Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

  “I don’t see why,” he said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “There’s a well for water, a river full of fish, and even a small garden out back.”

  “How are we ever going to find him?”

  “That, darlin’, is a very good question.”

  “Without him, we’ll never make it past the infected.” Samantha was still ruminating on Tanner’s idea to inject some of Dr. Jarvis’s blood with the hopes that the infected would take them as one of their own. While it wasn’t very appealing, it was the only plan they had at the moment.

  “Let’s start by taking a look around to see if we can find any clues as to where he might have gone.”

  “All right.” Samantha caught her reflection in the window pane and paused to study it. She used her fingers to gently trace her lips. “Do you think a boy will ever want to kiss me?”

  Tanner’s head whipped around. “What?”

  “You know… on the mouth.”

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, “here we go again.”

  “What? It’s a simple question.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a crazy question.”

  “Why? You don’t think I’m pretty?”

  “Of course, you’re pretty.”

  “Then why wouldn’t a boy want to kiss me?” She puckered her lips. “Is something wrong with my lips?”

  “The only thing wrong with your lips is that they can’t stop flapping.”

  “I bet I’d be a great kisser,” she said, eyeing him for a reaction.

  He shook his head. “I swear you’re going to put me in the grave.”

  “I’ve got to grow up someday.”

  “That may be, but I don’t need to hear about it.” He started for the stairs. “I’m going upstairs. You coming, or are you planning to stay and study your lips some more?”

  She grinned, obviously taking great pleasure in seeing him squirm.

  “Right behind you.”

  They had given the house a quick onceover the night before, but since it was dark, their only real goal had been to determine whether the good doctor was home. He wasn’t, which left them to camp out on the living room floor. With the fresh morning light, however, the house beckoned to be explored.

  From their previous walkthrough, they knew that the Abner Cloud house consisted of three floors, each measuring approximately thirty feet on a side, as well as an attic with the same dimensions. The first floor, which could easily be described as a basement given that the back wall butted up against a hill, consisted of a small foyer, a living room, and a parlor cordoned off with a folding partition. Everything about it was very utilitarian, the designer obviously valuing function over form.

  They took the stairs all the way to the top floor, figuring they would start with the attic and work their way down. It turned out that the attic was unfinished, consisting of nothing more than bare sheets of plywood stacked with roofing shingles, paint buckets, and a few hand tools. They descended to the third floor, discovering that it had been divided in half to accommodate two bedrooms with an open doorway in between. The walls were covered in a thick white plaster, recently painted and free of even the simplest of decorations, save for a chair rail spanning the periphery. A stone fireplace was centered along one wall and acted as the floor’s only heat source. Likewise, there was no plumbing, requiring occupants to traipse outdoors to do their business. There were also no beds, chairs, or tables, not even so much as a candle.

  “I don’t think anyone lived up here.”

  Tanner grunted and continued down the stairs. The second floor was identical to the third, except that each room had a built-in cabinet and a twin-size bed pressed up against the wall. What really drew their attention, however, was the portable intravenous pole and stainless steel hospital cart sitting next to the closest bed.

  They walked over to examine the setup.

  “Do you think Dr. Jarvis was sick?” she asked, gently squeezing the bottom of the clear plastic bag hanging from the pole.

  “Balloon hands, black eyes, and lips like Angelina Jolie… yeah, I’d say he was sick.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Tanner read the side of the bag. Sodium chloride.

  “What’s in it?” she asked.

  “Basically just water and electrolytes.”

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  “Stuff to keep you hydrated,” he explained.

  “Why would he need that? Like you said, there’s a well out back.”

  “Don’t know.” Tanner picked up a syringe lying on the cart and sniffed it. It smelled like a cross between vanilla and baby oil.

  “Is that medicine?”

  “Probably some kind of pain killer. Morphine maybe.”

  “Or maybe it was something to help him sleep since it’s right beside his bed.”

  “Either way, I think the doc was self-medicating.” Tanner tipped the syringe over. Only the tiniest of drops slid to the other side.

  “Do you think he went out for more medicine?”

  Tanner nodded. “Could be.”

  Samantha rotated the intravenous bag so that she could read a small sticker along the bottom.

  “Kaiser Permanente Northwest D.C. Medical Office. There’s an address too—2301 M Street. Do you know where that is?”

  “More or less.”

  “Meaning if we go look for it, we’re likely to get lost.”

  He waved away her skepticism.

  “It can’t be more than a few miles. Plus, it’s on our way to Union Station.”

  “Tell me again why we have go to Union Station.”

  “You know why.”

  She sighed. “Because it’s the only way back down to the tunnels.” The mere thought of returning to the passageways under the city caused her to shiver. It was the darkest, most evil place she had ever been. And given where she’d been over the past few months, that was really saying something.

  “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you decided to stay here until I got back.” Tanner tossed the idea out like a fly fisherman flicks a featherweight lure.

  “We’ve had that conversation, like, ten times already. I’m coming. End of story.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  She released the IV bag, and watched as it swung back and forth on the metal hook.

  “We could be wrong about Dr. Jarvis. He could have gone out for a pair of new shoes for all we know.”

  “Maybe, but a man with a face like his wouldn’t leave home for any old thing.”

  “So, that’s it then? We have a plan?”

  “More like the makings of a plan. Let’s finish our search before we go all in.”

  Chapter 3

  General Hood watched as the Black Dogs used the final few hours to get themselves squared away, cleaning rifles, loading rucksacks, and doing a little PT. It was as much about staying busy as anything else. No soldier wanted to sit around thinking about a mission. It was better to just do, rather than waste time wading through all the “what ifs.”

  The unit leader, Morant, paced back and forth between the bunks, not to check up on his men—they were all too senior for that—but rather to see if there were any last-minute questions. There weren’t. The mission was relatively straightforward, albeit a bit complicated. They were to breach the bunker under The Greenbrier resort, separate into seven five-man tactical teams, disable the NBC filters spread throughout the facility, and deploy canisters of sarin gas into the air handling system. Once the gas had been given time to work, they would move back in to clean out the bodies, as well as any of the occupants’ personal effects. In many ways, it was a typical search and destroy mission, something that every man knew well. Given the challenges of breaching the bunker, however, it would be anything but routine.

  Hood nodded to Morant, and the big man made his way over. He stood a head taller and weighed a good seventy pounds more than the general. Besides his size, Morant’s most notable feature was a thick black mustache that made Tom Selleck�
��s whiskers look like pubescent peach fuzz.

  “Is everyone ready?”

  Morant nodded. “They’re piddling the way soldiers do. The sarin canisters have already been loaded, and we’ll be on board and ready to fly in…” He looked at his watch. “Two hours and eleven minutes.”

  “Good. The pilots tell me that the flight from Bragg to The Greenbrier is a little under three hours. That means we’ll be onsite by 1800 hours, if not a little before. Ideally, we’d like to be inside the bunker before nightfall.”

  “Understood. As soon as we’re onsite, Buckey and two others will rappel down and traverse the air intake shaft. Using cutting torches, they’ll remove one of the circulation fans. At which point, Buckey will squirm through and try to open the ventilation blast door. If he gets it open, the other two men will follow him to the West Tunnel Entrance, where we’ll be waiting.”

  “And if the ventilation door is blocked?”

  “Then he’ll navigate the bunker on his own.”

  Hood turned to study Buckey. The man was barely five feet tall but had thick forearms and a smile that never seemed to leave his face.

  “Everything’s riding on him. If he screws the pooch on this…”

  Morant shook his head. “Buckey’s a bit of a clown, but he’s good at what he does. Don’t worry about him. He’ll get the job done.”

  Dr. Sara Green took a moment to study her team of would-be investigators. They consisted of six members of the Congressional Body and four military officers, including General Richard “Chappie” Reed, a man that she found to be as intriguing as he was infuriating.

  “Thank you for coming,” she started, unconsciously leaning her hips against the conference room table.

  The group quieted. Each participant was there for his or her own reasons, but based on the conversations she had overheard, Green knew that almost no one was expecting much to come of the activity. It was but a formality, important only because it might later be listed as an official-sounding position on some future job application.

  “As I’ve already explained,” she continued, “our assignment is to travel from Mount Weather to The Greenbrier bunker for purposes of assessing whether or not President Glass is still alive.”

  “Do we have any evidence to suggest that she is?” asked Steve Donovan, a former FBI agent turned congressman.

  “Not that I’m aware of, no.” Green didn’t dare divulge that she had previously received a secret communiqué from President Glass. “However, as you recall, the radio broadcast promised that she would emerge from the bunker in two days’ time. We’re going to be there waiting.”

  “If you ask me, it sounds like a wild goose chase.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “If the doors to the bunker are closed, which I’m assuming they are, we’ll be stuck sitting outside in the heat, waiting on a whole bunch of nothing to happen.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s very possible.”

  “Isn’t there some way to determine if people are inside the bunker?” The question came from Congresswoman Brenda Lemay, a woman who seemed to insist that pink be a part of every outfit. “Perhaps we could monitor it with spy satellites.”

  “No, ma’am, that’s not possible. Nearly all of the nation’s space assets are offline, and even if they weren’t, I don’t believe they could make that determination.”

  “All right then, what about someone listening at the door with a high-tech microphone? Wouldn’t we hear them moving around inside?”

  Chappie chuckled.

  She cut her eyes at him. “Would you care to let us in on the joke, General?”

  He smiled. “Imagine, if you would, a solid-steel door two feet thick, beyond which lies a four-hundred-foot-long cement corridor stretching deep into the side of a mountain. At the end of that corridor is a hundred thousand square feet of cement-walled rooms, every one of which is potentially sealed with a thick metal door. Does that sound like something you’re likely to listen in on?” He paused. “Ma’am.”

  Lemay’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more.

  “We’ll have to see how things look when we get there,” Green said, hoping to keep the squabble from getting out of hand. “If we’re lucky, we might even find a way in.”

  “When do we leave?” asked Donovan.

  “We’ll depart from the south helipad at seven tomorrow morning. That means I need for everyone to be there by six-thirty sharp.”

  “How long will we be gone?” asked Lemay.

  “It’s hard to say for certain, but I’d suggest packing enough clothing for at least three days. General Reed said he would take care of our food, water, and other basic necessities. Do I have that right, General?”

  Chappie nodded. “Yes, ma’am, you do.”

  “And if no one comes out? Then what?” asked Donovan.

  “Then we’ll return home.”

  He yawned. “Like I said… a wild goose chase.”

  After the meeting adjourned, Dr. Green stood by the conference room door, thanking each attendee as they left. Chappie, however, remained seated, using a large folding knife to trim his fingernails.

  After the last person left, she turned to him.

  “Do you have something to say, General?”

  Chappie snapped the knife shut, quickly inspected his handiwork, and stood up.

  “I thought you and I should talk.”

  “We were talking.”

  “In private, I mean.”

  She raised her eyebrows, putting nothing past the general. In her assessment, he was as likely to slap her on the backside as he was to reveal a national secret.

  “Is this… official?”

  He grinned. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  Refusing to give Chappie a chance to enjoy the dance, she turned and gently closed the door.

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Rumor has it that you’ve been doing a little asking around about General Hood’s whereabouts.”

  She swallowed. “So?”

  “So, I’m here to offer a word of caution. Tread lightly, Dr. Green.”

  Her eyes hardened. “Why?”

  Chappie stepped closer and lowered his voice.

  “I think you know why.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He moved even closer, and Green pressed back against the door frame.

  “General, please…”

  “You find it strange that Hood has disappeared only days before an inspection team is scheduled to go the bunker. And you’re wondering if maybe he’s there right now doing a little cleanup. Do I have that about right?”

  She felt panic welling up in her belly. Was Chappie involved? My God, was he going to kill her?

  “Dr. Green, you have a choice to make. Right here. Right now.”

  “What choice?”

  “You need to decide how far into this cesspool you really want to wade. Up until now, you’ve dipped a toe in by asking a few carefully worded questions under the guise of it being part of your team-building exercise. But even that might get you killed if it falls on the wrong ears.”

  She started to respond, but when they heard footsteps approaching in the hall, he gently touched a finger to her lips. His hand was warm, and the soft press of his finger was incredibly intimate.

  The footsteps grew louder, paused briefly, and then passed by the door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered, gently pushing his hand away.

  “Trying to keep us both alive.” His voice too was hushed.

  “You’re being melodramatic.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  She studied his face. “You know something.”

  “I think we both do.”

  She swallowed again but said nothing.

  “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” he said with a grin.

  She nodded ever so slightly.

  “What if I told you that I have evidence that there are people inside the bunker?” />
  “How’s that possible? What evidence?”

  “The congresswoman wasn’t so far off the mark.”

  “And yet you humiliated her.”

  “What can I say? I’m an ornery old bird.”

  “So, how did you do it? Surely not by listening at the door.”

  “We have an unmanned aerial vehicle surveying the bunker.”

  “A UAV?”

  He nodded. “It’s been in the air for twelve hours.”

  “Even so, what could that possibly give you? The place is sealed.”

  “True, but we’ve picked up a distinct thermal signature, a signature that could only come from the bunker’s generators. And last time I checked, generators don’t run themselves.”

  She said nothing.

  He searched her face. “But you already knew there were people inside.”

  She started to deny it but stopped short as his face tightened.

  “No more lies,” he growled. “I need to know what you know.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Trust me or not. You need my help.”

  “Your help? Why?”

  “Because our enemies are as powerful as they are ruthless.”

  She thought long and hard, studying his eyes. There was an undeniable hardness in them, but there also was something else. Concern.

  “I received a note from President Glass.”

  His eyebrows pressed together. “When?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “How? Who delivered it?”

  “General Carr.”

  Chappie nodded. “Carr’s a good man. Did he personally confirm that she’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s all true… the murders, the bombings, the attack against her.”

  “We don’t know that. We only have his word that—”

  “Carr’s word is enough.”

  She didn’t argue the point. The truth was that she had already accepted that President Glass was alive. Once that was taken as fact, the rest followed readily enough.

  “So, what do we do?” she asked. “If Hood is on his way to The Greenbrier, he’s obviously going there to kill everyone inside.”

  “Everyone? Who else is there?”