Trail of Tears (2 page)

“He’ll come back,” he said simply and she
turned and forced a smile.

“It’s been four days. Even he has to run out
of luck some day.”

Reilly shrugged not knowing what to say. He
looked at Sandra, taking in her lean form. A bit too thin, he
thought, but then she had travelled a long way with little food.
Her clothes were clean but faded, almost threadbare. They hadn’t
had the chance to return to where they had spent their exile as
yet; they were still trying get the wounded settled and Regan had
not allocated any quarters for them as yet. Regan had not been
exactly subtle. He might have been forced to let the wounded in but
he obviously had no plans to allow them to stay and wanted them to
be left in no doubt about their refugee status.

Sandra still wore a pistol at her hip and
the dark bulge seemed almost part of her in the dim light. The skin
around her eyes was tight, her complexion ashen from tiredness and
her eyes seemed to focus past him to a point above the horizon as
she watched for any movement. The music swelled around them, people
laughed, and shouted over the music but it seemed as though the two
of them were set apart from the others. He wondered again at the
validity of the reasons for having this celebration. He was well
aware that it was essential to keep the community’s spirits up. On
the surface the celebration was for the safe arrival of Sandra and
the others from their mission at the nuclear plant, at least that
was what Regan said it was for. Father Reilly suspected it had more
to do with him facing down the thralls and sending them packing
with their tails between their legs. Reilly seemed to be the only
one worried that that particular threat was far from over. The
thrall commander did not seem like one who would be easily
dissuaded and Regan had done his best to embarrass the officer. If
he had just left ... but that was Regan.

How could they have a celebration when they
still had four unaccounted for? Or maybe that was Regan’s whole
point. Or was Ian Phelps the one wielding the power now? Outwardly
it appeared that Regan was still in charge but Reilly was no longer
sure. Phelps had proven himself masterful at manipulation and
preferred to operate in the shadows. Regan was a coward and thrived
on dealing with people through others. He would do anything to
avoid a direct confrontation and certainly appeared to bow to
Phelps more often than before. It was the perfect partnership. Had
they come to an arrangement?

There was no love lost between them and
Harris. And what of the plant? They had all seen the cloud on the
horizon. Was there any way that Harris could possibly have beaten
the odds again? He looked over to where Sarah Warkowski sat staring
in a daze at the revellers. She too waited on word of her husband.
Sometimes we all forget that it’s not just Harris out there
risking his life,
he thought as he sipped his drink, grunting
as the harsh liquid burned his throat. If they did come back, would
they die a slow, terrible death from radiation? For that matter,
were they all dying now from radiation or was the rain saving them?
Too many questions and so few answers. He sighed and merely took
Sandra’s hand and joined her in looking out into the rain soaked
ruins. It was all so depressing. What once had stood for humanity’s
resilience and ingenuity and now only reminded him how fleeting it
all really was.

* * *

Emma Logan looked out into the sea of
gyrating bodies as if she could penetrate each person’s skin and
see what lay beneath. Her auburn hair was stuffed inside the
baseball cap that was as much a part of her as her arms. She
imagined a dark evil coiling in the pit of someone’s stomach, some
ugly cancer gnawing away. If she looked hard enough she might just
see some evidence. She sighed. All she could see were the smiling
faces of a community long starved of anything to celebrate. The
music flowed over her but she remained impassive.

Somewhere out in that crowd of people hid a
killer. Someone who probably smiled at her every day. Someone who
was able to work alongside them every day, to laugh and share and,
when it suited their purposes, to kill anyone who stood in their
way. Someone out there had killed Jack Pearson and that act above
all their other betrayals filled her with a burning hate. She might
be young but she did understand that there had to be a reason for
this person’s actions. Something must motivate them. But, for the
life of her, she couldn’t imagine anything that could justify this
person’s actions.

She had just come from the infirmary where
Conor Ricks was still fading in and out of consciousness. They had
managed to transfuse blood into his starved body but it was still
uncertain whether they had gotten to him in time. When Sandra
Harrington and the others had brought him back her carefully
crafted ice exterior had shattered. He had looked so frail on the
stretcher. He had lost so much blood that he had looked as though
he was already dead. In fact, her first thought had been that he
had died and no one had noticed. She had started forward in a panic
only to see his cool blue eyes peek from the sunken shadows of his
face and she had almost collapsed in relief. He had managed a weak
smile as he saw her. The rest was a bit of a blur if she was
honest. She did remember that Regan had tried to stop the survivors
from entering the community, saying they had made their choice. She
even remembered the shocked confusion of everyone present that he
could be so callous.

She didn’t remember kicking the man in the
groin or the cheer that had followed as she had ordered the
stretcher to the infirmary. She had pieced the story together
afterwards from talking to a delighted Sandra Harrington, even
Father Reilly had failed to keep a straight face when he came to
visit Conor. He had told her than not even the vampires could have
stopped her at that moment. She had since ignored the summons to
Regan’s office to explain her actions; she would have to go at some
stage she knew but she had more important things to do for now.
Anyway, maybe the world would end and save her the trouble.

She snapped her head to the left when she
thought she heard a sharp crack in the distance. The music was not
too loud, as they had worried that it might carry too far, but the
raised voices had no volume control and the noise washed over her
battering her senses. She was about to shrug and return to her
examination of the crowd when she remembered something Harris had
told her. She couldn’t remember the actual words but it was
something about trusting your gut. If something made you feel
uneasy it was probably worth investigating.

She moved over to the edge of the area and
sighed as the noise faded behind her. Darkness enveloped her and a
fine spray of rain quickly covered her face. For a moment she lost
herself to the feeling and then she heard the faint sound of stones
tumbling down an incline. There was no one assigned to the north of
her position, she knew. There was nothing out there but abandoned
buildings and rubble. Until now. She grabbed at her rifle and
shouted a warning behind her before disappearing into the dark.

* * *

Sandra Harrington heard the shout and saw
Emma Logan blend into the darkness. She didn’t know what the girl
had said but her tone had been enough. She didn’t waste time
puzzling over the girl’s warning. Emma was not one for
exaggerating. Someone was coming. Her heart lurched.
Was it
Peter? Had he made it back?
No doubt Regan would make an issue
of Harris returning but there had been a major shift in general
opinion since that horrible night he had been exiled. Father Reilly
and others who had stayed behind had worked hard under the radar
letting people know the real story and the sacrifices that were
being made in their names. It wasn’t a landslide shift by any
means, but people were certainly more aware of what was happening.
Many felt embarrassed that they had reacted the way they had so
Regan would find it harder to whip up support the next time. That,
of course, would only matter if Peter and the others made it back
safely. She forced her excitement down. It could be Harris
returning or it could be an attack.

One thing that Harris had made sure of
before he had been exiled was that the community were well drilled
for an attack. At the time everyone had cursed him for such
unnecessary hardship. Everyone had to take part and most had ended
up in the infirmary with sprained ankles and wrists, cuts and
everything you could imagine from running over rubble as they
fought off one imaginary attack after another. She had had more
opportunity to curse him than most and he had merely shrugged and
replied that she would thank him one day.

Today was that day. She offered up a silent
thank you as she saw the people before her scatter for their
weapons and take up their positions. They moved without knowledge
of what was coming, without understanding of the threat and with a
near perfect unison that would make Peter proud. Within seconds the
area was empty. She looked out into the rain soaked night but could
see nothing. Then the sound of gunfire erupted and spouts of
flash-fire lit up the darkness.

* * *

Denis Jackson had spent most of the night
staring out into the darkness. He knew that there had been no way
he could have gone with Peter and the others back to the plant but
that knowledge didn’t help ease his conscience or convince him that
he hadn’t let his friends down. Delilah mingled with the others
having finally given up on getting him to join her. He shifted his
arm on the crutch he had been leaning on and stretched out his
fingers. He was recovering well but couldn’t make it very far
without the crutches. If he followed medical advice he would still
be in a wheelchair, a fact that Delilah had not let him forget
every time he grimaced when his stitches pulled at him. But he just
felt so helpless that he was compelled to push himself, as if the
constant pain was what he deserved for not going with Harris and
the others…

He heard Emma’s warning and was already
moving through the crowd looking for Delilah by the time the
teenager had disappeared. People were streaming from the dance
floor in an orderly and focused manner with only a few people
looking lost. Delilah suddenly appeared beside him. To her credit
she didn’t say anything when he began to tire and struggle as the
crutches slipped on the wet, uneven surface but he could tell that
she wanted to. Of all the nights for him to decide to go against
their better judgement.

“Go,” he gasped in frustration and Delilah
only hesitated a moment before nodding and disappearing into the
crowd. Everyone had their assigned places in such an emergency and
she couldn’t delay. He felt so helpless as he struggled towards the
main entrance. Most of the people that passed him held their
weapons ready and he cursed himself for leaving his behind. It kept
getting tangled when it slid between the crutches.
Shit, what a
night
. He kept moving doggedly on. Gunfire erupted close by and
he forced himself not to stop and look. He was no good to anyone
where he was. If only he could get inside he could help.

* * *

Emma felt her rifle slam back into her
shoulder but she ignored the pain. She rolled to her left,
splashing into a puddle left by the rain, and took aim again as
bullets slammed into the area she had just vacated. She aimed at
the muzzle flashes, and was already moving again before she knew if
she had hit anything. She didn’t know how many there were; they
blended in so well with the darkness and the rain. In fact, she had
nearly missed them entirely and walked past them, but one of them
had dislodged a small rock and the noise had sent her to the
ground. She had only been saved by the fact that the music behind
her had stopped suddenly when her warning had sent the community
scrambling and the commotion had distracted the invaders.

Lights suddenly bloomed into life behind her
and spears of light stabbed through the darkness splashing against
the wasteland and broken buildings illuminating their stark
desolation. A figure was caught in the glare of one of the beams
and a burst of fire erupted behind her and slammed into the figure
before it could move. A moment later a burst of fire erupted from
in front of her and the lights shattered. She marked the flash in
the darkness and sent her shots right at them, smiling when she
heard a grunt of pain. She was moving again before the answering
fire tore up the dirt around her vacated hollow.

* * *

“Where are they? How many? Are they vampires
or thralls?” Regan spat the questions out as he approached the
dugout where the shattered searchlight still fizzled as the rain
ran into its shattered carcass.

“We don’t know, sir,” a voice replied in the
darkness and Regan spun towards the man. “Must be thralls though,
otherwise we’d already be dead.” There were four men in the dugout
and the speaker was on the far right.

Regan nodded as he squinted through the rain
into the darkness.

“Why aren’t you firing, Taylor?” He
demanded.

“We can’t see anything, sir,” Taylor
responded. “Not since they took out the lights. Besides, Emma’s out
there somewhere.”

Is she now? Now isn’t that
convenient?
“We can’t let them into the living area,” Regan
piped cringing as his voice cracked with nervousness. “No matter
who’s out there,” he finished in a deeper tone. “She’ll just have
to keep her head down.”

“Sir,” Taylor began, “we can’t just shoot
…”

“You’ll do what you’re told,” Regan snapped.
“Do you want your family torn apart because you were afraid to
protect them?”

The man glared at Regan but there was enough
truth in what he said to make him pause. He had two little girls
himself and their safety meant everything to him. But it wasn’t
right to spray fire when you had people in the same area either. By
the time he had come up with a good enough argument the other men
had begun to fire into the night, spreading their deadly hail
across the landscape. He wasn’t certain but he thought that Regan
smiled before turning and heading out towards the other
dugouts.