The Last Bastion (Book 3): The Last Bastion

by K. W. Callahan

  A minute later, he turned the radio off.

  “It all seemed to happen so quickly,” Josh sighed.

  “What’s that?” Michael frowned.

  Josh gestured around him. “This…all this…the world’s demise. I always thought there were plans for this sort of thing. I thought we’d be without power for a couple days, the government would come in and take over…FEMA or something, and after maybe a week at most, we’d be getting back to normal. But here we are. Even the recorded message has given up. And there’s no end in sight.”

  “Yeah, once the dominos started falling, they really went down fast,” Michael agreed in dismay.

  “Looks like we’re on our own now.”

  “Huh,” Michael scoffed. “We’ve been on our own.”

  “So what do you think our next move should be?”

  Michael shrugged. “Can’t say that we have one at the moment…at least not with the weather the way it is. Gets warmer and we might be able to move if the biters aren’t too thick down there.”

  “That could be a while,” Josh cringed.

  “Unless help comes along sooner, which at this point seems increasingly unlikely.”

  “But move to where? I doubt we’ll be able to get out of Chicago. If things haven’t gotten back to normal by then, the roadways will probably be screwed. And who knows what the situation will be. Could be even more biters by then. Or there could be more vigilante, Mad Max style groups out there trying to take what they can get by any means possible. And can we even hold out until then? Will we have enough food?”

  Michael shrugged again. “You’re asking a lot of tough questions…questions I don’t have the answers to right now. As far as food goes, as long as it stays cold, we have plenty right now. Still got a lot of roasts, hot dogs, sausage, chicken breasts, that sort of stuff. If we hit a warm spell, I don’t know how long those things will last. And as for going somewhere else, I agree that it’s not a bad idea. I’d sure as heck rather be holding out somewhere more isolated, but I have no idea how we’d get there. You’re right, the roads could be a mess by then, and with such a big group, we could really be putting ourselves at risk. Something goes wrong again, or we break down, and the biters or roadside bandits could swarm us. I say for now, we’re just in a holding pattern. We have to see how things play out, and what opportunities, if any, present themselves.”

  Josh nodded, looking from the tower top out across the landscape around them. “It’s so quiet. Hardly any shooting now. Doesn’t bode well for humanity’s chances against the biters.” He turned his gaze toward the sky. “You know what I miss the most when it comes to the sounds of the city? It’s not the cars, or the trash trucks, or the trains…it’s the airplanes. It’s so strange. You don’t realize how many airplanes there are cris-crossing the skies of Chicago until they aren’t there. With Midway to our southeast, and O’Hare to our northwest, we were constantly in the crosshairs of incoming and outgoing air traffic. Now it’s so quiet up there all the time.”

  “It’s true,” Michael agreed. “I apparently haven’t paid as much attention to that aspect of our plight as you have. And being inside the tower most of the time, I guess I just didn’t really notice it. But you’re right. It is weird without the air traffic overhead.”

  “So you really think we’re here for the duration,” Josh said almost disbelievingly as he tore his attention from the sky.

  “I don’t see that we have much of a choice. I mean, I suppose we could leave, but I think the risks would far outweigh the rewards at this point. If we could hop on one of your non-existent planes out of here or find some other way to get out, I’d be willing to give it a shot. But without a plane, or a helicopter, or a really long underground tunnel, I’m afraid we’re stuck for now.”

  “So I guess we’re trapped here. Up shit creek without a paddle.”

  “I guess so,” Michael breathed aloud. “Up shit creek without a paddle,” he repeated softly.

  * * *

  Downstairs, on the tower’s third floor where the Blenders spent most of their time, it was approaching lunchtime.

  Pulled pork from a roast that had been simmering in barbeque sauce in a slow cooker since late last night was being served with potato chips and salted crackers.

  Julia Justak was on the lookout for her son.

  “Have you seen Justin?” she asked the Franko brothers as they raced onto the floor from upstairs.

  “Last we saw him was up on the fifth floor,” Jack Franko answered breathlessly. “We were playing hide-and-seek up there, but got hungry and decided to come down for lunch. We yelled to him that we were leaving, but I guess he’s still up there.”

  “I’ll go and check,” Julia nodded. “Thank you, boys,” she moved past them to the stairs leading to the tower’s fifth level.

  Julia arrived moments later to a seemingly empty fifth floor.

  “Helloooo?” she called. “Justin? Are you up here?”

  The fifth floor was a great spot for the kids’ games of hide-and-seek. The cubicles broke up the floor’s layout and offered file cabinets, desks, chairs, and other pieces of furniture to hide behind.

  Julia wandered the halls running between the rows of cubicles, peeking into each space as she went. “Justin?” she called again.

  Suddenly she heard a soft sniffle from a cubicle to her right. Even though the floor had windows on all sides, the dullness of the day, and the cubicle walls that divided the floor, cast the place in a dingy pall. Even through the faded light, though, Julia could easily recognize the frail outline of her sweet nine-year-old. He was crouched below a desk inside the cubicle.

  “Honey, what are you doing down there? The other boys have stopped playing. They’re already downstairs. The game’s over,” she stepped into the cubicle, holding a hand out to her precious boy who remained beneath the desk.

  He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Are you crying?” his mother asked, coming closer. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Were the other boys mean to you?”

  Justin scooted out from beneath the desk, wiping the tears from his cheeks before taking his mother’s hand and rising to his feet.

  “Honey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Julia asked, her concern growing.

  “Yeah, Mom,” he nodded, sniffling.

  “Why are you crying?” his mother asked.

  Justin just shrugged, embarrassed.

  “Sweetheart, talk to me,” his mother urged, growing more concerned by the moment, afraid that something might be physically wrong with her little boy. “You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “No…nothing. It’s just…” he broke down sobbing. “It’s just that I miss our old life, Mom,” he choked through the tears. “I miss our house. I miss my friends. I miss watching television and playing with my toys. I even miss school!” he sobbed.

  “Oh, sweetie,” his mother took him in her arms, pulling him up tight to her. “I know this is tough on you. It’s tough on all of us. I can only imagine what it’s like for a nine-year-old boy. Your world has been torn asunder, and you’ve seen and had to deal with things a child your age should never have to deal with. But you’ve been such a little man through it all. Your father and I probably haven’t given you enough credit or attention because you’ve kept your head up and been such a little trooper. I’m so sorry for that.”

  Seeing her boy breaking down like this made Julia feel like breaking down herself. It tore at her heart strings. But she stayed strong for him. She released her hold on him and pushed him back away from her slightly so she could look down into his eyes.

  “You’re doing a great job. You know that, right?” she smiled at him, wiping a tear from his cheek with her thumb. “You’re doing a far better job than I would have done having to go through something like this at your age. You’ve been a huge help, not just to your father and me, but to the whole group. And while I know this is difficult, you have to be thankful for what we have here, and that we’re still together
as a family. We’re safe. We have food, water, and heat. And that’s a lot more than a lot of people out there. And hopefully, when the world gets itself worked out, things can get back to normal.”

  “How long is that going to take?” Justin peered up at his mother through red, puffy eyes.

  “Well, I’m not sure exactly,” his mother said uncertainly. “Hopefully not too much longer, but…I don’t really know. All I can say is that you’re doing wonderful. And I love that you’re playing with Jack and Andrew so well. You know, those boys are much older than you,” she tried to redirect the conversation away from their somewhat bleak situation. “And you’re showing what a mature young man you’ve become by being able to keep up with them.” She hugged him up close to her again. “I’m very proud of you. You know that, right?” she whispered in his ear.

  “I know,” Justin said somewhat sheepishly.

  “I love you very much.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “Okay. Now, you ready to go have some lunch?”

  “What are we having?”

  “Barbeque pulled pork and chips,” Julia grinned at him, wide-eyed, knowing her son’s love of both menu items.

  “Yes!” he gave a fist pump, the tears and sadness, replaced by excitement and anticipation of a delicious meal.

  “Come on! Let’s go,” his mother said eagerly as she took him by the hand to lead him from the cubicle.

  But Justin pulled away from her. “Race you!” he called as he dodged his way around his mother and beat her out of the cubicle, the typical nine-year-old.

  * * *

  Charla and Chris stood at one of the fourth-floor windows. The top half of the window was slid down. Chris held a fishing pole out the opening.

  “That lunch really hit the spot,” Chris rubbed his belly.

  “Yeah. Hopefully we can land a few fish to supplement tonight’s dinner,” Charla added. “We haven’t had much luck lately.”

  “You haven’t had much luck lately,” Chris grinned at her devilishly, giving his newfound fishing buddy a hard time.

  “Two fish in a week does not a fisherman make,” Charla dished his hard time right back to him with her own snarky smirk.

  “Here,” Chris handed Charla the pole that dangled out the open fourth-floor window. “Take over for a minute. I need to put my other glove on. My hand is freezing.”

  “I know,” Charla accepted the pole. “It’s cold as crap up here…or should I say, cold as carp…haw, haw, haw,” she grinned at her pun.

  “Very funny,” Chris worked on his other glove.

  “I thought so,” Charla smiled back.

  “How’s Wendell been doing?” Chris asked. “He’s been pretty quiet lately.”

  “Just as well,” Charla shook her head. “Seems like every time he opens his mouth, he only has something negative to say. He wasn’t always like this. I mean, he was always more of the quiet, reserved, realistic one in the relationship. But this whole situation seems to have changed him.”

  “I think it’s changed all of us.”

  “Well, sure…but I guess I meant that it has changed Wendell more.”

  Chris nodded. “I think it’s changed each of us in different ways. Some of us cope better than others. Wendell seemed to be a much more structured individual…at least from the little I knew of him before things went completely to hell. It can be tough for people who are used to routine and regularity to be thrown into a totally chaotic situation. I think that a large part of Wendell’s negativity isn’t necessarily him trying to be rude or off-putting, but him searching for some sense of normality or trying to put some order to all this,” he gestured around him.

  Charla nodded thoughtfully, considering Chris’ words. “I guess you’re probably right. It’s a very compassionate, considerate way of putting Wendell’s recent behavior. And I hope that you’re right.” She looked over at where Chris stood beside her, his glove now on. She smiled at him. “You’re so kind, so understanding. I don’t know how you maintain such understanding for someone who has been such an utter jerk to you over the past…”

  Her words were interrupted by a yank on the fishing pole she held.

  “Hey! You’ve got something!” Chris exclaimed. “Now don’t jerk the pole! Start reeling up the slack and when you feel the line get taught, take it slow. There…good…don’t jerk it! Slowly now…gooood. Right…slow and steady.” He was craning around Charla to stick his head out the window. “Okay, now, looks like you’ve got him on the line. Just take it easy.”

  “How far is he out in the water?” Charla asked.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen feet from the edge of the tower. Keep it up! You’re doing great! Slow and steady. There we go. He’s almost to the edge of the tower now. It’s going to get heavy in a minute when you get him out of the water. You think your arms can take the weight? He looks like a big one.”

  “I think so,” Charla nodded, continuing to reel in her line.

  “If you get too tired, just let me know and I’ll take over. Okay, he’s right at the edge now. Looks like he’s a live one. Don’t lose him! Slow…slow. Okay, he’s out of the water now! You’re reeling him up.”

  “Uh! He must be big! Weighs a ton!” Charla breathed as she put the end of the pole between her legs to help her re-grip.

  “You want me to take over?” Chris asked, pulling his head back from his lookout point at the window.

  “No…I’m good,” Charla said. “How much farther?”

  “Twenty feet maybe,” Chris stuck his head back out the window beside the pole. “You’re doing great. Just keep it up. Slow and steady. He’s not wiggling as much now, but we don’t want to lose him. “Fifteen feet. Looks like the cold air is taking its toll on him.”

  “Ugh!” Charla cried. “My arms are on fire!”

  The end of the pole was bending perilously under the strain of the catch dangling from it.

  “Please don’t let the line break. Please don’t let the line break. Please don’t let the line break,” Charla repeated as she continued to reel. Suddenly she paused.

  “Need help?” Chris asked.

  “No!” Charla shook her head determinedly. “This sucker’s mine…all mine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.” She shook her head, swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and got back to reeling.

  About half a minute later, Chris had the line in hand and had the fish in through the window. As he lowered what appeared to be at least a three or four pound fish to the floor, it gave a few final feeble flops and then lay motionless.

  Chris turned to Charla. “High five!” he excitedly held up a hand.

  “High five!” she slapped his hand, still breathing hard from her struggle to reel in the fish. Then she set the pole down on the floor and gave Chris a big hug. “Thanks,” she smiled as he hugged her back, his big arms enveloping her slight frame.

  “Don’t thank me,” Chris shook his head. “That was all you, baby,” he smiled on proudly as they broke from their embrace.

  “Ah,” Charla sighed, her shoulders sagging exhaustedly. “Finally,” she breathed in relief, her head tilting back. “It’ll be nice to be able to take this downstairs and show the others. Sometimes I feel like we’re kind of freeloading here. Makes me feel like an outsider.”

  “You shouldn’t feel that way. We’re all pulling our weight in different ways. Although I have to say, I can see where you’re coming from. Sometimes it’s tough…feeling like an outsider that is.”

  “Huh, like you’d know,” Charla scoffed. “You flash that award-winning smile of yours, Prince Charming, and the world, minus Wendell of course, falls in love with you.”

  Chris looked at her, serious now. “It’s not that easy,” he said. “At least, it doesn’t feel that easy…to me. Charla,” he took her hand in his.

  The move surprised Charla, yet somewhere deep within, it intrigued her. She was curious to know where Chris was going to take this.

  Still holding her hand in his, he cont
inued, “There’s something I want to tell you…something I’ve wanted to tell you almost since we met. There’s a connection between us. I know that. That’s why I want to be honest with you. I feel I owe it to you…and to Wendell.”

  Charla’s breath caught, her chest tightened, and her tummy did summersaults in nervous anticipation of Chris’ next sentence.

  CHAPTER 8

  Victor was cold, tired, and hungry. He hadn’t eaten for several days. He’d sacrificed his portion of the herd’s catches to ensure his followers were fed. While they didn’t know it, since their biter brains had no concept of such a place, they had been taking refuge in a library – the Riverside Library.

  It made no difference to Victor and the rest of his herd what the place was called or what its former purpose had been. It only mattered that it was dry, safe, warmer than the outside, and that the prey that could be so dangerous with their exploding pieces of metal that killed those like Victor, never came there. All the place seemed to contain were rows and rows of rectangular shaped objects with innumerable white leafs within. Victor found the place useless as anything more than a shelter, but as such, it was invaluable. He assumed that their prey never came to the place because it contained none of the food that their prey found so precious but that those like Victor found so unsavory.

  Food – for everyone, biter and non-biter alike – was becoming increasingly scarce. The prey that Victor sought seemed to be in short supply lately. Many of them had already been consumed, converted to ones like him. This only added to the competition for the remaining prey, the remnants of which had hidden themselves away in the secure boxes that served as their dens.

  Victor realized that he needed not to find new food sources, but determine how better to get at the sources he already knew were there. This knowledge, paired with the hunger that constantly gnawed at him, meant he’d been growing increasingly confident. Not only was his confidence expanding, but his herd was as well, having swelled to almost 50 followers in the past week. This was yet another reason for the scarcity of food. It took a lot more to feed his rapidly growing herd. This growing number however, was both beneficial and problematic for Victor. It meant that he had more like himself at his disposal for hunting and finding food. But it also meant that he needed to find much more prey to satisfy their ravenous hunger for human flesh.