Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

“Bill Baker, Tom Pinker, and Jack Fry all went to see her.”

  “Does Pike know that?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably.”

  “But you’re certain that he doesn’t know about Carr contacting you?”

  She started to say that she was but stopped herself.

  “I’m not certain of anything.”

  Chappie rubbed his chin. “If we wait until tomorrow to go to the bunker, it’s going to be too late.”

  “Pike insisted we wait.”

  “Of course he did.”

  She bit her lip. “As soon as we tell the rest of the team we’re leaving early, he’ll find out. He might even stop us.”

  “Which is why we’re not going to tell them.”

  She looked puzzled. “We’re going to leave without the team?”

  “I think we have to.”

  “So, it would be just you and me?” Even as she said the words, she realized that she wasn’t as uncomfortable with the prospect of going off with him as she probably should have been.

  “You, me, and about a hundred of my best.”

  “We’re taking soldiers?”

  “We’re sure as hell not taking ballet dancers.”

  She thought about the plan. “We’d have to get out quietly, without attracting attention. That’s not easy to do with a hundred soldiers.”

  “Which is why we’ll leave in stages, a few helicopters every hour, starting at nightfall. We’ll rendezvous at a staging area along the way.”

  She raised her hands so that he could see them. They were shaking.

  “Do you see the state I’m in, General? If you’re playing games with me…”

  He reached forward and took her hands in his. She couldn’t help but notice the thick callouses covering his palms.

  “We’re both trusting each other.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze and released them. “Now, go gather up whatever you hold most precious.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Dr. Green, there’s a very good chance we won’t be coming back.”

  By the time President Glass awoke, General Carr had already left her small quarters, no doubt to take his turn on guard duty. At his insistence, their small team was now conducting around-the-clock foot patrols to ensure that no one could enter the facility undetected. The bunker was far too large for a single person to provide any real situational awareness, but if nothing else, a set of eyes was periodically checking the massive blast doors. Despite her protests to the contrary, General Carr continued to insist that she was too frail to participate. Interestingly enough, he had been willing to accept that her infirmity did not prevent them from sharing a beautiful night of lovemaking.

  She pulled the pillow to her face and sniffed deeply. The faint odor of his scent was still there. She smiled. Carr was a good man. Not her late husband, but still, a good man. One day, she would introduce him to Samantha. Perhaps they could even become a family, rebuilding and moving on in a world that required rebuilding and moving on.

  She closed her eyes and imagined her daughter’s face. It had been several months since she had last seen Samantha, but the visage of her beautiful face still burned clearly. For a time, Glass had been tricked into believing that Samantha had perished in a helicopter crash. Video taken by a military gunship later confirmed that she had in fact survived, but since then, there had been nothing. No contact. No additional sightings. No detections of her embedded tracker. She had simply vanished.

  Was she even still alive?

  “She’s alive,” she mouthed. Without the help of her electrolarynx, there was only the faintest whisper of sound. She tried again, harder this time, forcing the air through her throat. “She’s alive.” What came out was a throaty hiss, barely even recognizable as human speech. Even so, hearing the words made them seem more true.

  The real question was where was she? And who was taking care of her? In the video, Samantha had been with a man and a woman. Were they still keeping her safe? She had also been carrying a rifle. While it seemed utterly impossible that her little girl had taken to carrying a gun, it was also somewhat comforting. Like the legendary cowgirl Calamity Jane, she had adapted to her harsh surroundings. But soon her beloved daughter could put aside such hardships, returning instead to the life of peace and safety that every child deserved.

  “Mama’s coming for you, dear,” she whispered. “Mama’s coming.”

  Chapter 4

  The drive from the outskirts of Peterstown, West Virginia, to The Greenbrier was a fifty-mile shot, straight up Highway 219. The two-lane road was flanked on both sides by weathered country homes, single-room churches, and small mom-and-pop restaurants. A few homeowners were working in their gardens, but most of the structures were eerily still, soulless, a stark reminder that even rural parts of the country had not been spared from the virus. Above-ground swimming pools that had at one time offered relief from the summer heat, now sat filled with stagnant green water buzzing with mosquitoes.

  Houses eventually gave way to gravel pits, equipment rental facilities, and seemingly endless stretches of fallow farm land. Mason and his crew continued on, speeding past barns with bright red roofs and utility stations that had long since gone dark. They passed through the towns of Lindside, Rock Camp, and Union without even so much as slowing. Each town no doubt had an adventure worthy of pursuing, but they took no such detours. The mission was too close at hand.

  At Organ Cave, they turned east on County Road 63 for a short stretch, stopping only when they arrived at the town of Caldwell. To their right was a two-story building with the words “Thrift Shop” printed in faded red letters on a sign hanging out front. And to their left was a Citgo gas station that had been tailored to sell an assortment of trucker goods, including CB radio antennas, wallets with chains, insulated coffee mugs, and condoms that could have passed for colorful party favors.

  Mason left the engine running as he and Leila climbed out and walked around to the rear of the truck. Bowie danced about, whining for affection, and Mason couldn’t help but give him a few good scrubs under the chin.

  Bell and the others pulled in behind them, and all three cadets quickly clambered out of the Mustang. From the pained look on Cobb’s face, he was getting the worst of the expedition by riding in a back seat best suited to toddlers and small dogs.

  Cobb patted Rodriguez on the shoulder.

  “Check it out.” He pointed to a sign hanging in front of a dilapidated restaurant on the corner. It simply read: Beer and Eat. “Think they got a few brewskies hidden away? I’d give my left nut for a bottle of—” He quieted when he saw Mason’s eyes narrow.

  “You finished?”

  “Sorry, Marshal. Go ahead.”

  Mason lowered the tailgate and laid out a map.

  “Our target is five miles east of here in the town of White Sulphur Springs.” He traced Highway 60, finally tapping a small marker that read The Greenbrier. “The bunker is hidden beneath the resort. My understanding is that it has three entrances, one inside the hotel and two that are approachable by car.”

  “I vote for whichever one doesn’t have us stomping through corridors filled with dead people,” offered Rodriguez.

  “It’s more complicated than that. There’s a good chance that all the doors are sealed.”

  “If the doors are locked,” said Cobb, “how are we gonna get inside?”

  “That’s the part I wanted all of you to understand. Our mission isn’t to get inside the bunker.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. It’s to keep President Glass alive. If the bunker is sealed, we’ll wait outside and disrupt any efforts to breach it.”

  “But if we can’t get in, how could General Hood?”

  “I’m not sure, but we have to assume that he has a plan to do just that. Our job is to stop him.”

  “And if he makes it in anyway?” asked Rodriguez. “What then?”

  “Then we go in after him.”

  “He won’t be alone,” said Leil
a.

  “No. He’ll bring along more of his Black Dogs.”

  Both Mason and Leila instinctively looked down at her calf. While it was healing nicely, the wound to her leg was a painful reminder of the very real danger that the men posed.

  “How many?” asked Rodriguez.

  “A manageable force might be thirty or forty. Any more than that would only add confusion to the operation.”

  Rodriguez made a point of counting their small party.

  “There are five of us.”

  Bowie let out a loud yawn.

  “Okay, six, if you count your big dog. Either way, we’re not going to take out thirty or forty hardcore soldiers.”

  “We’ll see what we can and can’t do when the time comes. Right now, we need to assess the situation.”

  “Should we split up?” asked Leila. “One group could come in from the west; the other could circle around to the east.”

  Mason thought about it. While it was probably a bit of paternalism kicking in, he couldn’t see a good reason to send the cadets out on their own. Not yet, anyway.

  “Let’s stay together for now.”

  Cobb let out a sigh of relief, and everyone looked at him.

  “What? I was just breathing.”

  Rodriguez mumbled something about growing a pair, which was met with an elbow to his ribs.

  Mason turned back to the map and traced a large golf course west of the resort.

  “We’ll come in along this unmarked road. It circles the golf course and should lead us straight to the clubhouse. Once there, we’ll go in on foot to get a better idea of how things look at the hotel.” He turned to the team. “Any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “All right then, let’s get to it.”

  Mason lifted the tailgate, giving Bowie one final pat before heading around to the cab. As he climbed in, he overheard Bell say, “Anyone else have the feeling that this is about to get dangerous?” He pressed his lips together. Lieutenant Bell was more right than she probably realized.

  The small unmarked road meandered back and forth through the golf course so as to avoid interfering with the sand traps and sprawling fairways. It would have been a picturesque drive had they not been approaching what was sure to be a bloody encounter. After traveling about a half-mile, they arrived at a complex of three buildings surrounding a large fenced-in tennis court.

  The building to their right had a sign out front that read Tree Top Café. The restaurant wrapped around an infinity pool, now covered in a mysterious creamy yellow substance that made the entire structure look like a giant bowl of tapioca pudding. The building directly ahead had several broken windows, through which treadmills, free weights, and other exercise equipment could be seen. The final building sat to their left, its sign reading Greenbrier Golf Club. Wicker rocking chairs lay scattered under a long dark green awning meant to provide relief from the summer heat.

  Mason followed the winding driveway as it carved its way through a thick green hedge, finally ending at a small roundabout. A statue constructed from several oversized golf tees sat on a plot of grass at its center, and the main entrance to the golf club lay directly ahead.

  He stopped in front of the statue and climbed out with his M4. Everything around them was still and quiet. The place appeared to be abandoned.

  “What do you think?” Leila said, climbing out from the passenger side.

  He eyed the thick bubbling foam covering the swimming pool.

  “I think the days of sitting by the pool, enjoying fish tacos and Mai Tai’s are long gone.”

  She grinned. “Amen to that.”

  Bowie whined from the truck bed, and they went around to let him down. As they did, the Mustang pulled in behind them.

  All three cadets emerged with Grendel rifles at the ready.

  “What’s the plan, Marshal?” Rodriguez said, slowly turning in place to take in the surroundings.

  “Begin by clearing the clubhouse. We can use it as our base of operations.”

  Rodriguez and the other two cadets started for the clubhouse, but Mason intentionally hung back a few yards. Despite wanting to keep them safe, the time for handholding had passed. They would have to learn to operate as a team if the mission was to have any chance of success.

  Leila walked beside Mason, studying the buildings.

  “This place was probably quite nice before the pandemic.”

  “I guess, if you go for that sort of thing.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Clean air, the sound of a stream trickling nearby, and a cup of hot coffee in my hand is usually enough for me.”

  She smiled. “If you’re trying to convince me that you’re a simple man, it’s never going to work.”

  “I’m not a simple man?”

  “Not even close. You might like simple pleasures, but there’s a lot going on with you. I knew that from the moment we first met at that abandoned television station outside of Lexington.”

  “And yet you came along anyway.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? You intrigued me.”

  “I’m guessing you’re probably kicking yourself about now,” he said with a chuckle.

  She gently bumped her shoulder against his.

  “Not for a moment. What about you?”

  “No.” There was a slight hesitation in his answer that caused her to stop and turn.

  “Mason?”

  “I worry, that’s all. Between you and them,” he motioned toward the cadets, “it’s enough to give me gray hair.”

  Her stare softened. “I swear you’d carry the whole world on your shoulders if you could. You’re going to have to learn to accept that some things are outside your control, some suffering beyond your ability to ease.”

  “You sound like my father.”

  “No, to sound like him I’d have to say it like this: ‘You’d carry the whole world on your shoulders if you could.’” Her voice was deep and gravelly.

  They both laughed.

  Bowie let out a short woof, and they turned to see what kind of trouble he had gotten into. The dog lay buried in a huge flower garden, rolling back and forth, crushing the flowers to create a bed of yellow and pink pedals.

  Leila smiled. “Now that’s the life.”

  “Bowie has a way of finding the good in every situation.”

  “That’s because he only thinks about food, fun, and coating me in slobber,” she said with a playful laugh.

  Mason grinned and turned back to see how the cadets were faring. They had reached the clubhouse’s front door and were practicing the same entry method he had taught them only days earlier, one working the door, one filling the void, and the other standing a few feet back in an overwatch position. As soon as the door opened, they hurried inside with rifles glued to their shoulders.

  Mason whistled, and Bowie hopped up and raced over.

  “Go in and give them a hand.”

  The dog took off into the building.

  Mason and Leila waited for a full minute, and when there were no sounds of gunfire, they proceeded inside. The first floor of the clubhouse was exactly as he had expected, filled with plush green couches, a minibar, and an assortment of coffee tables and padded arm chairs. It was a place for the rich and famous to share the latest tidbits they had picked up from Golf Digest. A sign indicated that a golf pro shop was downstairs, and several restaurants could be seen upstairs.

  Rodriguez, Cobb, and Bowie were coming down the stairs after having finished clearing the restaurants. The two cadets came away empty-handed, but Bowie had somehow managed to find a fist-sized chunk of salami. Cobb reached down and tried to snatch a little for himself, but the growl in Bowie’s chest caused him to rethink the wisdom of his actions.

  “Main level and restaurants are empty,” Rodriguez reported, lowering his rifle. “Want us to go down and check the golf store?”

  Before Mason could answer, shouts of profanity sounded from behind the clubhouse.

 
Bell hurried over to the closest window.

  “You guys need to see this.”

  The entire group came and stood next to her.

  An elderly man stood at the edge of the putting green, dozens of golf balls peppering the small patch of grass. He clutched a forty-two-inch belly putter in both hands. A ball lay at his feet, and he was eyeing the practice hole nearly twenty feet away. He stepped up and gave the ball a firm thwack, and it shot ahead, banking slightly right to miss the hole by about a foot. Even before the ball came to rest, the man began to curse and stomp his feet like a child who thought such a tantrum might somehow change the course of the ball.

  “What the hell is he doing?” muttered Rodriguez.

  No one had an answer. It was a strange sight, plain and simple.

  “Everyone hang back a minute,” said Mason. “I’m going out to talk to him.”

  He opened the back door, and before he could stop him, Bowie darted past. Mason hurried to catch up, but by the time he reached the putting green, Bowie was already scrubbing against the stranger’s legs.

  “Where’d you come from, boy?” the man said with a slight English accent.

  Mason stepped onto the green. “He’s with me.”

  The old man reared back, bringing the putter up with both hands.

  “Stay back. I’m warning you.”

  Mason pushed his jacket aside so that his badge was visible.

  “I’m a deputy marshal.”

  The golfer looked down at the dog and then back at Mason.

  “Is he yours?”

  “As much as he’s anyone’s.”

  The man slowly lowered the club.

  “A marshal, you say?”

  Mason nodded. “I have a few cadets with me as well.” He gestured toward the clubhouse.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Mason kept it simple. “We’re headed over to the hotel to check out the bunker.”

  That seemed to interest the man, and he stepped closer.

  “Peter Ashby,” he said, extending a hand. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m something of a celebrity around these parts. Or I used to be, anyway.”

  Mason shook his head. “No, sorry.”