The Last Bastion [Book 3]

by K. W. Callahan

  “Nobody told me that’s what was in there,” Jack continued his defense.

  “Nobody should have to tell you,” Andrew sneered. “Anybody with half a brain could figure it out.”

  “You know what. You’re a real…” Jack started, but his mother cut him short.

  “Now, now, boys. Where did you put your flavor packet, Jack?” she asked.

  “I threw it in that trash bag over there,” he pointed to a white garbage bag half full of trash.

  “Just go fish it out,” his mother said in the calmest voice she could muster. “The packets are sealed, so you can still use the seasoning inside.”

  After a minute of searching with his flashlight, Jack returned with the flavor packet, none the worse for wear after its brief stint in the trash.

  “Mmm, that’s much better,” Jack nodded after mixing the chicken flavored seasoning into his bowl of steaming noodles.

  “See? Not a big deal,” his mother smiled at him.

  “Ding-a-ling,” his brother muttered, shaking his head.

  “Andrew,” she eyed him. “You’re not helping. If you don’t have anything nice to say…”

  “I know. I know. Don’t say anything at all,” he frowned, forking a string of noodles from his bowl, slurping them into his mouth noisily.

  * * *

  “So you used to work in the tree trimming business?” Michael asked Chris as they sat in metal folding chairs, eating their noodles.

  “Among other things,” Chris nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So I’m assuming you’re pretty good at rigging up a repelling line?”

  “I could. Why?”

  “It’d be nice to have something up on the roof…should the situation call for it,” Michael eyed Chris for his reaction.

  “You want to repel off the top of the tower?” Chris gave him wide, disbelieving eyes.”

  “Want to? No. If we had to, yes.”

  “Oh, you mean for like an emergency or something,” Chris nodded, understanding now.

  “If we were pushed up there by a biter infiltration or something, I’d like to have an escape route. Not necessarily something I’d want to have to use, but in a worse case scenario.”

  “Gotcha,” Chris nodded.

  “Hardest part would probably be finding enough rope. This tower is what…at least a hundred feet high, right? That’s a long coil of rope. And if you have to tie several ropes together, well, I don’t really like getting into a situation like that. But I could probably come up with something that’s reasonably safe if we can find enough cordage.”

  “So what is your plan here?” Wendell asked Michael, interjecting himself into the conversation.

  Michael took a deep breath. “Can’t say we really have one right now other than to stay safe inside the tower and do our best to make our stay as comfortable as possible.”

  “Huh,” Wendell looked around them at the cold, dank brick and concrete that surrounded them and then down at his bowl of noodles. “Well, I’d say you have the safe part down, the comfort aspect certainly leaves something…”

  A well-placed elbow from Charla sitting in the chair beside him silenced him before he could insult their hosts.

  “We’d like to thank you for taking us in,” she said to Michael. “I’m not sure what we would have done had you told us to just move on.”

  “Sure,” Michael smiled at her. “Sorry we weren’t more inviting upon our initial meeting. We were attacked by people earlier this morning trying to get inside the tower.”

  “We saw,” Chris said. “Sounded like quite a firefight even from where we were,” he gestured to the east wall beyond which their condo complex sat.

  “It was. And it’s not something we’d like to experience again…thus, our initial distrust of you when you arrived.”

  “Understandable,” Chris nodded. “We didn’t bring much in the way of supplies, but we’ll do whatever is necessary to earn our keep here,” he added.

  “Good,” Michael nodded.

  “Have you heard anything from other people or about safe zones or anything like that?” Charla asked Michael after a moment.

  “We picked up an automated radio alert on an emergency frequency, but it wasn’t much help. Pretty much just said to shelter in place,” Caroline interjected.

  “We’re going to try again tomorrow,” Michael added.

  “You think it’s like this everywhere now?” Charla took a bite of her noodles. “I mean, like, across the country,” she added as she chewed.

  Michael shrugged. “Maybe…probably. Maybe not quite so bad in more rural areas, like the one we were trying to get to before we came here, but it’s hard to say. Before we lost power, it seemed like the bigger cities were getting hit like Chicago was. And considering that’s where most of the government command and control comes from, it’s no surprise that we haven’t seen a better, more coordinated response.”

  “So what, this is just our world now? Stuck in a moldy tower, biters everywhere, eating noodles, and praying to see tomorrow,” Wendell said dejectedly.

  “Unfortunately, it looks that way for the time being,” Michael said. “But it could be worse…much worse,” he added, undeterred by Wendell’s lack of appreciation for what they had versus what could be. He looked at his watch, then at his wife. “Looks like it’s about time for us to relieve Manny and Margaret on watch,” he groaned.

  “I’ll handle that for you,” Chris offered.

  “Thanks, but we go in pairs,” Michael explained.

  “Well then, at least give your wife the night off,” Chris smiled.

  “That’s really thoughtful of you, Chris,” Charla said. “Be sure to put me and Wendell on your watch list,” she turned to Michael.

  “Thanks. I will. I appreciate that,” Michael smiled at the newcomers.

  “Me too!” Caroline nodded agreeably. “Another couple will cut down our watch timeframes from six hours to closer to five. It might not sound like much, but an extra hour can seem like an eternity down there.”

  Wendell sat quietly, just staring down at his noodles.

  * * *

  Manny’s eyes snapped open. It was completely dark, and it took him a minute to remember exactly where he was. It was the extreme cold that finally jogged him back to the reality of his surroundings. At first, he thought he was at home and that the heat had gone off. Then he remembered that he was sleeping in a decrepit tower surrounded by a massive herd of monstrous post-humans all eager to enjoy a Manny sandwich should the opportunity present itself.

  “You awake?” he quietly asked his wife resting beside him.

  “Yes…now,” she responded drowsily.

  “I just had the weirdest dream,” he whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It was one of those dreams…well, it was one of those dreams where you can see it, you can feel it, you can experience it, but you can’t quite describe it. It’s like it’s there but it’s not there. It lingers just on the cusp of your subconscious somewhere.”

  “Hmm,” his wife murmured disinterestedly.

  “You touch the wilds of the desert southwest, the darkest depths of a northwestern forest, the frozen heights and snow-whipped winds of a mountain extreme, the expanse of a vast valley wasteland. It’s like I went to all of them in a single night or maybe a month of nights all wrapped into one. I’m not really sure. That’s the thing about dreams. Since there’s no comprehension of time when you’re in them, they take on a different sort of reality. It’s an expanse of eternity all combined into a single dream or a set of component memories, I’m not sure. They’re all there, and all the experiences are there, but I’m not sure if the dream came all in one night or in a litany of dreams spread out over several nights, or weeks, or months, or more.”

  There was silence in the darkness.

  “Am I rambling?”

  “Yes,” came his wife’s tired response.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m really tired. Can we go back
to sleep?”

  “Okay…goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  CHAPTER 6

  It was chilly outside on the tower rooftop, but the sky was clear and the air calm. A gusty wind from the southwest had gradually faded as the morning clouds were burned away by a bright, almost cheerful (situation notwithstanding) sun.

  Most of the Blender crew had climbed to the tower top if for no other reason than to air themselves out. Everyone admitted that even though the tower offered more than enough space inside, much of that space was cold, dank, and musty. Getting some fresh air was both invigorating and rejuvenating.

  Besides Josh and Julia, who were on watch duty, Patrick was the only one who had stayed below, not wanting to climb the ladder to the rooftop with his leg injury.

  Beyond the fresh air however, the Blenders had another purpose for the visit to their tower home’s lofty perch.

  “Getting anything on the radio?” Ms. Mary asked Michael, who was standing near one edge of the tower rooftop.

  “Nothing new. Just the same old pre-recorded message we were picking up previously.”

  “Hmm,” Ms. Mary frowned. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” Michael sighed, turning off the radio.

  “Doesn’t bode well for our getting out of here anytime soon,” Manny Simpson joined the conversation.

  “Nothing new?” Chris sauntered up to the growing cluster around the radio.

  “Nope,” Michael informed him.

  “Great,” Wendell joined in, freely adding his two cents. “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be able to take using those bathrooms down there. Using a five-gallon bucket isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

  “Speaking of which, we’re going to have to increase the bathroom bucket dump to three times a day from two,” Michael said. “It’s starting to get pretty ripe down there. Soon, the whole second floor is going to be uninhabitable due to the stench.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Ms. Mary piped up. “I’ve been taking it upon myself to do a lot of the cleanup down there. I don’t mind going above and beyond to a certain extent, but even an old bird like me can still smell. And I have to say, some of the smells issuing from those bathrooms are more frightening than the biters down there,” she pointed to the tower’s edge. “I think we need to come up with a better latrine schedule. We’ve got enough people here that it wouldn’t be assigned to someone more than one day every couple weeks.”

  “That’s more than enough, in my opinion,” Wendell grumbled.

  “I agree,” Ms. Mary said. “But I think that it would be more than fair, and it would help keep conditions down there a tad more sanitary.”

  “You’re right, Ms. Mary,” Michael nodded. “You’ve been doing more than your fair share keeping those bathrooms up. We all need to start chipping in on that undesirable duty.”

  There were several moans, mostly from the youngsters.

  “And that includes you guys,” Michael eyed them. “You can dump poop just as well as anyone.”

  “Aww,” they groaned in unison.

  “Make a game out of it,” Manny Simpson suggested. “That’s what I did when I helped Ms. Mary empty the buckets the other day. I opened a window, picked out a biter down below, and aimed for him when I emptied the bucket. I nailed him with a big messy number two bomb.”

  “Did you really? That’s awesome!” Andrew Franko exclaimed, wide eyed.

  “Coooooool,” his brother breathed.

  “I want to try first!” Justin Justak cried. “Sign me up for latrine duty, Dad! I want to cream a biter with a giant poo bomb!”

  “Good job,” Ms. Mary breathed to Manny. “That’s one way to get them excited about helping out.”

  “Wow, there are some amazing views from up here,” Charla breathed aloud, gazing across landscape. I thought we had a great view from our condo, but this puts that to shame.”

  Michael had put the radio away, and most of the group had moved to join Charla where she stood near the tower’s rooftop parapet.

  “If it wasn’t for the fires burning around the city, it might almost seem like a normal winter day,” Margaret Simpson nodded toward the innumerable plumes of black smoke still wafting into the sky around them for as far as the eye could see.

  “Doesn’t do much to inspire confidence in the situation across the rest of the city,” her husband said quietly.

  “Look!” Chris pointed across the parking lot toward the condo building that not long ago served as their residence. “There’s a big sign on that condo unit!”

  “And there’s another one over there,” Charla pointed.

  “‘Help us’,” Wendell read aloud the words written in bright red paint on a white sheet hanging from the balcony railing of a third-floor unit.

  “‘Trapped inside. No food or water’,” Chris read from another sheet dangling from a fourth-floor unit balcony.

  “Those poor people,” Charla shook her head.

  “It’d be us if we hadn’t made it over here,” Chris said.

  “Should we try to help them?” Charla looked around at the others.

  There was silence among the group.

  Finally, Michael said, “As much as I think we’d all like to, I’m not sure there’s much we can do. Even if we could clear all the biters, and get the people over here, I’m not sure how many more people we can support. We don’t know how many people are over there. And the more we take in, the more food and water we have to expend on them, which means the less time we can hold out here.”

  “Sounds logical to me,” Wendell agreed, glad that someone was talking sense in the group.

  “You wouldn’t be singing the same tune if it was us over there,” Charla shot him a look.

  Wendell just looked at her and stayed silent.

  “You think the biters down there are ever going to get tired and give up?” Andrew Franko asked, peering over the tower parapet at the hoards of biters below. “I mean they can only last outside for so long before they die from exposure, right?”

  “From what I understand,” Michael nodded. “But it seems like they come and go. I’ve been watching them, and it’s almost as though they work in shifts. Some leave to get warm or eat or sleep or whatever it is they do, while others stay behind. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of open communication about it, but somehow they organize. They’re kind of like ants. They seem to work together almost instinctively, like they somehow communicate in their own way. I guess they know they have a good food source in here, and they’re willing to try to wait us out. The bad thing about that is that their sense of self-preservation and willingness to persevere seem to illustrate that there is at least some remnant of their former mental capacity. If that’s the case, it makes me wonder if there is a potential for them to learn. And if they can learn, they could become much more dangerous, especially if they figure out how to open windows, open doors, or use any sort of basic leverage to pound, break, or otherwise force their way into buildings, vehicles, or whatever.”

  “Those are some happy thoughts,” his wife snorted.

  “Not happy, but something we need to consider,” Michael said. After a brief pause, he addressed Charla. “Do you know any of the people in those particular units?”

  “I don’t think so,” Charla shook her head. “Chris, do you?”

  “Nope,” Chris said. “I didn’t really know anybody else other than you all and the Richardsons.”

  Michael sighed heavily. “As much as I’d like to do something for them, I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now. And we risk making a bad situation even worse if we start killing biters again in an attempt to reach them.”

  Charla nodded, “I guess you’re right. It’s just sad is all,” she said mournfully.

  “You’re damn right it is,” Michael agreed solemnly.

  * * *

  “Who’s up for doing the trash dump?” Josh asked the assortment of Blenders who either weren’t on watch
duty or busy with some other assignment.

  “Ooh! Me! Me!” Andrew Franko raised his hand.

  “Me too!” Jack Franko volunteered excitedly.

  “Dad? Can I go too?” Justin asked. The boredom evident on his face as he’d sat reading near a lantern suddenly turned to interested excitement.

  “Sure,” Josh nodded agreeably.

  “I wanna come!” Patrick Trove said excitedly.

  Josh just laughed at the man-child’s exuberance over such a chore.

  “I’ll come too,” Julia smiled at her husband. “I haven’t been there for this event that I’ve heard so much about.”

  “I’d love to have your company,” Josh looked over at the now rambunctious boys and then made wide eyes back at Julia with a smile.

  “Don’t give me second thoughts,” she smiled back, taking his hint.

  “All right, boys. Where you want to do your bombarding from?”

  “The roof! The roof! The roof!” they chanted in unison.

  Josh sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I had a bad feeling you were going to say that,” he nodded. “It’s going to be more work to get the stuff up there.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll haul it up,” Andrew Franko nodded eagerly.

  “If only you got this excited about doing the dirty dishes,” his mother said from where she sat at a nearby table playing a game of solitaire.

  “All right,” Josh said, “everyone grab a bag and let’s get moving.”

  Each of the boys took a pre-readied bag of trash and followed Josh and Julia who had already made for the stairs.

  The youngsters were out of breath after hauling the trash bags to the tower’s top floor.

  “See?” Josh greeted them as they exited the stairwell. “Picking a hire floor is much more work.”

  “But it’s worth it,” Andrew said tiredly as he passed Josh.

  “Julia, if you want to head up to the roof, I’ll haul the bags up the ladder and hand them to you,” Josh said.