Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

  It was along that line of thinking that led Tanner to charge headfirst into Captain Prince. The headbutt drilled the man squarely in the chest, not only stopping his advance, but also knocking the wind out of him. Before he could recover, Tanner twisted up and to the left, firing an uppercut all the way from down by his hip. The blow caught Prince along his left mandible, rocking his head back as blood and chips of teeth shot from his mouth.

  Merkel tried to engage by stepping around and grabbing Tanner from behind, first by the shoulders, and when that failed, from around his neck. Trying to buy time, Tanner reared back, catching Merkel in the nose with the back of his head. The sergeant released the choke and stumbled away, cupping his nose as blood spilled from between his fingers.

  Captain Prince cocked back to throw a haymaker, and when he did, Tanner lunged forward with both arms bent at ninety degrees. His forearms struck the inside of Prince’s biceps, preventing him from delivering the punch. The captain tried to hit him anyway, but it was like trying to punch around a hotdog stand.

  Before Prince could figure out how to get around the roadblock, Tanner reached up, grabbed two handfuls of hair, and pulled his face down into a knee strike. The first blow caught Prince in the eye, and he desperately grabbed Tanner’s leg with hopes of tackling him. But stopping a series of knee strikes is like trying to rein in an out-of-control jackhammer. It can be done, perhaps, but not before it wears you out. Blow after blow smashed into his face, and within a few seconds, he was out cold.

  Tanner dropped him and spun around with fists raised.

  Sergeant Merkel stood ten feet away, his arm securely braced across Samantha’s throat.

  For her part, Samantha seemed to be doing okay. There was more frustration in her eyes than fear. She’d been in worse scrapes. One of her hands was tugging at his forearm, and the other was twisted around, sandwiched between her back and the soldier.

  “All right, asswipe, you’re going to do exactly what I say. And if you don’t, I’m gonna break this li’l lady’s neck.”

  Tanner stood up straight and took a deep breath. The shotgun and the soldiers’ M4s were scattered about, but none were close enough to reach.

  “What do you want?”

  “Let’s start with my rifle. After that, we’ll see.”

  “I’m just a kid,” choked Samantha. “You should let me go.”

  “Nice try,” he said, squeezing a little tighter. Her face was starting to turn red. “I’m the one giving orders, and right now—”

  Merkel’s declaration of authority gave way to an agonizing scream, as he shoved Samantha away. She stumbled forward and turned to face him. In her hand, she held the hunting knife that she kept in the sheath at the small of her back, the edge of the blade slick with blood.

  “You little bitch,” he whined, pressing his hands to a gash on his right thigh.

  Without warning, Tanner stepped forward and punched Merkel in the face. The blow was as powerful as it was unexpected, and the sergeant fell back across the tunnel tracks, his head flopping backwards to smack the metal rail. He made no move to get back up, and based on the pool of blood forming around his head, he wouldn’t be any time soon.

  Tanner glanced over at Samantha as if waiting for her to say something.

  “What?” she said, wiping the knife on the cuff of her shirt. “I asked him nicely.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “And it wasn’t like I stabbed him.”

  “Barely a scratch.”

  “Exactly.” She walked over and nudged Merkel with her boot. “What do we do with them now? We can’t just leave them here.”

  “Why not?”

  “They might sneak up behind us.”

  “Darlin’, where we’re headed, no one’s going to follow. My guess is that once they wake up, they’ll head back to basecamp for medical care.”

  She looked over at one of the explosives on the wall.

  “We should at least get rid of the bombs. If they set them off, we could be trapped down there forever.”

  “Agreed.”

  Tanner stepped closer and inspected the closest block of explosives. While far from being a demolitions expert, he recalled Mason saying that C4 was safe to handle. Of course, what that meant exactly was anyone’s guess. He held his breath and gently peeled the block from the wall.

  It came free without blowing them into next week.

  “Good job,” Samantha said, keeping what she hoped was a safe distance.

  Next, he carefully wriggled out the blasting cap, which in this case was a small metal tube about the size of a cigarette. He repeated the process for the block on the far wall. When he was finished, he turned and saw Samantha staring up at the block on the ceiling.

  “How do you suppose they got that one up there?”

  “One of them probably stood on the other’s shoulders.”

  “Do you want me to—”

  Before she could finish, he tugged on the wire, doing a bit of a dance to catch the blasting cap as it fell from the ceiling.

  “That should do it.”

  Samantha continued to stare up at the C4.

  “But what if they figure out a way to set it off?”

  “Even if they do, that one charge won’t be enough to collapse the tunnel.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Call it an educated guess by a fellow bomb maker.”

  “And how much education do you have?”

  “I finished middle school. Does that count?”

  “Hmm,” she said, looking around. “I bet there’s a ladder around here somewhere.”

  “Don’t bother.” Tanner walked back to Captain Prince, propped his leg on the Metro rail, and stomped. Prince didn’t scream, but there was the unmistakable crunch of bone and cartilage as the knee gave way. “There,” he said, turning to Samantha, “now no one goes up a ladder.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes.

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “It was barely a break.”

  “More like a fracture.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay,” she said with a shrug. “Are we ready to go?”

  “First, we search them.” Tanner knelt down and frisked Captain Prince. He found dog tags, a pouch of chewing tobacco, and a flashlight. He took the flashlight, figuring that where they were headed, one could never have too many.

  Samantha followed his lead and searched Sergeant Merkel.

  “He’s got a bag of some sort,” she said, holding up a large green satchel. She tilted it so that he could read the words. Charge Assembly, Demolition, M-183. “It must be more bombs.”

  Tanner came over and carefully inspected the contents. There was an M32 blasting machine and three blocks of C4. Like the ones stuck to the wall, each block was wrapped in an olive Mylar film with pressure-sensitive adhesive tape on its surface. He gently inserted the two blocks taken from the walls as well as the blasting caps and electrical wire.

  Samantha watched as he stood up and slung the satchel over his shoulder.

  “You’re taking that with us?”

  “Of course. It might come in handy.”

  “But it’s dangerous. Really dangerous.”

  “Which makes it really useful. Besides, I’ve blown things up before,” he said, referring to a makeshift fertilizer bomb he had used to dislodge a group of renegade soldiers.

  “True, but you had the help of a very smart chemistry professor.”

  “Don’t need him this time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, darlin’,” he said, patting the satchel, “this time I’ve got real explosives.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Tanner and Samantha continued down the Metro line, retracing the soldiers’ footsteps. It made sense that if they had been attempting to seal the tunnel leading down to the infected, they might have done it in stages, blocking the egress point first, and then
moving out to the larger Metro tunnel entrance.

  About a hundred feet down the tunnel, they discovered rubble blocking a nondescript metal door set into the wall. The blast had done a fine job of mangling the door, as well as collapsing part of the stone block wall above it. It hadn’t, however, fully sealed the entrance, which explained Captain Prince’s berating of Sergeant Merkel.

  Tanner stepped closer and clicked on his flashlight. There were small passages through the rock and crumpled door, but they weren’t big enough for him to crawl through. Samantha picked up on his train of thought.

  “I’ll go in and see if there’s a way down. No need to move all this rock if it’s a broom closet.”

  “Let’s see if it’s safe first.” He stomped the pile of rubble a few times. A handful of small stones fell, but everything seemed to be fairly well set.

  “See, it’s fine,” she said, slipping off her backpack. “I’ll be in and out, lickety-split.”

  Samantha squatted in front of the largest hole and pushed her rifle in ahead of her. Once it was all the way through, she ducked her head and crawled in. Tanner immediately knelt beside the hole, ready to attempt to squeeze his way through the narrow passage, should it come to that.

  “Well?”

  Samantha stood up and turned on her flashlight. She was standing in a ten-by-ten-foot room, an antechamber of sorts, only this one didn’t seem to go anywhere.

  “It’s just an empty room.”

  “There aren’t any stairs?”

  “Not that I can see.” She began knocking on the walls, hoping to detect the hollow sound of a secret passage. There wasn’t one. Everything sounded, and felt, like solid rock. The only things of any interest were a first-aid kit and two flashlights that had been hanging on the back of the door. The blast had broken open the kit, littering the tile floor with several gauze bandages. As for the flashlights, they looked like someone had driven over them with a tractor and then backed up for good measure. “There’s a first-aid kit and a couple of flashlights, but they’re all broken.”

  “Nothing else? You sure?”

  Samantha squatted and examined the floor. It was neatly laid out in one-foot square tiles, ten one direction and ten in the other. A winding maze-like pattern had been etched into the floor, and she began to trace it with her fingers. When she got to the middle, she discovered a small black handle, the top of which sat perfectly flush with the tiles.

  “I think I found something.” She gave the handle a tug. It didn’t budge. “There’s a secret handle on the floor, but I can’t get it open.”

  “Hold on, I’m coming.” Tanner stood up and began clearing off chunks of rock. It would have taken hours to dig the whole thing out, so instead, he focused on widening the hole that Samantha had passed through. Ten minutes later, he thought it looked about right for a man of his size.

  Samantha squatted down and peered out at him.

  “If you make it any bigger, I’ll be able to walk through standing up.”

  “It had to be big enough for the packs.” Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed her backpack and tossed it through the hole. His was too heavy to throw, so he pushed it forward along the ground. “Now, stand aside. I’m coming through.”

  She moved out of the way.

  “Okay, but don’t get stuck.”

  “I swear, sometimes you act like I’m a—” He stopped as he felt himself becoming lodged between two blocks of stone.

  “You were saying?”

  He grunted, inching forward ever so slightly.

  “I think I have some butter in here somewhere,” she giggled, pulling her pack closer.

  He stretched a hand out. “Quit lollygagging and give me a hand, will you?”

  Bracing a foot against the rubble, she grabbed his hand and pulled.

  Tanner slowly squirmed his way through the gap, but not before scraping a little bark off his back. When he finally got to the other side, he lay there for a moment, collecting himself.

  “I’ve got one word for you,” she said.

  He cocked an eye in her direction.

  She smiled. “Salad.”

  Tanner reached up and pulled her to him, tickling her mercilessly. She giggled and squealed until her eyes were watering.

  “Please,” she begged, “please stop.”

  He finally let her go and rolled onto his stomach.

  “No fair,” she said, rubbing her ribs. “You have hands the size of baseball mitts.”

  “Let that be a warning to you.”

  Tanner got to his feet and came over to inspect the handle on the floor. Samantha moved up beside him, still wiping tears from her eyes.

  “I tried to pull it up, but it’s too heavy.”

  “That’s because it’s meant to be turned.”

  “Turned?”

  “Yep. You ready?”

  She nodded. “Let’s just hope it’s not one those poison gas traps.”

  Tanner gave her a confused look.

  “You know, like in secret agent movies. They push some button, and the little room fills with a cloud of poison green gas.”

  “Why would anyone build a room with a handle that poisoned the person inside?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’m not a diabolical mastermind.”

  Tanner groaned softly and twisted the handle. There was a slight hissing sound, and the outer floor tiles began to lower.

  “Quick, come closer!” he said, pulling Samantha to him.

  Standing in the center of the room, they watched as the floor slowly descended into the darkness below. When it finally stopped, they found themselves standing on the landing of a boxy spiral staircase.

  “Whoa,” she said, peering over the side, “that was way cooler than poison gas!”

  Tanner leaned out over the staircase. It was too dark to see anything.

  “I think we found our way in.”

  “Does that mean…?”

  “Yep. This is where we pipe in the good doctor’s blood.”

  She eyed the darkness below. “Let’s just hope it works.”

  Tanner withdrew the first bag of blood from this backpack and gently kneaded it with his fingers. It was still lukewarm, and the contents seemed unchanged, no clotting or clumping. He held the bag out to Samantha.

  “Here you go.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “You’re the medic.”

  “Which makes you what exactly?” she asked, taking the bag. “The guy who constantly needs medicking?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Tanner sat down on the top stair, and she moved up beside him. It took Samantha less than a minute to apply the rubber strap, find the right vein, and insert the needle. Once she had it taped down, she stood back up and watched him, holding her rifle in both hands.

  “You planning to shoot me?”

  “Only if you turn into a psycho zombie that wants to eat me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They waited for the bag to drain. Ounce by ounce, the dark red blood transfused into Tanner’s body.

  When it was finished, she removed the needle and said, “Do you feel any different?”

  He rubbed his forearm. “Not really.”

  “All right. You do me now.” She swapped places, handing him the other bag of blood.

  Tanner snugged the rubber strap around her upper arm and felt for her vein. She noticed that his hands were shaking.

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  “You want to stick yourself?”

  “No, but I don’t want you to poke the needle through my arm either.”

  “Just hush and sit still,” he said, slowly sliding in the needle.

  She winced but said nothing.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine. Just filling my body with liquid evil.”

  “It’s not going to make you evil.”

  “You ever met any sweet zombies?”

  Tanner’s mind flashed back to the woman at the reserv
oir.

  Samantha smiled. “I hope you get a chance to see her again.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman you kissed.”

  “Who said I was thinking—” She smirked, and he stopped in midsentence. “Whatever. Besides, I told you—I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

  “Either way. Maybe we’ll see her down below.”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  Samantha squeezed her eyes shut and let out an anguished moan.

  Tanner put his hand on her shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  “My head hurts.”

  He studied the bag. It was still half-full.

  “Hang in there.”

  “Unh,” she groaned, “it’s getting bad. Really bad.”

  He felt of her forehead. It was warm and slick with sweat.

  “You’ve had enough,” he said, sliding out the needle. “Lay your head down on my lap.”

  She did as instructed, her eyes still pressed shut. It took nearly three full minutes before she relaxed and opened her eyes.

  “It’s better now.”

  He smiled. “It was probably just too much evil for someone so sweet and innocent.”

  “Probably.” She looked up at the half-filled bag of blood. “Do you want the rest?”

  He started to ask why and then realized what she was suggesting.

  “Oh, that one hurt.”

  She smiled and sat up.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Samantha leaned over the stairs to look down into the pit. Oddly, it didn’t seem quite as dark anymore.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up and testing the stairs. “We’re on the clock.”

  As they slowly descended into darkness, she said softly, “A murder.”

  “Huh?”

  “A group of crows. They’re called a murder.”