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into their hollow and scanned
the wasteland. Each second seemed to be marked with a scream as
another of their friends died; he began to wonder if the main force
was not already behind them. Were they here for nothing? He looked
to Delilah but she stared resolutely out into the wasteland. The
pop of gunfire began to grow quieter as the thralls moved deeper
into their home.
    Denis had had enough. He looked around for
his crutches and had one in his hand when Delilah hissed quietly
and pointed her weapon out to her left. Denis dropped his crutch
guiltily and looked out where Delilah had indicated. It only took a
few seconds to see the shapes moving towards them.
    The darkness was absolute and the rain acted
like a curtain, shielding everything that was more than a few feet
away. But the grenades had started fires behind him and the feeble
light was enough to paint the attacking figures with mottled
radiance. A cruel grin spread over his face as he lined up on the
lead figures. Another few seconds and they would be close enough.
These bastards had attacked and killed families without a shred of
pity and now it would be their turn. Anger burned within him. When
the firing began he picked his targets and poured fire mercilessly
into their ranks. Bodies pirouetted and jerked as bullets slammed
into them. He heard someone screaming and laughing and was shocked
to realise that it was him. Suddenly he found he was on his feet,
swaying dangerously on his ruined leg, firing and reloading and
firing again. Bullets began to slam into the ground around him as
the thralls fired back. These bastards had…
    Something crashed into his legs and pain
seared through him.
     
    * * *
     
    “Too soon,” Phil McAteer mumbled as he
watched the first of the attackers fall. “Bloody amateurs”, he
cursed. If only they had waited. Another few seconds and the whole
force would have been within the kill zone. Someone couldn’t wait
though and had opened fire too early.
    “Shit,” McAteer could already see some of
the thralls spread out beyond his field of vision and the rain
enveloped them like a welcoming blanket on a cold day. Now they had
a battle on their hands.
    He signalled for the two men on his left to
backtrack and cover their left flank and two more on the right to
cover that flank. From what he had seen there were fifteen
attackers plus however many were already in the community
buildings. It looked like this was a scouting patrol and not a full
assault; otherwise the .50 calibre would never have held them this
long. The thralls were well trained, not the cannon fodder they
were used to dealing with. They had planned this assault well and
had used the night and rain to their advantage. They thralls had
caught them at the very worst time— celebrating and out of
position, the music drowning out their preparations until it had
been almost too late. However, they had been top dog for so long
that they had not taken as much care as they should have. They had
sent a force around them to take the .50 calibre out but the main
force had been coming through as if they were invincible, barely
using the cover the wasteland provided. Emma had heard them and now
they had a fight on their hands. It might take a lot of bullets to
put them down but they would die and McAteer was ready and willing
to send them back to hell. He sighted carefully at the lead figure
already moving forward in a half crouch and squeezed the trigger.
The attacker’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground. Only
took one round if you blew their brains out.
    The popping of gunfire behind him reminded
him that a force was already deep inside their homes killing their
friends. He had sent three men to handle them but something must be
wrong; they should have taken care of them by now. He only had one
other man with him now. He sighed. The non-combatants were on their
own. If they didn’t hold here they would all be dead anyway.
     
    * * *
     
    Antonio Cabreezi signalled for