The Last Bastion_Book 4

by K. W. Callahan

  None of the options were good, but she had to choose one, and she had to do it fast.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was an overcast day, but the warmer temperature made it enjoyable to be outside. Marta was on the riverbank preparing to make the first cast with her new fishing net when she heard the sound of engines on the road above her. Louise was just down the bank from her, playing beneath the roadhouse deck at the river’s edge.

  “Louise!” Marta hissed. “Vehicles!”

  That was one of the good things about the roadhouse location. With no one else around but Louise, and little noise other than the peaceful sounds of nature, it was easy to detect vehicles approaching before they arrived.

  Louise knew exactly what to do. She and Marta had gone over this routine time and again until it was almost instinctual for the little girl. And that was exactly the way Marta wanted it. She needed to feel secure in the knowledge that in such a situation, Louise knew exactly what to do almost without thinking.

  Louise, her long locks having been pulled back and bound into an efficiently tight braid earlier that morning by Marta, dropped the stick toys with which she’d been playing. She hopped up, almost animal-like from where she rested on her knees, and scrambled up the barren, deck-covered bank behind her. At a spot at the top of the bank, still beneath the deck, there was a crawlspace. Where the edge of the deck met with the roadhouse foundation, there was a tiny latched door, just a few feet wide, in the side of the block foundation.

  The door itself was almost indiscernible due to a thick layer of dust and dirt accumulation that covered it. Marta only knew about the spot because Louise had stumbled on it one day while scavenging the area for new playthings. It led to a crawlspace below the roadhouse from which water, sewer, and electrical lines, as well as other maintenance components for the restaurant and bar could be serviced. The space was also accessible from a trap door inside, set behind the bar. This trap door was covered with a black rubber mat placed there when the bar was in operation. The mat protected the floor from spills or dropped glassware, cushioned bartenders’ feet, and provided a non-slip surface on a floor that could become slippery when wet. It also provided the perfect way to conceal the trap door leading down a short ladder to the crawlspace below.

  The door below the deck was where Marta had trained Louise to go should biters or scavengers arrive when they were outside. The trap door behind the bar was her access point were they inside during a similar situation. They had practiced escaping quickly and quietly into both hiding spots dozens of times, often with Marta only calling out, “Louise! Time to hide!” with no further explanation.

  It had only been practice – until now.

  Marta hauled in her fishing net, stashed it behind a large log nearby, and charged up the riverbank, darting inside the roadhouse’s front door. Marta left the door open along the way. She figured an open door made it look like no one was utilizing the place. She hustled through the bar area and inside the kitchen, scanning the space where they lived, ensuring there were no obvious signs of habitation. Each morning after breakfast, as part of their routine, they ensured that their bedrolls were cleaned up and safely hidden, and they put the fire in the barrel stove out. And Marta kept their food stocks stashed at all times just in case a situation like this arose. It only added to the long list of duties Marta and Louise faced each day, but in Marta’s mind, it was worth it.

  As soon as she was confident there were no signs of human habitation remaining, she hurried back out to the main seating section of the roadhouse. There she stood at the window, gun in hand, waiting.

  She was scared. But her fear didn’t come so much from the thought of dying. It came from the fear of what would become of Louise should something happen to her. How would the little one care for herself in this new and terrible world?

  It was a question that Marta had pondered many times as she lay awake at night. Not many things kept her awake anymore. In a strange way, this new world, and all the many problems that came with it, was less stressful than the old world. It was something that Marta found interesting in a macabre sort of way.

  But for all her pondering, she had never come up with a good solution for what Louise should do. There was nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help. Marta envisioned a slow death from starvation for the sweet girl. She’d likely consume what food she could after beating open their remaining canned goods with rocks since her tiny hands weren’t strong enough to use the can opener. Or maybe it’d be death by biter after she left the roadhouse in search of food or help. Even that, however, would be better than what Marta envisioned at the hands of the people who had ousted them from Riverport. God only knew what they might have in store for the child. The thought made Marta shiver every time. But it also did more to strengthen her resolve to survive than anything else ever could.

  She felt her fingers tighten on her weapon, squeezing it, re-gripping it. The weight of the gun felt good in her hand. It gave her strength. It gave her confidence. It was one of the few things left in the world that did that anymore.

  A year ago, she would have said that it was her cell phone that she wouldn’t have gone anywhere without. She liked to have it with her in case of emergency. If she encountered car trouble and needed roadside assistance, she could call. If she needed directions when she got lost, she could pull up a map. If she needed a lift home after drinking a little too much at the bar, she could call for a ride. Never did she think that a gun would soon replace the little tech toy.

  A small piece of Marta still held out hope that maybe the approaching vehicles were some form of help. Maybe the government had finally gotten a handle on the situation and had retaken their town. Maybe she’d see camouflage-fatigued troops in large transports stopping to clear the area of biters and offer assistance. But that thought worried her too. Maybe it would be troops, but rather than clearing biters, they might be clearing survivors. Who knew what was going on? She sure as hell didn’t.

  Marta hadn’t heard any news regarding the outside world since Richard had revealed St. Louis as a possible safe haven. The army might now view any survivors in certain areas as potential threats. The ones who had taken Riverport sure as hell were. Maybe the soldiers would clear out Riverport. It wouldn’t be much of a town to return to, Marta considered. A town of two – her and Louise. But it would be a start. At least it would give them a home, a home that was more than a grungy roadside bar. Although there was no telling how much destruction might have been wrought by the invaders. Riverport might be so thoroughly destroyed that it would be uninhabitable.

  Marta could hear the sound of the engines closing on the road. The muffler of one was the dead giveaway to their approach. The vehicle definitely needed some work.

  She slid away from the window to conceal her silhouette. She exposed just enough of her head to allow her right eye to see out the dust-covered glass. She knew not to fire her weapon unless absolutely necessary. If the vehicles stopped, she would not fire. If their occupants came inside, she still wouldn’t fire. Maybe they’d be friendly. But if they made any sort of move, even if it was only to reach for their guns, or they somehow discovered the bar-hatch leading to the crawlspace, she’d blow their goddamn heads off.

  Two pickup trucks, the back of each filled with armed men, went roaring past on the road outside. They didn’t even slow down as they blew past the roadhouse. This told Marta that they likely knew the spot had already been cleared, which meant they were also likely the ones who had cleared it. From the brief look Marta had gotten of them as they whizzed by, they sure looked like the same type of people who had taken Riverport – big, dirty, heavily-armed assholes. She assumed that with winter finally having broken, they were probably out scavenging for supplies. Marta was thankful they’d already gone through the roadhouse. She wasn’t sure how things would have gone down if they’d stopped, but it likely wouldn’t have ended well for her and Louise.

  But the appearance of the vehicles had provided Marta
with a lot of new information, and it had answered several important questions she’d been pondering lately. First, it told her the most obvious thing, that she and Louise weren’t alone in the area. Second, it told her that the people who had attacked Riverport had apparently yet to depart. And that meant she had to remain careful and extremely vigilant. And third, it told her that if the invaders were scavenging, they were probably running low on supplies.

  Marta hoped that this meant they might be moving along to easier pickings soon if they didn’t find what they were looking for. And for as well as she and her fellow Riverport citizens had picked over the area, she didn’t expect them to find much. Maybe if these people couldn’t find enough to support their sizeable force, they’d go looking for a bigger town to take somewhere else. It was the best she could hope for at this point. But if that was the case, and Riverport had been sopped entirely dry, what would be left for her and Louise to return to?

  CHAPTER 15

  The gunfire pulled Charla away from the edge of the locks. She had been so intent on debating a fate by biter or plunging into the Des Plaines River that she hadn’t even noticed Wendell’s arrival. He charged into the fray in a way that Charla had never seen before. He seemed confident, fearless, determined, almost angry.

  It took him mere seconds to clear the last few biters that Charla and Julia hadn’t had the ammunition to finish.

  “Go!” he waved them toward where the canoe and fishing boat sat near the end of the locks. “Get to the others! They’ve got the boats in the water and are ready to move!”

  “But what about you?!” Charla cried as she rejoined Julia.

  “I’ll be fine,” Wendell said so determinedly that she couldn’t believe it would be otherwise. “I have to help Ms. Mary.”

  He glanced over to where Ms. Mary was now backed up to the edge of the levee and almost completely surrounded by biters.

  “Ms. Mary! Come on!” Julia cried.

  “Just go!” Ms. Mary yelled back, waving them away.

  “GO!” Wendell said forcefully, pushing Charla ahead of him toward where the others were waiting at the base of the hill. “Go now!”

  She didn’t want to leave Wendell, but it was almost as if he was ordering her to obey. And Charla had to admit that she liked this new and confident, take-charge kind of Wendell. She wondered what had triggered the change. Was it the fact that she stood with her man now? Supported him now? Had their conversation on the island been enough to create this seismic shift in her husband? She didn’t know, but she liked it.

  “Come on!” she grabbed Julia by the arm. “Let’s go!” assured that Wendell knew what he was doing.

  Charla had no idea that in actuality, Wendell was absolutely terrified. He might look the part of steadfast savior, but he felt like a quivering bowl of pudding as he charged toward the biters surrounding Ms. Mary. But there was no way he was going to experience Charla giving him the kind of looks she had after Chris’ death. He just couldn’t bare it. And he wouldn’t give the rest of the group the opportunity to blame him for Ms. Mary’s death the way Charla had for Chris’. He would do everything in his power to avoid another situation like that.

  Ms. Mary was in the midst of firing the final few rounds in her handgun’s magazine to take down two of the ten biters that continued to close on her. And while Ms. Mary wasn’t easily rattled, she was pretty certain she was done for.

  Wendell wasn’t in much better shape regarding his remaining supply of ammunition. But he didn’t let that deter him. Instead, he made his way to Ms. Mary, striding as confidently as he could into danger even though his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. It was like they wanted to turn and run from the beastly biters he was forcing them toward. But he wouldn’t let them. Instead, he charged headlong into danger. His gun held out in front of him, he fired once, hitting a biter in the back and dropping it to the ground. Then he adjusted his aim, fired again, and dropped another biter, and then another, and then one more at almost point-blank range.

  The last four remaining biters were now turning their attention away from Ms. Mary and toward the more immediate threat.

  Wendell aimed at the nearest biter and squeezed the trigger, expecting to drop it alongside its brethren. His gun clicked but nothing happened. As he glanced down to see why, he saw a live round jammed halfway out of the gun’s extractor. He pulled the shell the rest of the way out, re-aimed his weapon and squeezed the trigger. Again, nothing happened. He ejected his magazine. As he did this, he bought himself some time by backing away from the four remaining biters, all of whom were now ignoring Ms. Mary and coming toward him. The magazine was empty.

  The biters were increasing the speed of their approach, seeming to sense that Wendell was now defenseless.

  As Wendell continued his backward retreat, he felt his right foot come to rest on something hard and that set him slightly off balance, so much so in fact that he almost stumbled. At first, he thought it was a stick or a piece of wood. But glancing down, he realized that it was Ms. Mary’s paddled that she had dropped earlier. He bent down and grabbed it. Jamming his now useless gun into his coat pocket, he stopped in his retreat, got a tight two-fisted grip on the paddle’s handle, gritted his teeth, and with a war cry that sent shivers down Ms. Mary’s spine, charged toward the remaining biters.

  Wendell was no athlete, but the hacks he was taking with Ms. Mary’s paddle would have put certain professional ball players to shame. The first swing hit the nearest biter across the temple, slicing into its skin and splitting its skull with a sickening crack. It crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. Wendell brought the double-ended paddle back around, jabbing one end into the next closest biter’s abdomen. The blow put the biter down on one knee as it clutched its gut, groaning in pain. Wendell then turned his attention toward a third biter, whipping the paddle back around to bring its other side to bear against the biter. The flat side of the paddle smacked in hard against the biter’s head and face. It wobbled backward, momentarily stunned. This gave Wendell a second to reel back with the paddle again, re-grip, and swing it ax-like toward the fourth biter, bringing the paddle’s thin edge down directly atop the biter’s skull, dropping it lifelessly alongside the first biter he’d hit.

  After this incredible display of bravery by Wendell, the two remaining biters who were still conscious seemed to have no more fight left in them and scrambled away in a daze.

  “Come on,” Wendell said to Ms. Mary as he bent to take the front of her kayak.

  Ms. Mary bent to take hold of her end of the kayak, but her arms just weren’t working. A combination of the exhaustion from helping to tow the fishing boat in to shore, pulling the kayak up onto the levee, working to untie the rope from around her, and having helped pull the fishing boat ashore had left her arms and hands feeling like rubber. She tried lifting the back of the boat several times only to have it slip from her hands.

  The two remaining biters were starting to collect their wits, and Wendell could see several more approaching from the access road.

  “Here,” Wendell handed the paddle to Ms. Mary. “Can you carry this?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Ms. Mary accepted the paddle. It still had some biter blood at one end, and it felt like a 50 pound weight in Ms. Mary’s hands, but she managed to hold on.

  Then, Wendell lifted the kayak, gripping it under one arm. “Come on, let’s go,” he said determinedly as he turned and led the way back to where the others were waiting.

  * * *

  With little time to spare, the Blenders had to make some quick adjustments to their open-water seating arrangements.

  Jack and his mother were currently without a regular ride since they’d been forced to abandon their kayak that had been shot full of holes. Therefore, Jack joined Patrick and Charla in the center of their canoe. Christine joined Michael, Wendell, and Ms. Mary in the fishing boat, while Justin moved from the fishing boat to the middle of his parents’ canoe. And with Ms. Mary now in the fishing boat, Caroline to
ok her spot with Andrew in the lone remaining kayak.

  The small armada re-formed in open water with the canoes about ten feet away on either side of the rowboat. The kayak led, acting as the eyes for the group about 50 yards ahead of the other boats. Everyone was anxious and on alert after the dam experience.

  “I hate this,” Michael said disgustedly. “I feel like we’re constantly flying blind.”

  “I know,” Christine agreed. “I wish we had a map of some sort.”

  “Even if we had a map, it probably wouldn’t help that much since it wouldn’t likely give us a very good read of the river and the potential obstacles we’ll encounter,” Michael responded.

  Ms. Mary had been quiet until now, massaging her sore arms.

  “Thank you, Wendell,” she said at last.

  “You’re welcome,” Wendell swiveled in his seat to nod at Ms. Mary who sat behind him in the center of the fishing boat.

  “No, I mean really. Thank you,” Ms. Mary said again. “You saved my life back there.”

  “It’s fine,” Wendell said quietly with a shrug, going back to his paddling.

  “You should have seen him!” Ms. Mary went on, loud enough for those in the canoes to hear as well. “It was amazing! He really saved my tail back there. I mean, he came in like General Custer charging into an Indian camp, gun blazing, blasting biters left and right. And when he ran out of ammunition, he picked up my paddle and laid out the last four. It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it. And once he was done with all that, and I wasn’t strong enough to pick up my end of the kayak, he reaches down and hefts the whole daggone thing himself and carries it all the way back to the end of the locks! It was like watching Hercules in action! I kid you not! Ab-so-lutely incredible!” she shook her head in amazement.