Mass eyeballed Damien. “How’d you manage to find all of that out without being discovered?”
“There were some guys already defending this place when Thomas arrived. He assumed I was with them. I was planning to kill the old bastard and do you lot a favour, but… well, it didn’t seem right.”
Mass frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. Anyway, you can get inside the building over there.” He pointed to an archway at the bottom of the building about thirty feet away. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
“All right, cheers.”
As the team hurried for the archway, Smithy whispered to Mass, “That dude freaks me out. You ever get the impression he might just decide to kill everyone for the fun of it?”
“I think he’s hot,” said Addy.
“He just about qualifies as a good guy,” said Mass, “but I don’t trust him. He plays by his own rules.”
Smithy nodded. “Yeah, the dude’s playing Jenga while the rest of us are playing KerPlunk!”
Mass ignored Smithy and eyeballed his team, one after the other. “Everyone be on your guard.”
He pulled open the rickety iron door inside the archway Damien had pointed out to them, and then waited for his team to go inside. They entered a cramped alcove with a staircase in it. The stone steps had been augmented with a steel handrail and rubber slip-guards – remnants of a world where health and safety regulations mattered. Mass took point with his shotgun, leading the team up the stairs cautiously, rounding each corner, ready to fire upwards. They passed the first landing but kept on going. Thomas and the others would be higher up, firing from the best vantage point they could gain.
The stairs ended on the second floor, leading them to a dank corridor. The sound of gunfire was deafening, echoing off the brickwork. The fort was a strange mixture of modern and old; not ancient like a castle, but not new either. A couple of old cannons were perched beside window ports, a wooden information board explaining their history.
“This place is pretty cool,” said Smithy. “You reckon those guns work?”
Addy tutted. “You see any cannonballs around? Of course they don’t work.”
Smithy’s enthusiasm was undeterred. “Hey, did you know the nursery rhyme Humpty Dumpty is actually about a cannon? Absolute truth, I swear.”
“Shut up,” said Mass. “Shut up and follow me.”
They headed through the draughty corridor, seeking company. A few rooms on the upper floor were occupied by soldiers firing rifles from the windows. Others were being used as infirmaries, containing men moaning and crying out for help. The room at the end of the corridor was the largest, packed full of men and women. Only half of them were armed, and when they noticed Mass and his team they stared blankly. Then others began murmuring and whispering. Those who recognised Mass acknowledged him. A few moments was all it took for a hero’s welcome to begin.
“You’re alive. Of course you are. No one can kill Mass.”
“The Urban Vampires are here!”
“Thank God, we need help.”
“It’s Mass!”
“Looking good, Addy.”
Mass shoved his way through the welcome party, taking in all the faces. For a moment, it appeared as if he was surrounded by friends, but then it became clear that they had merely moved to the front of the room to greet him. Two-thirds of those further back were strangers, and they were the ones with most of the guns. “General Thomas?” Mass enquired. “Where is he?”
One of the men Mass knew nodded to the far side of the room, where there stood a group of men in fatigues, huddled together and seemingly deep in conversation. One of the men was older, with a head of shocking white hair. The others looked to the older man whenever he spoke. It was Thomas, no doubt.
Mass kept his shotgun low but at the ready. Even now, this close, he didn’t have a plan. Did he raise his weapon and shoot, consequences be damned? Or did he try to handle things another way? He didn’t like having to think.
The old man turned, alerted by the chatter rising in the room. What Mass saw was not what he expected. General Thomas appeared weak – ill even. His grey eyes were sunken. His bottom lip was split open and bleeding. His right arm hung limply by his side, his sleeve soaked red. “How goes our defence?” the man asked haughtily, although there was a hint of pain in his voice.
“You’re still alive,” said Mass, “so I’d say it’s going better than expected, wouldn’t you?”
Thomas scowled. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Mass, and I ain’t no soldier. I’m a Vampire.”
The men either side of Thomas went for their sidearms, but Thomas stopped them. He looked at Mass as if he were a ghost. “That’s a surprise, seeing as I was informed you were dead.”
Mass went to ask about Tony’s whereabouts but realised he would be breaking the man’s cover if Thomas didn’t yet know he had helped Mass. It was worrying that the colonel wasn’t present. Mass hoped he was still alive.
Thomas scowled. “Did you hear me? I said, you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Ain’t you heard? I don’t die, mate.” Mass didn’t think, he just acted. Throwing the punch was the stupidest thing he could do, but it was also the only thing too. The right hook crunched against the old man’s brittle jawbone and it was only the men standing beside Thomas that kept him from hitting the ground.
Mass rubbed his fist. “That was for Amanda Wickstaff.”
Safety levers clicked off all around the room as dozens of automatic rifles and handguns pointed at Mass. He didn’t care though; he’d lost too many people to care. His team pointed their own shotguns and rifles, outmanned four to one. Smithy thrust his handguns either side of him like a character in a Tarantino movie. Addy did the smart thing and aimed only at Thomas.
