Trail of Tears (31 page)

The carriage was filled with the smell of
cordite and his whole world was alive with the bedlam of noise from
the surrounding weapons and the answering fire from the
thralls.

He joined Peterson at a window as one of the
jeeps sped past their carriage and continued up along the train. A
thrall stood manning the .50 calibre in the bed of the jeep and he
poured fire into the carriages as they powered past. He tried to
track the jeep but the heavy bullets from the .50 calibre tore into
the carriage and sent him diving for cover. Screams filled the air
as bullets and shrapnel tore through the cars. Grier tried to bury
himself in the floor, screaming in terror as the world went to shit
around him.

Jesus!
And I thought I was given
the easy task guarding the wounded.

* * *

Aidan Flemming cursed at the engine as he
watched the pressure build slowly.

“Fucking heap of junk,” he shouted at the
dials as the needle rose. The engine was still building speed. He
looked out the side window and saw the single light of an
approaching vehicle come level with the last carriage. He could
hear the dull chatter as the thrall in the bed of the jeep tore the
carriage apart. There didn’t seem to be any fire coming from the
carriage, but figures on the roof tried their best to take out the
vehicle. However, what seemed a good idea when they were stationary
didn’t appear to be working so well in reality. There was little
fire coming from the roof as the figures were finding it difficult
to anchor themselves against the rushing wind. He saw a figure fall
from the roof and disappear into the darkness.

The jeep continued on unmolested as it
poured fire into the carriage. Flemming willed the train to gain
speed. If the jeep came level to where most of the people sat
cramped in the last few carriages the slaughter would be
terrible.

“More coal,” he shouted at Danny Wilkins and
his helper, and the two boys shovelled as if the devil himself was
on their tail. They couldn’t afford to use so much fuel so early
but if they didn’t gain speed quickly there would be no one left to
save anyway.

* * *

Amanda Reitzig heard the gunfire and pressed
her face against the glass. She couldn’t see anything, only the
reflection of her own pale features. The rear door to the carriage
suddenly burst inwards and one of the soldiers struggled in with
someone slumped in his arms. The two figures were liberally
splashed with blood, the red particularly stark against the white
of their snow gear.

She rushed to the pair, taking the wounded
figure from the soldier and was surprised that the victim was so
light. She pulled at the figure’s clothes to examine the wounds and
realised that the soldier was a woman. A girl really. Jesus, she
couldn’t be more than nineteen. The other soldier touched her on
the shoulder and she looked up at the man’s swaddled features.

“How is she?” His voice was muffled under
his scarf.

“I don’t know,” Amanda replied a little more
icily than she intended. She looked down at the wounds and saw the
girl had been hit in the side and the shoulder. The blood was
seeping rather than spurting so, unless the bullets had hit
something critical, she might just make it.

She could see the worry and indecision in
the man’s eyes. At that moment she hated the vampires and thralls
more than ever. When would it all end? Suddenly she thought of
Aidan Flemming standing unprotected at the front of the train and
wondered if she would ever feel his lips on hers, or was the brief
feel of his arms around her as he carried her to safety all she was
destined to have. “I’ll look after her,” she said and reached for
the soldier. He nodded and left so suddenly that she was left with
her arm clutching the air.

* * *

Father Jonathon Reilly struggled to make his
way through the throng of frightened people towards the rear of the
train. The thralls were pounding at them from both sides and a
steady stream of panicked people was trying to force their way to
the front. The noise of the gunfire and the screams of the wounded
only served to spur those fleeing onwards.

“Please,” he struggled to be heard over the
panicked cries but he was as ineffectual as a small rock against
the tide. “Please, you will crush those ahead. There is no room.”
The thralls were slaughtering those in the rear with their heavy
weapons and their own soldiers were being torn apart. All their
careful planning had been for nothing. What could they do? He heard
the gunfire grow louder and his shoulders slumped as death
approached relentlessly.

* * *

Harris watched in frustration as he saw the
jeeps catch and begin to overtake the sluggish train.

“Faster,” he shouted at McAteer but didn’t
hear the man’s growled response. Warkowski continued to send round
after round towards the jeeps ahead. Harris paled as he imagined
the damage the .50 calibre machine guns were doing as they tore
into the carriages. Those walls were so thin that the bullets would
rip right through and tear anyone within to pieces.

He heard another deep boom behind him and
another shell exploded close enough to worry them but not close
enough to injure them. In fact, the explosion tore into the tracks
fifty yards or so ahead. The tanks were being left behind, but they
were angling their guns higher to gain more range. If they managed
to dial in the correct elevation they could take the train out with
one shot to the lead carriage.

He wondered briefly if he should have stayed
back and nullified the risk of the tanks rather than trying to
catch the train. It was too late now either way. And besides, the
train needed them to take out the jeeps. They would have to hope
that they could outpace the shells before the tanks became a
factor.

There were three jeeps remaining; two had
taken the route to the left of the train and one to the right.
Harris could see the track veer to the left ahead in a slow angle.
The road to the right seemed to run out a short distance ahead but
a narrow stretch followed the tracks for some distance.

“Go to the left,” Harris shouted over the
howl of the wind.

* * *

Grier leaned out and emptied the remainder
of his magazine at the jeep as it moved along the length of the
train. Some of the bullets struck the vehicle but he couldn’t see
if he had hit anyone. The bastard in the bed of the jeep continued
to fire into the carriages regardless so he assumed he’d missed. He
looked back and saw another jeep approaching. This one had no
lights but he could see that the vehicle was packed with
figures.

He pulled himself back in and reloaded. He’d
make sure he took out a few of these bastards if it was the last
thing he ever did.

“Everyone this side. There’s another one
coming.”

He saw far fewer soldiers make their way
across to his side than he had hoped. Many of them held limbs or
hobbled across to the window. Far too many of them were splashed in
red as if some madman had come in and thrown buckets of paint
liberally around the carriage.

He leaned out the window and brought his
weapon up. The soldiers in this jeep were much easier to see. The
stupid bastards were all wearing white. Now why hadn’t the others
obliged them that way? He took aim but something held his finger
locked. White gear! Why were these guys…

“Hold fire,” he shouted. “They’re ours.
Jesus, don’t fire.”

* * *

Harris ignored the wind tearing at his eyes.
Above him Warkowski continued to fire at the jeeps ahead but to
little effect. Harris brought his own weapon up and fired his first
burst.
Still too far
, he thought and the frustration gnawed
at him. They were too heavy with so many in the jeep, but they
couldn’t afford the time to stop and let them out either.

“Drop back and pull up to the last
carriage,” he shouted to McAteer over the noise and the soldier
looked at him for a moment in confusion before nodding. The jeep
bounced on the surface of the road, each impact shaking the bones
of everyone. While the track was technically a road it was poorly
maintained and the pot holes were tearing the suspension apart. Of
course, it didn’t help that they had rolled the jeep earlier or
that they were over loaded. The rear of the train suddenly appeared
to his right and McAteer held the jeep as steady as he could. The
front left tyre was running so close to the tracks that Harris had
to wrench his eyes away. If they touched, they would all die but he
couldn’t worry about everything.

He reached out but the jeep veered sharply
to the left as McAteer was forced to go around a wooden pylon and
then brought the vehicle back in line. Harris didn’t waste time
glaring at McAteer. He reached out again, glancing quickly up along
the train to make sure there were no more obstructions. His fingers
brushed the metal railing and, without further thought, he leapt.
For a brief moment he thought that he was falling but then his leg
touched the narrow ledge and he pitched himself forward, landing in
a heap and nearly tumbling through the other side. He lay panting
briefly as he recovered, but then the heavy chatter of the .50
calibre ahead galvanised him into action. He waved to McAteer who
merely nodded as he lined up the jeep for the next man and then
Harris rushed into the rear carriage.

He stopped in shock.

The carriage was utterly destroyed. A line
of heavy calibre bullets had torn through the walls and sent metal
and wood panelling everywhere. The bulk of the carriage was taken
up with equipment and much of it was torn apart. But worst of all
were the bodies. Everywhere he looked he could see a body, either
dead or too injured to move. Their white weather gear was saturated
in red.

“They’ve gone through to try and stop the
jeeps,” he heard the low voice to his left and looked down to see
Peterson lying in a pool of blood. Harris went to kneel beside him
but the man waved his arm weakly.

“Go,” he managed. “There’s nothing you can
do anyway. Harris gripped his XM8 so tightly that his hands went
whiter than his all-weather gear. He nodded and rushed through to
the next carriage. As he ran, the jeeps continued to fire ahead of
him.

* * *

April Cassavettes snatched at Robert
Seager’s hand as he pulled her onto the carriage. As soon as she
left the speeding jeep the vehicle swerved to the left and
disappeared from view as it raced to catch the thralls. April’s
heart was hammering in her chest. Her condition had enforced her to
be very conservative in her activities. Daredevil feats had never
been on the agenda before and would never be again if she could
help it.

She felt the stability of the ledge beneath
her feet but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Seager’s arm.
The door was narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate one person
on their own so they moved awkwardly into the carriage. She didn’t
care. She couldn’t hear the roar of the wind but she could feel it
snatching at her like hundreds of tiny hands poking and pulling.
She couldn’t hear the rumble of the train racing over the tracks
but the vibrations were enough to terrify her. Seager was her
anchor in this frightening, silent world. Besides she liked the
reassuring feel of his hand in hers.

When she entered the carriage she stopped
and Seager was brought to an unexpected stop with her. There was
blood everywhere, pooled on the floor like mini lakes, and splashed
liberally against the walls. Or what remained of the walls anyway.
There were bodies everywhere. Some lay still and others moved or
groaned, cried or screamed. She saw the soldier ahead of them
falter but then gather himself and rush onwards to the next
cabin.

Robert began to ease her forward, following
the soldier but she pulled against him and spread her arm out
taking in the scene. She let Seager’s hand go and her fingers
blurred. Seager looked at her fingers and then up into her eyes. He
looked over at the door the other soldiers had just disappeared
through and then sighed.

She felt a swell of pride and love for him
as he nodded and laid down his machine gun. They would be of more
use here helping the injured than rushing headlong into the
chaos.

Tony Grier tumbled into the carriage as the
bullets tore through the walls above him. He had run through the
train trying to ignore the carnage. Now, finally, he had caught up
with the jeeps but the bullets just kept coming. How did they have
so much ammunition? Suddenly the firing stopped and he threw
himself at the window, crashing through the glass and firing almost
in one motion. The second jeep had pulled out from the train as it
negotiated a series of obstructions close to the track and the
vehicle was forced to leave the train’s side and struggle over
dirt. The thrall in the bed of the truck was forced to stop firing
and hang on for all he was worth.

Grier shouted as loud as he could as the
jeep began to angle back towards the train, and he emptied a whole
clip into the approaching vehicle. He watched as the thrall at the
.50 calibre took a number of hits and his body shuddered. The
bastard didn’t die though. By the time the jeep made it back to the
narrow road the thrall was pulling himself back into position.
Grier slammed another clip in and aimed lower, at the thralls legs.
The XM8 had low recoil but still his aim was pulled awry; the
motion of the train didn’t help either. The bullets struck the
thrall high in the leg and the bastard lost his footing and fell
from the jeep to roll over and over on the ground. Grier took a
moment to look back as he reloaded and saw the thrall slowly begin
to get back to his feet.