Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  “I do not like this, Monsieur Ashby. What is that smell? And where are the lights?”

  The questions stumped Budd.

  Although there was no power to the city, he was sure that the underground stations should have had a back-up supply of their own, at the very least enough to light the way out. However, he knew that it had also been nearly thirty-six hours since the electricity had failed, and there had to be a time limit as to how long anywhere could remain self-sufficient without people to tend to it. “I’m sure there’ll be some further on.”

  “We will see.”

  Perhaps not…

  Budd stopped when his hands felt the criss-cross of a metal fence, the links rattling with his contact. The sound was dauntingly loud in the enclosed space. Running perpendicular to the wall, the fence went straight across to the other side of the tunnel. Carefully, he led Juliette along the fence, keeping his hands pressed against the metal links. When they stopped, and his hand was left floating in empty air, he steered her through the gap.

  From back the way they’d come, the sound of booted feet falling heavily on the concrete floor arrived, and beams from flashlights appeared on the white walls.

  “Halt,” called a voice from out of the darkness.

  Budd looked uselessly around, unable to see. Sixty feet to his left, a flashlight erupted into life, its beam illuminating the floor around his feet.

  “Get over here,” the voice hissed.

  Budd nodded and pulled Juliette towards the voice. Behind them, shouting and gunfire joined the sound of running feet.

  The light switched off, but Budd continued to where it had originated. When he reached the spot he thought it was, he stopped walking and stood still. Juliette did the same.

  There was the tiny noise of jangling keys and then Budd felt a gloved hand around his wrists. A moment later, the handcuffs were gone. “The captain gave the order to release you.”

  Budd assumed it was the soldier who’d led the line of hotel survivors. There didn’t, however, appear to be any sign of his charge.

  “Where are the others?” Juliette asked, jumping ahead of Budd’s train of thought. He felt her delicate fingers wrap around his own, one hand exploring up his arm to rest on his biceps. She’d been freed as well.

  “Secured in a public toilet around the corner,” the soldier said, flashing the light in the direction he meant.

  In the split second of viewing time, Budd realized that the metal gate they’d come through was the end of the tunnel, and that they were now in a larger chamber, probably the station’s central hub. He knew it would inevitably be filled with shops, ticket booths, stairs and downward escalators that led to the myriad of platforms, but, as it was, all he’d seen from the beam of light were a few signs and a blank electronic notice board.

  “This area isn’t safe yet,” the soldier continued, “so I didn’t want to proceed any further alone. One gun wouldn’t be much good if we met a group of those things.”

  “Good call, partner,” Budd said, adjusting the position of his Stetson. It was something that he’d wanted to do since first being handcuffed. “The name’s Budd.”

  “I know who you are, Mister Ashby. You’re our principal target.”

  “‘Principal target?’” Juliette questioned.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m Private Mark Green, but the squad call me ‘Bogey.’”

  Budd let out a chuckle. “I miss military nicknames,” he said offhandedly.

  I was Budd ‘The Stud’ Ashby. Get it?

  I didn’t tell Juliette…

  Beams from flashlights spilled into the tunnel, and Budd watched as the first soldier came around the corner, sprinting for the gap in the chain-link fence; it was Captain Brooks, his red beret still immaculately perched on his head. Charles Deacon was only a few paces further behind, his briefcase knocking against his legs as he ran.

  The two men entered the chamber; Brooks used his flashlight to examine the gate’s handle and lock. Budd watched as the soldier removed a large, heavy padlock from the sliding bar, and then moved the handle back and forth to check its operation. Although beyond his earshot, Budd could see Brooks speaking into his microphone, no doubt relaying orders.

  Immediately, Bogey dashed to his officer’s side. He knelt and aimed his MP-5 through the links of the fence. From further up the tunnel, around the corner and out of sight, apart from the bright muzzle flashes that reflected upon the white walls, the sporadic gunfire rose to a crescendo. The MP-5s were being fired in full-automatic mode, the bullets only ceasing to fly when the magazines were empty.

  One by one, the four remaining soldiers rounded the corner of the tunnel, the lights on the ends of their sub-machine guns bouncing as they sprinted, each of the men desperate to reach the open gate as soon as they could.

  To their rear, a wave of beasts appeared, barely illuminated by the light of Bogey’s gun. Budd willed the four soldiers to go faster.

  He was holding his breath.

  The race was close, but although the fast-movers strove with all their will, they could not gain back the soldiers’ head start. Almost together, the four men squeezed through the gate, one of them tumbling to the floor and yelling with pain.

  Brooks sprung into action.

  He closed the gate, slid the handle home and padlocked it into position. The first beast, a policeman, reached the fence and threw himself against the metal, clawing his fingers through the links just as the commander stepped away. Others reached the blockade as well and their bodies pressed against it so that their warped faces were clear to see in the flashlight beams. Flesh bulged through the links.

  The vision was such that Budd would’ve turned his back on it had he not feared that the fast-increasing pressure on the fence, caused as more and more of the beasts reached the blockage, crushing those at the front, would be too much for the structure to withstand.

  The soldiers backed away, loading their guns.

  Despite Budd’s apprehension, and the occasional creak as the fence moved on its concrete surround, pulling on its securing pins, the gate held firm.

  For now, they were safe.

  55

  “Let’s move out,” Captain Brooks said, turning from the gate and using his light to sweep across the large chamber. “Come in, Jackson. Do you read me?”

  “I never regained visual contact with him, sir. The line was too slow.”

  Brooks touched his earpiece again. “Sergeant Jackson, please respond. Over.”

  I guessed Jackson was the soldier who’d led the way through the office building waging a one-man war against door locks, but I hadn’t seen him alive since. I also hadn’t seen his body ripped to pieces either, so perhaps it wasn’t all bad news for Jackson.

  But then again…

  “Okay, he knows we’re heading for the pier, we’ll have to hope he’s there in time. Bogey, sitrep?”

  “I obtained this map, sir,” the soldier answered. He let his MP-5 drop from his hands to hang on its shoulder strap and pulled a folded pamphlet from his back pocket. Captain Brooks took hold of the paper and stretched it out on the concrete floor. While the officer passed his light over the colorful maze of underground lines, Bogey used a glove-encased finger to trace out a route across a part of the network.

  “We have to follow this line to the next station. It should come up approximately three-hundred meters from the pier.”

  Budd did some quick mental math and realized that they would have about 1,000 feet to cover between the end of the tunnel and the beginning of the pier. Standing close to where the two soldiers were having their discussion, he took the moment of relative calm to glance around. The other four soldiers, using their lights to break up the darkness, were exploring the cavernous room, but kept looking back to the metal fence, their eyes drawn to the frightful groans of the swarming beasts.

  “Well done, soldier. Is this place secure?”

  “Negative. I’ve not been beyond this room. I locked the prisoners i
n the public toilets.”

  “There’s no time to reconnoiter. Get them ready; we’re moving out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Brooks studied the map by flashlight for a while longer and then folded it away and tucked it into a compartment on his belt.

  “What’s going on?” Budd asked.

  Captain Brooks looked him in the eye, barely visible behind the glare of his torch. “The end of the world, Mister Ashby.”

  “That doesn’t explain very much.”

  “I’m glad you’ve been released,” Brooks said, ignoring Budd’s comment. He slipped a spare handgun from its holster on his belt. From another pouch, he took a small flashlight, designed more for reading than illuminating any substantial distance. “Take these.”

  Budd recognized the weapon as soon as his hand wrapped around its polymer handle: a Glock 17. He kept his finger away from the trigger, remembering that the weapon lacked a separate safety switch. He clicked the button on the small, metallic light and a faint pool of light engulfed his boots. “Thanks, buddy,” he said.

  “Keep yourself safe. We need you alive.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I still had no idea what was going on, but a gun and a light were better than a pair of handcuffs…

  Lost in the darkness behind Captain Brooks’ shoulder came Charles Deacon’s voice. It was filled with a hint of anxiety. “We should be moving now,” the scientist said.

  “Patterson, Sanders, take point, head south on the Princess Diana Memorial Line. Pope, Lewis, you’ll be in the rear.”

  Budd looked around, his attention captured by the sudden sound of nearby footsteps in the darkness. He caught sight of the line of hotel survivors being marched into the chamber, accompanied by the light of Bogey’s MP-5-mounted tool. The procession stumbled onwards through the dark, although their attention was held by what was trapped on the other side of the metal fence.

  At the opposite end of the chamber, two of the flashlights descended out of view, sinking into the darkness until even the faintest reflection of the glow had vanished. The other two, who had been exploring, had now come to a halt close to where the leading two had vanished; they were sweeping the path ahead of the line, illuminating the floor.

  “Monsieur Ashby, we should stay close to them,” Juliette said.

  Budd took one look back at the mass of fast-movers pressed against the fence. By the light of Captain Brooks’ powerful beam, he saw that the faces of the beasts in the front were now lifeless and bloody, their bodies crushed against the metal links by the surging horde behind them. He looked away with a shake of his head. “I think you’re right, sweet thing.”

  56

  Budd tucked the Glock 17 into the waistband of his pants, nestling the handgun into the small of his back. He pulled out his blue sweatshirt to hide it. After this, he took hold of Juliette’s hand and, with the small flashlight aimed at the floor in front of them, led her as they hurried to catch up to the group.

  Under Bogey’s command, the other hotel survivors were still being forced to walk with their hands on the shoulders of the person ahead. While this made their progress slower, with people shuffling their feet and tripping over one another, Budd could now see a practical reason for it; as they journeyed through the darkness, the precaution prevented them becoming separated and lost.

  “The smell is getting worse, Monsieur Ashby.”

  She was right. The stench was overpowering. It reminded me of my second wife’s fish stew…

  Letting his eyes dart between the moving spheres of light, Budd saw that they were nearing the edge of the chamber. Several corridors led from its walls, like strands from the center of a spider’s web, and each one was marked with an overhead sign that indicated which line it would access. The sign above where the two soldiers had first disappeared from view was green with a purple stripe. This was the Princess Diana Memorial Line, newly built during Greenwich’s redevelopment.

  Ahead, the sound of concrete-scraping footfalls changed to the abrupt clatter of shoes on metal. There was an escalator, although without power it was nothing more than a staircase. One after the other, the group descended deeper into the blackness.

  “I’ll go first, but you take this. You’ll find it easier, sugar.”

  Juliette took hold of the flashlight and pointed it at their feet. Budd saw her smile in the faint, reflected ambience. “Be careful, Monsieur Ashby.”

  “Why do people keep saying that?”

  Having not quite caught the rearmost member of the group before their descent, Budd headed down the steps with Juliette lighting the way. The howling from the metal fence kept his heart racing, but despite his urge to distance himself from the source, he maintained a relatively low speed, judging each step with care.

  The temperature increased as they went down, and the air was clogged with the reek that filled the underground station.

  “Keep moving,” Captain Brooks called from behind.

  Budd ignored the comment, as he was already gaining on the last member of the line, who shuffled along, struggling to remain balanced in the darkness. The black robes and disheveled white hair made Father McGee easily recognizable, and the old priest jumped when Budd’s left hand settled on his shoulder. His head spun around to reveal eyes wide with terror.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. You look kinda gristly.”

  Father McGee’s tongue whipped across his lips. “You scared me, my son.”

  “I’ll still get to heaven, though, right?”

  The priest smiled and then looked forward again.

  At the head of the line, Bogey stepped off the escalator into a white-tiled corridor. His flashlight’s beam revealed advertising posters in sealed frames along the walls, and the ceiling arched over at twice the height of a man.

  About 125 feet further on, two cones of light indicated that the pair of scouts had reached a dilemma. Uncertainty was obvious in the sweeping movements of their beams. On either side of the corridor stood a wide archway; one soldier ventured into the mouth of the left-hand opening and the other disappeared into the right.

  From behind Budd came the rustling of paper. “Either platform will take us to the next station,” Captain Brooks said into his microphone. “Repeat, either platform.”

  After a few seconds, the soldier who’d gone into the left-hand entrance crossed over to the right. From then on, Budd lost his view of what lie ahead as he’d reached the bottom of the escalator. With one hand still on Father McGee’s shoulder, and the other held tight by Juliette, he continued on, unable to see anything other than the small area around his feet.

  His hearing was assaulted by the distant cries of the beasts that had followed them into the underground; beasts that he was sure were still surging against the metal fence, battling to reach them. He tried to block the sight of them from his memory, but he could not shake the fear of others hiding in the surrounding darkness. Odd, eerie shadows lurked at the edge of his vision.

  Such thoughts were not helped when he stepped over a patch of dried blood, which had turned brown through prolonged exposure to the air. He caught a glimpse of more stains and elongated marks on the tiled walls.

  At some point, people had died in the tunnel.

  Father McGee started to arc to the right and Budd kept hold of him, following the line into the mouth of the opening. Already the front of the line was snaking around again and coming to a halt. They had reached the edge of the platform; to the left and right it carried on into the darkness, but Budd knew that the only place they could still go was down onto the tracks.

  These, however, could not be seen.

  Polluted, putrid water had flooded them and it was from here that the smell was originating. The two leading soldiers had already made the plunge over the side of the platform, dropping into the filthy ooze to mid-way up their thighs. Disturbing the surface made the water smell even worse. Regardless, the two soldiers continued onwards, heading left from the platform
’s opening, the illumination from their flashlights threatening to vanish as the track curved away in the tunnel.

  Bogey disengaged himself from the front of the line and then climbed down the four-foot drop, splashing into the water. He swung his MP-5 on its shoulder strap so that the barrel light shone back on the platform and his hands were free to help others clamber down. “Quickly,” the soldier instructed.

  The line disintegrated as the more able-bodied members scrambled down unaided, all under the supervision of Captain Brooks, who used his light to illuminate as much of the platform as he could. Father McGee headed for the waiting soldier, as did the doctor, and Bogey helped them one at a time, guiding them to the uneven surface of stones and wooden railway hidden beneath the murky water.

  Budd hesitated for a moment, still clutching Juliette’s hand. He saw that she was watching as Jack took hold of Annabel’s tiny waist and lifted her down to the track. As Juliette looked on, her eyes squinted and a scowl formed upon her forehead. The sight of her reaction made Budd smile.

  Despite everything that had happened, everything that had changed, human nature was just the same. Now, I’m not exactly sure that this was a good thing. After all, most of the scrapes that humanity’s ever been in have been caused by, well, us really…

  “Whoa, sugarplum, if looks could kill you’d be back in handcuffs.”

  “I do not know what you mean, Monsieur Ashby.”