Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  Budd tilted his head back to look at her.

  She was clutching a three-foot long industrial television antenna, the fingers of which had been bent and deformed. Budd looked blankly at her, unsure what she intended for him to do. She stamped on a hand that was stretching across the step she was standing on. The finger bones snapped as they were crushed against the metal ridges beneath them and splintered white bone burst through the skin. Still, the hand kept grasping for her, the appendage flopping impotently, unable to grip.

  “Jam it between the door and bars,” Juliette said, offering the antenna.

  Budd reached back and took it.

  From where he sat, he thrust the tip of the antenna through a gap in the door, easily bending the last few of the remaining prongs. Then he slid the other end back through the gap of the first vertical rail and released the pressure in his knees, hoping to ease the door back against his makeshift locking-bar.

  There was no such grace. The instant he allowed his knees to bend, the door jolted inwards.

  Budd's heart leapt as he feared the plan would fail, but then the edge of the door struck the antenna's pole with a clang and went rigid, trapped between the wedge and the weight of beasts beyond it.

  If they were smart, we were screwed.

  All they needed to do was release the pressure on the door and slide the aerial free. Then they could adjust their napkins, take out their knives and forks and chow down.

  I tried not to think about the one who'd been smart enough to dodge my bullets.

  Mind you, releasing the pressure would be easier said than done—what with their fellow flesh-munchers pushing from behind. Juliette had brought us some time.

  I wanted to kiss her.

  Again...

  Still in a sitting position, Budd bumped himself up one step at a time. The hands reaching from the side of the staircase brushed his body, the fingertips trying to snare his clothes. He wriggled and batted them away until he was high enough that they couldn't reach him. When he got to his feet, Juliette wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. “You are safe, Monsieur Ashby.”

  “Well,” Budd said, surveying the length of the alleyway, which was now packed with bodies, “I wouldn't go that far, peaches. But thanks.”

  “Captain Brooks broke it from the wall. He is trying to open the door.”

  “I hope he's quick. That won't hold long.”

  Juliette released Budd and stepped back from him, going higher around the spiraling staircase. Suddenly, she screamed and reached to the back of her head. Too late, Budd saw the hand that had grabbed the collar of her leather jacket, pinching a handful of her dark hair in the process. The beast yanked her off-balance, pulling her towards the outside.

  She jerked like a rag doll to break free, but she could not escape.

  Budd looked along the extended arm to see a bald-headed man's face squeezed between the vertical railings, his face distorted with savagery. The beast had climbed the outside of the staircase and was ten feet above the alley floor, well beyond the reach of his massed brethren.

  Budd knocked Juliette aside and rammed the barrel of his Glock into the man's snarling face. He fired before the beast could react. While blood and bone sprayed out like crimson rain, the limp body fell away from the railings, landing upon the fast-movers below.

  They dragged it down out of sight.

  Juliette sunk to her knees on the steps, her hands nursing the back of her neck. From the way her body shuddered, Budd could tell she was sobbing.

  I couldn't tell if it was fear, shock or pain.

  I was suffering from all three...

  Looking down, Budd saw another of the fast-movers begin to rise up the outside of the railings, pulling itself up and emerging from the crush.

  They were starting to climb.

  Budd scooped his arm under Juliette's shoulder and made for her to stand up. “We've gotta move, pumpkin.”

  60

  Budd's body ached as they climbed the spiral stairs, winding to the top of the tower. His legs chafed against his soaking pants and his muscles burned, threatening to seize up. Still, he kept going, taking one step at a time. Halfway up was a solid metal door. There was no handle on the outside.

  Juliette kept her right hand on the central column, her fingers tracing the cold metal. Being on the outside, Budd had a chance to look out over the masses that filled the alleyway, the press of bodies fading into the fog.

  He counted seven climbers on the exterior of the tower, pulling themselves up with varying degrees of success and speed. More started all the time, buoyed up by those pushing from behind.

  Budd ran on, his arm still thrown around Juliette, but he could feel her regaining her composure. Her head came up and her back straightened as her pace began to quicken.

  They reached the top to find the staircase opened onto a small rectangular platform. The cage surrounded it, rising a little over Budd's head before it ended. The only thing above them was the fog-filled grey sky.

  There was nothing to offer any protection.

  Captain Brooks stood at the platform's far end, his back turned to another of the handle-less green doors. He had his hand pressed to his earpiece, shielding it from the guttural noise of the horde below.

  His eyes were closed.

  He spoke into his shoulder microphone. “Negative, Bogey. Hold your position. Over.”

  Budd doubled over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Juliette rested beside him, leaning back against the brick wall.

  “The antenna worked, then?”

  “For now. Some rescue this is.”

  “You're still alive, Mister Ashby.”

  “Maybe not for long,” Budd said, standing straight and then pointing his thumb to the railings. “Even if your antenna holds, they're climbing the outside. Reckon we've got, what, I don't know, thirty seconds.”

  Captain Brooks cursed and then strained his neck to peer down between the rails. “Not that long.”

  Budd nodded to the door. “It won't budge?”

  “No chance.”

  “Any more plastic explosive?”

  Captain Brooks shook his head.

  “I guess that's a wrap, then.”

  Breathless, exhausted, and trapped with nowhere left to run. It was a similar feeling to arriving at the church for your wedding. You're surrounded by friends, but there's nothing anyone can do to save you.

  Except, this time, it really would be till death us do part...

  Budd sunk to the ground and took off his Stetson. His ran his hand through his hair, sweeping away the sweat from his brow. “I might as well have got eaten yesterday and saved myself all this exercise.”

  “Do not give up, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said. She knelt beside him and placed her hands over his, her fingertips stroking his knuckles. The Glock hung limp from his grasp. “We can still escape.”

  Budd looked her in the eye. “We're trapped, sugar. There's nowhere left to go. I'm sorry.”

  “What about the roof?” Juliette said, tilting her head to look up.

  Budd altered his gaze as well. He estimated there was twelve feet of brickwork before the rafters extended out a few inches over their heads. “If French women can fly, this is the time to say so.”

  He lowered his eyes to the Glock in his hand, turning it over and examining the black handgun.

  Juliette shook her head. “No, Monsieur Ashby. Do not think that.”

  I did think that.

  There, at the top of the fire-escape tower, with no place left to go and just a few seconds before the monsters climbed over the railing or our makeshift barricade gave way below us, I thought about it.

  Quick. Probably painless. And no biting, clawing, or bad breath involved at all.

  It seemed like the sensible choice...

  “On your feet, now,” Captain Brooks ordered, his voice devoid of all emotion and warmth. “My men - my friends - didn't die to get you here just to have you take the
coward's way out.”

  “Cut the bull, amigo. I didn't ask anyone to get killed on my behalf.”

  Captain Brooks' attention moved to a bloody hand that appeared over the side of the platform, thumping against the metal. A second hand came to rest eight inches along from it.

  The soldier waited.

  A woman's head poked up between the hands, her dark hair matted with blood, several of her front teeth missing from her gnarled mouth.

  She groaned as she caught sight of her prey.

  Captain Brooks put a bullet in the center of her forehead and she dropped from sight. Down in the alleyway, the howling intensified, squeezing up between the brick walls and cutting through the fog. The soldier turned back to Budd. “All I know, Mister Ashby, is that the world has gone to Hell. Somewhere out there, everyone I've ever known is dead or dying. But Deacon says he can put it all right. And he needs your help. So get up and keep fighting.”

  “You think he's really Deacon?”

  “I've no reason to doubt what he says.”

  Apart from the fact he'd aged really, really badly over the last couple of days, I guess I didn't either. Not that it mattered now...

  Budd smiled at Juliette and then got his feet. She stood alongside him. “So, we'll keep fighting. But what do you suggest we do once the bullets run out?”

  Captain Brooks shrugged his shoulders. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Or - more likely - we'll get eaten when it comes to it...

  61

  Budd pushed his foot down further into his boot, squelching the stinking water from his socks. It was all he could do to stop his leg from shaking.

  Juliette grabbed hold of his left hand, squeezing it tight. The front few of her bottom teeth showed where she was chewing on her top lip.

  Budd took a step towards the edge of the platform and peered down as best he could, pressing the tip of his Stetson against the vertical bars. Several of the beasts were nearly upon them, the closest only a few inches below. Budd extended his Glock, ready to fire.

  “Wait until the shot's clear,” Captain Brooks said.

  Budd extended his gaze to the sea of reaching arms and open mouths that filled the alleyway floor beneath them. “I'm pretty sure I'd hit something.”

  The beast's head appeared over the edge of the platform, snarling as it broke the artificial horizon. Captain Brooks nudged Budd away and raised his firearm.

  The face vanished behind a spray of blood.

  Captain Brooks tucked his Glock back into its holster. “I'm out, Mister Ashby.”

  “Super.”

  Juliette let go of Budd's hand and spun around in the same motion. Her quick movement startled Budd and he turned after her, raising his Glock as he moved. “I heard a knock,” she said.

  “What?”

  “On the door. It sounded like someone was knocking.”

  Budd looked at the green-painted metal door. “What sort of knock?”

  Juliette brushed some loose hair away from her face and then rapped the door with her knuckles, twice in quick succession.

  After a pause, a thud rung out through the door. Two more followed.

  “You're right, honey.”

  Juliette repeated the series of three knocks.

  Someone - or something - was behind the door.

  We'd all heard the zombies knocking before - although back then, they didn't play “Name That Tune.” But they'd changed in other ways, so nothing was completely out of bounds.

  Still, maybe it was a real person. A living, breathing, scared-to-death person.

  Not that that meant we were saved. I asked myself a question: if it was me on the other side, would I open up for three strangers firing guns?

  Short answer: no.

  Three nuns carrying baskets of food? And a bottle of fine Scotch?

  Keep on truckin', sisters...

  Captain Brooks cleared his throat. “Mister Ashby.”

  Budd turned back to the railings to find that three of the fast-movers had climbed above the level of the platform; the highest was looking at him eye-to-eye, his hands only a few inches beneath the railings top.

  With a deep breath, Budd put a single shot between the beast's eyes.

  The body fell back away from the tower, toppling over and over.

  Seeing their counterpart dispatched, the next two stopped climbing and pulled themselves close to the bars. The one closest to Budd, a blonde-haired woman who was wearing nothing beside a pair of matching yellow panties and bra, both of which were snagged and wrapped around her waist, reached through the railings with one arm, her blue-painted fingernails clawing at the empty space.

  Budd pressed his back to the brick wall. “How's it going, sweetheart?”

  “I cannot hear it anymore.”

  So - officially - I'm not the only jerk in town...

  “Keep trying.”

  Captain Brooks thumped his forearm against the metal door. “Open up,” he shouted.

  A third and fourth beast hauled themselves above the platform's base, climbing towards the top. The protruding arms prevented Budd getting close enough to look down over the side of the tower; he couldn't tell how many others were on their way up.

  He tried to remember how many shots he'd fired.

  A thud and clank of metal reverberated through the platform. Budd's mind filled with the image of the door at the bottom of the stairs flying open and the horde clambering up the steps towards them.

  His heart thundered in his chest, his head throbbing with the fear of what was about to happen. He swallowed hard, desperate to moisten his throat, which felt as though it had constricted to nothing.

  “Hello,” called a voice, which cracked with the effort of overcoming the noise from the alleyway. “Down here.”

  Budd didn't hear the voice.

  His mind had turned inwards, but Juliette's face came in front of his eyes, her mouth moving, her eyes going to the stairs.

  She knew it, too. We only had a few seconds...

  Juliette kept going and Budd felt her tugging on his hand, pulling him to the top of the stairs. She started down, sticking close to the central column. Captain Brooks bundled Budd from behind, encouraging him on. He fought to clear the fog from his mind.

  “Quickly, down here,” came a female voice, the words hurried and unsteady.

  Okay, I guess I'm not the poster-boy for humanity. Some people really are kind to strangers...

  Juliette slowed as she rounded the stairs away from the brick wall, moving out towards the center of alleyway. The outside of the railings were thronged with the fast-movers, a tapestry of interwoven limbs and faces. On seeing Juliette, the beasts adjusted themselves so that they could reach into the stairs and suddenly dozens of hands pushed through, pointing towards her like flowers turning to face the rising sun.

  “Keep going,” Brooks said. “They're nearly over the top.”

  Juliette pressed her back to the central column and started to descend sideways, her arms at her sides, tucked close to her body. The grasping hands got no closer than six or seven inches.

  Which, as I straddled the steps and prepared to follow her, didn't exactly fill me with confidence. You see, even if I held my breath and sucked in tight, my body wouldn't match hers...

  Budd put his hands against the central column behind him and began a careful descent. Being on the inside of the spiral meant that the steps were at their narrowest, barely an inch wide, and he couldn't settle more than the edge of his boot's heel on each one.

  He tried to avoid looking at the faces of the things pressed up against the outside of the railings, but given that their bodies filled the space, a mass of writhing, howling beasts that gripped, white knuckled, to the bars, there was little choice. Their fingertips brushed close to him, unable to gain purchase on his clothes.

  Peering to his left and over Juliette, Budd caught sight of the open fire-escape door. In the space stood a woman with blonde hair pulled back tight in a
ponytail. She was wearing a black cardigan and a pair of denim jeans. She waved at them to hurry with one hand, but Budd noticed that the other was wrapped around the door's horizontal push-bar, ready to pull it closed at any moment.

  Sensible girl...

  Budd felt a cold finger brush his cheek and the sensation brought his attention back to the wall of beasts. A female in a green turtle-neck with long, thin fingers could almost reach him. She screamed in a fit of anger and frustration as he slipped beyond her grip, spittle spraying from her unnaturally full lips.

  As they got closer to the half-landing with the door, the throng of beasts thickened and the forest of arms pushed through the gaps grew denser.

  There were half a dozen steps to go.

  A thud rung out on the platform above. Then another.

  After the second came the sound of running footsteps on the short platform.

  They started to pound down the stairs.

  “Here they come,” Captain Brooks shouted.

  Juliette looked back but kept moving. She was almost there.

  I liked having the Glock.

  But I liked having Brooks alive a tiny bit more.

  Especially if he was armed, ready to fight and positioned between me and the closest danger...

  Budd gave his handgun to Captain Brooks, who took it across the front of his chest with his right hand, his glove easing around the polymer grip. The first of the descending fast-movers careered into view, charging headlong down the spiral stairs, oblivious to arms of its fellow beasts behind the railings. It was the woman in the matching yellow underwear set, and her blue-painted fingernails were pointed straight at Captain Brooks, her eyes shining fiercely through her disheveled blonde hair.