Juggernaut

Sound of splintering wood. Amanda pulled a rotted Persian rug aside. A fist punched upward through the centre of the floor, shattering hard-wood planks. Clawed hands tugged at broken floorboards to widen the hole. A snarling, skeletal thing began to squirm through the aperture. It saw Amanda and hissed. She decapitated the soldier with her machete. The severed head rolled across the floor. She grabbed its hair and threw it from the window.

Lucy overturned a heavy table and slammed it across the hole. She threw the missile case on top of the up-turned table for added weight.

‘Use the grenades,’ she shouted.

They unhooked frag grenades from their webbing and pulled pins.

‘Keep them clear of the fuel truck. All right. Count of three. One. Two. Three.’

They hurled grenades from the carriage windows. They crouched and covered their heads.

One of the ghouls looked down as a grenade rolled in the sand at his feet, his expressionless face clouded by a moment of memory and doubt.

Eruption of dust and flesh fragments. Body parts littered the sand. Flesh and bone trampled by boots as comrades pushed forward to hammered the side of the coach.

The carriage was filled with blue combustion smoke and the bitter taint of chemical ignition.

Sat-com handset:

‘Angel Flight to Carnival, over.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Approaching target.’

‘Roger that.’

‘We got to roll,’ shouted Amanda. ‘Forget the fuel line. Just rip it loose and take our chances. We’re out of ammo. We’re out of time. We have to go.’

Lucy distributed the remaining mags. Amanda kicked among spent cartridges on the carriage floor, searched for bullets ejected during gun jams.

They loaded their weapons.

‘That’s it. Last rounds. All I got left. Make them count. Let’s retake the loco, and get moving.’

Voss shook out a couple of ammo pouches. A single 40mm grenade fell from a pouch and rolled across mahogany. Gold tip. High explosive. He put in his pocket.

‘Lucy. Mandy. It’s been a privilege.’

He pushed the carriage door wide. He shielded his eyes from fierce sunlight. A horde of rotted creatures jostled for him. They reached and clawed his legs.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ shouted Lucy.

Voss shouldered his rifle and emptied his mag full auto. He dropped the spent clip and slapped a fresh magazine into the receiver.

He jumped from the carriage doorway. A carpet of bodies. Horribly deformed soldiers closed in on all sides. He raised his rifle and lay a sweeping arc of fire in a four-second burst. Chests ripped open. Republican Guard hurled backwards, sent reeling.

He hitched the empty weapon over his shoulder and drew his Glock. He edged towards the fuel truck, delivering swift headshots as snarling, mutated creatures lunged for him.

He shot the weapon dry, then used the butt as a bludgeon. Hammer blows. He cracked skulls.

A soldier tore at his face, ripped skin above his eyebrow. Voss delivered a vicious head-butt. The creature staggered backward.

He threw the pistol aside, drew his knife and punched it through the revenant’s eye socket. It toppled backward, knife jammed in its head.

Voss gripped the ladder and climbed. Fingers clawed his legs. Teeth sank into his calf and ankle, tearing fabric, tearing flesh. He yelled in pain and anger. He kicked himself free.

‘Motherfuckers.’

He rolled onto the tanker roof. He hit the red Off button with his fist. The steady hum of the fuel pump died away.

He stood. Lucy leant out of the carriage window.

‘Don’t do it.’

‘Good luck, bokkie.’

Voss limped the length of the tanker. He jumped to the adjoining bank truck. He slid through the side window into the cab.

His face was torn. Blood trickled into his eyes. He wiped with the cuff of his sleeve.

He cranked the handle and raised the side window, shutting out snarling faces and scrabbling hands.

He caught his breath. Monstrous creatures surrounded the truck. They massed, snarling and hissing. They pressed themselves to the glass. They smeared spit and pus.

Voss sat in pristine silence, no sound but his own panting breath.

He reached beneath the steering column and sparked ignition cables. Tortured grind. The engine engaged and growled to life.

The cash truck jerked forward. Tow straps sprang taut. The tanker shifted, lurched and began to roll.

The fuel transfer line ripped from the locomotive coupling.

The trucks laboured to cross waste ground. They gouged deep ruts in the dirt. The vehicles jolted and lurched. The disconnected fuel line dragged in the sand.

The engine coughed and stalled. Voss tried to restart the bank truck. The engine turned over, but didn’t engage.

He checked a cracked side mirror. He was a quarter of a mile from the train. A crowd of rotted Republican Guard had turned from the besieged carriages. They limped and stumbled towards the trucks.

Monstrous skeletal, creatures surrounded the cab. Voss sat calmly in the driver’s seat as hands, deformed grotesquely, slapped and clawed the ballistic glass around him.