Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

  “Even so, that attack isn’t going to shake their resolve.”

  “No.”

  Carr eyed the satchel hanging from Mason’s shoulder.

  “I don’t suppose you have a few more of those mines?”

  Mason shook his head. “I’m out, but Leila still has one.”

  “One won’t be enough.”

  “No,” he repeated. “To stop them, we’re going to need to figure out their plan.”

  “Their plan is to shoot everyone inside and haul away our bodies. No mystery there.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Why not?”

  He removed the map from his pocket and laid it out for Carr to see.

  “They’ve marked six locations throughout the bunker. Common sense dictates that they’re sending a team to each. Any idea as to the significance of the sites?”

  The general studied the map. “They look random to me. Even so, I don’t see how it affects their overall agenda. They’re here to kill President Glass. To kill all of us. You said so yourself.”

  “That part’s true, but think about it. We could split up and slip into cubby holes, circle back behind them, or retreat up into the hotel. It would take hours, maybe even a full day, to find everyone. They can’t chance that kind of delay.”

  Carr thought about what Mason was proposing.

  “Explosives then? With enough charges, they could seal this place off from the inside.” He glanced back at the map. “Maybe these are structurally weak points that would bring the whole place in on itself.”

  “Perhaps,” Mason said, rubbing his chin, “but I have a hard time seeing how explosives could bring down something built into the side of a mountain. It’s as much rock as anything else.”

  “Chemical or biological then?”

  Mason recalled the gas attack on the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Glynco, Georgia.

  “Sarin.”

  “The nerve agent?”

  He nodded. “They’ve used it before.”

  “They’d have to pipe it throughout the whole facility to be sure they got everyone. To do that, they’d need access to the air handling system.” He pointed in the direction they had just come. “And that’s back in the power plant.”

  “Which is out of our reach now.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Mason studied the map one more time before putting it away. While he didn’t fully understand the significance of the six locations, he did at least know where the Black Dogs were headed. That was important because it would help them to stay out of the soldiers’ way.

  “General, I think you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “About our needing to get President Glass out of here.”

  “You heard her. She won’t go. Not without all of us, she won’t.”

  “Then we’ll all go.”

  “But it’s like you said. If we go outside, the gunships will shoot us to pieces.”

  “Which is why we’re not going outside.”

  Carr waited for more.

  “Come on,” Mason said, standing up and starting for the door. “I’ll tell you about it on our way back to the others. Right now, we need to move.”

  Carr hurried to catch up. “As long as no one gets shot, I’m sure they’ll go along with whatever you have in mind.”

  Mason pictured the dead marshals at FLETC, lying with soiled clothes and pools of vomit beside their open mouths.

  “Believe me, General, getting shot is the least of our worries.”

  President Glass, Jack Fry, Tom Pinker, and Bill Baker had retreated to a set of dormitories in the southeast corner of the lower level. Leila had helped to guide them down while Mason and General Carr stayed behind to execute the ambush. By the time they returned from the attack, nearly everyone was walking in circles with nervous energy. The only ones who weren’t were Jack, who sat quietly in his wheelchair, and President Glass. She lay back on one of the bunks, pillows propping her up. Her face was flushed, and she looked utterly exhausted from the hurried trip down.

  As soon as Mason entered, Leila rushed over to give him a hug. Bowie cut in front of her, and she nearly tripped over him.

  “Yes, I missed you too,” she said, gently pushing him aside. When she finally got her arms around Mason, she spoke softly, as if she didn’t want the dog to overhear. “But I missed you more.” She looked at the body armor layered across his chest. “Based on what you’re carrying, I’m guessing the Claymore did its job.”

  “And then some.” He lifted one of the vests over his head. “Help me hand these out, will you?”

  “Anything to help keep us alive.”

  Together with General Carr, she began distributing the armor. While everyone else was busy trying to figure out how to put them on, Jack Fry stared at his with obvious disdain.

  “Put it on, Jack,” coaxed President Glass. “It could save your life.”

  “Guns and bulletproof vests. This isn’t me. Besides,” he said, eying the blood-spattered armor, “it obviously didn’t help whoever was wearing it.”

  Mason stepped closer and knelt down in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I need for you to understand something.”

  Jack eyed him warily, certain that some kind of macho reprimand was coming.

  “The armor isn’t for you. You understand that, right, Jack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s for her.” Mason motioned toward Glass. “Everything we do from this point forward is to keep her alive. So put the vest on, and maybe it will keep you alive long enough to help her escape this hole. That’s what you want, right?”

  He swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

  Mason patted him on the shoulder and stood up.

  “Listen up, folks,” Carr said in a commanding voice. “There’s been a change in plans.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to listen.

  “Marshal Raines and I believe that Hood and his men may be planning a chemical attack. As far as I know, there’s no NBC gear here in the bunker. That means we’re going to have to evacuate.”

  Baker quickly said, “What about the helicopters? Won’t they shoot us?”

  “Perhaps, but as the marshal pointed out, it’s better to be shot than gassed.”

  “Hardly a choice I want to make,” he grumbled.

  “How would we even get out?” asked President Glass. “Surely, the soldiers are watching the exits.”

  “Almost certainly,” said Carr. “But they can only watch the exits they know about. The marshal and Leila made their way in through a drain hole, and we should be able to use it to get back out. If we’re careful about not being seen, they won’t have a clue about where we went.”

  “General, are you suggesting that we go down into the sewers?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

  Jack patted his wheelchair. “I’m afraid that won’t work for me.”

  “I’m not going without Jack,” she said, “without all of you.”

  “Don’t worry, Madam President, Jack’s coming, even if I have to carry the old fool on my back.”

  “While I understand the need to evacuate,” said Pinker, “our getting out won’t guarantee our safety. Even if we slip out through the sewers, the helicopters will shoot us when we try to escape the resort.”

  “Which is why we’ll stay hidden until they’ve gone,” said Mason.

  “Now we’re going to hide in the sewers?” said Glass, her face wrinkling up. “Next, you’ll be suggesting we have a picnic down there.”

  He grinned. “The good news is we shouldn’t have to stay there long. You’re scheduled to come out of the bunker tomorrow, and I would expect various officials to be eagerly awaiting your reappearance. Killing you in front of witnesses would only add to your claims against Pike. I’m confident that if we can get you out in front of others, you’ll be safe.”
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  Everyone took a moment to chew on the plan. It wasn’t without risk. They had to get back upstairs, drop down through the decontamination drain, and remain undetected for nearly fifteen hours. Despite its risks, no one seemed to have a better idea.

  “All right,” said Glass. “But how do we travel all the way back to the drain without running into the soldiers?”

  “That,” said Mason, “is going to be the tricky part.”

  Mason studied the map, tracing his pen over possible paths the Black Dogs might take to the six circled locations. With so many teams in motion, it would be nearly impossible to navigate the entire bunker without encountering at least one of them.

  “A couple of us will need to act as forward observers—scouts, if you will.” He looked over at Carr. “What do you say, General?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  President Glass started to reach for his arm but stopped herself. Carr was going to take whatever risks he felt were necessary to get them out alive, regardless of her concerns. She would not put him in a position that required explaining something like that.

  Mason turned to the larger group.

  “It’s settled then. General Carr, Bowie, and I will lead the way.” He held a radio and a map out to Leila. “I’ve marked eight waypoints. As we clear them, I’ll give you the go ahead.”

  She seemed confused. “We’re going to use their radios?”

  “I’d wear their boots if I thought it would help.”

  Jack rolled his wheelchair closer. “But won’t the soldiers hear everything we’re saying?”

  “They will, but without context, they won’t be able to make sense of it.” He turned back to Leila. “We’ll keep the broadcasts brief, being careful not to reveal our location or intentions. I’ll say ‘Go,’ or ‘Hold,’ indicating whether or not you should move to the next waypoint. Understood?”

  She nodded. “I’ve got it.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to slow everyone down,” Glass said with a sigh. “It took everything I had to get down here, and now you’re asking me to go back up.”

  “Take however much time you need, Madam President,” said Mason. “General Carr and I will hold at each waypoint until you arrive.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Mason looked around at the rest of the group.

  “Any questions?”

  There weren’t any, and pretty quickly attentions turned back to putting on their tactical vests. When he saw President Glass having trouble with hers, Mason stepped closer and helped to secure the straps.

  She smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  “Yes, ma’am, a time or two.”

  “You’re a good man, Marshal Raines.”

  “Some days more than others.”

  “I wonder if I might impose on that good nature for a favor.” Her voice was soft, obviously hoping to keep their conversation private.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I have a daughter named Samantha. She’s twelve now.”

  Mason said nothing. He and Leila had decided to keep Samantha’s situation to themselves until they had time to provide a proper explanation. It was selfish perhaps, but trying to explain how his father was caring for the President’s daughter seemed like an unnecessary complication. Better to save such discussions for a time when they were safely away.

  “She’s been missing for a few months now,” continued Glass.

  “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  She nodded appreciatively. “Yes, but if for some reason I don’t make it out of here...” She paused to see whether he might make empty assurances. He didn’t. “I want you to find my little girl. Do you think you could do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I can do that.”

  “I need to know that she’ll be looked after. You understand.”

  “I do.”

  She touched his arm. “Make sure she’s loved. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He nodded. “You have my word.”

  She pulled the electrolarynx away from her throat and mouthed, “Thank you.” Before he could say anything more, she turned and went over to talk with General Carr, perhaps, thought Mason, to ask the same favor of him.

  Once the group had finished donning their vests, Mason said, “All right, folks, let’s get ready to roll.”

  Leila inched closer. She seemed to want to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

  He reached up and gently placed his palm against her cheek.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get us through this.”

  She turned and kissed his hand.

  “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

  He smiled. “Keep everyone together.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Remember, there’s no guarantee that some of the soldiers won’t come around us, so be ready.”

  “Quit worrying about me. You’re the one leading the way.”

  “True,” he said with a wink, “but I live for this stuff.”

  Mason, General Carr, and Bowie carefully made their way through a large dormitory, ducking between bunks and sidestepping gray metal footlockers. Returning to the decontamination chamber would require traversing nearly the entire bunker. Despite its incredible size, Mason believed that if all went well, he could have the entire group safely inside the sewers in less than ten minutes. Of course, if things didn’t go well, they could end up pinned down and taking fire from an enemy who both outnumbered and outgunned them.

  Carr double-checked the MP5.

  “A soldier’s best friend, eh?” he said, patting the buttstock.

  “Bowie here might beg to differ.”

  “Speaking of which, are you sure your dog is up for this? Bowie seems like a bundle of hair and slobber to me.”

  “Believe me, he’s got teeth too.”

  Not appreciating that he was the topic of conversation, Bowie licked his nose as if he was trying to clean off a smear of peanut butter.

  “If you say so,” Carr said with a chuckle.

  “The first team consisted of five men. That’s too many for us to handle in any kind of fair fight. Our best bet is going to be to stay out of their way.”

  “It won’t hurt my feelings to let them go about their mission while we disappear right under their noses.”

  “The only rub is that we’re going to have to cross through two of the locations marked on the map.”

  “If we hurry, maybe we can get through them before the Black Dogs arrive.”

  “We can try.”

  Mason led them through the dormitory, finally arriving at a door on the opposite wall. He dropped to one knee, inched it open, and peeked out. A long hallway led past a series of doors. Hallways were nearly indefensible, and thus, meant to be crossed as quickly as possible.

  He pointed to a door about thirty feet ahead on the opposite side of the hall.

  “That’s waypoint one. Unfortunately, it’s also the first of the two marked locations we have to pass through. Bounding overwatch, ready?”

  Carr crouched as he prepared to dash across the hallway.

  “Ready.”

  “Go!” Mason said, swinging his rifle up to cover him.

  General Carr rushed ahead, sweeping the hallway with his MP5. Mason waited until he was safely at the door, covering his advance, before stepping out. Not wanting to get caught in the open, he and Bowie hurried past Carr and pushed through the door.

  It took Mason only an instant to realize they had just walked into the worst kind of trouble. A team of four Black Dogs had already arrived. One man stood near the center of the room with a second soldier balancing on his shoulders, his head and torso hidden in the ceiling’s airshaft. A third man was standing guard at the door on the opposite side of the room, and a fourth was literally close enough to reach out and touch.

  Everyone moved at once. The soldier who was removing the air filt
er scrambled up into the ceiling, disappearing from sight. The guard closest to Mason swung his MP5 up, but by the time he had it on target, Bowie was on him. The giant dog bit into his left arm and flung him to the ground, sending the man’s rifle clattering away.

  Mason swung his own rifle up, firing a quick three-round burst at the man standing guard at the opposite door. The first two rounds hit high on his vest, but the third opened the side of his head, splattering brains and blood onto the back wall.

  General Carr also let loose, squeezing off a long uncontrolled burst at the man in the center of the room. Bullets walked their way up his legs, groin, chest, and neck. He stumbled back, fell to his knees, and toppled face-first to the floor.

  As Bowie mauled the man on the ground, Mason turned his attention to the one who had disappeared. He knelt to lower his profile and clicked the selector switch over to single fire. Mentally roping off a large circle on the ceiling, he walked a sequence of ten shots in a star-like pattern around the air vent.

  No one returned fire, nor were there any cries of pain.

  He continued to study the ceiling. Without an indication of which way the ducting routed, the area was too large to effectively cover with a few scattered shots.

  The man on the floor finally quieted, and Bowie shook him one final time before trudging over to Mason. Carr, too, had taken a knee and was busy watching the ceiling.

  They waited a full minute. Then two. Then three. There was nothing. No crunching of metal ductwork, no clanking of gear.

  “I think you got him,” Carr said, standing up.

  A noise sounded from overhead. It wasn’t the soft puff heard in Hollywood movies but more like a heavy-duty stapler going off. The general fell back, clutching his chest.

  Mason swung right, scattering another ten shots into that area of the ceiling. This time a man cried out, and a heavy thump sounded as he collapsed onto the ductwork. Bowie started to move forward, but Mason motioned for him to hold fast. Together, they watched as blood slowly dripped down through several holes in the ceiling.

  Confident that the threat had been neutralized, Mason hurried over to General Carr. The bullet had struck directly above his heart but there was no blood seeping through. Mason slipped his hand in through the vest’s shoulder hole. The bullet hadn’t penetrated the plate.