The burst of fire impacted against the table that Reiss hid behind and sprayed debris into his eyes. He recoiled back behind the cover and looked around him to gauge how many of his men were still alive. Rodgers lay over by the stairs with his arm cradled in his lap. Tyson and Williams lay crumpled against the far wall; the angle of their necks left no doubt as to their condition. Fischer, Price and Wentworth all scrambled for whatever cover they could find. The others all lay still and Reiss couldn't tell whether they were alive or dead.
He briefly considered using a grenade, but in these close confines the blast could cause as much injury to his own men as to the thralls. He rolled to his right, pointed his machine gun in the thralls" general direction and pulled the trigger. The thralls answered his fire and drove him back behind his cover.
Damn! He thought. This isn't getting us anywhere.
Suddenly a door opened at the top of the stairs and three thralls appeared. They opened fire and Price and Wentworth screamed as bullets ripped through them. Fischer made a break for the window to try to avoid the deadly crossfire but, unfortunately, got caught by both sides and bullets thumped into his body. The thralls neared the end of the stairs and Reiss knew that they'd see Rodgers any second. He shouted a warning and let loose a sustained blast. He ignored the bullets that ricocheted around him and smiled in satisfaction when he saw two of the thralls fall and tumble down the remaining steps.
The thralls behind Reiss used the distraction to their advantage and advanced on his position before he could bring his weapon around. Bullets flew all around him, destroying the furniture in front of him. The volume of fire became too much. "All right, all right, I surrender!" he shouted over the racket and threw his weapon down.
The remaining thrall from upstairs reached the ground floor and kicked Rodgers viciously. He even spat on the wounded man as an added insult. The lead thrall grabbed Reiss and threw him roughly to the ground. When he thought about it later he realised that act probably saved his life.
The back door suddenly flew open and he caught a brief glimpse of Jenkins before bullets again decimated the small foyer. The noise was thunderous as bullets strafed around the room. Bodies jerked violently in a grotesque dance and then fell to the ground. Reiss remained on the ground with his hands over his head until Jenkins approached him and signalled the all-clear.
Reiss got to his feet and looked around him at the new carnage.
My God, how many have to die before this nightmare ends, he thought. He went to help Rodgers.
"We've got two more alive here," Jenkins said as he examined some of the unmoving team members. "That makes twelve still alive, but only six mobile for now."
He saw some of the men picking themselves up around the room and staggering over to help their team-mates.
Twelve still alive still means eight dead, Reiss thought. Eight good men dead in, he looked at his watch, only twenty minutes. "Okay, people," he said, "those who can walk, follow me. Rodgers, get the wounded to the trucks. We've still got to get those supplies out and we've just run out of time."
Warkowski led his family through the streets as quickly as his broken ribs would allow. The morning light had burned away all the shadows so they kept to the side streets as much as possible. He hoped they didn't meet a patrol. The girls could only walk at a slow pace and his own appearance would be impossible to hide. He cursed the serum for the umpteenth time that night.
He was already ten minutes late.
If all had gone to plan, his colleagues would have loaded up and left at this stage, but he had to believe that his sacrifices over the last hour counted for something, and he continued on, hoping that, somehow, they could still get home. In the distance he heard a strange scraping sound, metal on concrete, and he frowned. It wasn't any engine he had ever heard and, intrigued, he led the girls in the direction of the noise.
The noise grew louder. He motioned for the girls to stay put while he continued on to investigate. Just ahead of him, about a hundred and fifty yards down the street, he saw three men struggling to pull a car hood. The metal scrapped along the concrete in short spurts and their exertion was obvious even at this distance. A third man walked along beside them, helping at intervals, but was himself injured and of little real help.
"That's Harris!" Warkowski muttered. The feeling of elation was quickly squashed by the realisation that he was here without permission. He could ignore the struggling party and go around. Even at his slow pace he would be at the meeting point before Harris, but he knew he could not do that. The men needed his help and, despite leaving his position earlier, Warkowski did not consider himself a quitter or a deserter. He rushed back to his family and led them out of hiding to hail the group ahead.
"Harris!" he shouted.
The three men stopped and looked to the source of the shout.
"Who is that?" Ashley asked. He squinted, trying to focus on the approaching figures.
"Isn't that Warkowski?" Kelly replied. "But who's that with him?"
Harris waited for the three figures to approach and looked at the two girls before he locked Warkowski in a withering gaze. "You couldn't wait."
Warkowski couldn't hold the gaze and dropped his eyes to his feet as he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Peter. I really am, but I couldn't bear to think of them in this hellhole alone. To be so close and do nothing . . ."
His voice trailed off and Harris watched Warkowski put his arm protectively around his family. He was a bear of a man, his arms as thick as tree trunks, but Harris could see the tenderness with which he treated them.
"You better hope nobody dies because you left your post." Harris stared at Warkowski, his eyes hard as steel, and then his face softened. "How are they?"
"Petrified. That damned serum. Goddamn it, Harris, what kind of monster traps people in their own bodies like that? She's only nine years old," he replied. Tears of frustration welled up in Warkowski's eyes, and thin rivulets crept down his blood-encrusted face.
"You look as bad as I feel," Harris said softly. "Come on, put her on our carriage and let's get out of here. We're already way too late."
Warkowski scooped up his daughter in his arms as if she weighed nothing and laid her gently on the hood with Henshaw. He then moved around front and took up position. The sound of metal scraping on concrete began again and its echo reverberated through the empty streets.
Jenkins led the way down the stairs to the basement. The rest of his team followed, favouring different injuries.
What a sorry group we make, Reiss thought while he watched his team stumble and limp its way to the supplies. I hope we don't meet any more thralls.
The group spread out once they reached the bottom and approached the racks of food and supplies that filled the majority of the basement area.
"My God, I've never seen so much food in one place. We've hit the jackpot, guys." Jenkins grinned like a cat in a creamery.
"Okay, people, let's get to work," Reiss ordered. "Oh, Jenkins, when you drop off the first load at the trucks send the drivers back here to help. The wounded can mind the vehicles. We need every able bodied man to shift this lot."
They went to work.
They'd been moving the supplies for ten minutes when they heard the distant rumble.
"Did you hear that?" Jenkins asked.
"Yea, it never ends, does it?" Reiss replied and grabbed his machinegun. "You guys continue with this and I'll check it out."
He disappeared up the stairs, exited out to the street and ran towards the approaching noise. When he reached the end of the street he skidded to a halt. The noise was suddenly deafening this close and Reiss risked a quick glance around the corner, then blanched and collapsed back against the wall in shock.
"Jesus, a tank."
Harris lay in a gully and watched while the tank thundered down the narrow street. There wasn't much room for it to manoeuvre so it crushed any cars and debris in its path. Its progress was slow, thankfully, but it was advancing steadily and would soon be in range of the others.
"Warkowski, get Henshaw and the girls out to the trucks and warn the others. Kelly, Ashley, follow me." The men hurried to their assigned tasks and Harris" heart hammered in his chest while he watched the approaching behemoth. It can't get much worse, he thought wryly.
It was at that point that he heard the thumping of the helicopter.
Warkowski stumbled over the debris made by their initial assault and saw the trucks beyond. Sweat poured from his body and his ribs ached from the exertion of carrying Henshaw and Jill, but still he smiled when he saw the men loading the supplies.
"We'll have you safely tucked up in bed soon," he whispered to his daughter and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
He made his way down to the vehicles and laid his charges in the furthest truck. The other two were completely full with supplies. He hugged his family with intensity and then turned to one of the men.
"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.