The Last Bastion [Book 5]

by K. W. Callahan

  The tears were flowing again, not just from Michael, but from the majority of Blenders. Michael did his best to push his emotions aside so that he could finish what he had to say.

  “Caroline and I love all of you like family. We can’t express how much it pains us to say this, but it has come time for us to part ways.”

  There were collective gasps and groans of knowing disappointment amidst the sniffs and snuffles of those listening.

  “I have no doubt that you will be successful in your endeavors to find a place to settle and that you will not just survive what has been thrust upon you, but thrive. You’re almost there. You just have to find that spot that you can make your own.”

  A slight smile broke through the tears as Michael said the words.

  “You know,” he said after he’d gazed around at the group for a moment, “for a long time, I thought the tower would be our last bastion. It seemed like the perfect place to hold out until all this blew over. Seems kind of ridiculous to say that now, but that’s what I thought back then. It was a great fortress, but its location made it susceptible to infiltration. It was too close to biters and people like the ones who attacked the stadium here. That could have been us had we remained there. Then I thought it was the island that would make for the perfect bastion. It was secluded, safe, and offered privacy from the outside world. But for as susceptible as the tower was to humans and biters, the island was susceptible to Mother Nature.”

  He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his good hand before going on. “Finally, I thought it was St. Louis that would make for our last bastion. But we’ve seen how that has turned out. After all of that, though, I’ve finally come to realize that the last bastion isn’t a place. It’s a frame of mind. It’s us. It’s humanity. It’s you. It’s me. Most importantly, it’s our children. They’re the ones who will keep the bastion sound. They’re the wall between us and them,” he pointed toward the stadium. “As long as we don’t give up on them,” he looked around at Louise, Justin, Jack, and Andrew, “and as long as we persevere and protect our children, the bastion remains intact. Remember that, and do all that you can to persevere. This last push might be the most difficult. But if…no, when you are successful, you’ll realize just how worthwhile it all was.”

  Michael wiped away the few remaining tears, sniffled hard, and then shook his head as though freeing himself from some unseen constraint. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled, turned to look at Caroline, and smiled. “I love you,” he said to her.

  She looked at him, mouth still taped, hands still bound. But something in her eyes, something human that remained, answered him.

  “And I love all of you,” he looked around at the others. “That’s why Caroline and I will now be leaving you. It’s the best thing we can do for the group, and I won’t hear any arguments against it,” Michael stopped any admonishments regarding their planned departure before they could get a foothold. “There are no other options, and it’s the best thing for both of us. If Patrick is strong enough to accept my decision, all of you should be as well. So please, don’t make this any harder than it already is. I want to make this as easy for everyone as possible.”

  “That’s all you’ve ever wanted to do,” Ms. Mary came over to where Michael, Caroline, and Patrick stood. “Since before we even left Brookfield, that’s always been your intention, to get us through this thing with as little discomfort as possible. And you’ve done your best.”

  Michael snorted disbelievingly.

  “You have,” Ms. Mary said forcefully. “And don’t you ever doubt it. Look around if you don’t believe me. You said it yourself. We’ve come farther and been more successful than most. Here lies an entire city, devoid of population, other than biters. They didn’t make it. And I’ll bet there are dozens, probably even hundreds of cities more just like it. But we’ve made it…because of you. And we’ll continue to make it, because of you. You’ve given us Patrick. And you’ve given us the will to stick together and see this thing through. We’re not done, not by a long shot. And you’ve made that happen, so thank you.”

  With that, Ms. Mary stepped closer, reached her arms around Michael’s neck, and squeezed him tight. Then she did the same thing with Caroline, whispering something in each of their ears.

  Every Blender, even little Louise, who really had no idea what was going on, gave Michael and Caroline a hug and a personal farewell.

  The last person in line was Marta. She hugged Michael, and whispered something into his ear.

  Michael pulled back from the embrace so he could look directly into Marta’s eyes. “Bless you child…bless you,” he smiled at her dearly, his eyes wet with tears.

  As soon as Marta had finished with her private message, Michael nodded. Not wanting to draw the farewell out further, he gathered himself and his wife, taking a moment to remove the tape from Caroline’s mouth. He handed his cane to Patrick and used his good hand to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen down in front of his wife’s face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Then he leaned in and kissed her sweetly on the cheek before sliding his arm through one of hers so they could walk arm in bound arm.

  Escorted by Patrick, Michael took nothing more with him as they walked toward the boats than the personal effects he had on him and his walking cane.

  “Where…going?” Caroline asked, her front teeth still not fully elongated, but long enough to give her an overbite sort of appearance.

  “We’re going for a canoe trip down the river,” Michael smiled at her lovingly, speaking almost as though he was talking to a child. “I love you,” he added after a moment.

  “Love,” Caroline replied, almost as though she were recalling an emotion that was now a distant memory.

  Michael wasn’t sure if she was saying it to him, questioning what the word meant, or just trying to remember what the emotion felt like. He preferred to think that it was the former than the latter two options.

  Patrick led them down the boat ramp to where one of the canoes sat empty except for a paddle set leaned against the rear seat.

  “Guess this is it,” Michael stopped and stood staring at the empty canoe.

  Patrick just nodded sullenly and swallowed hard.

  “Help me with your mother,” Michael said as he took a short piece of rope from his pocket.

  Patrick assisted his father in loading Caroline into the canoe’s front seat. The two used the rope to bind Caroline’s ankles to keep her from trying to escape the canoe. After she was set, she sat looking at the two men, a confused look on her face.

  Patrick leaned down and kissed his mother on the top of the head.

  “Love you, Mom,” he managed to get out through the tears.

  “Love,” she said again, staring up at him with distant eyes.

  Patrick sniffled and turned to his Dad.

  “She knows,” Michael nodded, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, she knows. And I do too.”

  Patrick tried to smile.

  Michael handed Patrick his cane. “Guess I won’t need this anymore,” he smiled sadly, looking at the cane. “Thank Ms. Mary again for me.”

  “Sure,” Patrick accepted the cane.

  “You’re a good son,” Michael smiled at his boy. “Keep up the good work, and keep those kids and that beautiful Marta of yours safe.”

  “I will, Dad,” Patrick couldn’t help but let the tears flow freely now.

  The two men embraced one last time, and then Patrick helped his father gingerly into the back of the canoe.

  “Are you going to be able to paddle with that hand?” Patrick asked.

  “Not much, but once I get out into the current, all I really have to do is steer.”

  Patrick nodded.

  “Be safe. I love you,” Michael said.

  It was the first time Patrick had heard his father say he loved him in a long time.

  “I love you to, Dad,” Patrick nodded and leaned in to hug his father one final time.


  Then, without another word, Patrick turned the front of the canoe out into the water and gave it a hard shove, helping to propel it toward the river’s main current.

  He watched as his father made a few slow strokes, and then let the paddle rest on his lap as the current began to take the canoe downriver.

  Patrick stood watching, crying freely as the canoe grew smaller and smaller, and eventually disappeared from view altogether.

  He turned around, wiping his wet face. The sun was just coming up, reflecting rays through parting clouds against the towering arch behind him.

  * * *

  Out on the open river, Michael took a deep breath, savoring the morning’s fresh air. His whole body ached. He was sick, tired, and was looking forward to finally having some peace.

  The sun was beginning to break over the treetops lining the shore. It had caught Caroline’s attention, and she was staring at the light as though she didn’t know quite what to make of it. Every so often, she would struggle against her restraints, breathing heavily, and then grow still again.

  The couple floated quietly for several minutes, taking in the scenery around them.

  “So serene…so beautiful,” Michael said to his wife after a moment. “Just like you.”

  Michael wondered what the days, weeks, months, and hopefully years ahead would hold for the Blender family they’d left behind. He knew that it was going to be a tough road for them no matter what. There were no longer any easy paths in life. But he prayed they would find a place where they could exist safely until they could rekindle some semblance of their prior lives. He had no illusions that those semblances might bare little resemblance to the pre-Carchar Syndrome world. Maybe the best that could be hoped for was something akin to the late 1800s or early 1900s.

  Such a world might not be so bad. Things would definitely be harder in many ways. Life spans would likely be greatly diminished due to things like infections and lack of available treatment for cancer, diabetes, heart disease, and the likes.

  But in other ways, things would be easier or at least simpler. Life would focus on the art of living, not all the rest of the stuff that accompanied it. The main goals would be staying safe, staying warm, and putting food on the table. Michael had to admit that this was the goal of human beings in any era. However, in the pre-syndrome world, such goals, and the ways of attaining them, had become obscured. People weren’t satisfied with just living in a home, working a regular job, and eating the meals they prepared each night. They needed homes that ranged into the thousands of square feet with a bedroom and a bathroom for each individual they housed. They needed hundred-dollar meals out or the option to have fresh ingredients for their dinners shipped directly to their doorstep. They needed security monitoring services for all facets of their lives from home security to technology and financial services. They needed roaming neighborhood police patrols, and the ability instantly to dial 911 or some similar immediate response service should they encounter an emergency at home or on the road.

  It was all so much ado about nothing.

  The human race had lost sight of what it meant to live, to explore and to appreciate life and relationships with the people around them. They were too busy for such inconveniences. Before the syndrome, it almost seemed like it was an inconvenience even to speak to someone. It was much easier to phone them, or text them, or maybe to get some face time with them by way of electronic device. Gone were the days of sitting on the front porch, watching the kids catch fireflies in the front yard, chatting with neighbors, barbequing in the backyard, and simply enjoying the moment. It had been replaced with constantly checking phones, checking email, instant messaging, shopping online, watching ridiculous online cat videos, ordering takeout, streaming or binge watching the latest premium television series, or selecting a potential mate through an online matching service.

  Maybe, just maybe, for as terrible as the current environment was, something good would come from it. Michael could only hope. He wished that he and Caroline could be there to see it, to help, but he knew that was impossible. He’d known it as soon as they’d reached the stadium and seen the destruction that had been wrought there. His infection had lingered too long. And even with the rest of the Blenders on which to focus, he knew that without Caroline, he’d be a broken man.

  He’d had his time, and he felt he’d spent it well. While he didn’t know what lay ahead for the others, he’d done his best to guide them to a place where they at least had a chance of success. He hadn’t done everything right – far from it. But it was the best he could do and the best he could reason things out the way they stood now.

  Were there regrets? Of course. The faces of the Blenders he hadn’t been able to help get to St. Louis flashed through his mind. But those were quickly replaced with the faces of those who had made it, and the new faces that had joined them.

  Overall, it had been a good life. He’d spent decades with a woman he loved. He’d lived a wonderful life among neighbors he loved like family. He’d raised a wonderful child into manhood. And he’d managed to see that man build what Michael believed would eventually become a family of his own with Marta, Justin, and Louise.

  What more could one ask for? It was more than most people, even pre-Carchar Syndrome, could say they’d accomplished.

  He took a deep breath and looked around him as they floated along the gently flowing river. Then he nodded as if agreeing with some unspoken words as he exhaled heavily.

  He put his paddle back under his arm, guiding the canoe until it was floating down the center of the river.

  Caroline sat quietly ahead of him, just staring out across the water.

  Michael set his paddle down in the bottom of the boat, drew a long breath, held it, and released it. He closed his eyes, taking several more deep breaths, absorbing the fresh air. Then he carefully climbed forward in the boat until he was right behind Caroline. He knelt on his knees behind her and leaned forward. “I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he whispered into his wife’s ear.

  She cocked her head as if contemplating the words but stayed silent.

  Then Michael kissed the back of her head lovingly and leaned back so his butt rested on his heels. He was light headed and nauseous. His hand felt like it was on fire. It had been bound for so long that he couldn’t even move it. It looked terrible in the rare occasions he unwrapped it, and it smelled worse. He had a feeling it was close to becoming gangrenous.

  He drew his .45, and took several short breaths in rapid succession, almost sounding as though he was going to hyperventilate. He cleared his head of all thoughts, aimed the gun at the back of Caroline’s head, and squeezed the trigger.

  The sound of the shot erupted through the silence in which they glided.

  As Caroline toppled forward into the front of the canoe, and before Michael could think of anything else, he placed the barrel of the gun into his mouth, angled it upward toward the top of his head, and squeezed the trigger.

  Michael’s lifeless body fell backward into the canoe as the couple continued their gentle voyage downriver, bound together forever in oblivion.

  EPILOGUE

  It was late-afternoon on a mid-fall day. It had been over two years since the Blenders had left St. Louis, and approaching three since they’d departed Chicago.

  After a long day’s work, Patrick stood, a satisfied smile on his face, proudly watching his wife entertain three youngsters. One of the children was Louise. The other two were chubby toddlers. He thought about the long road they’d traveled.

  After leaving St. Louis, the Blenders had traveled the river for several days until they reached a spot that looked favorable for settlement. Of course the group was wary of most locations after their prior experiences, but the spot they found was extremely isolated. It consisted of a series of large islands in the Mississippi River. The Blenders selected the largest and highest in elevation for their settlement location.

  The land on the western riverbank across from the island wa
s rolling woodland hills that were densely populated with a variety of trees. The eastern bank was acres and acres of flat farmland, more farmland than a tiny group like the Blenders could use in a lifetime.

  The group quickly found that the wooded hills to their west provided a lush environment in which to hunt deer, rabbit, squirrel, and similar small game. It also served them with an array of nuts and berries with which to supplement their diet.

  The Blenders had all settled in quickly to their respective roles on the island.

  Marta worked as firewood collector and meal preparer in addition to her childcare duties involving Louise and Justin.

  Charla continued her fishing while also helping Ms. Mary and Christine Franko to plant a sizeable garden on the eastern shore farmland.

  Sizeable plots of corn and soybeans that were already growing on the farmland were obvious attractions to the spot. In addition, Ms. Mary discovered tomato, cucumber, squash, and bean plants, as well as onions growing wild in the area.

  Meanwhile, Patrick, Wendell, and Andrew had worked for much of the first two years on the island constructing two log cabins. The cabins were nothing fancy, but they served their purpose. No one in the group had any experience building such structures. But the men felled trees and managed to link them together with notched ends. And they built roofs formed from plywood they scavenged and covered them with mud, clay, leaves, and moss that held together well, even in rainstorms.

  At the same time, Jack and Justin had worked to dig outhouse pits, crucial items for their island life. In their spare time, they helped with firewood collection, and assisted anywhere else they might be needed.

  Patrick and Wendell had made blinds of sorts built from smaller pieces of wood and saplings that could be stood up and linked together to form the walls for the outhouses. They provided some sense of privacy for those taking their bathroom breaks. After their first winter, they’d found enough wood to construct more permanent, and slightly warmer bathroom structures.