The Last Bastion (Book 3): The Last Bastion

by K. W. Callahan

  And even though the defense remained organized, the stairwell defenders were still burning through their ammunition far quicker than they could be re-supplied with fresh magazines. With all the biters now channeled into one stairwell, since the office stairs stopped at the fourth floor, there were far more targets being squeezed into a very tight space. Worse yet, the Blenders hadn’t blocked the stairwell with anything more than the firing blind at its top. This meant that the ferocious biters below could charge forward, their assault unchecked by any sort of barrier to slow their advance.

  A mound of dead biters was starting to form on the stairway, halfway between the fourth and fifth floor. Michael was glad to see their losses mounting, but at the same time, it was posing a problem because it was giving surviving biters cover to avoid the Blenders’ gunfire.

  Suddenly Patrick’s rifle stopped firing.

  “You out?” Michael called.

  “Something’s wrong!” Patrick yelled back, inspecting his weapon.

  Then Michael’s rifle stopped firing too. He was on his last pre-loaded magazine.

  “Crap!” he called. “I’ve gotta jam!”

  This left Josh and Chris as the only ones firing from the top of the stairs as the other two men worked to revive their rifles.

  Several biters used the lull in the rate of fire as an opportunity to lunge up and over the pile of their dead brethren.

  Josh took down one, and then Chris the other. But two more were right behind them. And three more were right behind those. Josh expended the last rounds in his rifle’s magazine and then drew the .38 revolver he carried as his sidearm.

  Meanwhile, Patrick gave up work on his own rifle and pulled a handgun of his own, using it to take down one of the approaching biters.

  But the men holding the top of the stairs realized that at this rate, they would all be out of ammo in the next minute or so. And with the biters now pouring up the stairs, it was yet again time to move.

  “Patrick! Go tell the others to grab the guns and ammo and be ready to head upstairs!” Michael instructed his son.

  Patrick scrambled away to alert the others.

  As Patrick left, Wendell arrived with extra magazines. Unfortunately, most of the pre-readied ammo was for the currently disabled semi-automatic rifles. He only brought one magazine for Michael’s .45, and Josh was left reloading his .38 revolver by hand. And while Josh was fast with his reloads, they still took four to five times longer than Michael’s pre-readied magazine exchanges.

  With the onslaught of biters still charging up the stairs, the situation was quickly deteriorating.

  “Go!” Michael pulled Josh away from his post at the stairs. “Help the others get organized!” he fired at a biter, now just feet away. The biter collapsed at the edge of the stairwell landing. “We don’t have much time! We need to move!”

  Josh hurried off as instructed.

  Michael rapidly ejected the magazine from his .45 and inserted his last clip. Meanwhile, Chris fired at a biter that fell at his feet.

  Michael counted at least six biters making their way up the stairs. More were clustered at the base of the stairwell and appeared to be waiting for enough others to join them that they could make a rush all together. If that happened, Michael knew the Blender defenders would be screwed. There would be too many biters all at once for him and Chris to handle on their own and with only handguns at their disposal.

  Michael fired two rounds, taking down the closest biter to him. He took a step back, making room for himself, and fired two more rounds, taking down the next closest biter.

  He took two more steps back, Chris falling back alongside him. They were quickly losing ground and had almost been forced off the stairwell landing altogether. Then Michael saw the group of biters at the base of the stairs begin to make their charge, and he knew they stood no chance.

  “Come on,” he tapped Chris’ shoulder and then turned and made his way into the fifth floor, where he saw the others coming down one of the hallways that led between the cubicles.

  But gathering the group and getting to the sixth floor was now out of the question. Biters were spilling onto the fifth floor right behind Michael and Chris as they retreated. Michael even felt one of them grab his coat, pulling him back, but he yanked free, turned, and blasted it in the head. The bullet continued on, exploding out of the first biter’s head and striking the biter several feet behind it, killing it as well.

  Michael and Chris were forced farther back onto the floor. They found Patrick and Josh with the others at one of the first cubicles. Michael quickly split their group into two. Half of the Blenders were to hold the east-side hallway running between the cubicles. The other half was to hold the west-side hallway. Both hallways met with a connecting south-side hallway.

  Michael was concerned to say the least. His Blenders were running low on ammo and had nowhere left to retreat as they were now cut off from the tower’s main stairwell. Worse yet, the boys were upstairs, unattended, and the biters now had access to them through free use of the main stairwell.

  One floor below, Victor was just as concerned as Michael. His losses were mounting, and he had no idea how long the prey they had trapped could continue using the exploding devices that were so effective in killing members of his herd. From past experience, he’d usually seen these devices become worthless after a time and stop their violent explosions that sent small bits of scorching metal through biter bodies.

  Over half of Victor’s herd was dead. Many more were so injured they were no longer of use to him. If the exploding devices didn’t stop soon, he would have no herd left with which to continue the fight. Even the female who had been first to join him looked worried. The fear showed in her eyes. But Victor couldn’t give up now. They’d come too far. He had to see the fight through to the end, no matter what the result. His herd, what remained of it, had to feed. There was no alternative but to win the fight or starve.

  “If you run out of ammo, fall back and take shelter in the storage closet!” Michael yelled, hoping that everyone heard.

  From their split positions, the Blender defenders could catch the biters in their crossfire as they exited the stairwell. In this way, they immediately killed or incapacitated ten biters from a seemingly endless supply as they poured onto the fifth floor. But the group was now reliant on several lower capacity weapons with a much slower rate of fire – Ms. Mary’s .22, Michael’s old hunting shotgun that Patrick had, and an assortment of handguns, many of which were almost out of ammo.

  It wasn’t long before Charla, Wendell, Caroline, and Chris had all expended the last of their ammunition. They retreated to the floor’s storage closet at the southwest corner of the tower where the office stairwell would have been had it continued up from the fourth floor.

  “Make ‘em count!” Michael yelled although no one could hear him over the gunfire. Bullets were ricocheting off walls and tearing into cubicle dividers.

  The groups conducted a sort of fire, fall back, and then reload process. This allowed those in the front to shoot until their guns were empty and then retreat behind those who had yet to fire. It was the most efficient way to conduct their defense, but it meant that they were being pushed farther and farther back down each hallway. This eliminated the crossfire in which they had initially caught the biters and cost them valuable ground.

  Soon, the two groups were both pushed all the way back down their respective hallways. They met at the tower’s south end in the hallway forming the rear of the floor’s rectangular hallway pattern. Christine Franko and Julia Justak were now out of ammo as well. They both fled to join several others now crammed inside the small storage closet.

  This left one side of the hallway defended by Michael, using his .45, and Patrick, with his dad’s shotgun, for which he had six shells. The remaining shells for the gun were up on the seventh floor with the last cache of ammunition and weapons from which the group was now cut off. Ms. Mary, with her .22 rifle and an extra 10-round magazine, and
Josh with his slow-to-load .38 and about half a dozen spare rounds, held the other end of the hallway.

  The situation appeared bleak to say the least. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. The group was supposed to have their last stand on the seventh floor – their “Alamo”. And then they were supposed to be able to retreat to the rooftop. That was the ‘worst-case scenario’ – to be trapped on the tower rooftop until they could regroup and figure things out. Sure, they might be stuck up there in the cold for a while, but they’d be together, and the main thing was that they’d be alive. They weren’t supposed to be stranded on the fifth floor, their spare weapons unusable or unreachable upstairs, running out of ammunition, with no hope of escape, and cut off from the Blender children – now that was the worst-case scenario.

  CHAPTER 13

  The gunfire from around the walled portion of Riverport was beginning to diminish. Eric stood, rubbing his sore and scratched neck from where the biters had gotten their nasty nails into him. He made a mental note to put some antibacterial ointment on it when he got back inside. He hoped that the reduced gunfire was from a lack of targets as opposed to a lack of ammunition from the town’s defenders.

  “Sounds like they’re getting the upper hand,” Lance said.

  “Sure hope so,” Max agreed.

  “Thanks again for saving my neck…literally,” Eric said.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Lance nodded. “It’s a tough world out there, and it’s getting tougher by the day.”

  “You two were pretty handy with those guns,” Eric said. “What did you do before the Carchar…”

  But he was interrupted before he could finish his sentence.

  “Everything okay here?” a voice in the darkness said. A second later, a flashlight popped on at the other end of the alley. It was Richard.

  “Yeah, fine,” Eric answered quickly, not wanting to reveal the faux pas that almost cost him his life. “Everything under control?”

  “Yes,” Richard answered.

  “Any casualties?” Eric asked.

  “One…Blake Johnson. Biter got him from behind. He wasn’t paying attention when he was standing by the front gate. Biter reached through, grabbed him, and crushed his fucking windpipe.” Richard sighed and shook his head. “Makes you wonder when people will learn. It’s not a fucking joke. You can tell them and tell them, but you just can’t make them listen.”

  “Uh, yeah…well uh, right,” Eric laughed somewhat nervously, hoping that Lance and Max wouldn’t say anything about his own biter experience that evening.

  But the newcomers didn’t throw Eric under the bus as he feared they might.

  “Sounds like an overall success considering how many biters were out there,” Lance shifted the conversation.

  “It’s never a success when we lose someone,” Richard shook his head sadly.

  They all nodded quietly, thinking private thoughts about the people they’d all lost since the outbreak began.

  “Thanks again for the heads up on the biters and for your help here at the gate,” Richard addressed Lance and Max.

  “Sure thing,” Lance said. “Thanks again for taking us in. I’m not sure what we would have done if you’d just left us out there.”

  Richard nodded. “How about that warm meal I promised you?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Lance said eagerly. “I’m half starved.”

  “Uh, me too,” Max agreed. “A hot meal sounds great.”

  “Okay then,” Richard turned to go. “I’ll take you all up to the mess hall. “Eric, if you want to…”

  But his words were cut short by a flash and a blast, and a second later, a similar explosion of sound and light.

  Lance walked over and picked up the flashlight from beside Richard’s fallen form. He aimed the flashlight and his gun down at Richard’s head and fired one more shot, just for good measure. Max did the same thing where Eric lay motionless, face down on the alleyway pavement.

  Then the two new arrivals confiscated the dead men’s weapons, fired two shots at the lock holding the gate shut, and kicked it open. And with that, they disappeared into the blackness of night as swiftly and unexpectedly as they’d arrived.

  * * *

  Michael’s gun clicked as he squeezed the trigger, finally out of ammunition.

  “I’m out!” Michael called to Patrick behind him. Both men had retreated to the very rear of the hallway, almost all the way to the tower’s southwest corner where the other Blenders were sheltering in the storage closet.

  Josh and Ms. Mary were beside them where the two hallways met at a right angle, facing down the opposing hallway. Ms. Mary continued to fire her .22 rifle at the biters approaching from that direction.

  The number of biters on the floor seemed to have diminished, but more were still coming. Michael was concerned that their lack of numbers might mean that some had broken off and headed upstairs to where Josh’s son Justin and the Franko brothers were awaiting the adults on the seventh floor. But there was nothing he could do about that now. All he could do was pray that the boys were aware enough to climb the ladder and escape to the rooftop. From there, they would be on their own.

  “I’m out!” Ms. Mary cried, falling back behind Josh who was on the last few rounds for his .38.

  “Me too!” Michael yelled.

  The foursome was nearly back-to-back now where the two hallways met near the front of the storage closet door.

  Patrick stepped up and fired his father’s shotgun at the first of three biters approaching from their hallway. A spray of 12-gauge shot tore through the biter, several pellets striking but not stopping the biters just behind it. Then he turned, moved several feet to his left, cocked the shotgun, ejecting the empty shell, and fired at the line of four biters approaching from Ms. Mary and Josh’s side. The blast hit the first biter in the midsection, tearing a gaping hole in it and dropping it to the floor. But it was immediately replaced by the biter just behind it, which stumbled over its fallen comrade, slowing it for but an instant.

  Josh made quick work of this biter with his .38, and Patrick turned to take out another of the biters approaching from the other direction. But new biters seemed to join the fray just as quickly as Josh and Patrick were able to disperse the closest ones.

  The two worked in tandem, taking out one biter at a time as they approached. But both were down to their last few rounds.

  “Give me the shotgun and get in the closet!” Michael yanked the gun away from his son. “You too!” he grabbed Josh and pulled him away from the approaching biters, pushing him toward the closet.

  Before Josh could fight back, there was the sound of gunfire from the other side of the tower near the stairwell.

  The biters nearest Michael and Josh slowed and then turned toward the sounds. Michael used the opportunity to his advantage, taking down two biters who were standing side-by-side in the hallway with one blast from the shotgun. He turned and blasted two more, the final two approaching from the other hallway before moving forward, stepping awkwardly on biter bodies as he went.

  Josh, having disobeyed Michael’s instructions, polished off another with his .38. And then Michael took down one more.

  With only two biters remaining in the hall between the two men and the tower stairs, they could see two smaller forms in the relative darkness of the floor.

  It was the Franko boys, ready, steady, and armed to the teeth.

  Andrew Franko held the last semi-automatic rifle, a handgun slipped into the front waistband of his pants. His brother Jack held a 9-millimeter handgun in each hand.

  It took Andrew but a second to take down the last two biters with a three-round burst for each from his rifle. Jack finished off a wounded biter struggling at the base of the stairs with a 9-millimeter round place squarely in its back. Then he turned and fired several times down the stairs at several fleeing biters.

  As the gun smoke began to clear and everyone slowly began to recover their hearing, Andrew Franko nodded and grinned at M
ichael and Josh, “Guess playing all those violent video games finally paid off.”

  “Give me that,” Michael took the rifle from Andrew, not exactly pleased with the boys having endangered themselves in such a way. “Josh, take the boys, go upstairs, and get the rest of our arms and ammo. I’ll get the others, and we’ll meet you up there. Once everyone is re-armed, we’ll need to clear the tower and get the barricade back in place. And be careful, there could still be biters lurking around here.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Yeah, we killed the head of the group,” Lance reported.

  “Killed another guy with him,” Max added.

  “You sure he was their leader?” Groush growled, eyeing the two intensely as they sat inside his hulking SUV, the heater blasting.

  Lance nodded confidently. “They took us directly to him. We heard him coordinating their defensive efforts when the biters arrived. And the other guy we were with confirmed it.”

  “Good,” Groush nodded. “You said they got ‘bout fifty people in there?”

  “That’s what they said,” Lance confirmed. “But it sounded like they’re running low on ammo.”

  “We can’t chance that,” Groush shook his head. “We have to go in there like they’re ready to rumble. You said they got a gate or somethin’ that’s easily accessible?”

  Lance nodded. “We left it open. If we move fast, we should be able to take advantage of the breach.”

  “They might not even have found the bodies yet,” Max added.

  “Right. You two done good. Let’s move,” Groush pulled his automatic rifle from the back seat, set it in the center console beside him, and grabbed his radio. “Let’s roll, people!” he called into the radio to his band of mercenaries currently idling in similar vehicles around him.