Warkowski made his way through the city. The streets were deserted, but he kept to the shadows as much as possible. The sounds of battle raged behind and each gunshot, each scream, tore at him. He didn't like leaving his position, letting his new friends down, but to be so close to Sarah and Jill and to do nothing was unbearable.
Jill was only nine years old, their pride and joy. Her long fair hair reached down to her waist, despite her many efforts to train it into curls. Warkowski could still see her pretty little face scrunched up, her lips beginning to tremble, as she removed the rollers in the morning only to have any curls fall out. Her hair remained stubbornly straight. She was the image of her mother, the same high cheekbones and deep blue eyes that Warkowski had fallen in love with ten years before when he had first met Sarah.
"I'm coming, Sarah," he whispered and continued resolutely to their old apartment.
Dawn was beginning to take hold on the city when Warkowski turned the corner into the street. He could see the window to their old apartment and his heart thundered in his chest.
Are they here? Are they alive? The thoughts raced around his head, consumed him, and he picked up the pace. His stomach tied itself in knots and he broke into a run. He was so intent on the building that he didn't notice the patrol until he literally crashed into the first thrall.
The two men tumbled to the ground. Warkowski was totally unprepared for the impact and he felt the air rush from his body when he fell across the thrall. He lay on the ground and sucked air, trying to feed his starved lungs. The thrall recovered quickly and sprang back to his feet with a nimbleness that belied his rather portly physique.
"Look what we have here." The thrall directed his comment at someone out of Warkowski's field of vision. "We don't need that," he said indicating the machine gun, "let's have a bit of fun."
"But the alarm, we have to go," the second thrall complained.
"Don't worry; this'll only take a minute." With that he planted a kick into Warkowski's ribs that lifted him clear off the ground and sent him sprawling against an abandoned car. Warkowski felt a rib break and pain shot through his body. His vision blurred and then he felt himself being lifted by the thrall. "These humans are so frail," the thrall laughed.
Warkowski coughed up all the phlegm he could muster and spat into the thrall's face. The spit was laced with blood. He looked up at the window of his apartment. So close, he thought, and then he was flying across the street again. He landed on his face and scraped the skin against the road. Cuts opened all along his cheek and he felt himself lose consciousness.
The thrall laughed and approached him again. Warkowski pressed against the area around his broken rib to make the pain act as an anchor. His head cleared. He watched the thrall approach and steeled himself for one last effort. The second thrall followed the first tentatively, but stayed some ten feet behind.
"Peters, we really have to go. Hammond will feed our guts to the hounds if we don't report back." Warkowski listened to the second thrall complain and nearly laughed that the fearsome brute should have such an ordinary name.
"Relax. Look, he's begging now." The thrall laughed again and pointed at Warkowski as the man made his way to his knees. "Should I put him out of his misery?"
As the thrall came closer, Warkowski allowed himself to fall forward, pleading and using the thrall's clothes to scramble up. The thrall went to brush the pleading human away, but Warkowski slipped a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and stuffed the explosive down the thrall's open shirtfront. The thrall looked quizzically at the human for a moment, and then blanched when Warkowski showed him the pin on his finger.
The thrall started a comic dance, stuffing his arms into his fatigues and trying desperately to get at the grenade. His companion looked totally confused, and in that moment of indecision Warkowski struck. He launched himself from the first thrall and ripped his knife from its scabbard. Even with its superior speed the thrall was taken by surprise when Warkowski rammed the knife through his neck and up into his brain.
The blood spurted everywhere after Warkowski pulled the knife from the wound and threw himself to the ground. He rolled as fast as he could away from the two thralls. The creature he had stabbed fell like a brick to the ground and lay unmoving. The second thrall still gyrated as he tried to locate the grenade. Warkowski rolled and rolled, the pain in his side secondary to his survival instinct. The explosion, when it came, was loud and very messy. Warkowski glanced back and saw the thrall's lower torso still standing in the middle of the road. The upper part, however, was splattered over the entire street.
"That's the problem with these bastards," Warkowski quipped, "one little rejection and they fall to pieces."
Warkowski felt as if each step he took toward the building stuck a knife into his side. The door was locked, of course. He spent a further few minutes kicking the door until it finally gave way and slammed against an internal wall. Glass shattered with the force and littered the floor of the foyer.
"Three floors," he muttered as he looked at the stairwell in despair, "why couldn't we have lived on the ground floor?" He gritted his teeth and began the long, painful climb. On the second floor landing he slumped against the wall and looked at his watch, shocked to see that he had taken seven minutes to climb this far. He was now about five minutes behind schedule and knew he'd be a lot later by the time he got the girls out in his condition. He pushed himself away from the wall and continued his climb.
When he finally reached the door to his apartment he hesitated. All his doubts, fears and dreams crashed into him with a physical force that made him stagger. The last few weeks of worry about his family had affected him badly. Would they be safe, or even alive, when he got there? His whole body ached, not just physically from the beating he had taken, but it was emotionally drained from the weeks of worry. He looked at the door knowing that all the answers lay on the other side. All he had to do was enter.
His hands shook when he reached for the handle.
Locked
"You dumb shit," he berated himself "of course it's locked." He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and rammed his shoulder into the door. Pain shot through his side and he stifled a scream. He put all his weight again and again against the door until the pain became a dull constant. Finally, the door flew open and he stumbled into the room.
There in front of him stood Sarah and little Jill. Relief flooded through him at the sight and he moved toward them.
"You're okay," he rejoiced and grinned.
Both of the girls cowered, though it was more of a flinch because the serum prevented them from responding fully to their terror. Warkowski stopped when he saw the fear in their eyes.
"Sarah, it's me," he stammered, confused that they would be afraid of him. "Don't you recognise me?"
Just then he caught his reflection in a mirror behind the two girls. His face was streaked in blood and dirt. The cuts on his cheek still bled and his body was covered in gore and blood.
Most of it's not mine, thank God, he thought. He looked hellish and couldn't blame Sarah for not recognising this gore-spattered figure that had violently entered their home.
"Sarah, it's me," he repeated. He raised his hands and slowly approached them.
Sarah's face didn't change, but her eyes suddenly grew wider. Warkowski could see recognition replace the fear, and then a softness that he thought he would never see again. A single tear fell from her left eye. Warkowski was amazed that she could portray such emotion with the serum blocking her bodies" reactions. His own tears welled up as he scooped both of them into his arms and hugged them tightly.
The pain was intense but he didn't care. He hugged them, kissing their foreheads as relief flooded through him. He left dark stains on their skin from the mix of dirt and blood, but they still looked beautiful. Tears flowed freely down his face. They couldn't hug him back. He knew that, but that would come later when they got that damn serum out of them. For now it was enough just to feel them in his arms. Later they would make their way back to the meeting point, but for now this was enough.
