"These are trying times."

The words, though not particularly loud, filled the auditorium and demanded the attention of all present. Father Matthew Reilly stood on a raised platform at the head of an audience that included every member of the community, except for the few who still remained in the infirmary. Sandra Harrington looked around the gathering with concern. The mood was sombre, almost maudlin.

She thought back to the initial joy of the team's return and how it had quickly disappeared when the full cost of the assault had become obvious. Members of the community had rushed out to welcome the teams, herself among them, when the trucks had pulled up outside the facility. Everyone smiled and joked at their safe return. Without exception the welcoming committee stopped in shock at the team's bloodied and dirt-encrusted appearance. Men and women limped and hobbled from the trucks, and many had to be carried or supported by others. Silence suddenly descended and the welcoming committee just stared, unsure what to do.

She had heard her father curse as he pushed his way through the crowd. "For God's sake don't just stand there, help them!" he thundered. He lifted one of the survivors into his arms and strode back through the crowd.

The spell seemed to break then and people rushed forward to help. Vince Crockett organised some teams to help the injured and others to unload the supplies. His fierce countenance and authoritative bearing ensured absolute obedience.

The hours that followed had been a blur of activity. She worked relentlessly with her team to check all the injured. They still did not have a doctor, but cuts were cleaned, broken limbs set and more serious injuries were handled to the best of their caring, but limited, abilities.

For the first hour she had constantly looked to the door of the infirmary, searching the faces of the injured and hoping to see Harris. She moved from patient to patient, working efficiently, and held back her emotions while each patient related their particular account of the hell they had been through. The sheer scale and horror of their stories shocked her. Her own fears that Harris might be dead threatened to overwhelm her but she forced herself to move from patient to patient smiling reassuringly all the time. In fact, it wasn't until she saw Scott Anderson push his way through the crowds with the limp and battered body of Peter Harris in his arms that she felt the tears run down her face.

There had been so much blood she hadn't known where to start. She gestured to Scott Anderson to place him on a nearby bed and immediately checked for a pulse. She remembered the feeling of relief when she had felt a weak but steady rhythm. She glanced over his body and gently checked for broken bones. She paid particular attention to his face and the colour of his lips. Internal bleeding had been her greatest fear, but the tint of his features was a good indicator that a sufficient level of blood continued to flow through his body. Satisfied that he was stable, she dried her tears with the back of her hand and set about cleaning away the blood and grime. In all that time she never once took a moment to allow her grief or her relief to surface and it wasn't until she was satisfied that she had done all she could that she finally succumbed to her exhaustion and slept solidly for the next day.

Over the last few days Sandra had noticed the community's deep shock in the aftermath of the assault, so much so that she had brought it up at the last committee meeting. She was seriously worried that the low moral would succeed where the vampires had failed and tear the community apart. To this end she had requested, and been granted, a public forum to try to allay fears, bolster moral and, more importantly, allow people to say goodbye to those who had died. She hoped that this would rekindle the sense of community they had lost and give people the strength to move on from this tragedy.

"Times of exceptional hardship and suffering." She shook herself from her reverie and listened to Father Reilly continue. "But also of exceptional deeds and sacrifice. We gather here today in honour of all the men and women who took part in the assault, but especially for the seventeen whom we now mourn."

Father Reilly paused and Sandra could see him look out over the audience.

"They died, yes, but let us not forget why they died. They died so our children could live, so our families could eat and so we could survive. They also died free."

He spoke the last words loudly, and Sandra jumped when Reilly slapped his open hand on the podium to emphasise the point.

"It is right that we grieve. We have all lost family members or friends. We all grieve for those we have become separated from and have no idea of their fates, but we must become stronger in our resolve, in our faith, if we are to take any comfort or meaning from their sacrifice. Do not dishonour their memory or their achievement. Do not give up. I ask you all now to join me in a prayer and the sacrament of the mass. Our Father who art in..."

The words of the prayer were familiar to everyone, and Sandra heard a low murmuring as some people tentatively joined in. Although not a practising Catholic herself, the words to the prayer were so deeply rooted in her that they sparked memories of happier times. The ritual of the mass gave her comfort and she could see people around her turn to those beside them, shake hands and hug.

Her eyes welled up in the emotion of the prayer. The atmosphere shifted. The feeling of belonging and community spirit they had enjoyed before began to return, and the volume of the recitation increased as everyone joined in the prayer. By the end of the mass tears rolled down every face she could see and the volume of the final response was deafening. Together, as a community, they finished the mass with one simple word. A word which had been used for centuries, a word of power, a word which embodied their right to survive, to mourn their dead and to continue on with an unshakeable resolve.

"Amen!"

"Okay, people. Let's settle down and get to it," Dan Harrington boomed. All eyes looked to him. Conversations finished and people coughed and straightened chairs while they settled down for the meeting. This committee meeting had been called as soon after the mass as was feasible. It had taken a further two days to ensure the full committee could attend, and by that stage the community was already beginning to come to terms with the tragedy.

"First of all, I'd like to thank Father Reilly for his service." People grunted and nodded heads in agreement. "His words struck a cord in all of us and the mood in the facility has improved immeasurably." Reilly merely nodded from his seat as if uncomfortable with all the attention. "Peter," he continued and nodded to Harris, "I appreciate you being here also, considering your condition."

Harrington looked over at the young man and grimaced.

My God, the older man thought, he looks dreadful.

Harris" face was deathly pale; in fact, the only colour visible at all in his pasty visage was from the cuts and bruises that dotted his features. Bandages covered his body; some of them stained red from the wounds beneath that still continued to seep.

Harrington hadn't realised that Harris was that bad. Sandra had argued bitterly against his attending this meeting, but he had pressed hard because he needed the input of all the members. They had argued and she had called him a bully. She still glared at him from her position beside her patient. Harrington suddenly regretted his insistence and found that he could not meet her steely gaze.

He had always had a brusque manner, he knew that. The qualities that made him a successful entrepreneur in his previous life were the very ones that had torn his family apart and driven his wife away. She had finally had enough of the business trips, broken promises and constant mood swings. He realised too late that, while he was magnanimous when deals went well, he had been argumentative and bloody-minded when things didn't go his way.

He had lived for his work and didn't notice how this affected his family until; finally, Pamela had packed, taken their daughter and left over ten years ago. He sighed regretfully as he remembered how he had thrown himself further into his work instead of rushing after them. He had built a huge empire and only realised how lonely he was when he sat at the top with no one to share it with.

He had contacted Pamela out of the blue just over two years ago before the crisis had changed all their lives. He had been surprised that she had actually been happy to hear from him. Over the previous few years the only contact had been through solicitors. He had always been too busy. He had always ensured that they enjoyed a generous allowance and had felt that this covered any commitments that he owed them. It wasn't until he had achieved everything that he had wanted that he discovered that he had lost the only things that really mattered.

Slowly, he had begun the process of bridge building. At first this was regular contact by phone as he tried to introduce himself back into their lives. Gaining the trust of his wife again after so long was another battle altogether and one which he was making less headway with but, Sandra did seem keen to discover just who her father was. Of course, she was no longer the little girl he remembered; she was now a grown woman and who had developed an independent streak that was instantly recognisable to him.

And then the war had begun. At first it was something that seemed far away and wouldn't affect them directly, so he had requested some time with Sandra to get to know her again. Pamela had been happy to comply and suddenly this twenty-five year old stranger appeared on his doorstep. The war quickly spiralled out of control after that and travel became impossible. Sandra had stayed with him a little longer than planned.

He looked over at his daughter and sighed. They had initially stayed in touch with Pamela by phone but, as the war worsened, utilities were disrupted and they had lost contact. They still had no idea whether Pamela was alive or dead and Harrington still felt terribly guilty that Pamela had had to face the crisis on her own.

However, he and Sandra had become very close in the last few months. Sure, sparks still flew and each of them still had much to learn about the other, but he really did feel that he was becoming a father again, albeit a little late. He shook himself from the past and looked around the table before he continued.

"However, I needed you all here because, quite frankly, I don't know where we can go from here."

A low murmur rippled around the table and people looked at each other quizzically.

"Don't get me wrong - the haul we got from the raid was fantastic. But the cost was just too high and that was with the element of surprise. Any further assaults that we might have to make will be expected now they know there is a sizeable force in hiding. The food we have now will last us six months with rationing, but what do we do then?"

He paused to let his words sink in. His glance roamed around the table, pausing briefly at each committee member.

"We must increase the size of this community, and that means more and more forays into vampire territory. Up till now the thralls have been complacent and unwilling to mobilise on any large scale because, let's face it, we really didn't rate the effort. That will have changed after our last raid. We made fools of them and the vampires will probably cull the whole top level of their command structure in retaliation. That will also make the new commanders very fucking anxious to please. We've already seen an increase in patrols and I feel that this level of activity will remain for the long term."

"Peter," he said and turned his attention to Harris. "It's good to see you up and around, legally, that is." There was a gentle ripple of laughter and Harris shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. The chair had been Sandra's idea and had been non-negotiable. Most of the facility had heard of his walkabout from the infirmary and subsequent capture. "Maybe you could fill us in on your end of things."

"As you know," Harris began, "we had three objectives for the assault. Food and medicine were completed successfully, but Nero anticipated us. We had hoped to confuse things for a while by removing their command figure, but he's cleverer than that. I can't help thinking we tried to do too much and that I..."

"You can stop right there," Harrington interrupted. Sandra had come to him before their argument, worried at Harris'ss mood. She felt that he placed far too much blame on himself for the recent deaths and had asked her father to talk to him. Harrington could see from the anguish on Harris'ss face that she had been right to worry. He felt bad that he had not noticed the young man's anguish sooner.

"You can't put any of what happened on your own shoulders. In fact, from what I've heard, you did more than anyone could expect of one person. There aren't many men I know who would attack a goddamn tank single-handed."

He heard Sandra gasp and cursed himself when he realised that Harris had obviously edited that part from the story when he had told her of the assault. He saw her glare at Harris with a look that would melt iron. Harrington knew that Harris would be in big trouble when she got him back to the infirmary and quickly continued in the hope that he might be able to distract her.

"We decided on the plan as a group," Harrington continued, "and right or wrong, we pick up the pieces as a group."

Harris merely nodded and continued to stare at the floor.

"Son," he continued in a softer tone, "this is a war and, no matter how much we try to prevent it, people will die. You can't take responsibility for everyone."

Harrington saw Harris raise his head and look deep into his eyes before he nodded, more emphatically this time.

"We did get a few bonuses from the assault," Harris continued with renewed vigour. "Scott Anderson brought back a full jar of the serum. He also brought back a volunteer to help us understand how it works." Harris grinned as he said this. People smiled along with him, relieved to see the mood lighten.

"We also picked up a few stragglers who will be weaned off the serum's effects over the next few days. These were mostly women we found in the thralls' quarters." A scowl suddenly darkened Harris'ss face as he remembered how the women had been mistreated but he pushed these thoughts away as he continued. "I think we got twelve in total, no, fourteen if you include Phil's family."

"How is Warkowski?"

"Not good, but, somehow, he's still breathing. We haven't sent out any patrols since we got back, but I plan to send three two-man teams out tomorrow to see the lay of the land. That's about it for now."

"Thank you, Peter." Harrington looked next at Pat Smith. "Pat, I believe you've been busy. Perhaps you can fill us in."

"Yes, as I explained to Peter the other day, I have come up with a compound that could be effective against the vampires." His enthusiastic beam was so contagious that many people found themselves grinning along with him.

"Could be?" Vince Crockett's question, his scowl, and deep baritone voice acted like a splash of cold water and the jovial mood disappeared.

"Yes, well, what I mean is that by the time I developed this particular batch, the vampires" blood we used had already begun to decompose. I can't be absolutely certain that the compound was the only factor which destroyed the cells." Smith was totally unprepared for this sort of questioning. He believed that the lab results alone were reason for celebration and he fumbled his way through the rest of the presentation. "But the theory is sound and the signs are good," he finished and looked nervously around the table.

"I hope you don't expect us to send out our men on that basis, Mr. Smith," Crockett scowled. "Or maybe you are prepared to go out with them."

"Settle down, Vince," Harrington interrupted. "Pat can't help it if the blood decomposed before he could finish testing, although you do have a point. We'll have to shelve the testing of the ammunition until we can do it in a controlled environment."

"What!" he saw Harris nearly launch himself out of his wheelchair, but a combination of pain and Sandra's firm hand held him in place.

"This could be the very weapon we need to turn the tide on this nightmare. You were right before, those bastards are lethal, their speed and strength are frightening, and anything that kills them at a distance is a Godsend."

"That's the problem, Peter," he continued, "it could be the weapon we need, but we just don't know for certain. We can't send men out on the off chance that it will work. For now we need to concentrate on other things."

Harris slumped back in his chair. The toll of the exertion had hit him hard. "Let's at least equip the patrols with the ammunition," Harris suggested his voice barely audible. "That way if they encounter trouble it may help. It certainly can't harm them."

Harrington glanced at Crockett and received a nod. "Okay, that's reasonable. Pat, will you ensure that Vince receives a supply of the ammunition for the patrols?"

"Yes, of course," Smith replied, indignant that the question had to be asked at all.

"Good, that's settled. Any other business, Pat?"

"Well," Smith continued with less enthusiasm than before. "Scott Anderson came back with a jar of the serum the thralls use to keep the populace in line and I've been studying it. The results, I'm afraid, are quite worrying. Now, I must remind you all that I am far from an expert in this field but I do have a good grounding in drugs. The mix the vampires use is particularly strong, as we all can testify, but it's the mix itself that concerns me."

Smith paused to take a drink of water. "The drugs used combine two different areas in medical science. The drug controlling the physical motor responses and the one inhibiting the mental commands from the synapses in the brain are counterproductive."

Harrington frowned.

"Let me explain. Before the vampires came these drugs were widely used for different ailments. Violent mental patients needed high doses of some of these drugs to prevent them from harming themselves or others. As a result, they needed constant care because, with such high doses, they would be unable to function themselves. On the other hand, a patient suffering from depression would need to be able to move about freely and function relatively normally in their day-to-day life while still gaining a benefit from the drugs that targeted their depression. The vampires needed elements of both of these drugs, but there wasn't one drug that fit the bill, so they combined them."

"Go on," Harrington urged.

"You see, these drugs were never meant to be used together because they work against each other in the brain. One allows freedom of movement, but not of thought; the other promotes the opposite. To combine these drugs, one would have to experiment for a long time to get the balance right, and responses would vary for each person. The vampires obviously didn't have the time or the inclination to worry about this, so they made up a batch and tested it. The dose they decided on is of a much higher strength than is actually needed and, because of this, is actually harmful to the people taking it."

"How harmful?" Crockett asked leaning forward.

"It's eventually fatal, I'm afraid."

There was an audible intake of breath around the table before a number of people started to shout questions. Harrington could see that Smith was unable to cope with the volume or the desperation of the questioners, so he slammed his hand on the table to bring order to the proceedings.

"Is there a time frame for this kind of damage?" he asked when the noise had quieted sufficiently.

Smith caught the question as one would a lifeline. "Yes, there is. Now you must understand that this will be different for everyone--"

"Pat, just tell us," Harrington prompted.

"About 2 years."

A gasp rippled around the table.

"I believe that problems will occur in children first because their brains are less developed. Then we will see older people begin to have problems."

"What kind of problems are we talking about here, Pat," Harris asked and Smyth pursed his lips as he considered how best to answer the question.

"It won't be easy on them if that is what you are asking. They will develop severe headaches at first," Pat replied but kept his eyes firmly focused on the table in front of him. "A short time later, they will begin to bleed from the ears and nose. Their eyes will become bloodshot and burn like fire. The drugs will eventually corrode the brain, almost like an acid and it will take at least a week to die. It would almost be a kindness to kill them from the time the headaches begin."

"But it's been nearly two years since the vampires took over," Crockett said unnecessarily.

"Yes, for some it has most probably already started."