Trail of Tears (23 page)

* * *

Phil McAteer rolled away from the bullets as
they slammed into the snow around him. He had underestimated the
thralls and now they were behind him. It was a rookie mistake and
now four of his men were dead. Anger burned in him. He just hadn’t
expected them to flank him—not in this weather. Any force trying to
move around him was more likely to lose their way and travel too
far than to find their position. But, regardless, the thralls had
found them. Either the thralls had better senses than he knew about
or their leader was just plain lucky.

McAteer forced himself not to fire back.
From the muzzle flashes he judged the thrall patrol to be around
nine in number. There was no way he could fight his way out. His
only hope was to blend into the background, and he could not do
that if they tracked him each time he fired. Bullets flew
everywhere as the thralls sprayed fire in all directions. He hugged
the ground, trying to burrow into the snow but the hard ground
beneath was impenetrable and the snow was only two inches or so in
this area after being tramped down with all the traffic. He heard a
shout and the bullets stopped. They were listening for him now and
their ears were a lot sharper than his. All he could hear was the
howling of the damn wind. They would be searching for him now. He
couldn’t stay here but couldn’t run either or they would see
him.

He had to create a diversion. He plucked a
grenade from his jacket, moving very slowly, and pulled the pin. He
released the safety lever gently, holding the metal as it slipped
free so the noise did not give his position away. He rolled onto
his back, stretching his arm out and then spun on to his front
bringing his arm through in an arc. He let the grenade go as his
arm reached its zenith and the grenade flew silently towards where
he thought the thralls to be. His motion did not bring any further
gunfire so his unorthodox throw had worked.

Three seconds later the grenade exploded.
Without further thought he forced himself to his feet and ran,
crouching low. Behind him he could hear gunfire erupting again but
it seemed to be wild rather than focused on him. As he ran he could
hear the screams over the chatter of gunfire. At least he had made
some of them pay for the deaths of his men.

* * *

Harris had no idea what was going on. He
heard gunfire and occasionally he could see shapes dart from cover,
but they were too fast to recognise if they were human or thrall.
The main clearing was awash with lurid light from the flaming
vehicles. There were still a number of vehicles undamaged towards
the front but at least half had been damaged, most irreparably so.
There was a sizable force of thralls using the vehicles as cover
and they poured a steady barrage of fire towards any muzzle flare
they saw. Harris noted with satisfaction that each flash around the
thralls only erupted briefly and then appeared again some distance
away. His team were following their training.

This situation was playing in the human’s
favour in that the thralls were stuck here and each moment was
another precious mile for the others to reach the train. However,
it did not give his men opportunity to get away either. And that
was a problem. Once the heavy armour arrived the thralls would
quickly mop up the remaining humans and then be free to follow the
others. While it was true the thralls did not know where the humans
had gone it was only the storm that was hiding their exodus. Once
that stopped, the thralls would be able to track them. Already the
snow was lightening. The wind still plucked at them viciously but
it was the snow that hid them.

They had to do something. He saw a thrall
spin from behind cover and fall to the ground but he rose again and
continued to fire. Their damn healing was a major disadvantage to
the humans. To keep the thralls down for good they had to either
hit them enough times that their healing ability was overwhelmed or
hit their hearts or brain. That was particularly difficult when you
were constantly changing position.

A well-placed grenade or mortar was just
what they needed but he had none left and, obviously, neither did
his team. He needed something to drive the thralls from cover. His
eyes scanned the area. The entrance to what had been their home was
still lit with scattered small fires, their flames forced over
nearly horizontal to the ground by the relentless wind. Past that
he could see the slight rise towards the site of the mass grave and
the barren ground beyond where the thrall team had come from.
Was that only a few days ago? It seemed like weeks.
His eyes
scanned past but then his heart skipped a beat, and he snapped his
head back towards the barren ground. He pushed himself to his feet
and began the long trip around the thralls.

It took thirty minutes and in that time he
was pretty sure that there were fewer shots coming from his team.
They were losing the war of attrition and the thralls were
beginning to grow bolder and move from their cover. The heavy
chatter of .50 calibre machine guns supported them and forced his
men to keep their heads down as the constant barrage chewed up the
surrounding cover. If he waited much longer then it would be too
late. Finally he came to the mass grave. His eyes scanned the
terrible scene before him; the bodies lying in neat rows, their
features forever frozen as they stared sightlessly upward.

A noise to his left had him rolling to the
ground and bringing his weapon up in one fluid motion. His finger
was already tightening on the trigger when he saw a pale face with
an unruly mop of blond hair.

“Robert Seager, I nearly blew your fool head
off, boy!” he sighed as he lowered his XM8.

“Sorry, sir,” the boy was still looking at
Harris’ weapon as he realised how close he had come to death. “I
didn’t see the signal, sir. Did I miss it?” His voice was nervous,
as if he had made some terrible mistake.

“Change of plan. Is April with you?” Seager
nodded and motioned behind him and April suddenly appeared from the
snow like a wraith. He had argued against their staying here
originally but it had been their idea. Many of those who had lost
relatives had not wanted to leave their loved ones behind without a
proper burial, but there had not been the time to fill in the huge
mass grave. It had been Seager and April’s idea to create a large
funeral pyre. That way the bodies could not be interfered with by
the vampires or the thralls and they had insisted on staying to
light it. Around the site was the last of the community’s precious
fuel. There was no way they could carry it and they had not wanted
to leave anything behind that their enemy could use.

“Pour the barrels into the grave but leave
three. We need two of them over here and the third over there,” he
said pointing towards their old home. Seager and April didn’t
question him. They moved efficiently, tipping the barrels into the
grave, and moving to the next one. Within minutes they were both
standing beside him.

“We need to pour this one down towards the
fires at the entrance,” he said slapping the first barrel, “The
fire from the grave will run along the trail and make sure we leave
nothing behind. These two,” he tapped the other barrels, “we need
to angle so they go down that incline.” He pointed down to the main
area where the thralls were still shooting from cover.
“Understand?” He looked at both of them making sure they were
clear.

“Yes, sir.”

Harris saw the feral grin on Seager’s face
as the boy realised what they were doing.
Dear God,
he
thought,
is this the future we are creating for our children?
But what other choice is there?

* * *

McAteer threw himself to the ground as the
bullets stitched the air above him. He slid another ten feet on the
snow before he finally came to a halt, his hands high above his
head.

“Whoa, it’s me, McAteer. Stop shooting.”

“Damn. You shouldn’t sneak up like that, ya
damn fool. I could’a blown your head off… sir.” Peterson growled,
adding the ‘sir’ belatedly as he recognised his superior.

McAteer pulled himself to his feet, brushing
the snow from his gear. “How are we fixed?”

“Not good, sir,” Peterson replied. “Someone
blew a few of the trucks from the rear but most of the thralls were
at the front so we still got a sizable force and they’re pissed.
Most of them are pinned down in the main area but they’re about to
break out. Seems we’ve lost a lot of our guys and they’re getting
bolder. Where are the others?” he asked as he noticed for the first
time that McAteer was alone.

“We got flanked,” he spat the words and
found he couldn’t meet Peterson’s eyes.

“Sir, we really need to get those thralls to
scatter so we can pick them off; otherwise they’ll over run us
soon.” McAteer nodded and came to the lip of Peterson’s position.
He scanned the area looking for anything that he could use.
Suddenly he tensed and Peterson was about to speak when McAteer
whirled towards him.

“Move along the trail and let the others
know to keep firing, we need to keep their attention on us for a
few more minutes.”

“What …”

“Harris has a plan,” McAteer answered and
Peterson just nodded and set off.

* * *

Harris struggled to drag the barrel a few
more feet and then stood panting as he looked down the incline,
judging the angle the fuel would take. They would lose a lot of
fuel on the loosely packed snow up here but it was harder towards
the middle of the slope and should travel better from there. It was
a long shot, but if they could pour enough down they might be able
to create a wall of fire between the thralls and the humans and
keep the thralls pinned down a little longer.

He nodded to Seager and they both strained
as they pushed against the barrel. It finally tipped over and
Harris cut into the cover with a hatchet until a steady stream
began to pump out, soaking the snow. For a moment the fuel just
disappeared into the snow and Harris thought he had miscalculated
but then he saw a thickening line begin to make its way down the
slope and towards the thralls. He lost sight of the line soon after
so he had no way of knowing whether the fuel was going in the right
direction. Would this be enough? Seager began to pull at the other
barrel and Harris knew that they could not risk it.

“Leave it, Robert. You and April light the
fuse and get clear.”

“What about you?” Seager asked
suspiciously.

“I think I need to get a little closer.”
Before the boy could answer Harris had tipped over the last barrel
and was easing it down the incline, using his weight from the front
to slow its descent.

Harris’s back was in agony. Not only was the
barrel bloody heavy but the metal was freezing and its constant
pressure against his back had soaked his jacket and siphoned the
heat from his body. Gunfire suddenly erupted from the outskirts of
the clearing, this time there were no three round bursts and
changing of positions. Either the thralls were on the attack or
someone had seen him and was distracting the thralls.

A sudden fireball suddenly lit up the sky
leaving him very exposed on the incline if anyone looked in his
direction. Seager and April had lit the grave. Soon the fire would
spread to their old home and chase him down this hill. Bullets
suddenly ripped into the ground close to his position and he
cursed. He had forgotten that the fire would expose him. A bullet
tore into his heel and he slipped. The barrel pushed at him and he
slipped further. The barrel picked up momentum and he found himself
falling forward, his face slamming into the hard snow and the
barrel rolling over him.

He cried out in pain as his arm was crushed
by the heavy barrel and then it was gone. He saw it for a moment
but it picked up momentum and rumbled down the hill. Bullets
continued to slam into the ground around him and he picked himself
up and ran. He saw a lit trail of fire race down the hill faster
than he could hope to run and it soon passed him heading towards
the thralls.

He had done all he could. He turned and
headed back up to where Seager and April waited.

* * *

Phil McAteer saw Harris slip and cursed. It
had been a good idea but dumb luck had ruined it. He watched as
Harris scrambled to get clear of the bullets that poured into the
ground around him. The barrel continued to roll, bumping wildly
down the slope. He heard the dull thunk of metal against metal and
braced himself for an explosion but the barrel continued to roll.
Another bullet slammed into the barrel but it merely shifted the
trajectory.

McAteer could see a spray of fuel spurt
wildly from the barrel as it raced down the hill. How the bullets
had not caused the barrel to explode he didn’t know but, somehow,
they hadn’t. All they had done was leave a trail of fuel in the
barrel’s wake. Suddenly McAteer had a thought and he judged where
the barrel might run out of momentum. The thralls had seen the
danger as well; the whole scene was well backlit by the funeral
pyre on the hill. The entrance to their home was also a raging
furnace; the flames already reaching greedily inside and devouring
everything that could burn.

“Pull out!” He suddenly turned to Peterson.
“Go down the line and let anyone left know that we’re pulling out.”
Peterson looked at him with a frown but he knew his commander well
enough to know that there was no point in questioning the order and
he slipped into the darkness. McAteer looked towards the horizon
and noted the thin line that heralded the dawn. The snow had eased
to a gentle fall but the wind continued to tug at him. He looked to
the flames and saw them bent over as if bowing to the wind in
supplication. And the current, their great overlord, used its
strength to fan the flames and make them burn brighter. He felt a
terrible sadness as he watched their home burn. He hadn’t been here
as long as some, but he thought of this cobbled series of huts,
corridors, and buildings as his home.