Vampire Apocalypse: Descent Into Chaos (Book 2) (8 page)

The smoke drew them like a beacon. They had tried
repeatedly to raise Bertrand since they had seen the first sign of
smoke on the horizon but only static answered them. Something was
wrong and cold fear spread through Captain William Carter with
every mile. He was responsible for this area, and that
responsibility brought with it power and prestige. However, when
there was trouble, it could also bring about quick and violent
retribution at the hands of the vampires. The supplies in Bertrand
were critical to the cabal’s survival as both a bargaining tool and
as the critical supplies they would need to fuel an invasion, if
negotiations broke down.

Command in Von Kruger’s thralls guard was hard to
achieve and even harder to keep hold of in times of relative peace.
Those above you ruthlessly guarded themselves and those below
constantly tried to find a weak chink they could use to topple you.
This constant threat of attack from all sides allowed little time
for anything else but self-preservation. While it was true that
Carter had been forced by his commanders to place such large
quantities of fuel in Bertrand, ostensibly to make it easier to
supply their spearhead, should they invade. But it had been his own
decision to set up his headquarters in nearby Niles instead of the
small backwater town. He had left a large complement of soldiers in
Bertrand, of course, but Niles had far more comforts both in flesh
and food supplies and he had pandered to those comforts. This would
be his undoing if anything had happened to the supplies. He watched
the smoke spiraling up into the otherwise cobalt sky and wished
fervently that some fool had merely blown himself up. The huge
trails of smoke on the horizon, however, were far too great for
anything as minor as that.

He knew with a certainty that gripped at his stomach
and twisted it violently that he was looking at the portent of his
own death, and the dread increased with each mile they traveled. He
snapped into his handheld radio, demanding that Bertrand reply as
he began to see the outline of the small town in the distance. They
were close enough now so that the hand radios should work but still
static seemed to mock him when he lifted his thumb from the
device.

He could see the old fort now though smoke billowed
around it like a veil and teasingly revealed part of the structure
only to hide it again as the wind caught it and wrapped it back
into its embrace again. He could see a tanker on fire and hope
flared that it had only been an accident after all and that his
demands over the radio had been ignored due to the town commander’s
own fear of reprisal from his superior. He saw the first body on
the ground when they were still half a mile away and his heart
sank. There could be no doubt now. They had been attacked. There
would be no reprieve for him.

The truck slid to a halt on the dusty surface of the
road and men spilled out from the truck and ran into the smoke. For
a moment Carter thought they had been swallowed by a living entity,
but then he saw the first of the men return and their shouted
reports began to form a picture of the carnage that lay hidden
behind the veil of smoke. He tuned out for a moment and thought of
how he would report this to his superiors. Would they make him
report directly to the vampires to distance themselves from this
grave error in judgement? Probably. The vampires did not take
failure well and usually made an extreme example of anyone bringing
them bad news. And this news was as bad as it got.

Not only did it show his incompetence but it also
heralded what could possibly be a major incursion by the Wentworth
cabal. A small spark of hope began to smolder in his chest as he
realized that he might be able to use this catastrophe after all.
If he could show that there had been nothing that he could have
done, even if his headquarters had been here, then he might yet
survive. Surely he could divert some of the blame to their
intelligence division. Those bastards strutted around full of their
own self-importance, demanding regular guards like him drop
everything at their every whim. Surely they should have been able
to predict such a large incursion.

Carter looked out over the carnage and began to
formulate his report. There was enough destruction to safely
estimate a huge attacking force. He did not care if his report
wasn’t accurate—his life was on the line now and only a full-scale
invasion could save him. He began to walk through the shattered
remains of the fort, trying to piece together the attack. There
were no tire tracks other than his own men’s vehicles so the enemy
had not attacked en masse. That was not good. If they had not used
vehicles then it had probably been a small commando raid and that
did not fit in with his plan.

The fuel was still mostly intact, only one tanker had
been destroyed and another was missing, but the main storage tanks
were still undamaged. He could not understand why Wentworth would
risk such an attack and not leave his enemy crippled. Why would he
steal one tanker and leave the bulk of the supplies for his enemy
to use against him? It made no sense, but good strategy was not
something he needed to be concerned about. He had to show that
there had been no possible hope that he could have driven off the
attack.

He looked back towards the men he had brought with
him. He had been so harried when the news of the smoke had come to
him that he had grabbed what men were on watch and rushed towards
Bertrand, leaving word for the others to follow as soon as the main
force was ready. It wasn’t that he was particularly brave, rushing
off the save Bertrand, it was merely that he was so scared that
blame would be laid at his door that he had rushed off without
thinking that the town could still be under attack. Luckily, it had
not been, though as he watched his small squad shift trough the
smoky scene he thanked his luck that there had only been a few men
available. A plan began to form in his mind.

He shouted orders at his men to form up and they
jumped to his command. There were ten guards in all, men he had
known for two years now. He had shared with them the pleasures his
masters had promised since the beginning of the war with the
vampires and had no regrets for the many diabolical acts he had
initiated.

The men lined up together and waited on his command
and Carter took his time as he surveyed the men. He reached behind
him and felt for the automatic that hung from a strap over his
shoulder. Calmly he raised the weapon and opened fire on the
thralls that still stood at attention in front of him.

The last two had recovered enough to move but Carter
had acted with such speed that they had only managed to bring their
weapons to bear when the bullets slammed into them and sent them
flying back into the dust.

Carter looked over at his men and shrugged. Now he
could say that he and his brave men had dutifully been on patrol
and had returned in time to see Wentworth’s forces in the process
of stealing their supplies. They had fought hard and saved the fuel
supplies though his entire patrol had been killed in the firefight.
He walked to the truck they had arrived in and took a parcel of
explosives from the back. He looked back towards Niles and could
see a large dust plume in the distance; his re-enforcements would
be here soon. He had to hurry.

He pulled his men into positions around the walls as
if they had died while attacking the fort. Then he moved to the
main tanks and placed the explosives by the main pump and set the
timer to one minute and grinned as he imagined his story of how he
had managed to save the supplies with only seconds to spare. The
dust plume grew closer and he could hear the roar of the engines as
they raced toward him.

He pulled his handgun from its holster at his side
and calmly placed the muzzle against his arm. He could not possibly
have been the only survivor without some injury. Calmly he pulled
the trigger and fell to the ground in agony. God it hurt, he
thought and a wave of nausea swept over him. He heard the trucks
arrive outside the fort and he smiled as he imagined how he would
be hailed as a hero. There would be plenty of opportunity to rise
in the ranks in the upcoming war, especially for the man who had
risked so much to save his cabal’s supplies.

“What do you think?” Rodgers asked as he drew back
from the edge of the hilltop and winced with the pain that shot
through his leg. He turned towards Peter Harris who still lay
beside him, surveying the carnage below.

“Looks like we may have hit the jackpot,” Harris
grinned as he lowered his binoculars. “I was worried that our
attack was too small to convince them that Wentworth had come
across. I thought that it would take at least a few more raids
before we could actually get them at each other’s throats. But it
looks like our friend there may just do the job for us.”

“It’s amazing what they’ll do to hide their
incompetence,” Rodgers agreed. “What do you want to do with the
fuel?”

“Keep it hidden for now; it’s too risky to move it by
day. Besides, we can’t move Steele at the moment.”

“How is he?” Rodgers asked as he massaged his own
wound.

“Luckier than he has any right to be.” Harris scowled
and then gazed into the sky as if lost in thought. He blinked as he
snapped himself out of it and turned back towards Rodgers. “You
know,” he said, suddenly excited, “we could siphon off what we can
carry and then leave the truck over the border. We could leave it
somewhere that Von Kruger’s men are sure to find it. I know it’s a
lot of fuel to give up but it might just be the nail in the coffin
if Von Kruger’s men were to find it.” He looked at Rodgers as the
man considered the new plan.

“It might just work,” he replied slowly as he thought
it through. “We’d have to make sure they found it, of course, but
I’m sure we could arrange that.” He burst into a wide grin. “You
are an evil bastard, you know that, Harris? They’ll tear each other
to pieces.”

“And we’ll be here to make sure that there aren’t any
cool heads ruining it for us.”

Sandra Harrington sat in the small room and fumed.
The committee, minus Peter who wasn’t due back until tomorrow,
shuffled around or sat talking in low tones around the large table.
The air was filled with chatter, scraping chairs and the tinkle of
crockery as some poured themselves coffee and tea from the table in
the corner. Won’t be long before the coffee runs out, Sandra mused
as she watched Phil Regan talking to his cronies before they took
their seats. Then the world truly will end.

There was something different that she couldn’t put
her finger on at first. It wasn’t just the obvious presence of a
public gallery that disturbed her, though it hardly helped. The
outcry from the debate had left a room full of angry people
demanding an explanation for what had been revealed. The shouting
had been so loud that it had attracted others who had not attended
and it wasn’t long before word spread throughout the community. Of
course, the whispered reports of what had happened had been
embellished each time it had been repeated so that the story had
been blown out of all proportion very quickly.

Sandra had tried to calm the room but her injuries
had flared up again and she did not have the energy to take on such
a mob. It had been Regan who had finally managed to calm the room,
and he had suggested that a small representative group should come
to the committee so they could put their questions directly to
them. Sandra was well aware that the situation was playing
perfectly to Regan’s plan but she had no other choice but to agree
to his terms, and the crowd had begun to disperse. Though there was
still an air of angry outrage amongst them that did not bode well
for an understanding audience.

There was only room for twelve men and women in the
room as well as the committee. The same number as a jury, she
thought idly as she scanned the angry faces of people she had known
for only a few months. There were no reassuring smiles from any of
them.

Despite the strained air, though, there was something
else. She had noticed it as soon as she walked into the room,
something in the air, but each time she thought she had it the
notion would dissipate like fog caught in an early morning breeze.
It nagged at her and made her already black mood far worse. And
then, suddenly, it came to her. For the first time she could
remember there was a definite feeling of division in the room. The
gallery sat away from the committee, though the table was large
enough to accommodate them all. Even among the committee, people
had chosen seats that set them within one camp and away from others
leaving an empty space in the middle of the table that seemed to
scream its presence at them like the tolling of their own
destruction.

Everyone had been informed of what had happened and
she could see by the grim faces around the table that they were
more than aware of the repercussions that they could anticipate.
She fully expected Regan to be severely censured, but throwing him
off the committee would only play into his hands. She knew that no
matter what they did, it was too late. Word was already sweeping
through the community and anything they did here could only be a
matter of damage control.

The committee had changed a lot since their early
days when they had met secretly in their hideaway in the docks.
Sometimes she fancied that she could still smell the petrol and
fish fumes that she always associated with those times. For a
moment she thought about her father as he had been then with his
large frame matching his equally large personality. It had been his
strength that had given all of them hope. He had not been the first
to overcome the serum’s debilitating effects but it had been him
that had organized those first few into a force that now included
nearly three thousand. She missed him a lot. She still woke in a
sweat with the image of his throat gushing blood and Nero’s
triumphant smile as he reached for her. In one way, though, it was
a good thing that he did not see the petty jealousies and power
plays that plagued them now. Human nature had two very different
sides, she mused, and the darker side would always try to tear down
that which others had built with their very blood.