Last Hope: Book 5 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 5)

by Kevin Partner

  "You can let her go," he said.

  "As long as she understands that if she makes a sound, she dies," Mara said.

  Again, she nodded, then took in a deep breath as Mara let her go. She was a large woman with a mottled face and wobbling jowls. "But this is …" she began before catching Mara's expression and continuing in a whisper, "This is most irregular. General Mendoza said …"

  "We don't answer to that monster," Hick said.

  She glanced at Hick, and sighed, her head shaking again. "You are right, of course. What he did to poor Edgar and …"

  "We haven't got time for this," Mara snapped. "You'll have to come with us. Show me where DeMille is held."

  The big woman moved along the corridor. "But you know there will be a guard? One of our people, but he is armed."

  "That's why you two are here," Hick said. "You'll go in first and persuade the guard to put his weapon down."

  Smith pulled on Hick's arm. "But what if he won't? If it's Rebus, he's a stubborn man."

  "Then we'll be forced to shoot him, and that will be unfortunate for all concerned."

  Millicent stopped near the end of the corridor, turned back to them and whispered, "His room is in here, up the stairs and behind the stage. The guard will be outside the door of that room."

  "Let's go," Mara said. "And remember—no funny business or we shoot."

  Smith led the way, followed by Millicent, with Hick at the back.

  "Hey, who's there?"

  Just as Smith reached the door at the top of the stairs, it swung aside to reveal a big man in a black suit. "Rebus! It's me."

  But the guard wasn't looking at Smith; he'd fixed his gaze on the two figures behind, one in a military uniform and carrying a rifle. "What the …?" he began, reaching into his jacket.

  The percussive bang in such a small space made Hick's ears ring, and the big man fell to the ground as Millicent screamed and Smith dropped to his knees beside the body. "You shouldn't have done that! He wasn't a bad man."

  "We don't have time for diplomacy," Mara said. "Do we need his keys? Be quick."

  "No, the key's in the outside of the door."

  Hick followed Mara as she jumped over the dead body and the two mourning Mormons. She turned the key in the lock and flung the door open.

  A small man with a trimmed white beard and thick matching hair was throwing things into a bag.

  "Elliot DeMille?" Hick said—it paid to be certain.

  "Yes. Were you sent by Marianna?"

  "We got her message, yes," Hick responded, not entirely appreciating the implication that he was working for DeMille's daughter.

  DeMille shut the bag and grabbed his coat. "We must hurry. I guess you had to shoot poor Rebus? He always was an obstinate man, but it's a pity."

  "Hold on," Hick said as DeMille headed for the door. "The message said you've got something for us."

  The old man looked at him. "Oh yes. I only hope it's not too late."

  "And it's in the bag?"

  "No, my new friend, it's in here," DeMille said, tapping his temple and leading them out.

  DeMille kneeled beside the body of Rebus. "I'm sorry. Our Heavenly Father will be welcoming our friend to his company at this very moment. Now, Matthew and Millicent, you must get away."

  "DeMille!" Hick snapped. "We've got to go now!"

  The old man got to his feet and pointed into the darkness. "This way. Across the cultural hall."

  They heard the front doors of the church being flung open and the thump of boots on the marble floor of the entrance as they ran down the steps from the platform, their flashlight beams illuminating the painted lines of a basketball court.

  DeMille was surprisingly fast, and he led them across the polished floor to a gap in the far wall, footsteps echoing into the empty seats on both sides. As they crossed the far end of the court, the door they'd originally come through was flung open and voices called out. Then the flash of a shot, but it wasn't aimed at them. Hick didn't look back, he focused entirely on keeping up with Elliot and Mara.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Now they were a target. They switched off their flashlights and kept running in a straight line toward the gap.

  "We're out," DeMille said. Hick could just see him in the darkness. "The chapel is just there, but we need to head left. Come on!"

  Bang!

  "Ow!" It felt as though someone had shoved a porcupine into his face and Hick could sense blood running between his fingers as he held his head.

  A hand grabbed him as boots pounded across the basketball court. "Come on, Hick. We've got to go."

  He allowed himself to be pulled upright again and guided quickly along another carpeted corridor.

  "The foyer is just here, and the vestibule beyond it," Elliot said.

  "That's not right," Hick insisted. "Unless we've gone around in circles."

  But he followed Mara and DeMille anyway. Sure enough, their flashlights illuminated the ornately decorated room and, beyond it, the vestibule.

  DeMille flicked the lock and sunlight flooded inside. Hick ran blindly outside as DeMille slammed the door behind them.

  "We've come out the other side," Mara said.

  "I presume you have some means of escape?" DeMille added as he looked around.

  Hick looked at the blood on his palms. "Not here. Along the road, that way."

  "Incoming!" Mara called, pointing to their left as two figures ran toward them.

  Cursing, Hick pulled on DeMille's shoulder just as the crack, crack of gunfire reverberated seemingly from all directions. Forcing the old man behind the vestibule, he peeked out to see others joining the two who'd raised the alarm.

  "If we don't do something soon," Mara said, "we're gonna be pinned down. We took too long in there and they'll be coming out through the vestibule door soon enough."

  She and Hick returned fire, while DeMille crouched close to the building.

  More fighters appeared around the corner, taking cover and only firing occasionally.

  "They're waiting to outflank us," Mara said. "Others are coming around the back of the building. We gotta go."

  Hick shook his head. "That'd be suicide! Perhaps if we go back inside, we'll be able to lose 'em?"

  "We can't hide forever! Look, I'll give you covering fire while you get away."

  "No way," Hick snapped. "We came in together; we go out together." And besides, he thought, I'd be shot before I went ten yards.

  "Then we'll have to make a break for it. If we can get to the road, we can take shelter in those ruins opposite."

  Hick took hold of DeMille. "You stick with me. I ain't about to let this be a waste of time. Ready, Mara? Three, two …"

  "Wait! What's that?"

  Over the crackle of gunfire, Hick could hear the roar of an engine. Then, out of nowhere, an SUV leaped onto the lawn outside the church and careered in their direction, spitting fire as it went.

  The car swerved back and forth as if looking for something then headed straight for them, scattering fighters as it went. Hick stood and waved. "It's Duck and the others. Quick, we got no time."

  The SUV skidded to a halt and the passenger door flew open.

  Hick dragged DeMille toward the car as the driver's window rolled down. "Yeehaw, boss! That were a ton of fun and no mistake!"

  "Brain? What the hell?"

  "Get in," Mara hissed. "We haven't got time.

  DeMille threw his bag inside and Hick manhandled him onto the back seat beside Jay, who was taking aim out of his window. Duck slumped in the front passenger seat. Hick climbed in and pulled Mara in after him.

  "Get us outta here, Brain!" Hick called.

  "Sure thing, boss. Where we goin'?"

  "ANYWHERE!"

  With another "Yeehaw!" Brain stabbed down on the gas and the car lurched away. Hick maneuvered himself alongside Jay and took potshots at anything that moved, though it was hard enough as the SUV swerved its way through the trees, past the bench where they'd kidnappe
d the unfortunate Smith and onto the road.

  "Head east!" Mara yelled.

  Brain half turned. "Which way?"

  "Right!" Hick called. "The hand you pick yer nose with, Brain!"

  "Got it, boss!"

  And the SUV swerved its way along the road to the accompaniment of impotent gunfire.

  "Jeez, that was F.U.N."

  "Just pull the car over, Brain," Hick said from the back. "We need to take a look at Duck."

  They'd driven out of the central part of Salt Lake City and Brain turned into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, picking his way between the rusting shopping carts and other debris before coming to a halt. "Well, shucks, boss, there ain't no point in lookin' at Duck. He's dead as a doornail."

  Hick clambered past Jay and opened the front passenger door. Brain was right. Where Duck's face wasn't scarlet with spilled blood, it was white. And a neat, dark hole violated his eye socket.

  "I sure am sorry," Brain said. "He was a good fella. Always talked nice to me. But when I saw the bullet come through the back of his head and out of my window, I said to myself, 'Brain', I said, 'he's as dead as a doornail.'"

  Hick turned to Jay as the boy hobbled out of the car. "Thanks for coming to get us. We'd be wherever Duck is right now if you hadn't."

  "It wasn't my idea," Jay said. "I said we should stay put, like you'd ordered. In case you came back."

  "So, we have Duck to thank," Mara said as she appeared at Hick's side.

  Jay shook his head. "No. It was Brain."

  "What?" Hick's jaw dropped until it was wider than the departed Duck's.

  "Yeah. We'd just gotten back to the parking lot with the car and we heard the shots. He just jumped into the driver’s seat and said we could come or stay, but he was going."

  Brain was hooting at this. "I heard them shots and I said the boss is in trouble, let's go help! And by jiminy so we did. Poor Duck got shot along the way, though."

  "Shall we get him out of the car?" Mara asked.

  "No, he deserves a decent burial, so we need to find a park. Lucky we've got a priest," Hick said, gesturing at Elliot DeMille, who'd been standing at a respectful distance clutching his bag.

  "I will be pleased to perform that small service for your fallen colleague."

  Brain leaned across Duck's body to look out at DeMille. "So, this here's the fella we came to rescue. I sure hope he was worth it."

  "So do I," Hick said. "But first, let's bury our friend."

  It was a simple service conducted in the park they'd passed on their way into Salt Lake City. They cleared a patch of grass near the baseball field and took it in turns to use the traffic sign to dig a deep enough hole. Then, DeMille said a few words that Hick hardly heard before they filled it in again.

  They found their way back to the hideout they'd used the previous night. In a perfect world, Hick would have headed straight out of the city, but he knew the main routes would be watched following the raid. And besides, Elliot had asked for a conference, and this was the best place to hold it in relative safety.

  Jay and Brain sat on the moldy couch, with Mara leaning over the back, watching Elliot say a short prayer from the rickety kitchen chair opposite. Hick, despite his exhaustion, was full of nervous energy.

  "Okay, Mr. DeMille, it's time we came clean with each other. Now, we got a message that told us to rescue you. It said you hold the key to fighting back against these sons of bitches. I hope, for your sake, your daughter wasn't exaggerating."

  "I also received a message, though it was many days before I decoded it. The message contained two things: a set of coordinates and a mission. But, before I reveal them, please tell me how things stand in Hope."

  Hick bit back his impatience and summarized the situation as he understood it. Mendoza was cementing his position ahead of a visit of the ruling council. Marianna was his deputy.

  DeMille shook his head. "Oh, my poor girl. I should have seen past the mask she wore when she had me imprisoned. She was quite the actress, you know, when she was younger."

  "So, you think she was faking it all along?"

  "Rebus told me of the terrible things this general was doing, including what happened to our folk. I guess she knew she had to put on a good show. It must have been so tough for her."

  "Ha! Not half as tough as it was for the people of Hope! They're gonna take a LOT of persuadin' that she was on their side after all. But the proof is in the pudding … So what have you got for us?"

  DeMille looked at each of them in turn. "I confess, you're not exactly what I expected when I imagined who would come to rescue me, but the Lord has selected you as my deliverers, and Marianna's message was quite explicit."

  "Cut to the chase, Elliot," Hick said. The events of the day were catching up with him and he needed to sleep, but he couldn't rest until he knew if it had all been worth it.

  "Very well. I have the coordinates of a secret arms cache in SLC."

  "That's nice and all, and we'd welcome any new weapons, but it ain't exactly gonna turn the tide. We need people more than anything."

  DeMille nodded. "Quite right. Fortunately, my people have been ready for some time. You see, we were rather better informed about the Sons of Solomon than you might imagine. Shortly after the firestorm, I sent teams in all directions to work out the extent of the threat and I saw that we would be unable to resist them if they came in force. So, over the following months, we established sleeper communities in out-of-the-way places. Their task was to lie low until called upon so, by the time the enemy arrived at the gates, as it were, most of my people had left SLC.

  "I confess I lost hope briefly when my daughter so convincingly betrayed me—an act I now see as a mirror of my own. She sought to keep me safe from Mendoza's killing spree, and yet ready to play my part when the time came. I had discussed my plans with her, you see, before she left with Devon and Jessie back in February, so I assumed she had betrayed us when she came under Mendoza's evil spell."

  Hick stopped pacing. "When the time came? So, what's changed? What makes now the right time?"

  "I have no idea. Only that my daughter tells me that it's so. Mr. Hickman, you asked what the point was of weapons without people; well I can provide both. I will recall my folk from their places of refuge back to Salt Lake City and, together, we will march against the Sons of Solomon."

  Chapter 22: Mendoza

  With the desperate power of a trapped animal, Devon leaped at Laverne, who threw the radio handset away in surprise as he tried to bring the shotgun around.

  Bang!

  Devon barely heard the sound of shattering glass as he grappled with the huge thug, the couch creaking under the strain.

  "I'm gonna cut … your … filthy throat … you dirty … low down … "

  Devon dug his fingers into Laverne's throat, pressing into the greasy, wiry hair of his beard. With a heave, Laverne hurled a gob of spittle, hitting Devon square in the eyes. Instinctively, he went to wipe it away and Laverne took the opportunity, flinging him away, then getting to his feet and kicking him in the ribs.

  Yelling, Devon curled into a ball as Laverne's foot connected, but as the sheriff moved toward the shotgun which had fallen beside the couch, Devon mastered himself and flailed for Laverne's legs, grasping them and bringing the brute crashing down onto his face.

  Devon crawled onto Laverne's back, pinning the sheriff down while he drew the knife from his belt. He grabbed a chunk of hair and pulled Laverne's head back, exposing his neck.

  The sheriff turned his head to one side. "Now what you gonna do, smartass? You ain't got it in you to k—"

  In one movement—a stroke that lived with him to the end of his days—Devon drew the knife across Laverne's exposed neck, then jumped away as blood jetted across the floor, showering the couch as the former sheriff writhed in panic, like a drowning man trying to breathe.

  To Devon it felt as though he was watching a particularly brutal movie. It was surreal, and he was separate from it. But, somewhere in
his adrenaline-soaked mind, he knew that he'd stepped over a line. That the Devon Myers he'd thought he was no longer existed.

  Finally, Laverne went still. That was the trigger to snap Devon back into the present.

  Mendoza was coming.

  Devon kneeled beside the dead thug and pulled the keys from his pocket, took the shotgun, then ran to the door and down the stairs to the sheriff's office.

  He fumbled in the dark until he found the gas lamp on Laverne's desk and a box of matches alongside. The place looked so familiar as he held the lamp aloft. He hadn't spent much time here, but he was the one who'd arranged it like this, and the sheriff's chair had been his.

  Devon pulled back the pump. No bullet in the chamber, so he pumped one in and opened the door to the cells. The smell hit him like a sledgehammer, then he heard the moaning of people being woken up in a panic.

  "Devon! It's Devon!"

  He swung the lamp through the bars of the nearest cell. "Joe?"

  "Martha! Come on sweetie, it's Devon. He's come for us," Joe Bowie said, bending down beside the cot. Then he looked back at Devon, exposing a bruised, bloody face and black eye. "You have come for us, ain't you?"

  Devon found the cell key and opened the door. "Sure. But we gotta go right now. Mendoza's on the way. Is Gert here?"

  "No, he ain't. Help me get her up, will ya?"

  So, Devon took one of Martha's arms while her husband took the other. She was, if it were possible, in an even worse state than Joe, her face a swollen mass of red and black.

  "Jus … jus’ let me be, Joe. I wanna sleep. Go … go without …"

  "No way, Martha. I ain't leavin' and neither is Devon. Now come along."

  Between them, Devon and Joe dragged Martha out of the cells, through the sheriff's office and into the parking lot.

  The squad car—the one that had once been used by Ned Birkett—sat beside the building and they bundled Martha into the back seat.

  Devon jumped into the driver's seat, groaning as pain stabbed his ribs. Mastering himself, he turned the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse.

  "Look, Dev!" Joe called.

  Devon could see lights—many lights—moving up the highway toward them. "Here, take this," he said, passing the shotgun.