Vampire Apocalypse: Descent Into Chaos (Book 2) (34 page)

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.