Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  The soldier shot her in the face.

  But he fired too late.

  Although her body went limp, a result of the fist-sized hole in the back of her head, it continued down the stairs, falling uncontrolled until it crashed into him. Captain Brooks buckled under the impact and fell sideways, straying too far from the central column.

  Several hands grabbed hold of him, trying to pull him closer.

  He shouted in fear as he wriggled, trying to dislodge the hands that held him, and to escape the dead-weight of the semi-naked body that had fallen on top of him.

  Budd looked on aghast.

  Even if we had all day and a big bucket of grease, I still doubt that Brooks could have pried himself free.

  Not that we had all day. Or a nearby burger joint to raid...

  The Glock had spun from Brooks's hand and clattered down the stairs. Budd watched, fearing it would bounce over the side. Spinning, the black handgun struck the railings and bounced back onto one of the steps below where Budd stood.

  Juliette reached the half-landing, where the central column and the brick wall kept the grasping hands at bay, and turned back to encourage him on. She screamed a warning, pointing up the staircase.

  A second fast-mover appeared around the spiral, running with the same abandon as the first one had. Barefoot, with a pair of white shorts and a blue T-shirt, both creased and splattered with blood, the teenager looked beyond the mass of hands that had engulfed Captain Brooks and instead bee-lined for Budd, his acne-pitted face warped by a mouth so wide it appeared as though his cheeks might split.

  I wanted the Glock. But I wanted someone else to get it for me.

  Really, I just wanted to be somewhere else...

  The space between them vanished in an instant.

  Budd steadied himself for the impact and then at the last moment dropped to his knees, tucking his head down and covering his Stetson with his hands.

  The fast-mover was going too quickly to react to Budd's altered stance, and hit him with such speed that he flew over his crouched form, his legs spinning into the air so that he landed on his head, smashing his skull against the metal steps.

  Budd heard the crisp snap of breaking bone above the inhuman howls as he rolled down the last few steps to the half-landing. His right shoulder stung with pain where the fast-mover's knees had thumped against him.

  I hoped the bone-breaking sound hadn't come from me...

  As soon as he stopped, Budd uncurled and tried to clamber away from the bars. He felt several hands tugging at his shirt, stretching it from his body. A cold hand wrapped around his lower leg, clasping the flesh above the top of his boot. He kicked out and thrashed, trying to break free, trying to stop more hands from taking hold.

  It was a losing battle.

  The metal floor slipped beneath his fingers, his body dragged towards the outside. “Help me,” he shouted.

  Two warm hands grabbed his wrists.

  He looked up to see Juliette in front of him, her body tense with the effort of pulling him back. Behind her came the blonde-haired woman from the doorway; she had a heavy candlestick holder clutched as a weapon.

  Budd struggled on and his boots found purchase; he broke free of his captors and shot forwards, sliding face-first into Juliette's water-clogged trainers.

  She fell backwards to land in a sitting position, and her arms flew up into the air as she landed on her backside. They helped each other back to their feet and for a fleeting moment their eyes locked.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Budd said, although his voice lacked power. He was gasping for breath.

  Juliette smiled and gave a small nod.

  “Come on,” the blonde-haired woman shouted, grabbing Juliette by her shoulder and guiding her back to the door. The candlestick holder had been discarded and it rolled to a stop at Budd's feet. He looked down at it, and then over his shoulder, back towards Captain Brooks.

  The soldier was still struggling and had succeeded in pulling himself down a couple of the steps. His target, the Glock, was only a few inches from his fingertips.

  “Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said, shrugging away the woman's grip. “We must help.”

  I had a feeling she'd say something stupid like that.

  But I was inclined to agree. And not just because of my well-known good nature. Brooks had the radio. Without him - or, at least, without it - we'd probably never get rescued.

  Now, I wasn't sure that was entirely a bad thing—but it was better to keep our options open...

  Budd scooped up the candlestick holder and then moved towards Captain Brooks, skirting up near the central column around the body of the fast-mover he'd tripped. The barefooted teenager was still sprawled on the metal ground, his head perpendicular to this shoulder, the flesh of his neck bulging with the broken bones within it. Although the eyes and mouth kept moving, the rest of the body was motionless.

  Using his new weapon, Budd hacked down upon the arms that trapped the soldier. Bones cracked, but the hands didn't release. At his side, Juliette grabbed Captain Brooks by his right arm and tried to pull him free.

  Budd attacked the dead hands with renewed vigor, aiming now to dislodge and to smash them away rather than actually trying to cause them damage.

  Brooks jolted forwards a few inches, enough for his glove-encased hand to wrap around the Glock; he rolled onto his side and then fired indiscriminately into wall of clambering bodies. Blood splattered back over him from the close-range shots.

  Two of the fast-movers fell back from the bars, tumbling from sight, while others retracted their arms and started to climb once more now that their prey was beyond reach. A multitude of thuds and knocks sounded on the platform and stairs above as the highest beasts spilled over the top.

  “Go,” Budd shouted, and he followed Juliette as she ran down the last steps. They squeezed through the open door, crashing into the darkness behind it.

  Budd turned to see Captain Brooks tumble inside, the soldier crashing down to his hands and knees. Spots and streaks of blood adorned his face.

  The blonde woman slammed the door shut, flattening her body against the green metal, deadening the violent screams and the drum-like noise of feet on the metal steps outside.

  Budd closed his eyes and let his body sag as Juliette threw her arms around him. She buried her head against his chest.

  62

  The hallway was narrow and shadowed. At the far end, a rectangular window was the only source of light. The glass revealed nothing besides the fog-filled void that spanned the short distance to the wall of the next building. In between were half a dozen closed doors on either side of the corridor. The tiled floor was loud underfoot and the cream-painted walls had little in the way of decoration.

  Budd examined his new surroundings, scanning his eyes around. He guessed each door would open into a separate apartment. Halfway along the right-hand wall were a pair of glass doors. Happy that they were alone, he turned towards the blonde-haired woman and touched the peak of his Stetson. “Thanks, lady,” he said. “We were having some trouble with the natives. I'm Budd, this is Juliette, and soldier-boy there is Brooks.”

  “I'm Katrina,” the blonde woman answered. She was slim and elegant, dressed in a pair of boot-cut blue jeans and a heavy black cardigan. There were faint lines around the corners of her eyes. “I'm sorry I couldn't open the top door, it was jammed. Is the army here? Did you come to rescue us? What's happening?”

  Budd raised his hand to stop the questions from tumbling out. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just us.”

  Katrina's silence hid any reaction she felt to the news.

  Someone banged on one of the wooden doors. Budd flashed his gaze down the hallway and Juliette twisted in his arms.

  The corridor was empty.

  “They're trapped in their rooms,” Katrina said quietly. “But we should go upstairs. I have a flat on the top floor.”

  “Are you alone?” Juliette asked.

  Katrina shook her head.
“There are four of us. Please, come,” she said as she started to walk, waving for them to follow.

  “No,” Captain Brooks said. He got up to his feet and straightened his uniform. He wiped blood from his gloves onto the front of his pants. “You need to stay with me, Mister Ashby. We must reach the rendezvous point before the team is compromised.”

  By “compromised,” I assumed he meant “ripped apart and eaten...”

  “You really think I'm going back out there?” Budd asked, shaking his head. “Do I look crazy?”

  “We went through this outside. I haven't come this far to give up now.”

  Budd chuckled. “Well, I haven't come this far to get eaten by a mob of English people with bad teeth. So, unless you have a chopper, this is as close as I'm gonna get.”

  “One way or another, you're coming with me,” Captain Brooks said. He aimed his handgun at Budd.

  “You're threatening me?” Budd said, shrugging his shoulders. He turned and motioned for Katrina to continue on. Juliette backed away, but she kept her eyes on Captain Brooks.

  The soldier altered his aim. “You're correct, Mister Ashby. But the girl means nothing to me. One last time, do as I say.”

  Budd spun on his heels and stared at the soldier. They were fifteen feet apart. “You lay one finger on her, and neither you nor me are leaving this building. And both those outcomes blow the big-one for you.”

  Captain Brooks lowered the handgun. “What's happening here, outside, is happening all over the world. Everything is gone, wiped out in the blink of an eye. The few scattered survivors won't last long. Deacon thinks there's a chance he can put all of this right. Back the way it was. But he needs your help. He needs you. We all do.”

  It's nice to be wanted...

  “Why me?”

  Captain Brooks shrugged his shoulders. “You can ask him that yourself. When we reach the boat.”

  “We're not going to reach the boat. We're trapped.”

  “I'll find a way.”

  Budd felt Juliette's hand merge with his own. She squeezed it tight. “Monsieur Ashby,” she said, her voice soft and low. “I think we should try to do what Captain Brooks asks.”

  Over the years, I usually found I'm three or four miles down the way before it dawned on me I'd ever been at a crossroads. I'd be sitting across the table from a militant-feminist divorce attorney when I'd realize that the split-second decision to stay for an extra drink with a bar floozy - rather than head home to the wife - was probably the last chance I'd had to avert the impending disaster. And by disaster, I mean slow-dancing to the jukebox and then looking for a quiet place behind the dumpster out back.

  But this crossroads was clear enough, even for me.

  I could give up and sit it out.

  It's what I wanted to do. I was tired. And frightened.

  The building seemed secure - well, as secure as anywhere surrounded by a horde of drooling zombies was gonna get. I could hide out with Juliette and whoever else was left, scavenge food from the apartments, keep out of sight, and cross my fingers that someone, somehow, would sort out the whole mess.

  Think of the lawsuit payouts in the aftermath.

  My gut told me to stay.

  Especially as the other option involved throwing in my hat with a bunch of lunatics and rushing out into the fog. Which I doubted would end very well.

  But this was the crossroads. Stay inside or try to reach the boat.

  Had I known what was to come, I think I'd have stayed...

  Budd sighed.

  Juliette squeezed his hand a little tighter.

  “Okay, okay. I'll give it a shot,” Budd said. “But if we all get eaten, the last thing you'll hear is me shouting that I told you so.”

  Captain Brooks smiled. “That's fair.”

  “Will you take us with you?” Katrina asked. “I don't want to stay here.”

  Captain Brooks turned away and walked to the corner of corridor, his hand cupping his microphone. “Patterson, do you read me? Sitrep, now. Over.”

  Juliette nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Budd looked at Katrina. “Personally, I'd shut shop and stay put. Wait for help. Custer here,” he said, nodding towards Captain Brooks, “is probably gonna get us killed.”

  “What if no one else comes?”

  “I guess you'll get hungry,” Budd said.

  “Then we'll go with you. Can we fetch my friends?”

  “I think I've seen one too many staircases today,” Budd said. He looked over his shoulder to where Brooks remained engrossed in his discussions over the radio. “But I'm sure you've got a minute.”

  Juliette gestured down the corridor. “I will come with you.”

  Budd watched the two women leave, their feet tapping on the tiled floor, the sound echoing back to him long after they had pushed through the set of glass doors to the stairwell. He tried to focus on the fading sound, preferring it to the groans on the other sides of the closed wooden doors.

  I didn't like Juliette leaving, but who was to say which part of the building was safest. And, let's face it, time forgets no man - not even a full-blooded one like myself - so, after all that running and, well, terror, I really did need a breather...

  Budd leant back against the wall, sliding down so that he was sitting on the floor, his arms draped over his knees and his head hung low on his shoulders. His left foot trembled inside his boot, bouncing around inside his soaking wet sock. Aware of the adrenaline draining from his body, he felt the tiredness wash over him, seeping into his muscles and invading his mind. He wanted to sleep, to rest, to curl up in a ball in a dark corner.

  “Ready, Mister Ashby?” Captain Brooks said.

  Budd raised his head. “Does it matter?”

  “Not really.”

  “You know, I thought you'd say something like that.”

  Captain Brooks offered him the Glock. “Two rounds left. Make them count.”

  “You're a better shot. Keep it.”

  “If only one of us makes it through, it needs to be you.”

  Budd chuckled and took the weapon. “See, we can agree after all.”

  63

  Using his flashlight for added illumination, Captain Brooks ventured down the stairwell, reconnoitering the way ahead. Budd watched the soldier disappear around the corner, content to sit sideways on the steps with his back against the wall. A door opened on the floor above and the stairwell filled with footsteps. Several hushed whispers drifted to him, getting closer.

  Juliette appeared around the bend and she smiled when she saw him.

  Budd smiled in return and got to his feet. “Everything okay, cherry-pie?”

  “Yes, Monsieur Ashby.”

  “Good, 'cause Custer's getting impatient,” Budd said. “He wants us in the lobby.”

  Behind Juliette came Katrina and the two men and a woman she had gone to collect. The first man was tall and slim, with close-cropped greying hair, pinstriped pants, and a white shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a long kitchen knife in his hand. He nodded a silent greeting at Budd.

  The remaining man and woman came down the stairs hand-in-hand, the man one step ahead of his partner. He had a tire-iron held ahead of him. The pair was in their early twenties, and both had dark hair and angular faces; they wore tracksuit bottoms and loose-fitting sweatshirts.

  “Are you sure leaving here is a good idea?” asked the man in pinstriped pants.

  Nope...

  “You're welcome to stay here, partner,” Budd said, taking Juliette by the hand and leading her down the stairs. “But if not, just try and keep up.”

  The group walked down the two flights of stairs to find the two glass doors at the bottom wedged open. There was no sign of Captain Brooks.

  Budd crept through the doorway, where he paused and looked left and right. The corridor ran in both directions. To the left were several wooden doors and a sliver of light coming in through a high-level window. The tiled floor was empty.

 
He looked right. The corridor widened into a lobby, with gloomy light flooding in through a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and doors. Brooks was crouched behind an overturned desk, one hand up to his earpiece. With the other hand, he beckoned for Budd and the others to join him.

  They hurried across the empty space and huddled beside the solider. On the way, Budd let his eyes venture to the widows. Beyond the glass, encased in the fog and shadows, he saw fleeting glimpses of fast-movers, some alone and some in small groups, rushing through the white atmosphere with no obvious purpose.

  None looked back in his direction.

  The windows faced onto the street where they had split from Bogey, Chris, and Father McGee. Budd wondered if, across the road and huddled in one of the buildings that loomed dark in the fog, the three of them were staring back over.

  “How's the plan coming, Custer?”

  Captain Brooks ignored Budd's remark. “The boat is ready to go and remains undetected. Bogey's positioned across the street, and we estimate we're about 750 feet from the pier. The plan is simple: we make a run for it, and the rest of the team will cover our approach.”

  “And you make it sound so easy.”

  The soldier turned to the newly-arrived members of their group. He didn't bother with any introductions. “How are these doors secured?”

  “Electronic keypad,” Katrina said. “They won't open. But there's a service entrance at the back we could use.”