The Pilgrims of the Damned: A Vampire Thriller, page 21
Despite the concern about being out in the open, the Major fell asleep within moments of dawn fully rising.
“I’ll take the first shift,” Miles told Amelia. “Gives me time to calm.”
“You sure?” Amelia asked while stifling a yawn.
“Go sleep, see you in a few hours.”
Amelia was asleep soon after, and once he’d extinguished the fire and Amelia had woken for her shift, Miles finally got some rest. Although it felt nowhere near enough, as Miles was already awake when the Major woke. He started the fire up again and waited for dusk to become night.
“I have to talk to the families of my people,” Major Alan Parker said, the first words he’d spoken since waking.
“We will find them justice,” Miles assured him. The swim had removed a large portion of the blood and grime he’d picked up running through the tunnels under Maine, but he could still smell it on him. An unpleasant reminder of what he’d been through.
The Major poked at the fire with a stick, the time-honoured tradition of men poking a nearby fire when they didn’t know what else to do. Eventually, the Major said, “So, why are you in Maine, and how the hell can you fight like that?”
“The werewolf?”
“All of it,” the Major said. “I’ve never seen a vampire take out a werewolf before. I once saw a werewolf kill three vampires before it was finally stopped. These things aren’t puppies.”
Miles felt Amelia’s gaze on him, possibly wondering similar things.
“I’ve always been good at killing things,” Miles said. “I’m an Arbiter.”
“You here on official business?”
Miles shook his head. “Meant to be here helping a pain in the arse journalist do a story about the pilgrimage of House Idolator.”
“That would be me,” Amelia said with a wry grin.
“Those kooks?”
“Kooks?” Amelia asked.
The Major nodded. “They’re nice enough people and all, and they do help out in a lot of ways, but have you ever spoken to the First Priest?”
Miles shook his head.
“Ah, well, he’s up in Bangor,” the Major said. “He’s… intense. Thinks the vampire gods are going to return and be unhappy about how we’ve treated the place. The pilgrimage is all fine, until they start trying to get you to join their cause to worship some long-dead assholes, if they ever existed in the first place.”
“The Dusk,” Miles said.
“That’s them,” the Major said.
“They’re vampire myths,” Miles continued. “Nae sure I’d call them gods, though. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re the opposite. Never really understood why anyone would worship a bunch of creatures who did as they pleased until they just all vanished.”
“Killed?”
Miles shrugged. “No clue. The stories just say that one by one they disappeared, and no one knows how or why. Or if they do know, they’re not telling anyone. It’s a fairy story.”
“House Idolator believes otherwise,” the Major said.
“So, House Idolator worships a bunch of people who weren’t gods, but they just really wish they were?” Amelia asked.
Miles nodded. “That actually sums it up pretty well. Are they quite pushy in Maine, then?”
“The First Priest can be,” the Major said. “He would turn up at the fort and lead everyone there in prayer. At least the vampires. Started off with only one or two joining in, but by the end it was anyone who was a vampire, and a few who weren’t. Nothing was said, but there were glances your way if you didn’t join in.”
“So, you joined in then,” Miles said. “Not judging.”
The Major nodded. “It was advised to me that I should. Apparently, the First Priest has some friends in places that look favourably on participation.”
“Bangor?”
“Yeah.”
Miles considered his next words carefully. “Bangor got a lot of people there who look favourably on the Dusk?”
“A few, I guess,” the Major said. “I think most of them just go along with it, but it’s gone from being a fair and equal town to one that favours House Idolator above all others. They’re not even a Great House.”
“They’re trying to make a comeback,” Miles said. “I think Maine is a pretty big part of that plan.”
“Like I said,” the Major started, “they do some good work here, but they’re very much keeping an eye on those who do and don’t stand with them and their beliefs. You’ll see the more time you spend with them.”
Miles glanced out of the mouth of the cave to the darkness just beyond. There was a heavy patter of rain.
“And me without my raincoat,” Amelia said.
“I just want to say thank you,” the Major said. “Both of you. I didn’t after we got out, but honestly, you two saved my life. I’ll never forget that.”
Miles looked down at the offered hand and shook it, followed by Amelia, who also nodded a thank-you. “Let’s not get caught by anything that wants to take us back down there,” she said.
“Agreed,” the Major said.
Miles covered the fire with dirt, making sure it was completely extinguished before they left the cave. Standing in the mouth of the cave beneath a slight overhang meant they were kept dry from the increasingly hostile wind and rain.
“Do you get a lot of storms here?” Miles asked.
“More and more,” the Major said, shaking his head. “No idea why. The weather changed after the fall—it was less predictable, more prone to unseasonal changes that happened day to day, but these days it feels like it happens with more ferocity. You know what can cause that?”
A lot of powerful magic, Miles wanted to say, but instead he said, “Nothing good.”
Magic, Amelia mouthed, sharing Miles’s thought.
The trio left the cave and ran north toward the woodlands that surrounded the area. They continued on for several miles, passing by the occasional partially collapsed house, and having to stop to kill the desolate that emerged from them.
It took a few hours of travel over rough terrain before the lights of what remained of the town of Brunswick were visible in the distance. Like the fort, there was a moat around it and razor wire topped fifty-foot-high walls just beyond that. There were guards on the towers and roofs that overlooked the area, and the road up to the two was brightly lit.
The Major took the time of the journey to tell his new companions all about Brunswick. Like the fort, there was one entrance and one exit. I-295, which would have taken travellers north to Augusta, had been all but destroyed, and the half of Brunswick on the northern side of the Androscoggin River was a no-go area, the bridges all either collapsed, mined, or guarded with enough firepower to make anyone with a functioning sense of self-preservation pause for thought. Shame the desolate didn’t have a functioning sense of anything.
“You can hear the machine gun encampments all night during the winter,” the Major said as they walked up the brightly lit road formally known as Pleasant Street.
“How much of Brunswick actually remains?” Amelia asked.
“The last time I was here, they were hoping to reclaim some of it,” Miles said.
“The wall goes all along Maine Street, which is why it’s called the Maine Wall by anyone who lives here,” the Major said. “Starts at the Frank J. Wood Bridge, goes all the way south until Pleasant Hill Road, goes down Middle Bay Road, and then all the way east, by the airport, which I don’t mind telling you isn’t somewhere I’d want to land a plane these days, seeing how it’s now mostly a large vegetable garden.”
“So, there’s a lot of land to watch,” Miles said.
The Major nodded. “Lot of people there to watch it. Everyone works. Bit like Bangor, although on a smaller scale.”
“How many people inside?” Amelia asked, her hand twitching as if she were writing with an imaginary pen.
“Ten, fifteen thousand,” the Major said. “We keep meaning to do a census, but people come and go, and not all of them come back.”
“Vampires and humans?” Miles asked.
“Yes, sir,” the Major said.
“Stop,” came a booming voice over a loudspeaker as Miles and the Major reached the edge of the hundred-foot-long bridge that had been built over the moat.
Miles, Amelia, and the Major stopped.
“Raise your hands and turn around,” the voice commanded.
Miles, Amelia, and the Major did as they were told. “They do this every time?” Miles asked.
“Nope,” the Major said.
“I’m sure that’s not terrible news or anything,” Amelia said.
The huge gates to the city slowly moved open, and a jeep drove out over the wooden bridge. A machine gun had been fixed to the rear of the vehicle, and there were two soldiers standing beside it, with a third aiming the gun at Miles, Amelia, and the Major. A fourth soldier drove the jeep.
The jeep stopped ten feet away, the engine still running.
“State your names and purpose for coming here,” one of the soldiers on the rear of the jeep said.
“For fuck’s sake, Billy,” the Major snapped. “It’s me.”
“With all due respect,” the voice belonging to Billy said. “We have to do this. Heard the fort was wiped out. Can’t risk letting just anyone in.”
“I was there when you were born, son,” the Major said, his voice suddenly ice cold. “You and your human friends need to drive back into that town and get your commanding officer out here. Now.”
“I’m afraid—” Billy said.
“I didn’t ask your emotional state, boy,” the Major snapped. “We have information regarding the well-being of Brunswick, and we are not to be held here by a bunch of fools who think they know what they’re doing. Get your commanding officer out here, now.”
The driver of the jeep spoke to someone on a radio, using hushed tones.
“Commander Bailey is coming to see you,” Billy said, with a lot less certainty in his tone.
“Good,” the Major said. “Now it’s raining, so I’m going to go stand over there under that tree. If you shoot at me, I’m going to be mighty irritated.”
The Major headed for shelter, and Miles and Amelia followed.
“Friends of yours?” Miles asked.
“Billy’s a fucking idiot,” the Major said. “He keeps asking to join the fort, but I keep turning him down. He’s more interested in looking good than actually being a soldier.”
“You turning him down probably saved his life,” Miles said.
The Major nodded. “His dad is a teacher in the town. Good man. Mom died a few years ago, cancer. Billy has the makings of a decent human being if he ever stops trying to act like he’s tougher than everyone else.”
“And his friends?” Amelia asked.
“All about the same,” the Major said. “Little brains, too much testosterone. They’re not bad kids, bad kids don’t tend to live in the bigger towns, but they are stupid kids. Probably should have left the state and found their way elsewhere, but I think no matter where they ended up, they’d still be dumbasses.”
“You never thought about leaving?” Miles asked, watching the large truck roll out of the town. The truck stopped, and a gentleman of at least sixty got out and started shouting at the soldiers who remained on the bridge.
“Not giving my state over to the desolate and their ilk,” the Major said, pushing himself off the tree. “I’ll die first.”
Almost did, Miles thought as he followed the Major down to the bridge once again.
“Major,” the man said.
“Commander Bailey,” the Major said with a salute.
“And this is?” the Commander asked after returning the salute.
“Miles Watson,” he said. “And Amelia Roberts.”
“And you are?” the Commander asked, a slight edge to his tone.
“I’m an Arbiter,” Miles told him, raising his wrist to show the torc which he’d replaced on his wrist after waking up in the cave. He got the feeling it was going to come in handy, and any pretence of hiding his profession was well and truly over. Besides, the attitude from the Commander indicated that only power would garner any respect—Miles could play that game.
“And I’m a journalist working with the Independent,” Amelia said.
“They saved my life, David,” the Major said. “He killed a werewolf with his bare hands to do it, too.”
“So not a normal Arbiter,” the Commander said, never taking his gaze off Miles.
“It’s raining, it’s cold, I’ve had a long few days, and I’m pretty sure a convoy of people came through here and could tell you a lot more about me,” Miles said. “We’d like to get into Brunswick and tell you about what we found.”
“How bad is it?” the Commander asked the Major, ignoring Miles.
“It’s really bad,” the Major said grimly. “We need to talk.”
“Let’s go,” the Commander said, before turning to Miles. “You behave, or you die.”
Miles bristled at the threat; he wasn’t used to having humans tell him what to do, let alone threaten to kill him. “Aye. You happen to have seen my dog?”
“Dog?” the Commander asked him.
“Church,” Miles said.
“Big fucking thing?” the Commander asked.
“Aye,” Miles said slowly, his irritation threatening to bubble over.
“You’ll get to see it soon enough.”
“Her,” Miles corrected.
The Commander visibly stiffened at being corrected, but climbed back into the truck, which had been turned around, and drove back into Brunswick, the smaller jeep with Billy and his friends following behind like a scolded child.
“He’s an absolute dick,” Miles said as they walked over the bridge, their footsteps echoing around them after the sound of the vehicle engines faded away.
“Yes he is,” the Major said. “But I wouldn’t cross him. He’s run this city for a decade and doesn’t really like newcomers. Especially vampires.”
“Probably shouldn’t be in Maine then,” Miles said. “How does he deal with the pilgrimage?”
“He tolerates them because they bring supplies,” the Major said. “I tolerate him because he kept his nose out of fort business. I guess that’s over now.”
“You going to leave?”
“Probably go back up to Bangor,” the Major said. “They’re a bit more tolerant than the Commander here. I think his dislike of vampires leaks out into the populous a little. At best guess, ten thousand people live in Brunswick on a permanent basis, and about forty of them are vampires. And all of those live close to the eastern edge, near the airport, or south, near the beach. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Any chance he’s friendly with the Magistrate?” Miles asked as they reached the metal gate.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a lifetime membership,” the Major said as they walked into Brunswick.
They all stood in a courtyard that was seventy-five feet long by fifty feet wide. A second gate sat directly in front, and armed soldiers stood atop the ramparts surrounding the courtyard, aiming rifles down at them. Miles turned and watched the metal gates slowly close, as the impression of hatred and loathing pressed down onto him from those armed soldiers above. He wasn’t sure if it was him as a person, his job as an Arbiter, or his species as a whole, but he definitely wasn’t welcome in Brunswick.
“He wants us afraid,” Miles said.
The Major nodded.
“He wants us gone, too,” Miles continued.
“Something to hide?” Amelia suggested.
Before Miles or the Major could reply, there were several loud clanks as the metal doors locked shut, followed by silence which lasted just a little too long until the second set of doors slowly opened. Commander Bailey stood framed in the exit as the gate opened.
Miles, Amelia, and the Major walked through the courtyard, pointedly trying to ignore the number of soldiers watching them.
“Let’s go talk,” the Commander said to the Major and turned on his heel, walking down the road beyond into the city.
The Major walked off without a word, and Amelia followed soon after, looking to stay close enough to overhear their conversation. Miles sighed and followed down the cracked road, walking by several buildings which had gun emplacements atop them, and more soldiers looking out of their broken windows.
The Commander reached a checkpoint a hundred meters along the road, where several soldiers saluted. He turned and watched with an irritated expression on his face as the Major and Miles caught up with him. “In here,” he said, pointing to the single-storey building beside the checkpoint with two guards standing outside of it, each holding a rifle and wearing navy blue military fatigues.
Once inside the building, Miles, Amelia, and the Major followed the Commander through the large front room, and through the only door, which led to a hallway with two more doors on either side. The Commander selected the first door on the right, and stepped inside, shrugging off his soaking wet jacket and hanging it on a coatrack as he walked around the old, ornate looking wooden desk in the middle of the room, and sat in a chair that Miles immediately noticed was raised slightly higher than the two on the other side.
Miles took a seat without asking, because sometimes it’s the little things you can do to piss someone off that warms your heart, and looked around the office. There was a bookshelf to the left of the entrance, with titles about running countries, about world history, and quite a few books on Julius Caesar and ancient Rome. The Commander had specific tastes.
The large desk, which Miles guessed must have taken ages to move into the office, was polished to a near mirror shine, with a glass top. There was a green lamp on it, two fountain pens, placed just so against a notebook, and a radio, which the Commander had just removed from his pocket. There was a photo frame on the desk too, the photo of which showed seven people in either military fatigues or medical scrubs. All were smiling for the camera.
Behind the desk was a painting of a forest, and one of American President Ronald Reagan, for reasons Miles was genuinely baffled by. The Commander would have been in his late teens when Reagan was in power, maybe early twenties, but quite why he would have a picture up forty years later was odd to Miles.
