Vampire Apocalypse: A World Torn Asunder (Book 1) (19 page)

“Take care of them.” He spoke
softly and without apparent menace, but the soldier swallowed hard
when he saw the look on Warkowski's face. Without waiting for a
reply Warkowski turned and headed back up through the ruined
wall.

When he reached the top he
glanced back briefly and then snapped his head forward when he
heard a thunderous blast that was followed closely by a
high-pitched whine. Then the wall in front of him suddenly
disappeared. The explosion picked him up and he felt himself fly
through the air before being slammed hard against the remains of
the wall.

After that he felt nothing.

Sarah Warkowski watched
impassively as the explosion lifted her husband and tossed him like
a rag doll against the wall. Her features remained unchanged, but
inside she exploded. Years of serum-induced passiveness started to
crumble as the pure, raw emotion welled up inside and overpowered
the chemical’s effect. A tidal wave of emotion gathered strength
deep inside her and built to a crescendo. Just when she felt she
would burst, the emotion was released in one long sustained
scream.

“Noooooo!”

The scream trailed off as the
exertion took its toll. Her eyes rolled behind her eyelids and
Sarah Warkowski collapsed.

Reiss ran back to the police
station in shock. “Okay, everyone,” he shouted down the steps,
“grab what you can carry, this is the last run.”

“What’s up?” Rodgers asked while
he struggled one-handed with his burden.

“There’s a tank outside,” Reiss
said breathlessly.

All activity stopped for a
second as the full impact registered.

“You’re shitting me,” Rodgers
exclaimed. Suddenly, there was a loud boom and the whole building
shook when the west wall of the station collapsed. The violence of
the attack galvanised the men into action.

“Get to the trucks as fast as
you can. Hurry!” Reiss shouted and then turned and disappeared back
out to the street.

The tank had made it to the top
of the street. Reiss arrived at the door in time to see another
shell explode over by the outer wall. He saw a figure thrown
against the wall and lie unmoving against it.

“Poor bastard,” he whispered. He
reached out a hand and stopped Rodgers. “Ken they’ll never make
it.” We have to stop that tank.”

Rodger’s smile slipped briefly
as he looked at Reiss and considered the implications of what he
was suggesting. He shrugged suddenly and then his smile returned as
he nodded. “You only live once, right? Let’s do it.”

Scott Anderson and his party
quickened their pace when they heard the first explosion.

“Jenny, you and Hackett take
Roberts and the supplies out the way we came in. John, Bill, let’s
go see if we can do anything to help.”

Hackett nodded and took the
extra packs from the others, offloading some of these onto Roberts,
who teetered violently with the extra weight. “Be careful,” Hackett
called after them and then led his charges off to the east.

The three men nodded and rushed
off toward the sounds of battle.

The helicopter buzzed across the
square, its twin heavy machine guns blazing and sending parallel
streams of death into the retreating men. Some of the men stopped,
dropped the supplies they carried and began firing back. Bullets
filled the air and Reiss watched while more of his men died, their
bodies torn apart by the high calibre bullets.

All the time the tank rumbled
closer.

“Ken, I don’t suppose you could
make this easy and rustle up some more rounds for that Bazooka?” he
asked, indicating the discarded weapon.

“'Fraid not, sir. That only
happens in cheap novels.”

The helicopter finished its run
and pulled up high over the surrounding buildings in preparation
for another run. Three more bodies lay still on the ground and the
rest of the men scrambled over the rubble, desperate to get out of
the killing ground.

“If he sees the trucks this will
have all been for nothing.”

“I know.”

And with that the two men
stepped out.

Chapter 19

Harris stood in an alleyway
behind the tank and watched the huge machine trundle past. Standing
this close he could feel the ground tremble beneath his feet and
his teeth chattered, though that wasn’t all to do with the
vibrations.
A number of thralls trotted in its
wake and Harris pressed further back into the shadows.

“How many?” Ashley asked.

“About fifteen,” Harris replied,
“but you can be sure there’s more coming. Are you up for this?”

Kelly and Ashley hefted the
grenades in their hands and nodded.

“I keep thinking of Butch and
Sundance,” Harris muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Now or
never then, guys.” With that, the three men came out from behind
the wall and all hell broke loose.

The men threw their grenades
quickly and brought their weapons to bear even before the first
blast ripped through the thralls. Bodies were flung into the air by
the blasts, the explosions popping like firecrackers at second
intervals, and then the machine guns roared and caught the
remaining thralls in a devastating crossfire.

The thralls were taken
completely by surprise, but their reactions were uncanny. Boosted
by their enhanced abilities, a few actually managed to get their
guns ready and return fire at the three men. Bullets flew past
Harris” head and his shirt billowed as the rounds tore at the
material. Beside him he heard Ashley scream when a line of bullets
stitched a pattern from his groin to his neck. Harris suddenly fell
to one knee when his left leg was shot from under him and then,
just as suddenly as it began, it was all over.

The tank continued on its way,
oblivious to the brief and deadly battle behind. The air was full
of the smell of blood and cordite and Harris gagged on each
breath.

“Are you okay?” Kelly asked.

Harris looked over at
Ashley.

“He’s dead, I’m afraid,” Kelly
confirmed.

Harris just nodded dumbly and
began to climb to his feet using the machine gun for support. “Come
on, we’re not done yet.”

Reiss and Rodgers stood side by
side in the street and watched the helicopter bank in readiness for
its return run. Behind them the rest of their group had reached the
top of the rubble and disappeared down to the trucks. Both men
checked their magazines and slapped the chambers closed. The
helicopter straightened its approach and opened fire. Bullets
traced a line some fifty yards ahead of the two men, picking up
small tufts of dirt and asphalt with each impact.

Scott Anderson could see the two
men in the middle of the street. The scene was one of nightmares
and war movies. Fires burned steadily all over the square. The
whole area appeared to be under a shadowy veil of thick smoke
mingled with the dust from the destroyed buildings that blocked the
morning’s sun. The noise of the tank and the helicopter were
deafening and he shuddered at the sheer horror of the scene.

“What the fuck are they doing?”
Pritchard asked from behind.

“Trying to distract the
helicopter so the trucks can get away,” Anderson shouted back.

Pritchard blanched as he
realised what such a distraction would take.

“Right, you two set up here and
fire at that fucker as soon as he’s in range,” Scott ordered and
got to his feet. “Don’t stop till he’s either dead or you run out
of bullets.” The helicopter had already begun its run and bullets
tore up the road.

“What are you going to do?” his
brother shouted over the thunderous noise.

“Join them, what else?”

Harris and Kelly ran after the
tank.

“Keep me covered!” Harris
shouted over the roar of the engine. He gritted his teeth against
the pain in his leg and launched himself at the back of the tank.
He caught hold of the rear service ladder and quickly pulled
himself aboard. The diesel fumes that assaulted him as he pulled
himself over the filter grids made him retch and cough violently.
Then, suddenly, he was clear. He took a few seconds to rest and
breathe fresh air before he again pulled himself to his feet and
continued on.

Harris skirted the main hatch as
he inched his way along the vehicle. The tank pitched and rolled
like a boat at sea as it travelled over the many bumps and debris
and Harris found the going slow. His arm, though not broken from
the fall, hurt like hell and he couldn’t grip the handrail
properly. He shuffled past the hatch and finally managed to get to
the turret extension. Gingerly he lowered himself from the side
panel to a horizontal position and straddled the turret.

This was the time he was most
vulnerable. The occupants of the tank noticed him for the first
time and reacted. Harris heard the bolt in the hatch behind him
slide open; metal creaked when the port was swung open. Harris
heard a roar of gunfire and couldn’t help but flinch while he
waited for the impact.

The bullets, however, were not
aimed at him. Kelly shadowed the tank and watched Harris make his
way to the front. He had seen the main port swing open and let
loose a hail of fire at the thrall who appeared. Bullets ricocheted
around the hatch. The thrall blanched and tumbled back into the
main cabinet. A few seconds later, a hand appeared briefly and shut
the hatch.

Harris lay over the turret on
his stomach with hands wrapped around the metal on either side and
began to pull himself along. The occupants tried to shake their
passenger off by driving over rubble and potholes. The tank pitched
violently and Harris slipped. He frantically swiped at the turret
to stop himself falling. He grasped the turret with his left arm
and screamed with pain when the injured muscles protested. Sweat
poured down his face; his feet bounced against the asphalt mere
inches from the treads of the tank. His hand began to slip and he
tried once more to lever his legs back over the turret.

He brought his right hand up and
used its strength to lever his legs up. He gained a foothold with
his right leg, but the bullet in his left thigh had left that leg
practically numb. He moved his hips and upper arms and finally
dragged the injured limb over the turret. He lay there hanging
upside down from the turret and waited for the pain to subside. It
was then that he felt the rumble in the turret and the metal
suddenly spiked in temperature. The roar of the explosion competed
for volume with the scream that ripped from his throat as searing
heat shot through the length of the turret. It was a close call as
to which was louder.

Reiss watched the line of
bullets approach and brought his own weapon up. He aimed the
machine gun along its sight and began to fire. The recoil hammered
his shoulder in a rapid, rhythmic beat as he tried vainly to keep
the weapon steady while it bucked in his hands. He was dimly aware
of the bullet trail getting closer but forced himself to
concentrate on the approaching helicopter. Then bullets whined past
him and, suddenly, a violent impact knocked the air from him. He
felt himself fall and struggled for breath. Then darkness
descended.

Scott Anderson ran toward the
men who had raised their weapons and begun firing as bullets
stitched across the asphalt toward them. He heard the gunfire
behind him when his brother and Pritchard joined the fray. There
was no time to join the two men and they obviously were not aware
that help had arrived. They had bet everything on this gambit.
Scott ran harder and launched himself at the men. He caught Reiss
in the midriff and his momentum carried them into Rodgers. The
three men tumbled in a heap as the road where they had stood only
moments before was ripped to shreds.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal
of the helicopter. Pritchard shouted in triumph when a spider-web
shattered across the glass screen in front of the pilot. Some of
the bullets penetrated the glass and ricocheted wildly within the
small cabinet of the flight area. The helicopter seemed to shudder
in the air and then the high-pitched drone of the engine missed a
few beats. It coughed and spluttered until the engine died.

The blades continued to turn,
but the engine driving them had given up by the time the machine
dropped like a stone.

Harris felt the heat sear his
hands and thighs, but knew he’d be crushed if he let go, so he held
grimly on. The pain was intense, but luckily the metal cooled quite
quickly once the shell passed through. Harris renewed his effort to
pull himself along the length of the turret. Blisters formed on his
hands and legs and just as quickly burst. He had passed the point
where the pain made any difference; now it just remained at a
constant level.

The tank suddenly veered to the
left and drove directly at a nearby building. Harris groaned when
he realised that the thralls were trying a different approach. He
saw the wall some twenty feet away and redoubled his efforts to get
to the end.

Fifteen feet.

Harris pulled himself forward
and smiled grimly when his ruined fingers touched the end of the
turret.

Ten feet.

He reached back and pulled a
grenade from his belt. His heart skipped a beat when the grenade
nearly slipped in his blood-soaked hands. He gripped it tighter and
ignored the pain from the blisters. The wall loomed closer as he
brought the grenade to his mouth, gripped the pin with his teeth
and pulled.

Five feet.

The wall was right in front of
him when Harris stuffed the grenade into the bore of the turret and
tried to launch himself to the ground. His body just didn’t have
the energy needed to get clear and the tank treads loomed above
him. The turret hit the wall and exploded at the same time. Debris
flew everywhere. Harris felt a strong grip under his left arm and
suddenly he was pulled out from under the tank. The treads missed
him by inches on their way past. Bricks and the remains of wooden
supports rained down on him and his body took another beating. The
turret itself split like a banana at the top from the
explosion.