Part 1

by Mr Badger

The night was cold with a chill wind roaring in from the south. Mist hung at ground level like a grey blanket smothering the last vestiges of heat. Lights could be seen on the horizon, lights giving away the position of civilisation. Beckoning the camera on wards with the promise and allure of warmth the lights became slowly brighter as the distance closed. Suddenly the camera slew sideways to show another visitor in the night skies. The jet droned it's way through the skies with grace unbecoming for it's large size. Painted most black except for grey decals this wasn't an ordinary passenger flight. The camera slipped in front of the jet to look at the three cabin crew at their positions. Still unseen, like a ghostly presence, the camera slide over the upper surface of the cabin and quickly repositioned itself mid way down the fuselage. Swing around the middle of the aircraft the camera showed the paint scheme to be uniform. The jet was flying without running lights or any illumination at all past the glowing screens in the cockpit. A gross violation of the regulations but this was no ordinary flight. The camera began it's rearward progress once more and slide in behind the aircraft, straight into that atmospherically disturbed zone known as "jet wash." All control lost the camera spun in ever decreasing circles till it impacted into the sewage treatment ponds with not as much a splash as a splat.

A new camera picked up the view, more cautious and humble. This wasn't a prideful camera at all. Slowly moving closer then away again, a little bit closer than far away as if chased by a wild dog. This camera took the best part of the remaining flight time to gather near the jet. What it saw once close begins the story.

Below the cabins are the cargo areas. The places where luggage and crates are stored while being transported. As with such a large aircraft the cargo space was suitably impressive. Lines of crates were carefully stacked along the backbone of the aircraft. Wooden structures labelled with the contents and the weight, with warehouse markings and scouring marks made by careless forklifts. At the far end of the aircraft, nearest the tail for quicker unloading sat a massive metallic structure. Cylindrical the casing was misted with moisture, betraying the chilled contents inside. A small meter on the side of the crate blinked quietly to itself the remaining battery time for the chiller. Still at 75% capacity the contents of this vessel would not be regaining room temperature for just over a day.

Inside the cargo bay the steady rumble of the engines was joined by a slow scratching then a thump. This sound continued to gain volume till a crate in the middle of the aircraft started to shake. Suddenly a fist ripped it's way through the banded wood. Another hand tore through the wood like it was paper till the crate fell into pieces. Looking around the cargo bay the person revealed smiled in joy as other crates were forcibly split asunder, freeing their willing contents. Exposing twin fangs the Vampire growled quietly.

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On the flight deck matters were gathering speed with landing drawing closer. The flight had been a long one, nearly 14 hours non-stop, with the lights of the city beneath them the pilots started to gather their wits for the most difficult hurdle of them all, landing. The aircraft engineer flicked her eyes towards the closed door of the cockpit in surprise, this was an unpopulated flight so there shouldn't have been any noise. Standing up she loosened the firearm at her waist and opened the door. Through the dim light she could make out movement at the far end of the corridor. "Shit! We've got company!" Releasing a few shots towards the infiltrators the engineer ran across the connecting pathway and down the other side of what would have been the economy cabin. As she ran a hairy hand grabbed her ankle and she was left sprawling along the carpet. Moving with surprising speed for someone still breathing she let lose a number of carefully aimed shots. Clutching the shattered remains of it's head the attacker fell to the floor in a twitching pile of bone and flesh. The engineer got up and ran for the cargo bay.

Back in the cockpit the other two flight crew had not been idle. Removing a submachine gun from an overhead rack the co-pilot locked and barred the door. Taking a defensive position to one side from the door he waited for the assault to begin. While he was doing that the aircraft's pilot was radioing for assistance. "We need to get this thing down now!" Shouted the Pilot, adrenalin in her voice betraying the action behind her.

The voice from the ground controller was calm and paced, not carelessly as if trying to disavow anything out of the ordinary was occurring but steady with the knowledge they could all only do their best. "We'll deviate you over the C.B.D for a priority landing. It's the best we can do. Hold out and we'll have help waiting on the ground, good luck."

The pilot swore to herself quietly as she made the required course adjustments. The Central Business District, the middle of downtown Auckland. Before it used to the prosperous center of town, where the movers and the shakers worked their magic but now all that had changed. The rot started with numerous power cuts and shortages, often without warning or reason. Then other services were strangled, water, phone and sewerage. The C.B.D started to decay from the inside out. Businesses failed or were only open rarely. Traffic was bought to a halt as traffic lights malfunctioned. Soon the area was abandoned as a viable business prospect and walled off. Then someone had one of those bright ideas that just makes you want to rip off their head and urinate down their necks. "The C.B.D used to be full of lawyers and accountants before, why don't we wall them up in there and leave them to die?" Thus was it done and thus was the C.B.D left as a wasteland of all that was good and wholesome, patrolled by street gangs of lawyers and yuppies the C.B.D was nowhere you wanted to go. The pilot swore once more, and they were going to fly right over the top of it.

There was a sickening crash from behind and the pilot was pelted by bits of hardwood, steel reinforcing and then almost as suddenly bits of her co-pilot. Not even bothering to turn around to see her killer the pilot swept her hands over the cargo switches and engaged the cargo bay door. The burning pain across her back was the last thing she felt but as she slipped in her seat, all strength torn out along with half her spine she smiled as the cargo lights went green

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The engineer was down to her last clip when she heard the doors open behind her. The cry of rage from the cockpit told it all, the captain was jettisoning the cargo. Emptying her weapon at the closest attacker the engineer leapt towards the straps holding the metal cylinder tight and released them. The cylinder was swept out of the aircraft along with the engineer and everything else not tied down. As she fell into the darkness of the C.B.D the engineer laughed. "Screw you!" She shouted to the unseen attackers still in the aircraft. The metallic cylinder spawned a number of parachutes to break it's fall, all part of the safety precautions for such a valuable cargo. Unfortunately the engineer had no such equipment and wasn't alive to see the cylinder land in the middle of a destroyed building, nor to see the small radio aerial flip upwards and broadcast a homing beacon.

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The Primogen of Auckland were in meeting, with the Prince overseeing the event. The loss of the ghouls and the aircraft were of a small consequence to the staggering loss of the cargo. Budweiser is known as the King of beers, we'll the cargo of the plane and held in a specially refrigerated contained was Carlisburg, President of beers. The power to the refrigeration unit would only last till daybreak in just over 24 hours. "People, we have to sent someone in to rescue the President. The meeting is the night after tomorrow so there is no time to delay," whispered the Prince. The meeting. It all came down t the meeting. In just two days the city of Auckland was going to hold the first conference of the Justicars of the Clans. If it's one thing the Justicars like it's cold beer. Without the President the meeting would surely fail. The Prince swept his eyes around the room at each Primogen individually, looking for the qualities of ability, resourcefulness and above all the ability to be sacrificed without loss to Auckland as a whole. "Where's Handel?" Asked the Prince.

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Part 2