Vampire Apocalypse: Fallout (Book 3) (8 page)

He wanted to explain how Von
Richelieu had already known where they were and that they would all
need to work together if they wanted to figure out why he had done
nothing with the knowledge up till now. But he couldn’t find the
right words. Phelps’ accusations had hit him hard. There was just
enough truth in them to make Harris realise that he had been far
too reckless with the community’s safety. Maybe Phelps was right.
Maybe he should be sent away.

The crowd began to chant, and it
took Harris a while to make out what they were saying and a cold
fear gripped his stomach. They were shouting for blood. Banishment
wasn’t going to be enough. They had been pushed too far, Phelps had
appealed to their basest fears and instincts, and now they were
responding in kind. Harris went pale as the chant grew louder in
some sections in the crowd. Others seemed to be shouting in anger
at other elements in the crowd and the whole room threatened to
blow.

“That is enough.” Harris was
surprised to see Phelps step forward and calm the crowd. “We are
not here to kill one of our own like a rabid mob. We are here only
for justice. I will not condone such behaviour. This man,” he
pointed toward Harris, “may have acted rashly and against our
better judgement, but he did act the way he thought was right. If I
thought he could restrain himself from rescuing more people I would
happily keep him among us, but I know him too well.”

The crowd cheered Phelps for his
charity and Harris began to wonder how much of this was staged and
how much was just blind luck and good crowd management.

“Harris,” Phelps continued, “it
is with regret that I now pass sentence on you.” He looked over at
Regan as if daring him to interrupt, but Regan knew when a crowd
was beyond salvation and he remained quiet. “You will be removed
from this community this very night, never to return. May God have
mercy on your soul.”

The crowd cheered and Phelps
began to move to the side, waving to the crowd as he lapped up
their applause. But not everything was to go as he had planned that
night.

Sandra Harrington stepped
forward. “I will stand with Peter Harris.” The shouting stopped
suddenly and Phelps found himself halfway across the platform with
his hands still raised in triumph but with no applause to help him
on his way. Harris moved to her side and tried to speak but she
merely slid her hand into his and gave a tight squeeze, warning him
to remain quiet.

“My dear,” Phelps began, “there
is no need…”

“I too stand with Harris.”
Philip Warkowski pushed his way through the crowd and lumbered up
the steps with a snort of disgust and a baleful glare at the
crowd.

“Mister Warkowski,” Phelps
assured him, “your part in Harris’ actions is not in question here.
You are a valued member …”

Phelps suddenly stopped in
mid-sentence as he saw Warkowski looking at him with a quizzical
expression.

“What are you looking at?” he
stammered and licked his lips nervously, uncomfortable with the big
man’s glare.

The huge man merely shrugged and
replied. “I was trying to determine whose side you’re on, Mr.
Phelps, and the answer does not fill me with confidence. You are
sending this man alone into hell and I, for one, am happy to follow
him there rather than remain where travesties like this can be
allowed to happen.” Warkowski had never spoken more than a few
words at any time before and this speech surprised everyone. “It
has been his courage and passion which has allowed this community
to flourish in the first place and it is your brand of hatred which
will see it fall. You have twisted the truth tonight for your own
ends and these people will see through you at some point. I pray it
is before they live to regret it.”

Silence descended over the
meeting room and then Phelps coughed nervously and licked at his
dry lips. “Surely you won’t subject your family to this, man. I
mean, it’s …”

“Certain death,” Warkowski
interrupted with a raised eyebrow and Phelps lowered his eyes. No
one had actually talked about what banishment would actually mean.
No one had come out and called it a death sentence and Warkowski’s
words had hit everyone hard. Phelps immediately offered a place in
the community for all family members, regardless of the decision of
any other members of their family, but Warkowski’s wife pushed
through the crowd with their daughter’s hand held firmly in
hers.

“Mr. Phelps,” she announced as
she crossed to her husband. “We are a family. Peter Harris and his
team risked their lives to rescue my husband and he, in turn,
crossed a city infested with vampires to rescue us. How can any of
you expect us to abandon either of them? Shame on you. Shame on all
of you.” Some elements of the crowd cheered her words and others
shouted at those who cheered. People began to push as the crowd
began to fragment into niches that reflected their differing views.
Ian Phelps raised his hands to try and regain control, but just
then April Cassavettes pushed her way through the crowd and made
her way up the steps.

She was totally unaware that her
appearance had caused everyone to stop. She had not heard the
shouting that preceded her appearance, nor noticed the silence that
fell over the room as she made her way to the stage. Her diminutive
size and determined expression made many blush with embarrassment.
Harris immediately signed to her to stay but she responded with a
blistering flurry of sign that few could follow, though her steely
expression left nobody with any doubt as to her meaning.

It had been a little like
picking sides for a game when you are young as Harris and his small
group stood defiantly to the side and waited for anyone who wanted
to join them to come forward. Pat Smyth came forward but Harris had
placed his hand on his friend’s shoulders and asked him to stay,
his research was just too important and there would be no
facilities where they were going. The little man tried hard to
argue but Harris was firm and, reluctantly, Pat returned to the
community, though, in an act of defiance, he remained apart from
the main crowd.

Father Reilly moved toward
Harris as well, and a gasp of shock rippled through the community.
He was still their only priest and his previous injuries still
plagued him. His face was grey but determined as he crossed to the
smaller group. Harris had been honoured that he had chosen to join
them but, again, he had been forced to refuse his help. The
community needed him too much.

Denis Johnson was the biggest
surprise. The man moved forward confidently, his brightly coloured
shirt almost glowing in its intensity against his dark skin. Harris
had been too shocked to refuse the man. He didn’t know Johnson very
well, though his actions since he had been voted on to the previous
committee had proven to be fair and well thought out.

As a current serving member on
the council, his loss would only work for Phelps as Regan could now
vote his own choice to the council. This would leave only Father
Reilly and Lucy Irvine remaining who would have any sympathy toward
Harris and his small group. This worried Harris greatly, but he did
not argue with the big man. Instead he smiled warmly and shook
Johnson’s hand. Both men knew the risks involved in taking this
step but sometimes you just had to go with the flow.

The addition of Johnson led to
three more people coming forward, two men and one woman. The woman
made it quite clear where she stood as she crossed and stood beside
Johnson and slipped her hand in his. She gave him a quizzical look
that led Harris to wonder if Johnson had really thought through
what he was doing. His partner was obviously as surprised as Harris
had been, though, to her credit, she had made her own decision
quickly enough. She was a striking woman with short hair that fell
to her shoulders and curled inwards to frame her face. Her eyes
were almost cobalt and blazed with an intensity that was only
heightened by her soft, chocolate skin.

Her name was Delilah Franklin
and Harris had known that Johnson and she had hooked up together,
though her immediate reaction to his joining Harris’s group
indicated how serious they were. One of the men was her brother
Benjamin, never Ben, Harris remembered as the joking just never
stopped with people carrying old $100 notes and asking the young
man why his picture didn’t match his actual appearance.

It had been funny for a while,
but then it had worn thin and Benjamin had announced that he would
prefer to be addressed as Benjamin. However, the level of fun
people had with him was as nothing compared to when his sister
walked into a room and people broke into spontaneous renditions of
“Why Why Why Delilah?,” so he had taken the fun with good
nature.

He had been training with Harris
since he had been weaned off the serum. He and his sister had been
among those rescued a month or so before the huge rescue so they
had already found their feet in the community but were not there so
long that they had formed strong ties. He had been a state trooper
before the vampires had come, though at twenty-two he had only just
joined the force. He was good at taking orders but still walked, or
strutted, as any young man would who thought themselves
indestructible. The other man was unknown to Harris but he seemed
to be following Benjamin’s lead. His broad shoulders and huge
muscled arms would be a great help, so Harris wasn’t concerned as
to his motivations. Just as they were about to leave there was a
commotion at the back of the room and raised voices caused everyone
to turn.

“You can’t go,” they heard a
high-pitched voice plead, and then a young boy pushed through and
looked defiantly at Phelps for a moment before he continued up the
steps and joined the small group. The boy couldn’t have been more
than fifteen and Harris searched his memory for the boy’s name,
something like Rick, he thought, but wasn’t sure. The boy was an
orphan, or at least his parents hadn’t been found yet, though they
could still be alive somewhere.

“Ricks,” a girl of around the
same age finally made her way though the main throng of people
until she stood half way between the two groups. She stopped
suddenly as if unsure what to do next.

“Conor,” she repeated more
softly, “you can’t go. You’ll be killed.” The girl pleaded but
seemed unable to move any further toward him. Just then a number of
other children between the ages of thirteen and seventeen made
their way though the main group and stood with the young girl.

“I have to,” Ricks answered her.
“Harris is the only one likely to rescue any more people and my
parents are still out there.” He lifted his hands as if he was
about to speak again and then dropped them in frustration when he
couldn’t find the words he was looking for.

“I have to,” he repeated with a
sigh. “As long as there’s a chance.” He shrugged and looked at the
girl and the faces of those standing behind her.

There was a shocked rumble in
the room as the young man’s words hit a chord.

“Conor Ricks, you’re too young
to fight the vampires,” the girl argued and then turned to Phelps
as her face lit up, “Mr. Phelps, tell him you’ll continue to look
for his parents.”

Phelps looked as if he’d been
slapped in the face and an awkward silence descended over the room.
Harris turned to the young man who now stood before him.

“Son,” he began as he looked the
boy in the eyes. “I can’t promise to find your parents. You know
that, don’t you?”

“Maybe not,” the boy sighed,
“but I bet you’ll at least try, won’t you?”

Harris looked into the boy’s
eyes. He should lie, he knew, he should tell this boy that he
wouldn’t look for his parents and get him to stay with the
community. But there had been enough lies told already and he had
had enough.

“Yes,” he sighed, “I’ll keep
looking until I find them or die trying.”

“That’s enough for me,” the boy
replied. “I want to help.”

“Glad to have you, Conor.”

“Ricks,” the boy interrupted
politely, but forcefully, and Harris nodded.

“No,” the girl sobbed and a
single tear began to roll down her cheek. Ricks walked back to the
steps and crossed to the girl, where he put his arms around her
awkwardly. She leaned against him and Harris noticed that one of
the other boys began to move forward but was held back by a much
larger boy. The rest of the room remained silent as the scene
played out.

“Hey, Emma,” he said softly and
she looked up at him.

“You’ve never called me Emma
before,” she said quietly and Harris felt a sudden embarrassment at
listening to such an intimate moment.

“I’ll be careful.”

The moment stretched on, and
then the girl suddenly leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

“You’d better or I’ll kill you
myself,” she smiled bravely and then turned to join her friends.
Ricks returned to the platform. A woman who was probably the girl’s
mother pushed through and put a hand awkwardly on her shoulder and
Harris wondered if it was more an action of restraint rather than
consolation. After that four more men came forward, all of them
current trainees for Harris’s expeditionary force.

“Geez, if the kid can go, how
can we stay?’ one of the men said simply as he smiled at Harris and
moved to join the others. And that had been it. In all, fourteen of
them had left that night, though those who were left did not feel
quite so righteous as they had expected to feel. The worried
expression that Phelps had worn as he watched the small group
leave, his tongue constantly wetting his lips like a demented
lizard, had almost been worth it. The community too had been split,
with many unsure whether the punishment was truly fitting. Harris
had though he could see a rift forming even as he watched and then
he had turned and walked out with his small band following.