Trail of Tears (5 page)

When the touch did come, she jumped and
began throwing her arms out, screaming her defiance silently,
though no less vociferously. She felt arms around her and she
snapped open her eyes to see Seager holding her. She could feel his
breath on her neck and the movement of his jaw as he spoke to her.
She couldn’t hear him of course but his touch and his warmth were
enough and she lost herself to him as the tears came.

The .50 calibre stopped firing and silence
descended over the wasteland. The shrapnel finally stopped slamming
into her, but Emma Logan did not feel relief. If the big gun was
silent that meant her team was dead and the main force of thralls
was now free to attack her community. She strained to hear any
movement around her but her ears were still ringing from the
thunder of the heavy machine gun.

She lifted her head tentatively, ready to
drop back into the dirt if they were just reloading. She found
herself wishing that the gun would start up again but the night
remained silent and her heart felt despair. In the distance she
began to hear a popping noise and she knew that their attackers had
begun the main assault. Conor was in there, helpless in a hospital
bed, she thought suddenly and she rose to her knees slowly. Small
fires throbbed, heroically casting stuttering light as the rain
attempted to hammer them to oblivion. She made her decision. She
checked her weapon, brushing mud from the firing mechanism, and
inspecting her spare magazines. What she wouldn’t give to have a
few clips of the special vampire rounds but they were strictly
rationed. With one last look around her she slipped through the
darkness towards the glowing fires.

* * *

Denis Jackson jumped when he heard the
explosions behind them. Grenades, he thought. He turned towards the
main entrance and could see flames leaping into the night. Gunfire
followed quickly and then the screams began. People he knew were
dying. He tried to blank it all out. He knew that if they left
their post then the main attack world sweep over them and everyone
would die.

He knew that there were others in the
community who were tasked with protecting the families...the
children, but it didn’t help when the screams continued. Where were
the squads? Had they run, were they dead? Questions flooded through
him and his resolve began to weaken. He started to rise but Delilah
held him down. Her eyes were filled with tears but her jaw was set.
For a moment he felt like pulling away, their friends were dying
for God’s sake, but he knew there was nothing he could do. They had
a job to do and many more would die if the main force came
through.

He eased back into their hollow and scanned
the wasteland. Each second seemed to be marked with a scream as
another of their friends died; he began to wonder if the main force
was not already behind them. Were they here for nothing? He looked
to Delilah but she stared resolutely out into the wasteland. The
pop of gunfire began to grow quieter as the thralls moved deeper
into their home.

Denis had had enough. He looked around for
his crutches and had one in his hand when Delilah hissed quietly
and pointed her weapon out to her left. Denis dropped his crutch
guiltily and looked out where Delilah had indicated. It only took a
few seconds to see the shapes moving towards them.

The darkness was absolute and the rain acted
like a curtain, shielding everything that was more than a few feet
away. But the grenades had started fires behind him and the feeble
light was enough to paint the attacking figures with mottled
radiance. A cruel grin spread over his face as he lined up on the
lead figures. Another few seconds and they would be close enough.
These bastards had attacked and killed families without a shred of
pity and now it would be their turn. Anger burned within him. When
the firing began he picked his targets and poured fire mercilessly
into their ranks. Bodies pirouetted and jerked as bullets slammed
into them. He heard someone screaming and laughing and was shocked
to realise that it was him. Suddenly he found he was on his feet,
swaying dangerously on his ruined leg, firing and reloading and
firing again. Bullets began to slam into the ground around him as
the thralls fired back. These bastards had…

Something crashed into his legs and pain
seared through him.

* * *

“Too soon,” Phil McAteer mumbled as he
watched the first of the attackers fall. “Bloody amateurs”, he
cursed. If only they had waited. Another few seconds and the whole
force would have been within the kill zone. Someone couldn’t wait
though and had opened fire too early.

“Shit,” McAteer could already see some of
the thralls spread out beyond his field of vision and the rain
enveloped them like a welcoming blanket on a cold day. Now they had
a battle on their hands.

He signalled for the two men on his left to
backtrack and cover their left flank and two more on the right to
cover that flank. From what he had seen there were fifteen
attackers plus however many were already in the community
buildings. It looked like this was a scouting patrol and not a full
assault; otherwise the .50 calibre would never have held them this
long. The thralls were well trained, not the cannon fodder they
were used to dealing with. They had planned this assault well and
had used the night and rain to their advantage. They thralls had
caught them at the very worst time— celebrating and out of
position, the music drowning out their preparations until it had
been almost too late. However, they had been top dog for so long
that they had not taken as much care as they should have. They had
sent a force around them to take the .50 calibre out but the main
force had been coming through as if they were invincible, barely
using the cover the wasteland provided. Emma had heard them and now
they had a fight on their hands. It might take a lot of bullets to
put them down but they would die and McAteer was ready and willing
to send them back to hell. He sighted carefully at the lead figure
already moving forward in a half crouch and squeezed the trigger.
The attacker’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground. Only
took one round if you blew their brains out.

The popping of gunfire behind him reminded
him that a force was already deep inside their homes killing their
friends. He had sent three men to handle them but something must be
wrong; they should have taken care of them by now. He only had one
other man with him now. He sighed. The non-combatants were on their
own. If they didn’t hold here they would all be dead anyway.

* * *

Antonio Cabreezi signalled for his men to
take each side of the blasted entrance while he entered, weapon
aimed and ready. The corridor was clear and he moved further in. He
heard a muttered curse as his men followed him and saw the bodies
strewn along the corridor. The bodies were women and children
mostly and blood splattered the walls like a charnel house from a
horror movie. It was the eyes though that really got to him. There
had been no peace in their passing. They had died in terror, their
mouths open in eternal silent screams and their hands curled into
claws.

The sound of gunfire erupted further down
the corridor and they could hear more screams.

“Fucking bastards,” he heard Jones whisper
as the man hurried forward. Cabreezi grabbed at his shoulder and
held him in place.

“We take it slow and steady. Remember your
training.”

Jones glared at him for a moment. There were
tears falling down his cheeks and, for a second, Cabreezi thought
the man would shoot him, but the moment finally passed.

“We’re no good to them dead, soldier,” he
said. Cabreezi could sympathise. Jones had a wife and child down
there somewhere. “We’ll go as fast as we can. We’ll get to them,
Jones.” Gunfire erupted again and Jones blinked once and he was
gone.

“Shit,” Cabreezi cursed as he watched Jones
disappear down the corridor. “Double time, Fowler. Let’s try and
keep the stupid bastard alive.

* * *

“Get down you idiot”, Delilah screamed at
him. “There are too many of them for that hero bullshit.” Jackson
glared at her, but she had already turned her back on him and was
firing out into the darkness, ducking and then firing again.
Jackson’s leg still hurt from where she had struck him as well as
from his awkward landing. Though, it was his pride that hurt
most.

He shuffled over to the edge of the dugout
and eased his hip into a small hollow to give himself some
leverage. Bullets slammed into the dirt in front and behind him,
their high-pitched whistles were like bees buzzing. He checked his
weapon for ammunition and to ensure the barrel was clear after his
fall. Seeing all was well, he eased his head above the edge of the
dugout and tried to see where the enemy were located.

The thralls were enhanced, not anywhere near
the speed of a true vampire, but way faster than humans. He saw
shadows slide through the darkness like oil through water. As soon
as he brought the barrel to bear the shadow was already gone. He
heard Delilah curse as she pumped round after round into the
darkness without result. He saw a flash as one of the thralls
fired.
Jesus,
he thought,
they’re closer than I
realized.
He heard a cry of pain to his left as one of the
defenders was hit and he fired immediately but the figure had
already melted away.

This was impossible, they were too damn
fast. The fires behind them had burned out and it was like someone
had drawn a blanket over the scene in front of him. The darkness
was filled with looming shapes from the ruins of buildings and the
rain continued to fall, stinging his eyes and shielding the
thralls’ movements. He saw another movement and whipped towards it,
already firing before he had lined up correctly. He held his finger
on the trigger and the machine gun bucked in his hands. His injured
leg did not allow him to shift easily so he had to lean further out
of his position to get the right angle and, before he knew it, he
was half out of his point. Suddenly the gun clicked empty. The
sound seemed overly loud to him somehow and then the dirt around
him began to erupt. It took him a moment to realise what was
happening but by then it was too late. Something hit him hard.

He heard a scream and saw Delilah move
towards him, but she was picked up in mid leap and thrown the other
way. She didn’t scream or cry out. It all happened so fast. She
seemed to be already limp before she landed in the dugout. He tried
to reach for her, but something else slammed into him and pain
flared in his side. He fell on the edge of the dugout with his head
still looking out into the wasteland. He thought he saw movement to
his right, and then another shadow to his left. He tried to grope
for the pistol in his waistband but the movement seemed to attract
more fire so he lay still.

He tried to see if Delilah was okay, but the
angle was all wrong. He called to her, but there was no reply. He
tried to allow himself to fall below the lip of the dugout, but his
injured leg was caught. He couldn’t move. It was his fault Delilah
was hurt...or worse. If he had stayed down she wouldn’t have had to
rush to him. He felt tears creep down his cheeks. Bullets continued
to slap the dirt around him. The pain where he had been shot
reached a point where it merely throbbed.
Was that a good sign
or was he already slipping away?

He had to help Delilah. He gritted his teeth
and screamed as he tried to move his injured leg. Pain seared
through him and he felt his head swim. He bit down on his lip and
tasted blood in his mouth. He put all his remaining energy into
forcing his dead limb to move. Once the leg moved, gravity took
over and he fell back into the dugout. He wasn’t entirely sure if
he passed out but the level of fire from the other defenders was
suddenly far less than before with only an occasional shot to
signify that anyone was left.

He had fallen on his face into the dirt.
It can’t end like this,
he thought. They had come so far,
achieved so much. He lifted his head to search for Delilah. Was she
hurt, unconscious? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to even think
that. She had to be okay. He pulled himself over towards where she
had fallen. He heard more screams to his left as another defender
was hurt. He groped blindly for Delilah, ignoring the rocks that
banged into his fingers. He reached further, dragging his useless
body behind him. He could feel blood seeping from his wounds but he
forced himself on.

Finally, his fingers brushed something. He
stretched and felt a jacket. He groped further and then felt a
hand.
So cold
. His heart beat faster as he dragged himself
further. His fingers traced Delilah’s body to her face. Her neck.
He couldn’t feel a pulse. He pulled himself closer until he could
see her face. He pulled himself to her side and placed his cheek
against her mouth. Was that a breath? It was so damn cold he
couldn’t tell.

* * *

Antonio Cabreezi hurried down the corridor
as fast as he dared. They passed a number of bodies but he tried to
ignore them. He was no use to anyone if he ended up dead. Already
he could hear gunfire further into the complex. The high-pitched
chatter of the enemy’s weapons was one he was used to, but it was
answered now by the lower rumble of Jones’ XM8 Heckler and Koch.
Fowler looked at him, the man’s eyes pleading for them to hurry,
but he shook his head firmly and motioned for him to continue at
the present speed. Fowler glared at him but followed orders.

Jones could easily have passed part of the
enemy force in his haste. There was no point in all of them dying
for a few extra seconds. The high-pitched chatter continued
relentlessly for a few seconds and there was no answering rumble.
Shit
, he thought. Fowler looked at him again, his glare
accusing but Cabreezi ignored him. He continued at his steady pace.
Suddenly there was an answering bark of an XM8, followed by the
dull thump of a grenade. He felt the ground shake beneath him.
Good, Jones was still alive. He picked up the pace, approaching the
corner with less caution than his training Sergeant would have
liked. In fact, his old Sergeant would have ripped him a new one if
he had seen him now.