Elena and Paul had built up these past few months.
Although Dravko would not publicly admit it, he felt that for once Tibor was justified in his paranoia.
Dravko leaned out from his bunk and looked up at Tibor. “I agree that Elena shouldn’t have kept us in the dark. But she’s done well by us so far, so she must have her reasons.”
Tibor responded with a frustrated huff.
“Don’t lose faith in her.” Dravko rolled over. “As for the humans, we still have to work with them, but that doesn’t mean we have to like them.”
Under his breath Tibor muttered, “Some of us like the humans way too much.”
At last, thought Dravko. Something we can agree on.
Chapter Seven
Lee O’Bannon trudged across the compound toward his steel container, avoiding those who came to greet the returning raiding party. The well wishers meant no harm, and only wanted to express their appreciation that they made it back safely. Yet these homecomings irked the living fuck out of him. None of these assholes who came to greet the raiding parties had ever left the confines of the camp. For them it was a way of living vicariously, of pretending that they actually exposed themselves to danger. Maybe if they put their lives on the line once and came along on a run into rotter hell, O’Bannon might tolerate the hollow gesture. Until then, these well wishers were nothing more than pains in the ass.
God, how he hated these raids. Not because he was a coward. Hell, the last person at camp to accuse him of that lost a tooth and suffered a fractured jaw. O’Bannon had been on every raid since arriving at camp five months ago, and had volunteered to lead the ill-fated mission to Seabrook before Paul told him to stand down because they needed him here. Going one-on-one with the rotters did not bother him, either. Unlike some of the do-gooders around here who still harbored pre-apocalypse sensitivities about how to treat the dead, he saw the rotters for what they were: lifeless, soulless predators. He had as many qualms about putting a bullet through a rotter’s skull as he did about squashing a bug.
No, he hated taking the bloodsuckers along on the raids with them. The damn vampires had brought this whole rotter hell down upon themselves and mankind, so as far as he was concerned, the rest of the camp should drag them into the sunlight and watch them burn. As always, Paul thought otherwise. We need to cooperate to survive, Paul would preach, spouting tired old phrases about working together and strength in numbers. The others bought into it, but not O’Bannon. If the bloodsuckers’ supposed superior senses and strength were so beneficial to the raiding party, then why had five humans died over the past five months but not a single bloodsucker? Too fucking coincidental for him. Good luck getting that asshole Paul to see the truth, though. If Robson and the others kept listening to Paul, the human contingent of the raiding party would be dead by the end of the year.
Not if O’Bannon had his way. Before the toughest and strongest humans were all wasted in these useless raids, he would kill the bloodsuckers.
Arriving at the door to his quarters, which sat at the far end of a row of containers situated along the interior side of the barricade closest to the farmyard, O’Bannon removed the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside and closed the door, he noticed that the heavy blackout curtain had been pulled tight over the window and taped to the wall. His eyes scanned the confines of the container, unable to distinguish a thing until they adjusted to the dark. Slowly, he slid his gear off his shoulder and gently placed it on the floor. A faint rustling sounded from the far corner.
“Who’s there?”
The movement stopped. O’Bannon took a few tentative steps into the container. He reached out with his left hand, blindly feeling around.
“I know you’re there.”
Something moved behind him. O’Bannon spun
Although Dravko would not publicly admit it, he felt that for once Tibor was justified in his paranoia.
Dravko leaned out from his bunk and looked up at Tibor. “I agree that Elena shouldn’t have kept us in the dark. But she’s done well by us so far, so she must have her reasons.”
Tibor responded with a frustrated huff.
“Don’t lose faith in her.” Dravko rolled over. “As for the humans, we still have to work with them, but that doesn’t mean we have to like them.”
Under his breath Tibor muttered, “Some of us like the humans way too much.”
At last, thought Dravko. Something we can agree on.
Chapter Seven
Lee O’Bannon trudged across the compound toward his steel container, avoiding those who came to greet the returning raiding party. The well wishers meant no harm, and only wanted to express their appreciation that they made it back safely. Yet these homecomings irked the living fuck out of him. None of these assholes who came to greet the raiding parties had ever left the confines of the camp. For them it was a way of living vicariously, of pretending that they actually exposed themselves to danger. Maybe if they put their lives on the line once and came along on a run into rotter hell, O’Bannon might tolerate the hollow gesture. Until then, these well wishers were nothing more than pains in the ass.
God, how he hated these raids. Not because he was a coward. Hell, the last person at camp to accuse him of that lost a tooth and suffered a fractured jaw. O’Bannon had been on every raid since arriving at camp five months ago, and had volunteered to lead the ill-fated mission to Seabrook before Paul told him to stand down because they needed him here. Going one-on-one with the rotters did not bother him, either. Unlike some of the do-gooders around here who still harbored pre-apocalypse sensitivities about how to treat the dead, he saw the rotters for what they were: lifeless, soulless predators. He had as many qualms about putting a bullet through a rotter’s skull as he did about squashing a bug.
No, he hated taking the bloodsuckers along on the raids with them. The damn vampires had brought this whole rotter hell down upon themselves and mankind, so as far as he was concerned, the rest of the camp should drag them into the sunlight and watch them burn. As always, Paul thought otherwise. We need to cooperate to survive, Paul would preach, spouting tired old phrases about working together and strength in numbers. The others bought into it, but not O’Bannon. If the bloodsuckers’ supposed superior senses and strength were so beneficial to the raiding party, then why had five humans died over the past five months but not a single bloodsucker? Too fucking coincidental for him. Good luck getting that asshole Paul to see the truth, though. If Robson and the others kept listening to Paul, the human contingent of the raiding party would be dead by the end of the year.
Not if O’Bannon had his way. Before the toughest and strongest humans were all wasted in these useless raids, he would kill the bloodsuckers.
Arriving at the door to his quarters, which sat at the far end of a row of containers situated along the interior side of the barricade closest to the farmyard, O’Bannon removed the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside and closed the door, he noticed that the heavy blackout curtain had been pulled tight over the window and taped to the wall. His eyes scanned the confines of the container, unable to distinguish a thing until they adjusted to the dark. Slowly, he slid his gear off his shoulder and gently placed it on the floor. A faint rustling sounded from the far corner.
“Who’s there?”
The movement stopped. O’Bannon took a few tentative steps into the container. He reached out with his left hand, blindly feeling around.
“I know you’re there.”
Something moved behind him. O’Bannon spun
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