Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

Tanner shook his head. “No. I have a duty to protect only a handful of people in this world, and you’re not one of them.”

  “Fine,” Pike said, pushing past him. “If you’re not going to help me, then get out of my way.” He stepped over to the door and glanced out.

  The occasional scream could still be heard, but the corridor was empty. As Pike started to advance into the hallway, he felt a strong arm wrap around his neck from behind.

  “What are you doing?” he croaked.

  Tanner pressed his mouth close to one of Pike’s ears.

  “I want you to understand that I’m not doing this for the Marshals, or even the entire city that you blew to hell and gone. This is for what you tried to do to Samantha. Say goodnight, Gracie.” And with that, Tanner snapped the man’s neck.

  As President Pike slumped to the floor, his eyes turned to look past Tanner, as if he were staring at some imaginary ghost. His last words were as unsettling as they were mysterious.

  “I love you.”

  Samantha knew something was wrong. The four infected men who had been left behind to guard the train seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute. Worse yet, that agitation seemed directed at her. She moved closer to Issa, clutching her rifle as they stared down the long dark tunnel.

  “I get the feeling they don’t like me.”

  Issa said something to the men, and they barked at her. She turned to Samantha and studied her for a moment.

  “What’s happening to you?” she whispered.

  Samantha brought her hands to her face. Everything felt normal. Nothing growing where it shouldn’t be.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re… you’re changing.”

  Samantha turned and studied her reflection in the train’s metal bumper. Her eyes were no longer black.

  “Oh no.”

  “You’re becoming one of them. How’s that possible?”

  “We injected blood to make us like you. It’s wearing off.”

  “Tanner too?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but we’re still the same people.”

  The four infected men began to fan out, forming a large circle around Issa and Samantha. Issa glanced over her shoulder and growled something to them, but they continued to advance. She looked to Samantha and then back at the men. And then she did something that surprised everyone. She turned to face them, her hands reaching for two knives hanging at her belt.

  “Let her be,” she hissed, sliding the knives free.

  One of the men darted forward, and Issa sliced at him, the blade swishing harmlessly through the air.

  Samantha inched closer. “Why do they hate me?”

  “They just do.” When Issa looked at her, Samantha saw worry written all over her face. “Can you fight, little one?”

  Samantha pressed her lips together, imagining for a moment that it was Tanner standing beside her. There was only one right answer.

  “Yes.”

  She immediately swung the rifle up and shot the closest man in the neck. He charged forward, blood trickling down his bare chest. She fired again, the .22 caliber slug striking him in the sternum. Still, he continued forward with his hands extended.

  The other three men also charged. Issa swiped right with one knife and left with the other, crisscrossing one man’s chest. His skin opened up, and muscle bulged out. She brought both knives back together, driving their points into the sides of his neck. He collapsed as another of the men barreled into her, knocking her to the ground.

  Samantha ducked under her opponent’s arms and fired again, this time at point blank range. The bullet entered through his armpit and ricocheted along his spine. His legs gave way, and he fell forward, nearly taking Samantha with him.

  She sidestepped in the nick of time, avoiding not only the falling man but another who was trying to tackle her from behind. He stumbled past, snagging her shirt with one hand. She tried to use the rifle’s stock to bat him away, but he grabbed the weapon and flung it down the tracks. Samantha ducked and twisted underneath his outstretched arms, her shirt nearly ripping off in the process. A second later, her small hunting knife was in hand.

  “Stay back,” she warned, slowly retreating as she waved the knife in front of her.

  Issa had managed to get to her feet and hurried over to Samantha. Together, they stood back to back, knives in hand. The two remaining men closed in from opposite sides, their eyes wide and teeth bared. The one closest to Issa attacked first, knocking her sideways. Issa sliced up and away with the knife in her right hand, hoping to eviscerate him. The blade caught on one of his ribs, and was yanked from her grip. The man fired a wide right hook, catching her on the cheek. She fell, but not before driving the second blade deep into his belly. Even as his guts bulged out, the man refused to fall.

  Meanwhile, Samantha played a game of cat and mouse, ducking away from her opponent while trying to slice him with every passing. She had managed to open a small wound on his thigh and another on his arm, but neither were enough to slow him down. He caught her with an open palm to her ear and then a solid punch to the chest. The second blow knocked the air out of her, and she doubled over, gasping as tears poured from her eyes.

  As he moved in for the kill, she suddenly bolted upright, driving the knife out in front of her like a bayonet. The blade was only three inches long, but it was enough to slice through his solar plexus and nick his heart. He shoved her away, screaming, as he slowly pulled the knife free. But that would be last thing he would ever do.

  Issa scrambled over on all fours and grabbed the ankles of the remaining attacker. He turned and kicked at her, catching her solidly in the ribs. But she refused to let go, instead leaning in to bite his Achilles tendon. He screamed and began hopping up and down on one foot in an effort to shake her off. She chewed and bit, blood running down her chin. Even before the tendon was fully severed, he fell, pulling his legs in close and curling into a protective ball. Issa scrambled across the floor, retrieved one of her knives, and plunged it deep into his back. Only when he stopped twitching, did she sit up, holding a hand to her swollen face.

  Still wincing with every breath, Samantha walked over and reached down to help Issa to her feet.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

  Issa reached out and put her arms around Samantha. They stood there for a long time, just holding one another upright.

  When Issa finally spoke, she said only, “What else was I to do? You are my family now.”

  As Tanner approached the train, he saw the bodies of the four infected men. Samantha and Issa were nowhere to be seen.

  “Sam! Issa! Where are you?”

  Issa ducked her head out of the train and waved.

  “We’re in here!”

  Tanner rushed over and climbed aboard. He found Samantha leaning heavily on the driver’s console, her shirt torn and her ear flushed bright red. Issa stood behind her with dried blood covering her mouth and neck. Both look exhausted.

  “What happened?”

  “Jarvis’s blood wore off,” said Samantha, “that’s what.”

  He came closer and gently touched her ear.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She looked back at Issa. “Thanks to her.”

  Tanner turned. “You protected her?”

  Issa seemed confused. “Of course. She’s my daughter.”

  He looked from Samantha to Issa and then back again. The two had made a connection, a bond formed by their shared fight for survival.

  Issa came closer and leaned up against him. He looked into her black eyes, and a sadness came over him.

  “I’m going to change too. You need to know that.”

  She touched her fingers to his temple.

  “Yes.”

  “And when I do, how will you feel about me?”

  She smiled, blood still covering her teeth.

  “You forget. The first time I kissed you, you were one of them.”

  “I know
, but—”

  She moved her fingers to his lips.

  “There is no ‘but.’ I am yours. You are mine.” She looked down at Samantha. “We are all one now.”

  Tanner glanced over at Samantha, expecting to see the roll of eyes or at the very least the gentle shake of her head. He found only a broad smile.

  “You okay with having a stepmother?”

  Samantha looked up at Issa. “I could do worse.”

  He shrugged. “All right then, group hug.” He reached out and pulled them to him. Both groaned from the pain of their injuries, but both managed to hug him back. “Now, what do you say we get out of here?”

  Samantha turned to Issa. “You’re coming with us, right? All the way to our home in the mountains?”

  Issa nodded. “Of course.”

  “Great!” Without waiting, Samantha started toward the driver’s compartment at the opposite end of the train. “Come on,” she said, looking back. “I, for one, am ready to see a little daylight.”

  Chapter 21

  Mason walked a little slower than usual, partly because of Bowie’s injured leg and partly because they were both worn out. As with any fight, once the adrenalin had slowed, exhaustion and fatigue became the mainstay. When he came to the grate that led down into the sewer, he pushed it aside and poked his head through the hole.

  “It’s all clear!”

  There was no reply.

  “Leila! You can come out now. The fight’s over.”

  Still nothing.

  Bowie pressed closer, taking a look for himself.

  “They must be out of earshot.” Mason slid his legs through the hole and dropped down into the sewer.

  Bowie immediately started to follow.

  “Unh-unh, you stay up there. I’m not about to try to catch you.”

  The dog woofed at him.

  “You can gripe about it later. Right now, sit tight.”

  Bowie whined and flopped down, staring at him through the open hole.

  Mason turned in place, studying the tunnel. He doubted that Leila would have gone deeper into the sewer, so he started back the way they had first entered. It wasn’t long before he came across a body floating face down in a puddle of brown water. A handheld device about the size and shape of a microphone was still clutched in one hand.

  He raced forward, his heart pounding. Even before seeing her face, he knew the corpse was that of President Glass. The cause of her death was also equally as obvious, a single bullet wound to the back of the head. Clean. Professional. An assassination.

  He reached down and rolled her over. Glass’s face was a dark purple from the blood settling, and her cheeks had already begun to swell thanks to soaking in the filthy water. The bullet had exited through her right eye, leaving a ragged hole in its wake. Not a particularly large caliber, probably a nine-millimeter. No, not probably—definitely a nine-millimeter.

  “Please no,” he said, exhaling.

  Mason didn’t want to admit what he already knew to be true. It was only when he saw the folded slip of paper tucked into the President’s waistband did he accept that the truth was not going to be escaped. He gently pulled the note free and began to read. The writing was sloppy and the ink jagged from the paper having been pressed against the tunnel’s concrete wall.

  My dearest Mason,

  To say that I’m sorry would mean nothing at this point, but I will say it anyway. I am truly sorry for any pain that I have caused you. When I came to your country, my mission was simple. I was to determine if President Glass was responsible for the Superpox-99 outbreak. If she was, I was to take retribution for the suffering caused to millions of Israelis living half a world away. Familiar with our history, you know that we are not a nation that allows any injustice to go unanswered.

  I discovered that the virus was indeed a biological weapon created by the United States. President Glass swore to me that its release was the act of a single terrorist, and I believe her. Every country has felt the bloody hand of terrorism, and I could not in good conscience hold her responsible for one man’s violent act. With that said, her crime was equally as heinous.

  When she became aware of the outbreak, she did nothing to warn other nations of the threat. President Glass knew of the outbreak two full weeks before the first cases appeared in Israel. Had she simply warned the world, billions of people could have been saved—perhaps even my sister Roni. Instead, cowardice and shame drove your president to hide the threat until it was too late.

  President Glass freely admitted her guilt, and in that, there was some modicum of honor. It did not, however, absolve her of her crimes. Of all people, perhaps you can understand this best. I did not take her life out of malice. In fact, I was surprised to discover that I felt no anger toward her at all. Nor was it out of revenge. No matter how hard we try, those who are dead cannot be avenged. This was about one thing, and one thing only. Justice.

  I expect that you will come looking for me. For just as I acted out of duty, so must you. Understand that, should you catch up to me, I will not go peacefully. Israelis are survivors, and I will do what I must to stay alive. Until that moment when our eyes next meet and we find ourselves reaching for our guns, I wish you all the love and happiness that this Godforsaken world can provide.

  Shalom, my love,

  Leila Mizrahi

  Mason stared at the page until the words became blurred. Pain. Anger. Confusion. All of these passed through his mind. But one thought burned above all others.

  This was his fault.

  The hallway was teeming with soldiers. Two men and two women stood in the thick of the confusion, talking. Both men were pushing sixty, and both were standing tall and proud. General Carr had cleaned up and changed into a pressed uniform, squared away in every sense of the word. His counterpart wore faded fatigues, a wrinkled hat, and jungle boots. As for the women, the first was lean and fit, attractive, but not flashy. The other was shorter and slightly dumpy, dressed in a pink skirt and white blouse, both now wrinkled and covered in smudges.

  As Mason and Bowie approached, all four turned to face them.

  When General Carr spoke, he sounded tired.

  “Chappie, let me introduce you to Deputy Marshal Raines.”

  Mason shook General Reed’s outstretched hand and nodded to Dr. Green and Congresswoman Lemay.

  “The cadets outside tell me you’re responsible for stopping these bastards,” said Chappie. “Damn fine work.”

  Mason nodded. “How are they?”

  “Licking their wounds, same as the rest of us.”

  Everyone turned and watched as two soldiers carried out the body of President Glass, a bloodstained sheet wrapped tightly around her. Bill Baker, Jack Fry, and Tom Pinker all followed behind, each sharing in a collective look of shock and disbelief.

  “Excuse me,” Carr said, stepping away to assist.

  Noticing the distraught look on Mason’s face, Chappie said, “What happened to her takes nothing away from what you did here. I hope you know that.”

  Mason said nothing, but his hand instinctively moved to rest on the folded letter in his pocket. No good would come from his confessing that he had brought the killer in with him. That secret would stay between Leila and him.

  “What are we going to do now, General?” asked Dr. Green. “The world needs to know what happened here.”

  “And they will. My men are documenting everything on video. That along with the testimony of the survivors and prisoners, not to mention the sarin gas canisters, will be more than enough to make a compelling case.” He looked to Congresswoman Lemay. “I assume you’re onboard.”

  She nodded. “Pike has been playing us all for fools. I’ll do what I can to let others know.”

  “Even so,” said Green, “he won’t go quietly.”

  “Good,” said Chappie.

  “Good?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Kent and I are going to take great pleasure in seeing that man hang. The more he screams and hollers, the tighter
we’ll make the noose.”

  A man could be heard shouting as he ran down the West tunnel.

  “General, sir!”

  Everyone turned to see a young soldier dash around the corner.

  “Sir, they’re under attack!”

  “Who’s under attack?” Chappie demanded, instinctively reaching for his sidearm.

  “Mount Weather. We just received a radio broadcast. The entire compound is being overrun by the infected. Thousands of them are coming up from the tunnels below.”

  Mason immediately thought of the massacre he had witnessed at Richmond Hill. It was a brutality he would not wish on anyone.

  The soldier continued. “Sir, chain of command seems to have broken down. The airfield is awaiting orders.”

  The general didn’t hesitate. “Get the birds in the air. Tell them to circle the outskirts of Mount Weather, looking for survivors.”

  “Yes, sir. And what should they do with them?”

  “Take them over to the New Colony in Norfolk.”

  “Right away, sir.” The soldier tried a handheld radio, and when reception failed, he turned and began running back the way he had come.

  “We’re abandoning Mount Weather?” said Green.

  “Let’s call it a strategic evacuation.”

  “But there are families there,” objected Lemay.

  “Yes, ma’am, and if they’re fleet of foot, they’ll get out in time.”

  “And if they’re not?”

  “That’s outside our control. The best we can do is try to help with the evacuation.”

  Seeing the commotion, General Carr hurried over.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Mount Weather’s been lost. We’re evacuating the survivors.”

  It was akin to hearing that Washington had been nuked.

  “What does that mean for the nation?”

  “We can sort out the continuity of government once we see what’s left. Right now, we need to save as many as we can.”

  “My God, this is it, isn’t it? The end of what we call the United States of America.”

  Chappie shrugged. “All I know for sure is that in two minutes, Dr. Green, Congresswoman Lemay, and I will be back in the air.” He looked over at the women, and both offered a quick nod. “What about you, Kent? Are you coming?”