew wet with anticipation. It was intoxicating, and he relished the carnage to come. He had formed a number of plans and strategies before he had left, but now that he was here and could see his enemy swoop and jostle for position ahead of him, he allowed his instinct to take over. He drove forward with a passion and anticipation that he had never felt before. This, he thought, was what vampires were born for. There was a nagging at the back of his mind, something to do with the low numbers of vampires ahead of him, but then the scent of blood grew stronger and he lost himself to the moment

They crashed through the first line of Wentworth’s vampires like a sledgehammer. Von Kruger saw many of his vampires sweep through and past the enemy force as they misjudged their braking in their eagerness to join the attack. He lost sight of them as they continued forward and rode the air currents upward. He lost sight of them as they disappeared into the darkness and then he dismissed about them as he attacked the first vampire he saw.

They outnumbered Wentworth’s forces three to one, so he wasn’t worried. He laughed as he slashed at a vampire and relished the blood that sprayed over his face. Around him chaos ruled. Many of his vampires fought each other just to get at the enemy, and Von Kruger lost himself to the violence. Talons ripped, teeth tore, and cries filled the air. Blood flowed and cascaded down to the earth like rain as the creatures tore into each other.

Wentworth’s vampires hidden on the ground could not wait any longer. They had strained against their natures to remain hidden as they saw Von Kruger’s forces plough into their companions. The cries of pain and the sounds of rending flesh seduced them, calling them to battle. But, through it all, their commander held them in place with force of will and their fear of him. As the first drops of blood rained on them there was nothing that could hold them back and they launched into the night and joined the fray.

Wentworth’s forces high above the mid-air battle watched with growing excitement as the forces collided below them. There were fifty of them riding the air currents, saving their energy for when they would finally be allowed to swoop down. They watched as many of Von Kruger’s inexperienced vampires flew past their mark and traveled some distance beyond as they struggled to slow their momentum and change direction.

The older vampires smiled at the youths’ inability to control their vast powers and nodded knowingly at each other. A mere bite did not create a vampire, that only gave them power. To be a true vampire took centuries. They had been ordered to stay in place for at least ten minutes, but the sight of the seventy or so vampires struggling against the rising winds, out of their depth and helpless in the cross-winds, was too good an opportunity to ignore. Besides, they would be able to deal with these and still get back in time for their original plan. What could go wrong?

Wentworth struggled against the enemy vampire behind him as he swooped and turned in midair to avoid the older vampire’s vicious swipes. His opponent had changed into a hawk-like figure the size of a cow but with all the grace and abilities of a bird of prey and none of the four-legged animal’s clumsiness. Wentworth couldn’t match the creature’s amazing ability to change direction with no regard for the laws of physics.

He felt pain flood through him as the creature’s sharp talons tore his wings, and he realized with a humbling moment of clarity that his opponent was playing with him. He had to get away and signal his own ancient vampires or they would all die.

Below him a sudden flurry of movement distracted him and he felt another sharp pain as his attention was divided. At first, he thought that he had been hurt far worse than he felt because the ground seemed to be rising up to meet him. Was he falling? Then he saw individual flashes of crazed eyes and teeth glinting in the moonlight. They’re early, he thought with relief as two of his onrushing vampires tore into his adversary.

Taken by surprise, the creature tried to change to a form more suited to such attack but the two vampires pressed their attack and scored mortal strikes against it in seconds. A third vampire grabbed it by the throat and ripped savagely at the flesh. Blood poured from the wound and the three vampires lost themselves in the frenzy.

Wentworth swooped through his forces, almost skimming the ground itself, and then he surged upwards to his forces above. He needed their morphing abilities now much more than he did his younger forces if he was to win the day.

Von Kruger had no interest in the larger battle. All his focus was on the area immediately surrounding him, and he lashed out and tore flesh and broke bone, oblivious to the identity of his victims. He had changed into a compact, armored shape that was slow and difficult to turn easily. However, in such a crush of bodies, this disadvantage was easily outweighed by the longer reach of his four appendages that all ended in wickedly sharp razors.

He was covered in blood, and he plunged his fangs repeatedly into anything that came close to him. Vampire blood was intoxicating, far more so than human blood. Why had no one told him of the joys of such feeding? He lashed out again at a passing vampire and tore into its soft throat before the startled creature knew what was happening. Already his belly sloshed dangerously as Von Kruger gorged. It was taking more and more energy just to stay in the air but he ignored the tiredness of his wings as he dropped the dead vampire and reached for another one.

Where are they? Wentworth felt panic grip his cold heart as he flew up into the thin air and still could not find his forces. Had they run? He crushed the thought down. There was no way any vampire would run from such carnage. But he had not passed them on his way up so they had definitely not joined the fighting below.

If they were gone, he was finished. He stopped pumping his wings as he sought a weak air current and let himself drift as he gathered his thoughts. His keen eyesight could still see the battle below. The vampires moved with incredible speed, swooping and diving and ripping at each other, but it was obvious that his forces were being pressed back. Everything moved in a blur, but his vampire senses were able to see all the action and process what he was seeing so that he could make sense of the blistering speeds. Bodies fell to the ground like meteors, and most of them lay still. The ground was already littered with bodies, and the precious blood oozed into the earth, lost for eternity. Never before had so many vampires died, and never at the hands of other vampires. This was a truly black day. What had driven them to this? He wondered idly if there was any way back.

The re-enforcements from his hidden forces on the ground had staggered Von Kruger’s forces for a while, but they had soon rallied. Now was the time to strike with his other forces and catch them from above. If he had been able to strike from above while Von Kruger was still focused on the current forces then he could have yet won the day. But the moment was almost gone for the greatest effect.

An errant current buffeted him and swept him away from the fighting. He was about to angle his wings down and fight the current back towards the battle when he heard distant screams on the air. He straightened his wings and allowed the wind to carry him towards the sound, and he saw a flurry of movement below him. Dark shapes, silhouetted against the low moon, darted and plunged around each other, and he sighed in relief as he recognized his own forces.

They were winning easily, though they were fewer in number. They had obviously surprised the other vampires as his forces still maintained the advantage of height. They also rode the wind currents far more effectively, and with superior grace. Already the enemy forces were dropping to the ground in vast numbers, and those that remained had been broken and were trying to retreat from the older vampires’ relentless attacks.

Wentworth angled down towards the fighting. This battle was already won but he could yet lose the war if he did not gather his vampires and rejoin the main battle.

Steele felt pain shoot through him. It began in his back where he had been shot but quickly flooded through him like fire through his veins. His body arched involuntarily, and then he lost all feeling in his legs. His arms grew numb a second later but the engine continued to drive power into the wheels as his hand froze on the throttle. Pain wracked his entire being, but he could not control any part of his body. His mind was strangely clear and he had an age to watch helplessly as the bike continued to power down the road out of control.

For a second he thought that he might actually continue on, but then his body slumped forward without anything to hold it up and the shift of weight caused the bike to overbalance. He felt himself flip over the handlebars, and then he hit the ground hard. There was a moment when the pain intensified and then darkness flooded over him.

“Shouldn’t we go back and see if we can help?” Carlos Ortega asked Sherman as they saw another flare of light from the town behind them.

Dave Sherman shook his head with a deep sadness. “You know we can’t, Carlos. There are over twenty people in the back of this truck relying on us.” And I wouldn’t go back if you fucking paid me, he thought. Jesus, I’m surrounded by fucking kamikaze heroes. Is it something in the water?

They had left the town with their load of captives five minutes ago and Sherman had driven like a maniac in case Ortega had expressed any thoughts of going back when they were still close enough to do so. Sherman had expected them all to be dead by now and was surprised that they were still fighting back.

“Pull over!” Ortega suddenly shouted as he heard another explosion in the distance.

“Listen,” Sherman was fast losing his patience.

“No, you listen,” Ortega interrupted. “It doesn’t take two of us to do this. You can do it alone and I’ll go back and see if I can help.”

Sherman had insisted Ortega accompany him so no one would think he had bugged out on the others, but it would be worse if the bastard kept telling everyone that he had wanted to go back and Sherman wouldn’t allow him.

“Alright,” he sighed and pulled the truck over.

He was about to remind Ortega to keep the train tracks in view, but when he turned toward him the man he had already moved to the back of the truck where he struggled to pull a small single-load bazooka from the back of the truck.

“Bloody stupid bastard,” he muttered as he watched Ortega struggle with his burden as he headed back towards the town. Sherman spat out the window and drove on.

Chapter 26

Wentworth brought his wings in behind him and allowed his body to cut through the air like an arrow. At this speed he could not turn his head to check on the others but he knew they were there regardless. The sky roiled below him as dark figures swooped and turned and fought. There were so many and they moved with such speed that the light of the moon was too weak for him to make out the figures in any great detail. The snow had started to blizzard about twenty minutes ago and already the countless dead on the ground below were peppered with a light covering of white. The white reflected the pale moonlight as a backdrop and ruined his night vision so they would not be able to choose their targets with much accuracy.

It was a safe assumption though that the larger and misshapen figures were the older vampires of Von Kruger, so he directed his attack towards them. As they drew nearer he could see his vampires begin to overtake him as they shifted their forms to those more suited to the conditions and better able to cut through the rising winds. Wentworth watched them ease ahead and wished fervently that he could make such changes. No matter how often he had tried though, his dead flesh refused to change. He had assumed at first that it was purely a lack of imagination on his part—surely if he could change into a winged creature easily it would be an easy matter to adapt this change and amend certain elements—but nothing had worked for him.

He watched, frustrated, as his forces tore into the vampires below. The surprise of their attack seemed to have a huge effect, and a number of Von Kruger’s vampires were already falling motionless to the white carpet of dead below. He grinned as he watched their corpses disrupt the white tapestry below but the snow was already beginning to cover them with the relentless single-mindedness of a spider spinning a web. The scent of blood surged up towards him as he plummeted towards the fighting, and finally he was among them. He lashed out at the first figure in range and reveled in the power he felt as his victim’s blood sprayed into the wind. He pressed his attack and sank his teeth into the creature’s throat.

Warm blood spurted into his mouth and he felt something surge through him like hot lava through his veins. He had never tasted the blood of another vampire, and the sudden feeling took him by surprise. It was glorious. A talon struck him from behind and he grunted with pain and felt the skin begin to knit almost immediately. He had had many wounds as he had fought his way to the top, but never had they healed so quickly. Power flooded through him and as he stretched for the vampire who had struck him and he felt his arms extending as they reached for the figure. Bones cracked and flesh tore and healed in one motion.

The other creature slashed at him again but a hard shell had already formed across his shoulders, and the creature’s talon was deflected. Wentworth laughed as he felt the pain of transformation. His body changed, molded without conscious thought, and he relished the fear he saw in his attacker’s eyes as he reached for him. He tore his enemy’s limbs from his body with an ease he had never known before. His mind receded as he let his base nature take over, and he exalted in the carnage around him.

Consciousness seemed to tease Steele. The darkness was warm and held the pain at bay, the light promised pain beyond imagining, but still he reached for it only the have it dissipate in his grasp.

He opened his eyes but saw only blackness. Am I dead or blind? His mind felt strangely detached and the lack of pain made him assume that he was dead. Should I still be able to think rationally if I’m dead? Then again, how can I be sure that I’m rational? He tried to move but he couldn’t feel anything. He tried to close his eyes and open them again, but again all he could see was black. Except that there seemed to be a faint blurring to his left.

He tried to concentrate on the faint light, and suddenly his eye opened with a gooey pop, leaving faint trails of some coagulated fluid at either end. Well looks like I’m alive, then, he thought, and then he began to wonder. There was a strange grey surface that seemed to stretch out from his body in an unbroken line past his vision. Was he dead after all on some strange otherworldly plain of existence, destined to remain where the wounds inflicted from his life hampered him? He closed his left eye again and saw only blackness. Was he blind in his right eye? He opened his left eye again and tried to make sense of where he was. The angle seemed to be askew and it took a moment for his brain to make sense of his surroundings. Then it came to him. He was on the road, face down with one eye in line with the road’s surface and the other buried in the asphalt.

Great, he thought with a sinking feeling. I’m alive. Alive and paralyzed in the middle of nowhere. At least there’s no pain.

Just then, as if a cruel God had heard him and was angered by his oversight, pain began to creep through him slowly but relentlessly. His mind began to cloud as the pain became unbearable and he felt consciousness begin to slip away. He relished the oblivion and welcomed the dark again, but suddenly he felt movement in his body and he struggled against the descending darkness. The pain was cruel and terrible but it brought with it something else, something worth fighting for. He used everything he had to keep his grip on consciousness.

Nausea flooded through him and his body retched, bringing a burning fluid up his throat and spewing it out across the road. The smell assaulted his nose as droplets made their way into his nostrils. He retched again but there was nothing left in his stomach, and he dry-heaved until his body shivered with the effort. He ignored it all as he concentrated on his hand. It lay just in front of him on the road, but he had seen one of the fingers move and now he tried to force it to move again. Nausea and pain flooded his body but he cried with joy as first one finger and then another moved. He felt a tear slide down his face, and then he blacked out.

Falconi’s whole world was falling apart. Vampires were killing other vampires, and thralls were no longer safe from their masters. The weather was growing worse by the minute and his face felt as if it had already frozen. They had already lost one of their trucks to a hidden bomb on their way to the square, and Falconi had felt very mortal as he realized that his own vehicle had passed too damn close to the same device. He was about to wonder if things could possibly get any worse when Angelo’s man reached him and breathlessly informed him that the human prisoners were gone. He had thought the thrall mad and had ordered his driver to hurry to the square where he could see the empty cage for himself.

It had taken a few moments for him to believe his own eyes even when he saw it. Slowly, his mind began to cloud with a numbing fear driven by one prevailing thought: If the humans were gone then the vampires would turn on the thralls for food in their current maddened state. He stood in the jeep as his hands grew numb with the cold, and only snapped out of it when his driver tugged at his arm. He looked at the thrall stupidly for a moment, and then a thought slowly began to register on his shocked mind. Whoever had taken the humans would never be able to transport that many easily. Not only were a thousand prisoners difficult to move anywhere, but also the damned weather would slow them down terribly. His forces should be able to catch them if they hurried. He had a hundred thralls with him, and seven vehicles, so he should be able to cover all roads capable of carrying that many vehicles. He could still catch them and save his skin if he acted quickly.

His driver was still tugging at his sleeve, and he turned viciously on the thrall until he saw that the soldier was directing his attention toward the far side of the square. He reluctantly looked in the indicated direction and saw nothing but the swirling snow. He was about to strike the driver when he saw a dirty grey plume surge into the sky behind the buildings. What the hell is…? His heart suddenly dropped as he made the connection. A train! Shit, they’ve taken the train. His mind worked furiously as he ordered all the vehicles forward. A train would not be slowed by the weather and, once it got up to speed, would easily out-distance his vehicles.

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 his 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 outward 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.

“Okay.” She handed over her own weapon. “But let me do it.” Harris nodded and moved back to the edge and checked Fleming’s weapon. A clip and a half, he thought. The engine suddenly began to slow without the fire being stoked but he dared not add any fuel with the pressure so high. They needed power not more fuel. Come on, Sandra, he urged silently.

Carlos Ortega saw the train in the distance coming out of the darkness like a demon through a white veil, screaming its defiance and spitting fury. He heart leapt with joy at first as he saw them moving, but then he noticed the high scream of the engine. That can’t be right, he thought as the whistle grew painfully high. He stood for a moment and watched the engine’s single light grow brighter as it burned through the night, but then he became aware of another sound. At first it sounded like a buzzing but he was at a loss to make it out as the wind screamed around him.

He saw two smaller lights in the distance, and then another two close beside them, and he frowned. The chatter of gunfire finally reached him and he realized that that there were vehicles chasing the train. He sank to his knees and pulled the heavy bazooka up onto his shoulder. He took his time as the vehicles were still out of range and he only had one shot. He had to make it count.

Wentworth struggled with the heavy explosives but forced his wings to beat faster. Wind whipped at him and snow froze his face and struck his eyes like sand. He had found the explosives among the dead but the pack was very large. He had no idea how to use explosives and was afraid that if he removed some of the contents to make it lighter that the remaining ordinance might not ignite. There were a number of wires sticking from the package but nothing that resembled a fuse that he could light. He doubted he could get it lit anyway in this wind.

There was a small metal box connected to one of the wires that looked like a detonation device, but when he pulled at it the package threatened to unravel, so he had taken everything. He would get close to Von Kruger, push the button, and get away before it exploded, if there was enough time. If not, then he would take the pain that the explosion would cause—there were plenty of humans back in the town to help him heal.

The battle still raged above him and the figure of Von Kruger was easily recognizable by its sheer savagery. Wentworth could see the other vampires continuing their own fighting but remaining as far from the demented figure as they could. He pulled harder against the wind and pulled himself up above the fighting. He was shocked to see that there were even fewer figures fighting now, and he unsnapped the explosives from his neck as he let his arms fall inwards and allowed his body to drop towards the raging figure of Von Kruger. His nemesis sensed him moments before he managed to secure the package around his neck so the strap fell free and the explosives slipped down Von Kruger’s body.

Wentworth had hoped that the explosion would remove his enemy’s head, but if he delayed any longer the package would be too low to do any real damage. He was almost level with Von Kruger’s eyes when he pressed the button, and he had one fleeting moment of satisfaction as he saw fear creep into Von Kruger’s eyes. And then his own arm disintegrated in the blast and he screamed all the way to the ground.

Von Kruger snapped out of his dementia as the pain brought him to his senses. He had seen Wentworth plummet past him but had not really registered the fact before something tore at his stomach and legs. The pain was intense, worse than anything he had ever felt before, and he felt himself fall as the strength drained from him in a flood. He tried to bring his wings up, but he had no energy. When he looked down he could see that his stomach was torn open and his organs were seeping through the open wounds. His armor had deflected the worst of the blast but the weight of that same armor was now dragging him down. He gave in to the inevitable and let himself fall, using one arm to try and slow his descent while the other gripped his wound in a vain attempt to hold his organs in while his body tried to heal.

He hit the ground heavily but the sheer number of dead cushioned his fall, and he lay there as he waited for Wentworth’s inevitable follow through. Now that his mind was clearer he looked up and noticed how few vampires flew above him and he despaired. It had all been for nothing, after all. What madness had taken them all? He lay wondering as his body began to heal, but there was so much damage he needed a huge infusion of blood or he would die. It was ironic that the very healing ability that strove to repair the damage and save him would kill him by exhausting all his remaining reserves. He saw another body fall from the sky and he braced himself as the vampire slammed into him and broke his arm and collarbone.

He was already so beyond pain that he merely laughed as he saw the blood seeping from the dying vampire’s wounds. He rejoiced as he sank his teeth into the creature and savored the fire that spread through him as he sucked the creature dry. His body took the sustenance and began to knit bone and stitch flesh back together. The agony was glorious.

Wentworth struggled to rise. He had to find out what had happened with Von Kruger. Was he dead? The explosion had torn his own arm from his body at the elbow and the flesh was shredded up to his shoulder and over most of his chest. The pain was incredible but he felt a certain satisfaction that he had brought down the mighty Von Kruger with his mind rather than brute strength.

He had to make sure it was over, though. He tried to rise but his body was shutting down as it used every ounce of his reserves to heal the damage done to him. He saw another vampire fall to the ground just a short distance away, and then he shivered as he heard a cry of triumph.

He felt fear grip him and he just knew that his gambit had failed. Somehow Von Kruger had survived and was already healing far more rapidly than he was. He forced his nausea away and struggled up with his remaining good arm. He looked out over the carnage and saw nothing but dark shapes fringed with white like a mad artist’s depiction of Christmas in Hell.

He forced himself to his feet and ignored the pain as his knees buckled. There was no way he was going to die on his knees.

“Where are you, Von Kruger?” he shouted and felt his head swim with the effort.

“It nearly worked, I’ll give you that,” Von Kruger replied as he stood up suddenly a few feet away. For a moment all Wentworth could see were the whites of his eyes, but then the clouds passed over the moon and silvery light illuminated the blood-splattered countenance of his nemesis. Von Kruger had lost the madness that had plagued him earlier, and the master looked every bit the invincible monster he was reputed to be. He rose swiftly to his full height and crossed the short distance between them and laid a hand on Wentworth’s shoulder in an almost fatherly way.

“Something is happening to us, my friend.” Wentworth was surprised a Von Kruger’s calm words and merely nodded. “The blood lust has never been so strong for our race. Something has enhanced it and we must overcome it or we will all die.”

For a moment Wentworth thought that there might be a chance of reconciliation, but then Von Kruger smiled and looked deep into his eyes. Suddenly his body convulsed as Von Kruger’s hand plunged into his chest and ripped his heart out in one fluid motion.

“Of course, we will have to find out what it is without you.” Von Kruger lifted Wentworth’s heart up to his enemy and then plunged his teeth into the soft flesh. Wentworth died with that vision imprinted on his eyes and carried it with him to hell.

Harris pressed himself against the coal in a vain attempt to merge with the rocks and avoid the bullets slamming into the carriage around him. The jeep was level with them and the heavy bullets were destroying the controls. Tanner lay slumped against the door of the furnace, and his sizzling flesh was overpowering even in the open compartment. Tanner was either dead or would wish he was when and if he woke. Blood oozed from a wound in his chest where the Browning had shattered his breastbone and it left them completely unprotected on that side.

Sandra had managed to wake Flemming, but he was in shock and still hadn’t released the pressure in the engine. The trucks had caught them easily as they had lost speed and, while they were still traveling at a fair speed, it wasn’t enough to outdistance the other vehicles.

He dove around the small cover he did have and sent two three-round bursts at an armored truck that had closed right against the train. His first burst caught a thrall just as he was about to grab hold of the first carriage behind him and pull himself aboard. The bullets slammed into him and caused him to miss his intended mark, and the thrall fell between the train and the truck and disappeared under the wheels.

His second burst bounced harmlessly off the armor around the truck’s front panels, but the sparks caused the driver to slam on the brakes and they fell behind quite some distance before the thrall managed to recover and regain his speed.

He had no idea how Mitchell was doing but he hoped he had taken care of the thralls at the back of the train or they could expect visitors any minute. Flemming shook his head and leaned on Sandra as she lifted him up to the controls. Bullets clanged around them and Harris flew over to the other side of the train, taking a moment to pull Tanner away from the hot metal and lay him on the floor, before sending a burst at the jeep with the Browning. He could see an officer in the passenger seat, and the bastard was smiling as the jeep bounced across a grass verge and closed to within a few feet of the engine compartment.

Harris pulled the trigger again but the gun clicked empty. He scrambled to reload. He saw the Browning line up and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was over. There was no way they could miss. He clenched his muscles as if by doing so he might deflect the bullets.

Falconi braced himself as the jeep bounced over the uneven surface but his blood sang in his veins. I have them, he gloated as he struggled to keep his weapon level. He could see the sparks of the Browning’s heavy ammunition as it struck the metal of the carriage, and he laughed into the wind. There were only four figures in the engine compartment, and two of them were already out of the fight. This was going to be easier than he had thought.

He motioned for the driver to pull closer, and when nothing happened he looked down angrily at the driver. The driver was staring in front of him, ignoring Falconi’s shouted abuse. Falconi felt a strange sensation grip him. On impulse he turned his head to look out in front of the jeep and his blood turned to ice. He had only a moment to prepare a scream but the sound never made it from his lips.

The jeep suddenly disappeared in a fireball, and the ruined remains tumbled end over end, actually pulling ahead of the train for a moment and then hitting a power pylon and stopping dead.

Harris had no idea what had happened, but he wasn’t about to question it. He finished reloading and checked where the other thralls were. Two trucks still followed on this side but both had dropped back to avoid the flaming remains of the jeep. He switched sides and sent a burst at the truck that he had hit earlier, but the driver was ready this time and only swerved a little when the bullets sparked around him.

He looked back at Flemming and Sandra. Sandra was bent over Tanner, and Flemming was pulling and cursing at levers and turning dials as he tried to repair the worst of the damage and coax more speed. Harris left the two of them alone and felt the train pick up speed again. He looked over the fuel compartment but could see nothing but swirling snow and grey smoke. Where was Mitchell?

At that moment Scott Mitchell was easing his way along the roof of the train. The wind bit and snapped at him, freezing his fingers and face as he tried to maintain a grip on the carriage. The force of the wind made it impossible to rise above a crouch, and he found it hard to breathe as smoke from the engine poured back around him and filled his lungs. He couldn’t see anything except for grey smoke and white flecks of snow, and he questioned again why he had decided to do this.

When he had seen the thralls jump onto the back of the train he had acted automatically. The train had still been negotiating the town’s outer limits and the trail of carriages had not straightened out so his vision had been unimpaired. But then the train had hit a straight run and all the smoke and crap from the funnel flew directly back along its length. He would have been better off letting the thralls come to him and let them suffer the choking smog. He passed the gap between the first and second carriages and decided to drop down for some clean air. As soon as he dropped level with the carriage roof the pounding noise and fury of the wind stopped and it was as if he had closed a door. The sound of the wheels clicking on the tracks still assaulted his ears but the mad whistling of the wind was gone. The air still reeked of smoke but there was fresh air too and he gulped gratefully and coughed as the clean air hit his lungs and they tried to expel the grunge.

He looked up and noted that he had quite a good view a few feet in each direction despite the swirling snow. The ground whipped past below him in a blur as the train began to pick up speed. The carriages shook as the wheels trundled over the tracks, but he decided to stay where he was and wait on the thrall invaders to come to him.

It seemed like an age before he saw the head of the first thrall appear above him. He moved slowly and carefully, bent forward to cut through the wind and with his eyes squinted tightly, almost closed, in an effort to keep the smoke and snow from blinding him. Mitchell pressed back against the far carriage as the thrall jumped over the gap and continued on.

Mitchell allowed his XM8 to drop around his back by its sling and then pulled himself up the small ladder onto the roof. Smoke and wind and snow immediately sought him out and his eyes watered terribly under the assault reducing his vision to vague, indistinct shapes. However, there was only one thrall and his shape was easily identifiable against the grey background of the smoke and snow. Mitchell stayed on the ladder and kept low to avoid the worst of the smoke and brought his weapon to bear. The thrall never heard him and arched upwards as the first bullets hit him in the back. Mitchell felt no pity or embarrassment about shooting the creature in the back—the bastards had killed his entire family and he whooped in joy as the thrall slipped and fell from the carriage, disappearing with an almost girlish scream as he dropped into the gloom beneath the train.

Mitchell pulled himself up onto the roof and was about to make his way back along the carriages when he heard a harsh chuckle behind him despite the roar of the wind. He turned and started as a second thrall raised something and slashed outwards towards him. Mitchell had just enough time to see a glint of steel, and then his hands were clutching his throat as he fell to his knees. He was still alive when the thrall kicked him to the side and he felt himself slide off the roof. He lashed out with everything he had left and grabbed at the thrall’s leg. His hand was slippery with his own blood and his weight was already pulling him off the roof, but his grip was that of a desperate man. The thrall kicked at him but the added weight had pulled him off the centre of the roof where the wood had less support. It was old and it gave way with a sharp crack.

Mitchell felt himself fall but held onto his victim, and both figures were caught by the wind and sucked down towards the wheels. There was a brief, agonizing pain and then both figures disappeared under the relentless passage of the train.

Chapter 28

Steele was almost frozen by the time he felt the vampires begin to lose altitude and glide down to the small town below. He had no idea how long he had been in the air but it had felt like a lifetime. The vampires flew so high that the air was like ice and his breathing was painful and labored. His hands were numb, and he had long ago lost feeling in his face. His eyes were frozen into mere slits but he could still see enough to identify the lights and buildings of Von Richelieu’s stronghold.

Von Richelieu liked the heat and had set up his base along the West Coast, taking territories that were well supplied with nuclear power and humans. He had ample access to everything he and his thralls needed to survive for centuries in perfect comfort. In fact, the only downside would be if there was a major earthquake. Even that, though, would not be enough to set him back for long as he could merely move further inland and start again.

The town was large enough to house Von Richelieu’s personal guard, thirty ancient vampires that were religiously loyal to him, seeing him more as a God than a fellow vampire. Von Richelieu’s town lit up the night’s sky for many miles in every direction as his over-abundance of power was flaunted in the faces of those less fortunate vampires surrounding his territory. Steele could see the pens filled with humans as they drew closer. There were thousands of them held in huge cages, far more than Von Richelieu could possibly ever need. The humans slept in the open and small fires dotted the entire expanse of their camp, throwing weak light over the cruel reality of their existence. Steele could see the smaller bodies of children huddled near the fires, naked and skeletal in their cruel treatment. He felt his heart beat with hatred as the reality he had ignored for two years finally tore down the last of the walls he had erected after his sister’s death.

Steele’s skin began to tingle as the warmer air washed over him and, by the time he landed and fell to the ground, his body pulsed painfully as his blood began to sear through him. Much of it was the pain of the blood pumping through parts of his body that had been almost frozen, but his hatred for the vampires, and his own shame, burned painfully within him as he struggled to rise.

“Stay here,” the vampire who had carried him ordered and then strode off to make his report. Steele threw his rucksack over his shoulder and followed the vampire without a word. A thrall stepped in front of him, chest puffed up with his own self-importance, but Steele glared at the soldier. For a moment the thrall held his gaze. But then he seemed to lose some of his height as he saw something in Steele’s eyes that made him reconsider. The thrall dropped his eyes and Steele pushed past him and followed the vampire.

The vampire crossed a surprisingly well-kept square, and the normality of the scene struck Steele like a blow. With the soft streetlights and the clean paths, the square was almost like it would have been before the vampires had come, and even before the energy crisis. Steele was struck with thoughts of happier times, and he slowed as he took in his surroundings. Von Richelieu must have moved his base of operations, as Steele had never seen this small piece of heaven before. He found his thoughts returning to the squalor that the thousands of humans lived in mere feet away and he forced himself on.

The building that Von Richelieu had made into his head quarters was an old court building, and a tattered flag still hung limply by the door. The material was faded and torn, but its presence alone was enough to bolster Steele’s resolve. If he had the chance he would drive the flag through Von Richelieu’s heart and fuck the consequences.

The vampire crossed to a desk and began to talk in low tones. The room had been cleared of all furniture and it echoed hollowly as he entered. There was evidence of wooden paneling along the floor that had been torn out, and the walls had patches of brighter paint where pictures and wall-mounted cabinets had been removed. He shivered, more from the cold that emanated from the bare room than any physical coldness.

The vampire was still talking to a thrall at the only desk in the large room, so Steele strode over to two large wooden doors at the far end of the room. The thrall suddenly jumped up and crossed toward him at an incredible speed, but it was not fast enough. Steele had opened the doors and was already stepping into the room by the time the harried soldier had reached him.

“It’s all right,” a voice rumbled from the darkness within and Steele felt fear grip him despite his burning hatred. “Let him enter.”

The thrall nodded and Steele could see the sweat on the soldiers face. He sighed as he stepped through and felt the darkness wrap around him as if it was alive.

“So you have finally returned.” The disembodied voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Steele stood in the darkness as the door behind him closed. He tried to make out some shape or figure but the darkness was absolute and he felt his fear grow. Had he actually thought that he could hope to stand against such evil alone? He felt his legs drain of strength, and he had to grope out in the darkness for something to hold onto, something to assure him that there was actually something real around him. His desperately groping fingers failed to find anything of substance.

“You are nervous, Steele,” the voice chuckled. “Why is that? You are not normally so timid.”

Steele heard a swish of material to his left but he forced himself not to turn. Von Richelieu was playing with him and he had to compose himself if he was to have any hope of delivering his message.

“I’m not usually left in the dark,” Steele managed, though his voice cracked.

“Ah, humor.” Von Richelieu seemed to speak quietly into his ear, but when he reached out there was nothing but the cold of the dark. “That’s more like it. It has been some time since you reported in; I was beginning to get worried.”

Steele heard the tone in Von Richelieu’s voice, and he felt his body grow cold. He had heard that tone before, usually before he gutted the bearer of news he did not like.

“I had to be sure before I came back,”

“Sure of what, exactly?” Von Richelieu asked and Steele tried to imagine the vampire’s face in front of him. He had to give himself something to focus on or his imagination would continue to embellish what he could not see. And that way only led to paralysis.

“There is a community of humans living free in Nero’s territory.”

Steele smiled to himself as he imagined the shock on the vampire’s face, and he used this to gather himself.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Von Richelieu snorted contemptuously.

Steele paled. How could he know?

“You don’t seriously think that you are my only spy, do you?” Von Richelieu continued. “And my other source is far better at keeping in touch that you have been.”

Shit. Steele felt the strength ooze from his body as Von Richelieu’s words struck him. We have a traitor. But who could be…?

“Now I hope you have something worth reporting, or I will have to rely purely on my other source. And I must say that they had some very interesting things to say about your involvement in raids into my fellow council members’ territories.”

He knows everything. Steele felt as if the darkness was pressing in on him, and he felt sweat break out on his skin. There was a faint, disturbing odor on the air, like dead flowers or mould on bread, and he shivered.

“Then you know about the serum and its effects?” Steele’s mind raced as he tried to find an angle, something to allow him to determine where Von Richelieu was and get him close enough.

“I am well aware of what your chemist says and his theories about its effects, though I am not entirely convinced.”

“Then you will die with a maddening thirst as your very mind rots until you are merely a slobbering idiot.”

“I didn’t say that I was not taking precautions,” Von Richelieu chuckled. “I have a small experiment running outside that should prove the theory quite satisfactorily.”

“It will be too late if you wait for such an experiment to run its course. Millions will die.”

“So? I have ample resources here to last and plenty for breeding if the theory proves accurate.”

“But what about the effect on you and your vampires?”

The silence that greeted this question spoke volumes to Steele.

“Ah, it seems your spy neglected to tell you everything.” It was Steele’s turn to chuckle and he felt the darkness become less oppressive as his words finally had an impact.

There was a swelling of the odor he had smelled before and the room suddenly became colder and Steele knew that Von Richelieu was close.

“What is this about an effect on vampires?”

“The taint of the serum is changing you,” Steele answered as tried to coax the vampire closer. “As it kills the humans it is also killing you.

It will drive you mad first though. Why do you think Wentworth and Von Kruger are tearing each other apart right now?”

The silence descended again.

“You didn’t know.” Steele laughed out loud and then felt the vampire grip his neck.

“By now there should be a few hundred dead vampires by the way things were going when I left,” Steele forced the words out as he tried to distract the vampire.

“It is no matter,” Von Richelieu managed at last and released Steele but leaned in close as he laughed.

“We will simply switch to the non-tainted blood, and we should wash its effects out soon enough. In fact,” Von Richelieu added, “it might work well to my advantage. I am sick of the petty squabbling in the council. It might just be time for a bit of spring-cleaning.

Steele paled. Their gambit wasn’t going to work. Von Richelieu wasn’t going to tell the other vampires about the serum. He was going to let the humans die and their masters with them. He couldn’t allow it.

His mission had failed, but there was one thing he could still accomplish. If he could remove Von Richelieu then maybe Harris and the others could still accomplish something. He reached down to his side and searched by touch in his rucksack. He felt the cylindrical grenade and forced the pin from its holding as he drew it out.

Even this bastard can’t survive a phosphorous grenade at this distance. He grabbed hold of the darkness in front of him where he was certain Von Richelieu stood and grinned as he felt his hand brush the vampire’s neck. He brought the grenade up but then his body spasmed and he suddenly lost all feeling in his arm. His hands gripped the grenade tightly as he fell to the ground.

Not now, God, not now! He screamed in his mind and cursed whatever fates had conspired against him. He had been so close. The bullet in his back had rubbed against the nerve and now he could feel nothing. He forced every ounce of will he could muster to open his fingers and release the blazing light that would destroy Von Richelieu, but his fingers remained tightly gripped around the weapon, holding the pin in place.

He heard a rustling around him and then a soft whisper in his ear: “I will make you that which you most despise and send you back to your friends.”

Steele prayed for some feeling to return, anything to allow him to kill himself, but nothing came. Then Von Richelieu tore into his throat and the darkness washed over him.

Chapter 29

Carlos Ortega whooped as the jeep blew. He let the bazooka drop to the ground and jumped to his feet and raced towards the approaching train. Snow stung his eyes and blurred his vision, making the train appear like a huge Cyclops bearing down on him. Was it gaining speed? It was hard to be certain but he ran on regardless.

There were still trucks following the train but the road was beginning to continue away from the tracks and the trucks were struggling to keep up as they bounced across the fields that now predominated on either side.

As Ortega reached the tracks he began to doubt whether he would be able to hitch a ride after all. It seemed to be going so fast. He started to run away from the train so that he would be traveling as fast as he could by the time the train drew level. Hopefully he would be able to grab on and pull himself aboard as it passed. The explosives in the satchel he had pulled from Sherman’s truck bounced against his side, but he didn’t have the time to stop and remove them now so he tried to ignore them as they swung from side to side and crashed painfully against his body.

He pushed himself on, ignoring the snow, the cold and the bullets that thumped into the ground around him. If he missed the train then the thralls would take out their anger on him, so he really had to catch it.

He heard the rumble of the train growing closer and the ground began to vibrate beneath him but he dared not turn to look. He forced himself on. Suddenly the train thundered past him, startling him despite his anticipation. The engine compartment flew past him and he saw a brief flash of Harris’s face, and then it was gone and the carriages clattered past one by one so fast that he despaired.

More bullets smacked into the ground around him and he threw himself to his right and upwards, grasping outward in the hope of catching hold of a carriage. For a moment he felt himself fly and then his hand closed on air and he began to fall. His hand brushed metal and he grabbed at it desperately. His arm was wrenched, almost tearing from its socket. Pain flooded through him but he ignored it and held tightly to the metal spar. His legs dragged painfully against the ground and then he managed to pull himself up and throw his leg up onto a small ledge.

The brief respite was enough for him to bring his other hand up, and soon he was able to pull himself around to the coupling and he sat, exhausted, as the train continued to pick up speed. He had barely made it but he was here. He looked around to get his bearings and saw that he was between the last two carriages and he whooped again in joy and relief.

He had made it.

Von Kruger swept up into the air and shouted out a command for the fighting to stop. His voice was heard even over the howling wind, and the vampires that were left stopped their fighting and turned toward him. Von Kruger looked around. So few.

“We must put aside our differences!” he shouted and no one argued as they all gratefully pulled away from each other. “There has been far too much death already. Wentworth is dead and you now belong to me.”

Vampires had long had a tradition of the strongest ruling all others. If one Master Vampire was defeated by another, then all lands and resources automatically passed to the victor unless there was to be a challenge. Judging by their disheveled appearance and quiet acceptance there would be no challenge to his rule.

“You are brothers now,” Von Kruger continued. “You must all feed and recover before the dawn comes or many of you will not last the night.

“Master,” one of the vampires called and Von Kruger prepared himself for a challenge after all. “Master Wentworth had ordered many of his human flock brought to a large cage in the town beside us. They number nearly a thousand.”

Von Kruger smiled and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Then let us take our fill and find shelter before the dawn. Tomorrow we rebuild our territory.”

The vampires needed no more encouragement and the sky turned darker as the shapes spread their wings and flew towards the town.

“Where are they?” Von Kruger grabbed the vampire who had told them of the hoard of humans by the throat, and looked around him, searching for a trap.

“They were here, Master,” the vampire struggled to reply. “I saw them myself.”

Von Kruger scanned the square and saw the bodies of thralls and humans, armed humans, in the square below him. He hovered in place, taking everything in. There were mutterings around him but he silenced them with a glare. He let his senses flow from him and concentrated.

He heard the chatter of gunfire in the distance, and then the heavy thump of an explosion. He looked towards the sound and saw a fireball a few miles away. There! He thought. Whatever had happened to his humans he would find his answers in that direction.

He stretched his wings out and powered forward. The other vampires fell in behind their new master without a word.

Harris sank to the floor of the engine compartment in relief. The last of the trucks were dropping quickly behind them and Flemming seemed to be getting the engine back under control. Though, judging by his curses and occasional violent clatter with a hammer, the engine was still voicing its displeasure in the way it was being treated.

They had made it, he sighed and looked over at Sandra as she worked on Tanner. She looked up briefly as if sensing she was being observed, and she shook her head slightly as she pressed a damp rag against Tanner’s brow. He wasn’t going to make it, Harris thought. Along with far too many others. Too many had died under his orders. And somehow he continued to survive. Yes, they had saved nearly a thousand people, and every one of those who had died had made their own decisions, but did he really have the right to keep asking the impossible? It had been his decision to come here against the advice of everybody else. The guilt was crushing; so too was his exhaustion, so that might exaggerate his maudlin mood.

He automatically checked his XM8 and noted the half-full magazine. He dropped the weapon as exhaustion swept over him and he closed his eyes. He heard a strange rustling and opened them again. He looked over at Sandra but she was too intent on ministering to Tanner.

What is that noise? He scanned the sky but swirling snow and black smoke obscured his view. The rustling grew louder and he pulled himself to his feet, unable to settle until he found out what was causing the noise. Sandra looked up at his sudden motion but returned her attention as Tanner mumbled something. Harris was surprised he could hear anything over the hissing of the steam and the clack-clack of the wheels on the track but the noise persisted and he pulled himself up onto the coal and logs to gain a better view.

He looked upwards and to the side, out of the thick stream of smoke that continued to snake along the length of the train. He felt his heart suddenly stop. The sky was alive with dark shapes like snakes roiling in a pit.

The vampires had come.

Carlos Ortega saw the first vampire as it passed overhead between the carriages. Oh shit! He reached for his XM8 but then remembered that he had left it behind in favor of the explosives and he cursed himself for his shortsightedness. Explosives were useless in this situation; it wasn’t like he could throw…

He stopped halfway through the thought as another idea struck him. The last two carriages were empty and made almost entirely of wood. If he could plant enough explosives and uncouple the carriages he might just make the world’s largest stake throwing machine. It might just work. It wasn’t as if he had any other choice. It was only a matter of time before one of the vampires discovered him anyway. He pulled the bag of explosives from behind him and set to work.

Von Kruger followed the smoke and saw the train within minutes. His keen eyes saw that the carriages were filled with humans. He neither knew nor cared who was taking the humans, it wasn’t important. First he and his cabal would feed on whoever was doing this, then they would sleep and recover, and tomorrow he would discover who had planned this outrage and call their account due.

His mouth grew wet in anticipation of the blood he would soon taste and he swooped down toward the front of the train.

Harris gathered up the three remaining XM8s and pulled the magazines from two of them and tucked them into his belt. There wasn’t enough ammunition to take care of that many vampires. Even Pat Smyth’s magic bullets wouldn’t work this time. Maybe he was finally going to die along with his men, after all. Strangely, as he thought about it, the idea did not seem as appealing as he thought it would. Life was always worth living no matter how hard it got, especially when there was still so much to do.

He sighted on the first vampire he saw and pulled the trigger in a short three-round burst and moved on to the next target without waiting to see if his shots had hit home. After the first magazine emptied he calmly pulled another from his belt, noted that it was only half-full, and slammed it home. He continued firing.

Von Kruger snorted disdainfully as he heard gunfire from below. Did they really think that mere bullets could stop him? He pressed on, noting with some bad temper that a number of the younger vampires had swept past him in their eagerness to impress him. He would deal with them later.

He saw bullets strike the lead vampire and then he frowned as he saw the vampire contort and drop from the sky. A second vampire was struck beside him and he heard the vampire scream in pain. Von Kruger didn’t know what was more worrying, the fact that the vampire dropped to the ground helpless or the fact that he screamed like a stuck pig all the way down.

Vampires did not feel such pain. Bullets could not kill them. His mind refused to accept what he was seeing; though his instinct made him slow his descent and let others pass him by. He was not afraid, just cautious.

The fire continued in short bursts and their accuracy was frightening as each burst struck and brought down a vampire. Were the vampires more injured that he had thought? No, he decided, it was the bullets. Each vampire struck screamed in such pain that it appeared that the bullets were burning them from within. There was something about the bullets that caused such damage. He had never thought it possible. More vampires tumbled to the ground and he pulled up, motioning for those around him to do the same. They kept pace with the racing train as Von Kruger thought furiously. Time was not on their side as the dawn would be here in two hours or so and he would have to return to safety.

He studied the train and an idea came to him. Much as he would like to tear this enemy apart he did not know enough about this new weapon, and it was not worth dying needlessly. Although he was an ancient and impervious to almost all weapons he had seen, at least one other ancient vampire had already fallen to those deadly bullets. He would wait. Though there was no reason why he could not relieve this new enemy of their stolen booty. He chuckled as he ordered his men toward the carriages.

Harris watched the vampire’s spiral down toward the carriages about half way down the train. They were too far away to waste ammunition on. He only had four rounds left anyway so he could do nothing but watch helplessly as they set about uncoupling the carriages and taking back the people he and his men had fought and died for. Tears of frustration burned in his eyes as the vampires alighted on the back carriages.

The majority still flew above the train; many of them swooped closer and closer to the engine as if testing the range of his weapon so they could determine how many carriages they could uncouple without losing more vampires.

“If they knew we were out of ammunition they’d tear us apart and everything would be lost.” Sandra placed her hand on his shoulder, “At least this way we get to save more than we thought we would. It’s still a huge victory.”

“But at a higher cost than I wanted to pay,” Harris said bitterly.

“Harris,” she sighed as she turned his face towards her, “when are you going to realise that it’s not your sacrifice to make? Their lives are their own and their sacrifice is theirs to make. Don’t cheapen it by thinking it’s all about you.”

Harris was shocked by the harshness of her words but he could see in her eyes that she was not trying to hurt him.

“You might come up with the plans, love,” she added as she placed her hand against his cheek, “but they follow you because they believe in you and what you are trying to achieve. War will always have casualties. Honor them by continuing what they set out to achieve.”

Carlos Ortega saw the first of the vampires settle on the racing carriage and he pressed himself down between the gap of the second and third to last carriages. At his back he could hear the frightened whimpers of the humans in the carriage and he tried to keep his hands from shaking too much as he set the charges.

He needed a few more minutes to complete his plan but if the vampires descended as quickly as they appeared to be then it would be too late. He was having trouble setting the timer on the charges as the vibration of the train was disrupting the mechanism and he couldn’t get the timer to set to the five minutes he had hoped to give himself to get clear.

It wasn’t going to work. He felt his heart begin to thump heavily in his chest as he began to realise what he would need to do. If he delayed any longer then any sacrifice would be useless and the vampires would pass him and make their way further up the train. His mind was clear and his path decided but, strangely, he found that he couldn’t move his legs.

Suicide is painless, he thought as he tried to pull himself up. He saw a shadow pass above him and he knew that he had already delayed too long. They were already on the carriages he had hoped to save.

He took a deep breath and reached down to the coupling at his feet and pulled the lever. At first it didn’t move but as he shifted his weight he felt it begin to give. Once it moved that first bit the rest came easily and he jumped over to the empty carriage and raced up to the roof of the carriage, pulling his pistol and firing at the vampires on the other carriage.

His bullets were not coated with the special liquid but they had the desired effect anyway. The vampires on the other carriage launched themselves into the air and flew at him. Before he even saw them move he felt the weapon knocked from his hand and his throat was gripped in a grip like a steel claw.

He felt his mind swim as his oxygen was cut off and he barely had the presence of mind to allow his hand to release the device in his hand. He had just enough time to spit in the face of the vampire in front of him before the explosives shattered the night.

“That’s Carlos!” Sandra shouted as she saw the figure jump to the roof of the second of the two carriages that were dropping back from the main train. The vampires swarmed over the carriages like seagulls behind a trawler heavy with the day’s catch. The vampires had been so maddened and frustrated by their inability to approach the engine that such an easy target was too much for them to ignore.

A number of them still hovered high above but the majority flew downward to the helpless figure.

“You see.” Sandra griped Harris’ hand tightly as they watched their friend’s sacrifice. “His choice, not yours.”

Harris nodded as understanding finally came to him and he wept for his friend as the explosives tore the carriages to pieces. Fire erupted high into the air and the sound wave passed over them and then they threw themselves to the floor as the night was filled with millions of wooden projectiles that shot outward with terrific force, tearing into everything in their path.

Von Kruger saw the single figure on the carriage and was about to drop toward him when something stopped him. This new enemy was tricky but he had not lived for centuries by being stupid. He let some of his men approach the carriages but held the others back. He could tell that they were not happy but their fear of him was greater than their displeasure so, for now, they would follow him.

Mere minutes later he saw the explosion and watched in shock as the vampires in range of the explosion were torn apart by the force of the blast. The air around him buffeted him as the shockwave spread out, and then he noticed a strange darkness flying out from the explosion. It was hard to tell what it was at first as the explosion was so bright that his sensitive eyes were almost blinded. It appeared as a small dot in the middle of the fireball that seemed to be growing larger as it approached them. Suddenly he knew what it was.

He grabbed the vampire nearest to him and pulled the creature in front of him as the first of the wooden shards struck. The creature he held screamed piteously and Von Kruger’s own hands and feet were peppered with small and large shards, but he held his shield ahead of him and ignored the pain.

Around him the rest of his cabal screamed as they tried to avoid the missiles. It seemed that the air was filled with death and Von Kruger watched in horror as his cabal dropped from the air and disappeared into the darkness.

It seemed to go on for an age but, eventually, the shower stopped and Von Kruger allowed his shield to fall away. He looked briefly at the dead vampire and shivered as he saw the number of wooden shards in his body. He plucked the worst of the shards from his own body and screamed his defiance with the pain of each one.

He looked around and saw three other vampires, all of them badly injured and in need of sustenance. He looked back at the retreating train and fuelled his anger with a vow.

“There will be a reckoning!” he shouted into the night, and then they headed back to the town before the dawn finished the job this new enemy had started.

Major William Carter lowered his binoculars and whistled. He had watched the decimation of the vampires and his respect for the humans grew. He had come into the town to join up with Falconi and had seen the bodies of the thralls and the humans. At first he had not believed that mere humans could actually do such a raid but he had seen their dead with his own eyes.

Somewhere to the east these humans were growing in number, and he would need to prepare if he was to survive their next visit. He watched the vampires fly higher into the sky as they retreated back to their lair to regroup. There were still many vampires in both states though tonight’s carnage had culled them quite satisfactorily.

For his own part he now commanded a sizable number of thralls, enough to allow him to decide his own fate. He would no longer bow to the vampires, but he was prepared to work with them if a deal could be agreed upon. They were vulnerable during the day and the human rebels had proven that they were not invulnerable during the night either. His own actions tonight proved that he would be able to negotiate his position. If the vampires wanted protection during the days to come they must pay for it or face annihilation. He would send word to the other thralls in the neighboring states and word would spread.

Vampires would no longer rule alone. They must share if they wanted the loyalty of the thralls. There would be many changes after tonight and he planned to be ready for the new dawn. It was a new world, and he smiled as he anticipated his role in it.

Epilogue

April wandered the corridors, working through her grief. Steele was dead. She had known that he would not return when he had left. But, now that a week had gone by, the realization was only really hitting her now. She had had a lot of support from Sandra and Harris but they were still learning sign and she missed Steele’s easy smile and quiet company.

The whole community had been thrown into disarray when Harris had returned with nearly a thousand refugees, and it had forced the community to change despite itself. That number of new and helpless additions to their community meant that everyone had to help and make sacrifices. Strangely, there had been little grumbling—even from the committee.

She had been kept busy in keeping the hospital supplied with medicine and food as more and more of the people began to regain their wits and their appetites, but she still felt an emptiness in her that no amount of work or company could fill. This had been her first opportunity to get away on her own. She took the route that she and Steele liked to walk. It brought her to the edge of the community’s territory and she hoped to find something of the happy times she had spent here. She hadn’t passed another soul in the last ten minutes but the peace she had expected to find eluded her. These deserted corridors did not hold any attraction anymore. She looked around at their bare walls and low lighting and began to wonder why she had wanted to come back here at all. Steele’s memory was in her heart, not in these corridors. She came to a decision and turned back towards the community. There was more for her back at camp now than there was here.

Dave Sherman watched the deaf girl as she stopped and looked around the corridor. He had followed her for some time, nodding genially at all who passed by. He had become somewhat of a celebrity when he had returned with his truckload of survivors, but he had been quickly overshadowed when Harris and the others had arrived with their haul. Talk about being upstaged. He had hidden his anger well and embraced Harris and the others like long lost brothers as everyone had begun to expand the community to cater for their new additions.

Things had been so hectic that he had not had the time to find another victim and his urges were growing stronger each day. The body of the little nurse he had disposed of before he had gone on the raid had been discovered while he was away. People were shocked at the terrible things that had been done to her and there was an air of suspicion in the community towards any male over the age of twenty. No one suspected any of “Harris’s Heroes,” as people were calling them though and he had been able to pass among people easily.

Patrols now walked the community’s halls, and fear from within now overshadowed the fear of the vampires, so he had to be careful. It had been pure luck that he had seen Steele’s squeeze going off on her own and he had followed with growing excitement as the girl had wandered into increasingly deserted areas.

Now she looked as if she were about to return so he would have to act quickly if he was to satisfy his lust. He moved out from the wall and approached her swiftly. She would be an easy mark. She wouldn’t even hear him or be able to cry for help. It didn’t get any better than this.

April sensed something behind her and was about to turn when she felt a powerful arm grab her from behind and pull her backwards. She struggled but the man’s strength was far too much for her and she began to panic. She felt her clothes tear as the man’s other hand pawed at her. She screamed silently and tried to pull away but the man gripped her more tightly until she began to see black spots in her vision.

Suddenly she felt a calm come over her as she remembered the lessons that Steele had thought her about how to defend herself. She forced herself to stop struggling and she let her body go limp. The sudden increase in weight made the man shift forward as he struggled to hold her up and stop her from moving. April felt the shift in the man’s weight move from his heels to his toes as he leaned forward. She reached up suddenly and grabbed his thumb and wrenched it away from her neck.

The move elicited a cry of pain from the man and he was forced to fall to one knee or have his wrist broken. Steele had taught her many moves where her small size could cope with someone far larger and heavier. He had not been able to sign their correct judo terms but she had made up her own descriptions and she was pleased when she saw the result of the wrist-lock move he had shown her.

She felt elation swell within her, but then Steele’s advice came to her again. She might have succeeded in getting free, but defeating such a large opponent was beyond her. When in doubt, run, Steele had warned her and she swung a swift kick at the man’s groin to keep him down before turning to run.

Her foot raced towards the man’s testicles but he was faster and moved to the side, taking the blow to his thigh. He grunted in pain but he was far from incapacitated. She felt him grab her foot and then she was suddenly falling to the ground. She landed hard on her back and felt nauseas as she fought for breath. A face loomed over her and the man grinned as she saw him for the first time. Sherman! She forced herself to remain calm as the man limped slightly from her kick, but she paled when she saw his eyes. There was no pity there, only lust. She should have run when she had the chance. She whispered a silent apology to Steele for not following his advice and scrambled back against the wall as he bore down on her.

Little bitch hurt me, Sherman cursed as he limped toward her. She’ll pay for that. He reached down for her, swiping her kicking legs easily to the side as he grabbed her. This time he took no chances and employed a full lock on her throat and ripped her shirt off. He brought his hands up to grope her when he felt his hand gripped by a force far greater than his victim was capable of.

“I knew there was something wrong about you,” he heard the voice, and it took him a moment to place the voice.

Steele! But he’s dead. He felt his hand torn from her and then forced back with incredible strength. He screamed as his wrist bones cracked and then broke. He released the girl. Suddenly he felt his neck gripped tighter than any man should be able to manage and he felt fear flood through him. He had but a moment to scream before his throat was ripped out. The last sound he heard was a terrible sucking and slurping. The vampires are here, he thought and then he died.

April felt joy erupt in her chest as she saw Steele tear Sherman from her and throw him against the wall. He was alive, she thought and thanked God for his safe return. But then her joy turned to terror as she saw Steele’s face. It was all wrong. It was contorted and filled with lust and hunger. Oh my God, she thought, as her joy turned to horror, Jesus no. Not him—it’s not fair. She screamed silently as she watched Steele tear Sherman’s throat out and begin to feed.

April knew she should run but she couldn’t leave Steele like that. What the vampires had done to him was the worst possible hell for a man like Steele. There must be some part of the man he used to be still inside the vampire he had become. Surely she could still appeal to that side of him. She found herself rising and approaching him before she had thought it through, and then she was reaching out for his shoulder.

“April!” She stopped as she heard the shouted warning. “Move away.” She looked over and saw Harris and a few others approaching them. Harris held his machine gun out and had it aimed at Steele. “He’s not the man you knew any more, April.” Harris reached out one hand toward her, urging her to come toward him. She took a step toward him but then felt a hand grab her and pull her back.

“She’s mine, Harris!” Steele shouted as he dropped the dead body of Sherman. “Don’t worry, you’re next.”

“This isn’t what you’d want, Steele. If there is any part of you left you must know that,” Harris urged as he moved closer. “The man I knew would never let any harm come to her. In his name, neither will I.”

“The man you knew is no more,” Steele laughed. “I am so much more now. The power, Harris, you won’t believe it. It’s fantastic.”

“Let her go and we won’t shoot,” Harris continued. “We can continue this another time. We were following Sherman, and you’ve taken care of him. We have no quarrel with you. You know what these bullets will do to you. Let her go.”

Harris watched Steele’s face for any show of emotion, any sign that the man he knew might still have some influence on the monster he had become. “Steele, please,” Harris urged. “Let her go. Don’t let her die as your sister did.”

Harris saw a flicker of something in Steele’s face, an uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly April was thrown toward him and he couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid her and they went down in a heap. His weapon fell from his hands and Steele was upon him in a blink of an eye.

The others around Harris brought their weapons up and shouted in panic but the two figures were too close together to get a clear shot.

“He isn’t going to tell the other vampires about the serum, Harris.” Steele seemed to be fighting himself to get the words out. “You’ll have to come up with something else.”

Harris was shocked that he was still alive. He looked up into the vampire’s face. It looked nothing like Steele but the eyes mirrored that part of him that spoke. Steele reached over for Harris’s XM8. “It is intoxicating, Harris. The power is too much to resist. Take care of her.” Harris nodded and Steele turned the weapon on himself.

“One final thing, you have a traitor amongst you.” He pulled the trigger and his screams easily drowned out the burst of fire.

Harris rose and gently took his weapon from Steele’s dead fingers. He reached forward and closed his friend’s eyes. He felt a tear fall down his cheek. He turned to the others and saw their shock. Von Richelieu knew where they were, he knew about serum’s effects and was happy to let humanity die out to cull his own race’s huge numbers.

Steele’s sacrifice had not been in vain, though. They would not have known about the traitor if he had not come. They were about to embark on a very different war now. They could not rely on secrecy and subterfuge anymore, but they were prepared and still had a few surprises up their sleeves.

Let the vampires do their worst. They would be ready.

The End

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue