The Last Bastion [Book 5]

by K. W. Callahan

  There was no denying that there was more than just a passing interest between the unlikely couple. There was an unspoken connection, a desire for something different, something that added a unique element, maybe another side completely to their individual being.

  The two kept up their physical exploration of one another –

  kissing, touching, rubbing, squeezing. They stood from their seated positions to allow for greater range of motion. Suddenly pants were being unzipped. Shirts were being shed. The kissing kept up as the undressing continued.

  Suddenly Marta pulled away abruptly.

  “What’s the mat…” Patrick began but Marta stopped him with a raised finger.

  “Did you hear?” she whispered.

  “Hear what?” Patrick frowned, shaking his head, confused.

  There was some rustling nearby.

  “There…see?” Marta nodded toward where the movement had occurred.

  Patrick turned slightly to get a better look. He felt for his knife, since he had already returned Marta’s hatchet to her, but he realized that he had left it in the canoe. He still had his gun, but he was reticent to use it for fear of drawing other biters to their location or alerting the people in Riverport to their presence.

  Patrick pushed Marta back behind him. She moved carefully, her jeans down around her ankles, her torso clad only in a black bra. She knelt to retrieve her own weapons from where she’d set them on the fallen tree beside them.

  As she stood, there was more movement, and then the sound of children giggling as footsteps faded through the overgrowth heading in the direction of the roadhouse.

  The two lovers gave knowing glances to one another – parents deprived of privacy.

  “Guess we should go,” Patrick sighed.

  Marta nodded. “Guess so,” she said sullenly.

  Patrick grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close to him again, and planted another doozie of a kiss on her before helping her re-don her clothing.

  * * *

  Louise and Justin came running inside the roadhouse. They were breathless, laughing, and whispering back and forth to one another.

  Several of the Blender adults, including Michael, Caroline, Ms. Mary, and Christine Franko looked up from where they worked around several tables inside the roadhouse barroom. They were sorting supplies and figuring out how best to pack them inside an array of bags, backpacks, and coolers.

  “What’s so funny, you two?” Caroline gave the kids a quizzical smirk.

  “Nothing,” Louise drawled coyly.

  “Yeah…nothing,” Justin added with a snicker.

  “Come on, let us in on the big joke,” Michael prodded. “We old folks need something to liven up our day.”

  “Yeah,” Christine joined in, “we don’t get to watch movies anymore or fiddle with our phones. We’re desperate for entertainment or at least a bit of juicy gossip. I’m going gaga for gossip,” she laughed.

  “Well,” Louise said in a sweetly childish sing-song sort of way, “we saw Marti and Patti, out in the trees, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

  “You did?” Michael gave her a raised eyebrow.

  “Yup,” Justin confirmed. “We were playing down by the river, and we heard something, so we went to explore, and we saw them all right.”

  “Marti was in her undies and bib!” Louise cried, and then broke into a fit of laughter as if it were the most hilarious thing she’d ever seen.

  “Her bib?” Christine frowned, not understanding.

  “You know,” Louise calmed herself to explain. “The black thing she wears on her chest.”

  “Her coat?” Caroline shook her head, still not understanding the five-year-old’s description.

  Justin leaned over to whisper something in Louise’s ear.

  “Ooooh,” Louise drawled. “Not her bib…her bra,” she corrected herself.

  The adults sat in wide-eyed silence, not knowing exactly what to say to the children who stood watching them expectantly.

  At that instant, Marta and Patrick walked inside the roadhouse. Their faces were both flushed, and Marta’s hair was slightly tussled.

  Michael looked at the two who had stopped and now stood uncomfortably just inside the roadhouse door. The pair glanced nervously back and forth between Justin and Louise, and the Blender adults.

  “So, how was that trip to the boat rental?” Michael finally broke the silence. He smiled at his son with a combination of enjoyment at reveling in his boy’s discomfort and pride that his boy had landed such a fine specimen of the fairer sex.

  “Yeah…uh, it was okay,” Patrick nodded, stumbling for words. “We got some uh, paddles and, um, a few lifejackets.”

  “We have canoe too,” Marta interjected and then looked nervously around at the stares coming from the table of Blenders.

  “Gooood,” Michael nodded slyly. “Glad you got something, uh,” he searched for the right words, “productive done.”

  A smattering of soft chuckles and snickers piddled from among the Blender crowd. It was a much-needed moment of levity at poor Patrick and Marta’s expense.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was mid-morning the following day. The morning had begun with a light drizzle of rain that broke around nine o’clock, giving way to scattered clouds with bouts of sunshine. It was in the mid to upper 60s, but when the sun made its presence known, it felt closer to 70.

  It was going to be a busy day, and the Blenders knew it. It was the last day they planned to stay in the roadhouse. Tomorrow morning, they would depart on what they hoped would be the final leg of their search for a spot they could call a long-term home.

  Most of the group was working on packing their supplies and getting them loaded into and secured inside the boats. Once loaded, these boats would be stashed beneath the roadhouse deck until it was time to leave the next morning.

  A small task force formed from Charla, Wendell, Patrick, and Caroline had been sent back to the boat rental to pick up another canoe and a kayak. One of the additional canoes would be used solely for supplies. After the troubles they’d encountered during their travels thus far, Michael felt it a good idea to load the majority of what remained of their supplies into a canoe to be towed behind another. This way, the other vessels were left lighter and less burdened if or when they found it necessary to maneuver in the water. And if things got tight, the towing canoe could cut the supply canoe lose rather than be dragged down with the bulky goods.

  The other kayak would be a single-rider to help the group scout the river ahead along their journey. But first, they had to retrieve these final two boats.

  Patrick, Wendell, and Charla worked to get the boats unloaded from where they were strapped to the trailers outside the boat rental.

  “Mom, you want to get a couple extra paddles from inside the rental house?” Patrick called.

  “Sure thing,” Caroline said agreeably.

  “Want to get a double-ended kayak paddle too?”

  “You got it,” Caroline headed for the rental building.

  She brushed strands of frazzled white hair back from her face as she walked, wishing she had a headband to wear or at least had put her hair into a ponytail before leaving the roadhouse. She paused, pulling a strand of hair around in front of her face to inspect frayed ends.

  “God I need a haircut,” she said to herself, letting the hair fall back into place in disgust as she pushed her way inside the boat rental’s slightly open front door. “What I wouldn’t give for a mani-pedi to go with it. Uh…and a massage,” she groaned, tilting her head back in imagined delight.

  Inside the boat rental, she knew exactly where to find the paddles. Patrick had told her where to look, as if she wouldn’t have seen the giant display of racks lining the wall immediately upon entering. She headed directly for the paddle racks, but then paused, seeing the office door behind the rental’s main counter at the far end of the room.

  She wondered if Patrick had thoroughly searched the space during his previous visit. Knowin
g her son, she figured that he hadn’t. She knew that he had come back with a couple cans of soda for the kids, but she wasn’t sure exactly where he had found those. And basing her decision on years of Easter egg hunts, games of hide-and-seek, and doing puzzles with Patrick as a child, she wasn’t putting much value on the quality of any search he had conducted of the site. Therefore, she decided a search of the space on her own terms would be a good idea.

  She moved to the rear of the building, seeing little more than paddles and lifejackets in the room into which she’d entered. She skirted the room’s counter, doing a quick inspection of the space around and behind the cash register. For a moment, she thought of checking inside the cash register itself. But she instantly felt guilty, as though the thought alone might be criminal. Then she inwardly laughed, chiding herself for the foolishness both of the idea as well as her reaction to it. Any money inside the register would be more than useless in their current environment. And even if she took it, what would anyone do about it? It wasn’t as though someone was going to report the theft. And if so, who would they report it too? Plus, they were here to steal boats. If anything, the boats would now be worth far more than any bills she might find inside the closed register.

  She moved on, scanning the open counter below the register. It was a jumble of paperwork, pens, and river guide pamphlets.

  “Nothing,” she muttered softly to herself.

  She turned to what she guessed was the business’s office. She thought there might be some useful items inside, but the smell as she entered was almost enough to make her turn right back around. It smelled like death, sure enough, but there was something else. It was as though there was human waste mixed in, as if someone were defecating in the tiny space.

  It was a horrible smell, but Caroline didn’t have time to contemplate how or why it smelled so bad.

  “Ugh,” she grunted as she was hit hard by something immediately upon setting foot inside the room.

  She could see two eyes staring at her, a face – human but not – and teeth. She was being pushed back. Then she stumbled, as the thing clutched at her, held onto her, fell back with her into the counter.

  Caroline felt her back hit the side of the counter first, knocking the wind from her. Then her head clunked against the counter, dazing her. The biter clinging to her smashed its face on the counter as it fell and let out a horrific shriek. Caroline saw stars, felt nauseous, couldn’t breathe, but her mind told her to stay awake, to fight, that if she didn’t she would die or end up like the thing on top of her.

  She wanted to take a breath. She tried to take a breath. She couldn’t take a breath. It was all she could think about other than keeping those teeth, those horrible, gnashing, chattering teeth away from her. She desperately wanted to call out for help but was unable.

  Finally, Caroline felt her chest release, and she sucked in a huge gasping breath of air. This filled her lungs with the necessary oxygen to fight back against the biter atop her that seemed just as dazed as she was. But the biter was young and strong, and Caroline was old and weak. She wasn’t a fighter. She was a mother. And lately, after watching Patrick and Marta together, she was hoping to be a grandmother.

  She pushed with the palms of her hands against the biter’s head and face. She saw her palm press against its nose, mashing it to the side. Another palm pressed against his eye, then its eyelid, pulling it upward to reveal a wild, animal-like, almost delirious looking eyeball.

  Caroline felt herself growing weak. What little strength she had was leaving her. There were another few moments of the frantic snapping teeth, oozing saliva, scrabbling and clawing nails, and an array of panting, screeching, grunting, and growling from both combatants.

  Suddenly the biter ducked its head in, pushing it hard toward Caroline’s face. It snapped its teeth at her. She felt the teeth brush against her cheek. She tried to pull her head back, but it was blocked by the counter’s edge. She grimaced, waiting, knowing that any moment one of those razor sharp teeth was going to slice into her face’s soft skin. Then it’d be over. One way or the other, it would be over. Either she’d be consumed by this vicious thing or she’d become one of them.

  Caroline kept pushing at the biter’s head with her hands, but it wasn’t having the same effect that it had earlier. She tried using what little hair the male biter had on its head to pull it up and away from her, but there wasn’t enough for her to get a grip.

  She felt the biter’s fingernails digging into her as they tussled. It was searching for a way to take its first bite. Caroline was doing everything in her rapidly fading power to keep it from doing so. The nails dug into her through her clothing. They were long, sharp, painful. She felt them against her arms, her chest, her neck and face. It seemed like they were everywhere, pulling, clawing, scratching. It was a frantic scrabble.

  The beast atop her made another effort at biting her. Caroline felt the little hair she had managed to grasp on its head pull tight as the biter drove its mouth in toward her exposed neck. There was more gnashing, snapping, drooling, and screeching as the biter did its best to get at her bare flesh.

  Suddenly there was the sound of a dull thud, and the pressure atop her lessened and then left altogether.

  “Mom, are you okay?!” Patrick stood over her, an anxious, almost pained look on his face, hatchet in hand. Then he moved over to where the stunned biter lay and landed a few more blows with the butt of the hatchet, neutralizing the threat for good.

  He came back over to where his mother lay exhausted and stunned.

  “Are you bit?” he asked, kneeling beside her.

  Charla and Wendell were now on the scene, looking down at Caroline who was in a state of shock.

  “I…I don’t think so,” she struggled to sit up. Patrick put an arm under and around her to assist with the process.

  With the counter behind her acting as support, Caroline was finally presented the opportunity to catch her breath. She pulled up her shirt sleeves to reveal long red marks, several of which had broken the skin.

  “I think these are all just scratches,” she inspected herself. “Help me up,” she said to Patrick.

  Patrick did as instructed. “Got some bad cuts to your face,” he said as he helped his mother to her feet.

  He guided her over to a small mirror on the nearby wall where Caroline continued to inspect herself. She was a mess of red scratch lines. Blood trickled from gashes on her face, her neck, and her upper chest where the biter had pulled her shirt down in its frantic struggles.

  The others waited in concerned silence as Caroline finished her review. “Yes…yes,” she nodded, still breathing heavily. “I think those are all just scratches. The thing had horribly long nails.”

  Patrick knelt to examine the dead biter. “Sure did,” he confirmed. “Most all of them do. Not much in the way of trimming them, I suppose,” he added.

  “Yes, I think I’m fine,” Caroline took a huge sucking breath, put a hand to her chest, closed her eyes, and then wobbled back and forth.

  “Mom! You all right?” Patrick rushed to her.

  Charla and Wendell moved in to help support the poor woman.

  “Yes,” she exhaled heavily. “Just…it’s just…it was all so…it all happened so fast,” she finally got the words out.

  “Let’s take her over here away from that thing,” Charla nodded toward the dead biter. “We can get her sat down for a minute.”

  “Good idea,” Patrick agreed.

  The three guided Caroline over to a bare spot along the wall beside the racks of paddles. There they helped her to a sitting position where she could use the wall as support.

  “You just rest here for a minute while we finish up with the boats, Mom,” Patrick instructed.

  He looked at the woman who had birthed him, scratched, terrified, and still breathing heavily.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Charla knelt beside Caroline to inspect some of her deeper, more visible biter scratches.

  “Will yo
u stay with her?” Patrick asked Charla. “Wendell and I can finish up with the boats.”

  “Sure,” Charla nodded. Then, turning her attention back to Caroline, she said, “As soon as we get back to the roadhouse, we’ll get those scratches cleaned up. Need a good washing with some soap and water to make sure they don’t get infected.”

  What Charla meant to be soothing words both calmed and concerned Caroline. She liked the fact that Charla was looking out for her. At the same time, the words of reassurance reminded her of Michael’s hand, a seemingly insignificant injury that had been growing worse by the day.

  * * *

  The entire Blender group was up the next morning at the crack of dawn. The first rays of light shimmered across the river’s gently rolling current. A light mist hung just over the water, giving the river an ethereal look in the dawn’s first moments.

  “It will be good to be gone,” Marta said to the group as she packed the last of her bedroll into a bag and cinched it tight. “I worry about the bad people in Riverport.”

  The rest of the Blenders were making their own final preparations for departure.

  “They’ve been pretty quiet from what we’ve seen since we arrived,” Wendell donned his lifejacket.

  “From what Marta has told us about them, that’s a good thing,” Ms. Mary chimed in. She was busy stowing the last items from the morning’s oatmeal breakfast that she’d been up preparing for a good half an hour before anyone else in the group had risen.

  “It is,” Marta agreed solemnly. “They were bad people. I don’t care to see them again.”

  “You sure they’re still there?” Patrick asked.

  “No,” Marta shook her head. “And I’ll not find out. I never want to see again.”

  Her words were stern and definitive on the matter.

  “Well, hopefully you’ll never have to. In a few minutes, we’ll be on the water and floating away from here,” Patrick said.