Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  “There’re plenty enough monsters already,” Budd said, grinning, “without having a green-eyed one on the loose.”

  Juliette shook her head, letting her lips form a smile before she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Budd on his cheek. “It is not what you think, Monsieur Ashby. That, that, girl is wearing a bracelet I gave to Jack. It belonged to my grandfather.”

  Budd looked to Annabel, trying to spot the bracelet, but she and Jack were already down on the tracks and only the shadowy outline of their torsos were visible as they waded away. Many of the others were also moving, urged on by Bogey’s commands.

  “You want it back?”

  “It does not matter.”

  “Get moving, Mister Ashby,” Captain Brooks ordered.

  Charles Deacon, still clutching his briefcase, dropped into the water. The two soldiers who’d brought up the rear arrived at the platform. They knelt and aimed their weapons back towards the escalator.

  I realized that we were dallying, and that was something I didn’t wanna do. Don’t get me wrong though, buddy; I didn’t want to be at the front, either.

  The middle would be fine…

  “Sure thing, partner,” Budd said, and then he used the soldier’s light to lead Juliette to the edge. He climbed down gradually, his feet entering the dark water, sinking until they settled on a bed of stones. The cold water made him gasp and its aroma filled his nostrils, clogging his senses.

  Juliette’s toned, athletic body slipped down beside him. “The water is very cold.”

  “And it smells like last week’s gym clothes, too.”

  “Is it sewage?”

  “Who can tell? Without power, the pumps don’t work. In a few days this whole place will be flooded.”

  “Shall we go, Monsieur Ashby?” Juliette said, entwining her hand with his.

  A noise stopped Budd from moving.

  Captain Brooks spun back to the platform’s entrance, back to where his two soldiers were guarding the group’s rear. The two of them nervously swept their MP-5s from side to side, back the way they’d come.

  The noise had been unmistakable, and it struck fear into Budd’ heart: metal grinding against concrete. A fraction of a second later, the distant howling of the beasts increased to a roar.

  They sounded happy…

  “Run!” Budd shouted.

  57

  Despite his cry, Budd found that running was almost impossible.

  The water was too high and offered too much resistance. Even placing his boots on the treacherous surface of loose stones, wooden support struts, and metal rails was difficult as the feeble light of Juliette’s tool could not penetrate the oily, polluted water.

  It took twenty seconds to reach the end of the platform. Hand in hand, they pushed into the arched tunnel. Juliette swept the flashlight across the water’s murky surface, and the light reflected back to cast an otherworldly glow onto the damp stone walls.

  Already, Budd could feel perspiration on the inside of his Stetson; at such a depth, and without any power for air conditioning, the atmosphere was thick and hot.

  From somewhere in front, he heard several people splashing through the water. The darkness had engulfed them. All he could see was the light of Bogey’s gun-mount, faint and wispy, illuminating a short section of the tunnel ahead. The actual distance was difficult to judge, but between the light and himself he caught glimpses of broken, shadowy human outlines. The once organized line had broken, replaced by a strung-out party of escapees. Cries of panic and terror filled the tunnel, echoing along its cloying confines, while howls of bloodlust bounced from the walls in pursuit.

  The sound of gunshots rose above everything else.

  Budd looked over his shoulder and saw the bright cone of a single flashlight: Captain Brooks was close behind. There was no sign of the other two soldiers who’d been covering their retreat. He guessed they were still on the platform. The thought that the monstrous horde was already at the bottom of the escalator, remorselessly surging into the gunfire, filled him with dread. He tried to force more speed from his weary limbs.

  Gradually, the flagging forms of other survivors appeared in Juliette’s light, and Budd tried to overtake them. Father McGee was the first, the old priest laboring for air as he staggered along the uneven floor, his black robes soaked and heavy with the stinking liquid. The doctor was only a few yards ahead, while Chris, his efforts not helped by the fact that he had a lit cigarette between his lips, was not much further.

  Passing the stragglers, Budd felt Juliette tug on his arm as if wanting to offer help to those who were falling behind. Budd simply tightened his grip around her hand and continued, entirely prepared to drag her until they reached the middle of the group.

  The gunshots echoing up the tunnel were less defined than when they’d started; the short bursts had given way to longer, ammunition-depleting ones. Without warning, a flash of light filled the tunnel, reflecting against the moisture-laced walls. The sound of an explosion followed closely.

  After the rumble died away, Budd realized that the gunfire had ceased.

  “Squeeze by and get up on that platform,” Captain Brooks said hurriedly.

  Budd knew the instruction was addressed into the soldier’s microphone.

  Squeeze by what, exactly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know…

  Budd and Juliette splashed through the water as they tried to distance themselves from the feral cries. Eventually, the problem to Captain Brooks’s solution came into view.

  Sitting on the tracks, its hulk illuminated by Bogey’s light, was a train. Its massive engine carriage took up the majority of the tunnel; there were only eighteen or so inches between its side and the wall. Bogey was guiding the party’s leading members into the gap.

  As Budd approached, he watched Andy go forward, the maintenance man ducking and wading on, closely followed by the tattooed woman and her more feminine companion.

  What were their names? I don’t know.

  Maybe I just don’t remember.

  Maybe my mind was muddled by all the exercise. After all, I hadn’t run this far for years, not since I was chased out of Texas by a posse of cowboys. But that’s another story. All I’ll say is that, yeah, she was worth it…

  Budd and Juliette reached the train and stopped. He ushered her towards the gap and then followed her in. Captain Brooks tucked in behind them, his more powerful flashlight overcoming the beam of Juliette’s.

  To move between the wall and the side of the train, Budd turned his body sideways so that he wouldn’t brush his shoulders. Hurrying along, passing train car after car, he peered upward at the windows but found that they were too high for him to see very much inside. When he spotted a smear of blood in the elongated shape of a handprint running down the inside of one of the plastic shatterproof panes, he was glad for the restriction.

  Looking beyond Juliette, he saw the tunnel wall was coming to an end. Deacon, Andy and the two unnamed women were already climbing out of the water onto the platform’s edge. The thought of escaping the reeking, thigh-high water, which slowed him down, made him want to gag, and sapped his strength, brought relief to Budd’s mind.

  Coming without warning from above their heads, a sudden noise made Juliette gasp and Budd jump.

  Captain Brooks raised his flashlight.

  Inside the train car, two men were throwing themselves against a set of closed doors. One was dressed in a creased suit, the sleeves of his white shirt turned back with diamond-studded gold cufflinks, while the other wore a distinct blue uniform and had a large bunch of keys hanging from a shiny black belt. He was the train driver. The mouths of the two men were open, and their eyes were staring down at Juliette.

  Frantically, the pair scratched at the see-through plastic door panels, trying so hard that their fingernails tore. They still did not relent.

  They looked like wasps captured in an overturned glass…

  Without a word, Budd placed a hand on Juliette’s shoulder, urging her to c
ontinue and not to look up. As they moved level with the doors, the scratching turned to kicks and punches, the beasts within bawling with fury.

  “Not far to go, peaches,” Budd said, but his words were drowned out by gunshots. They had come from behind, probably not much further back than the end of the train.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a huddle of shapes moving after them, only one car behind Captain Brooks. His heart filled his mouth and he was struck by fear that the fast-movers had caught up, but then he saw a flash of light and realized it was Bogey shepherding the last of the survivors.

  Juliette reached the end of the tunnel wall and pulled herself onto the platform, out of the radiance of Brooks’ light. She stood immobile for a moment, using her own light to see what she could. Water drained from her black tracksuit bottoms to puddle around her soiled trainers as she waited for the soldier to catch up. The survivors ahead of them were already out of sight, but their hasty, fading footsteps could still be heard. Wet footprints marked the route they’d taken.

  Budd heaved himself from the slimy water and scrambled onto the platform. Moments later, Brooks swung his body up and rose to his feet.

  Although the intensity of the gunfire had increased, it still seemed to be coming from the rear of the train. Nevertheless, Budd had no doubt; there wasn’t much time.

  Captain Brooks used his flashlight to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. Budd followed the illuminated circle with his eyes as it flittered around. The platform was as long as a football field and twenty feet deep before the wall, which was covered in white tiles, posters, and graffiti, rose out from the ground to curve its way to the ceiling.

  The stationary train ran about half the platform’s length. Several beasts assailed the doors of its final car. Not that Budd cared; there was no reason to go that far, as the opening to a new corridor was right in front of them. Above the archway, written in large, green letters was the word EXIT.

  The three of them set off for the opening, Captain Brooks still at the rear, lighting the way forward, but Budd heard a noise that brought his attention back to the train. There had been a sharp hissing sound, like someone exhaling quickly, but before he’d located the source it was drowned out because the group of stragglers, headed by Chris, his cigarette discarded, started to climb onto the platform, splashing noisily as they escaped the cold grip of the water.

  Budd would have forgotten the noise and continued running, but Captain Brooks, alerted by Budd’s sudden backward glance, spun on his heels as well, exploring with his flashlight.

  Four of the beasts were charging down the platform towards them, having forced open the double doors of the final train car. The sight of them brought further panic to the group; Father McGee broke into a fast prayer, his lips and tongue fumbling over the words as he hurried to straighten his sodden robes.

  “Run,” Brooks shouted as he brought up his pistol, holding it in a single-handed stance.

  I didn’t need telling twice. Or, maybe, I did…

  Budd took his Glock from the small of his back. He eased it into the open and glanced to the gap between the train and the tunnel wall. There were bright flashes reflecting on the metal surfaces of the train, the light sparkling against the windows. The sound of gunfire was incessant.

  Captain Brooks fired his first shot, but none of the four beasts were injured. The closest, a thirty-something female in a vaguely see-through blouse, black skirt, and knee-high boots, was less than 100 feet away.

  “We should go, Monsieur Ashby.”

  She was right.

  The fast-movers were about to overrun us, but if we went now, I’d be the only one in our small party with a gun. And we’d have no radio, and—unless we miraculously caught up with some of the others—no idea where we were supposed to be heading.

  Still, staying on the platform didn’t look much fun either…

  “Pull back! Retreat!” Brooks shouted, his flashlight-wielding hand momentarily rising to press the microphone button on his collar.

  A long, stomach-churning scream came from the gap.

  Grabbing Juliette’s hand, Budd ran for the archway and the corridor.

  The scream was ended by the sharp retort of a pistol.

  From the hidden end of the train, the mass of fast-movers howled in unison.

  Captain Brooks opened fire again, this time squeezing off shot after shot at the four beasts on the platform. Bogey leveled his MP-5 and blasted away.

  Budd didn’t wait to see how the soldiers fared, but plunged into the corridor. Chris, Reginald, and Father McGee clustered close to Juliette’s light, the whole group dependent on its pale luminescence to guide the way through the darkness.

  The polymer handle of Budd’s Glock 17 was slick with sweat.

  The corridor curved to the right and started to rise. 150 feet further on, Budd caught sight of the first few steps of a staircase. It led upwards and was faintly lit with distant, natural light.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging at Juliette’s arm.

  She responded by increasing her speed. They began to pull away from the other three.

  Budd’s muscles ached and his breath thundered up and down his throat; his heart beat faster than he could ever remember it beating before. He placed his foot on the first step and risked a backward glance.

  The cones of two flashlights, Budd guessed belonging to Brooks and Bogey, were visible at the other end of the corridor, and strung out between were the silhouettes of Chris, the doctor and Father McGee.

  I didn’t think I needed to wait for the others—the bottom of the staircase had some illumination, so they didn’t need Juliette’s light. Not that it would have troubled me much if they did. I wouldn’t have waited.

  Not even for a really cute puppy…

  Budd looked to the top of the stairs. There were at least a hundred steps, and with each one the light increased, gradually brightening until the peak hurt his eyes.

  The surface.

  His calves burned and his tired legs struggled to make the climb despite the urgency his body demanded. His fear won out over the fatigue and he managed to keep going, and to maintain his quick pace.

  Juliette, more slender and athletic, found the going easier and drew alongside him.

  He let go of her hand. “Keep moving,” he tried to say, but his words were lost inside his gasps.

  Although he didn’t notice it, the air around him cooled with each step he took, and the stuffy feeling that had clogged his lungs was being replaced with fresher air that drifted down from the surface. He was also leaving behind the rank smell of the water.

  When they reached the top, Juliette halted and turned back to look down the stairs.

  Budd went on a few steps and then called out to her. “Come on, sweetie.”

  She didn’t react.

  He jogged back and took hold of her arm.

  She resisted his tug.

  “No,” she screamed, her voice filling the staircase, flooding past Chris and Father McGee, who were now only a handful of steps from the top. Bogey and Captain Brooks were not far behind.

  In the virtually opaque gloom at the bottom of the stairs, Budd saw a shape move, barely more than a shadow, but he strained his eyes until he could finally make out the image of the doctor. He had his back turned to the staircase.

  Juliette cried out again, but the doctor merely spread his arms wide. “Caroline,” he bellowed.

  A beast crashed out of the shadows, dragging Reginald to the floor. Other fast-movers arrived, piling on top of him, clawing and biting at his plump body until a scream rang out.

  Budd dragged Juliette away from the stairs.

  More beasts, a blur of dark bodies, had reached the bottom, swerving around the living heap that covered the doctor. They swallowed it like a wave around a sandcastle and raced upwards.

  With tears in her brown eyes, Juliette started to move. The final exit to the surface was seventy-five feet away across a lobby, complete with a row of
electronic ticket readers, and then up a dozen final steps.

  On either side of the short staircase were several shuttered-up shops and a ticket booth, which had the inside of its window smeared with blood. Midway up the steps was the body of a woman, her chest and head still oozing blood over her white cocktail dress.

  Budd led Juliette to the top of the concrete stairs, finally reaching the surface. He paused, looking left and right, searching for where the others had gone. He caught sight of two people running away in the distance, almost straight ahead. The swirling grey fog threatened to ingest them entirely.

  “Come on,” Budd said. “We have to keep going.”

  Ahead of them came several bursts of gunfire.

  Even if we could keep running and escape the horde that had followed us through the underground, the sound of gunfire alerted me to the danger that the cloud, fog—whatever you wanna call it—would have plenty of its own surprises.

  Yippee for the British weather…

  58

  Budd and Juliette ran deeper into the fog, keeping an eye out for trouble while tracking the vague outline of the couple who raced along ahead of them. Their route took them down the center of a paved road, and they past stationary cars on both sides, skirting around the abandoned hulks of metal. One of them had a smashed side window and a blood-covered interior. Beyond the cars and the pavement were dark buildings that soared up into the clouds, the taller of which vanished about midway up their fourth floors.

  More gunshots sounded ahead of them.

  Budd looked over his shoulder.

  Captain Brooks, Bogey, Chris, and Father McGee were all behind, running as fast as they could, but the elderly priest was struggling to keep pace with his younger companions. As yet, the mouth of the staircase had not expelled any of the fast-movers, but Budd was sure that it wouldn’t be long. He and Juliette were still less than 150 feet away.