Vampire Apocalypse: A World Torn Asunder (Book 1) (20 page)

The tank, however, was still a
dangerous tool. It changed gear and began to reverse out of the
building.

Harris looked up and saw Kelly,
who continued to pull him clear of the rubble. “Get the treads!” he
shouted and waved the man away.

Kelly ran to the tank and pulled
a grenade from his belt. The tank had freed itself from the wall
and was already beginning to pull forward when Kelly pulled the pin
and jammed it between the wheels. He returned to Harris and helped
drag him to cover before the grenade exploded and tore the tread
off the right wheel brace. The engine screamed and the smell of
diesel hung heavy in the air as the thralls tried again and again
to move the metal behemoth, but without the tread, the tank was
just junk.

“Piece of cake,” Harris quipped
and then collapsed in Kelly’s arms.

Pritchard and Bill Anderson ran
over to the three men on the ground. Bill helped his brother get to
his feet, while Pritchard checked on the other two.

“Anyone get the number of that
truck?” Rodgers joked.

“Are you okay?” Pritchard asked.
He helped Rodgers to a sitting position.

“I’ll live,” he replied. “How’s
Reiss?”

Pritchard looked over at Reiss
and saw blood pour from a head wound. “Not so good,” he replied.
“Looks like one of those rounds grazed his head.” He examined the
wound and tore a strip from his shirt to tie it around Reiss”
forehead. “We’ll have to carry him. Are you up for it?”

“Okay, guys, quit the chatting,”
Scott Anderson interrupted. “Grab a leg and let’s get out of here
before the rest of the city shows up. Bill, check on the others and
see if any are still alive.”

The three men lifted Reiss and
headed for the meeting point. Bill Anderson followed, stopping
occasionally to check on the many still forms that littered the
square. One after another Bill Anderson checked the bodies. His
posture seemed to stoop further and further and tears welled in his
eyes as, one after another, he found no sign of life. He reached
the top of the mound of rubble made by their initial assault and
turned back to look at the desolation.

So many dead, he thought. He
turned to watch the others pull themselves into the last remaining
truck. The failure to find anybody alive weighed heavily on him as
he turned to join the others. Then, suddenly, he caught a movement
out of the corner of his eye. He rushed over to the area where he
saw the hand sticking up from the rubble. New hope replaced
frustration as Bill fell to his knees and tore at the debris around
the limb.

“Bill, come on. We’re leaving.”
He heard the shouts from below, but ignored them. His hands bled
and his nails cracked but, slowly, he revealed the body buried
beneath.

“Warkowski,” he exclaimed when
he revealed the battered face. He pressed his fingers against the
man’s neck. “He’s still alive.” The pulse was weak but stable.

His heart leapt and he attacked
the debris with renewed vigour, quickly clearing away the last of
the rubble. He didn’t have time to check the extent of the
injuries, so he just dragged the limp form over the rubble and
stumbled to the truck under its weight.

“Hold on, Warkowski. Don’t you
dare die on me.”

Chapter 20

Harris woke to pain. His whole
body throbbed from the abuse of the last few hours. He opened his
eyes and shut them again against the glare of the fluorescent
lights. He tried again. This time he opened his eyes a mere crack
and let them get used to the brightness. He was in the infirmary.
The white plastic dividing curtains halfway round his bed and the
metal bedpan on his locker were a dead giveaway. He turned his head
to take in the whole room and pain once again swept over him.

“So you’re awake?” He’d
recognise that voice anywhere. Sandra. Harris gently turned to the
sound of her voice and smiled when she came into view. Her face was
creased with concern and black rings were visible beneath her
eyes.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Harris croaked,
and Sandra Harrington smiled.

“You’ve been out for a while and
the drugs we’ve pumped you with have dried up your throat. Don’t
worry, you’ll be bawling out the troops again in no time.”

“How long?” he asked. He made a
face when his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Twenty-four hours. Don’t
worry,” she added quickly when she saw the alarm in his face, “we
got all the supplies in without being seen. Pritchard and Kelly
dumped the trucks miles away and returned a few hours ago. Looks
like a job well done.”

Sandra’s smile faltered when she
saw the pain on Harris’ss face. This pain she knew had nothing to
do with the trauma his body had gone through.

“You couldn’t have done any
more, Peter.”

“How many?” he asked.

“Seventeen didn’t come back and
three more are in here with you.”

“Oh Jesus,” he gasped and
brought his right hand to his face.

“How’s Warkowski?”

Sandra dropped her head, unable
to give the news while looking at him. “He’s alive but...” She
tried to continue, but Harris put a hand on hers and stopped her.
She looked up into his eyes, their sunken appearance gave him a
haunted look, but he smiled encouragement regardless. “We’re doing
everything we can,” she said. “Sarah, that’s his wife, hasn’t left
his bedside since they brought him in. She still can’t talk with
the serum’s effects but she refuses to move.”

Harris nodded. “How are the
kids?” Sandra immediately brightened and Harris was relieved to see
that familiar spark return.

“Oh, Peter,” she enthused,
“they’re bouncing back already. We’re having trouble keeping them
in bed.” Her smile was infectious and Harris felt the edges of his
own mouth twitch. He lifted the covers and began to roll his legs
over the side of the bed, but paused when his head swam.

“Where do you think you’re
going?” Her smile faded in a second and was replaced with such a
stern look that Harris balked. “You will stay there until you’ve
healed if I have to tie you to the bed,” she ordered.

“Promises, promises,” Harris
smiled wistfully. “If I’d known you were into that I could have
picked up a pair of handcuffs in town.” Her hand made a swipe for
him and he moved to avoid the playful slap. The muscles in his neck
shrieked in protest and he grimaced.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s all right,” he assured her
and lay back in the bed. “My fault.”

“That’s better,” she allowed.
“Now I’m going to check on the kids. Stay put.”

Harris watched her disappear
through the doors. As soon as she had gone he pulled back the
covers and rolled off the bed. He grabbed the plastic curtain to
steady himself, and then, slowly, he hobbled out of the
infirmary.

Harris stopped briefly at his
room to change, a task that proved difficult with his hands so
heavily bandaged. His shirt was unbuttoned and stuffed untidily
into his pyjama bottoms. He had to stop frequently to lean against
whichever wall was closest, but he finally made his way to the lab.
He knew that he should be back in bed, but he had to know what had
happened since the raid.

Seventeen dead. The number
swirled around his head. They had been his responsibility and he
needed something, anything, positive to have come out of the raid.
At least then he might be able to convince himself that it had been
worth it. The empty corridor confused him; normally the facility
was a hive of activity.

Where is everyone? He wondered
on his way to his destination. He thought that he might be dreaming
at first, but the pain that racked his body with each step assured
him that he was very much awake. He turned the corner to corridor
“B” and saw the door to the lab. At the end of the corridor he
noticed a digital display, red letters glaring against the stark,
white background.

“3:15,” he read. “No wonder it’s
so empty. They’re all curled up in bed.”

He wondered if he had wasted the
journey and groaned inwardly when he thought about the long walk
back, not to mention the disapproving look and lecture he was sure
to get from Sandra. When he reached the lab door he noticed a faint
light from within and turned the handle. When the door opened, he
smiled with relief and stepped inside.

The interior was brightly lit.
The whiteness of the tabletops and walls exaggerated the
fluorescent lights and gave them an intensity that pained his eyes.
Harris looked around and finally spotted his quarry amidst a jumble
of paperwork and test tubes. The figure wrote furiously on a
notepad and alternatively checked the eyepiece of a microscope.

“You look as happy as the
proverbial pig in shit.” Harris grinned and then regretted his
outburst when the small man startled in shock and nearly
overbalanced and fell off his chair.

“Peter, my dear boy.” Pat Smith
beamed when he recognised Harris. “I didn’t know they’d let you
out.”

“Let’s keep that one between us
for now.” Harris smirked.

“Oh, I see.” Smith winked
conspiratorially. “Well, it’s good to see you, whatever the
circumstance.”

Harris and Smith had become
great friends in the last few weeks. What had started as a common
interest, the defeat of the creatures through some chemical
miracle, had quickly blossomed into a mutual respect and
friendship. They worked closely together and Harris was constantly
reminded of his father by many of the things Smith said and did.
Although they did not look alike, Harris could see the same
vitality and exuberance in this little man that he remembered in
his father before he had had his stroke.

“You don’t get out much,
then?”

“What?” Smith replied, confused,
and then noticed the unmade bunk in the corner. “Oh, yes, well, you
know once I get into something I just lose track of time. But
enough of that. How are you?”

Harris could see the concern in
the man’s face and for the first time also saw the strain and
tiredness there. He suddenly felt guilty that he had spent the last
twenty-four hours asleep while Smith was here hunched over a
microscope.

“Perfect, except for the need
for a body transplant. How’s the research on the vampire’s blood
coming?”

“Oh, that, yes, the coagulation
factor of the plasma…”

“Pat, Pat,” Harris interrupted
with his hands raised, “in English please.”

“What? Oh, right, well…” Harris
smiled at the concentration evident on his friend’s face. “Well,
you remember before you left that we were looking at the
relationship between the oil in wood and the breakdown of the
vampires” metabolism?”

Harris nodded.

“I think I’ve identified the
necessary components.” Smith beamed when he dropped his
bombshell.

“Are you serious?” Harris asked
incredulously. “That’s fantastic.”

“Well, as far as I can tell,”
Smith continued, “I isolated all the elements of wood secretions
and tried each one on the sample you brought back, and then
combinations of a few of them. Now, apparently, the vampire blood
breaks down quite quickly once it stops pumping around their
bodies. Many of the cells had already begun to die while I was
testing.”

“Go on,” Harris prompted more
dubiously.

“I finally got a combination
that completely broke down the parasitic cells and held them in
stasis…”

“But that’s wonderful,” Harris
interrupted.

“…or the cells may have broken
down themselves due to natural deterioration. I can’t be totally
sure.”

Harris” jaw dropped. “So where
do we go from here?” he asked.

“Well unless we get another,
fresher, blood sample, then all I can suggest is we test the oil
component I developed.”

“How are we going to do that?”
Harris looked puzzled.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I made
up a batch of the oil and got some of the older children to help
coat some ammunition with it.”

“What…where…how many?” the
questions tumbled over each other and Harris tried to sort all the
facts into some logical order.

“Calm down, they’re over there
in the corner. Actually, I think the kids did rather well.”

Harris tuned out his friend and
hobbled across the room to look at the cache of ammunition in the
corner. Machine gun magazines of various types and single handgun
rounds littered the area.

There must be hundreds of rounds
here, he thought. “But this is great,” he enthused to his friend.
“Well done.”

“I can’t guarantee it will work,
you understand, but the theory is sound. I can’t really do anything
more on this project, so I’ve been testing the serum for…”

“The serum?” Harris interrupted.
He grimaced when he whirled around too quickly.

“Didn’t you know?” Smith
replied. “That young fellow, what’s his name? Blonde fellow…”

“Anderson.”

“Anderson, yes that’s the one.
Well, he brought in a whole jar full.”

“Oh my God. What have you
found?”

“It’s still too early to tell in
detail, but it seems to be a curious mix of depressants, not unlike
those used in violent mental cases, only at a higher dosage. The
long-term effects of administering such doses are worrisome. Once I
break down the elements I’ll look into how to negate the effects at
a quicker pace, but I also want to run tests on our people here to
see if we can expect any surprises from…”

“There you are! I should have
known.” The words ricocheted around the room and the volume made
Harris cringe.

“Oh, hi, Sandra,” Harris said
meekly.

“Don’t you “Oh, hi, Sandra” me,
Peter Harris,” she fumed. “What are you doing out of the
infirmary?”

“Pat and I were just…”

Harris’ss voice trailed off as
he indicated where his friend had been standing, but the man was
gone. He looked around and saw the familiar figure busily working
at his desk, apparently oblivious to what was happening around
him.