Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught (17 page)

Before Chris had any chance to object, Budd was running to the nearest kitchen door. When it had swung closed behind him, he slowed his pace to a walk. He was in no hurry to return to the restaurant, not until it was much, much safer.

Coward? Me?

Yep.

And happy to be a living, breathing one at that, thank you very much. There was no point hurrying to get the doctor, not on James’s behalf—I had a fair idea from what I’d seen that it wasn’t gonna do him any good.

I, on the other hand, would benefit greatly from a nice stroll across the kitchen. It was good for my heart…

Budd knocked on the cargo lift’s outer door.

“Who’s there?”

“Doc, we need your help,” Budd said, panting a little to sound as though he’d hurried. “James is hurt.”

The latch disengaged and the outer door opened to reveal the doctor. Budd caught sight of Juliette knelt down at the back of the elevator, tending to the injured. He gave her a smile, which she returned, but her attention quickly returned to the wounded Chinese woman whose hair she was stroking.

De looked much paler than she had before.

The doctor stepped out and slid closed the concertina door. He flipped the lock and turned to Budd. “Other than the poor girl’s going into shock, I can’t explain why she’s deteriorating. Her injuries can’t be causing it,” he said quietly.

“Perhaps an infection? Maybe a slower version of what killed the others?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “I’m sure it’s only shock,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to find her some blankets to keep her warm. Some first aid supplies would be useful as well.”

“There’ll be some in here,” Budd said, waving his arm around the kitchen, “but first you’d better come see James. I don’t think there’s much time.”

The doctor nodded his head, pushed his round spectacles further up his nose, and then followed Budd across the kitchen. They skirted the bodies of the incapacitated chefs, winding their way to the long hotplate and the swing-doors. The two of them moved at a slow jog, but, despite Budd’s foot-dragging, by the time he pushed into the restaurant, Andy, Carl and Chris were still engaging the last of the waiters, cutting them down with practiced ease. Budd glanced across at the fighting, relieved that it was on the far side of the room around the bar. He led the doctor the other way, keeping to the restaurant’s edge.

Within a few feet of where James laid among the remnants of the broken table, his arms at ninety degrees to his body and his head tilted back so that his face was obscured, Budd could see they were far too late. The young honeymooner had been dead almost from the time the fast-moving zombie had attacked him. His jugular was bitten open, the skin and muscle of his neck ripped apart to reveal glimpses of his spinal column through the gory mess. There was a large pool of blood around him.

“Sorry, Doc. I guess there was no need to bring you out here.”

“Don’t be foolish, I’m used to seeing death,” the doctor replied, but nevertheless his complexion lost some of its color. Removing a candleholder and empty vase from a nearby table, the doctor picked up a tablecloth and laid it over the top half of James’s body. Almost instantly, dark patches of blood showed through.

Chris walked up behind them. “He’s dead, then?”

“Yeah,” Budd said with a nod. “What are they doing?”

Chris looked to where Carl and Andy had finished clearing the bar section and had returned to the floor’s long dividing wall. They were standing in front of the two wooden double doors that led to the elevator bank. Andy was searching a ring of keys that he’d unhooked from his tool-belt. “They’re sealing it off for now. The wrench-monkey says it’ll be dark in there, so it’ll need to be done by flashlight.”

“Sounds like fun,” Budd said, grimacing.

“If no one else is injured, I should get back to my patients.”

“I’ll take you back, Doc,” Budd said.

Soon, someone would have to drag the copses someplace out of sight. It wasn’t a job I fancied…

“And I’ll try and find some first aid supplies.”

“Thank you.”

Budd accompanied the doctor back the kitchen, but Andy intercepted them, having locked the two wooden doors. Carl was resting on a chair to catch his breath.

“There was nothing that could be done? We never stopped to look,” the maintenance man said, gesturing over to the tablecloth-covered body.

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor answered.

“We’ve got to clear this mess before t’others can leave t’elevator. We can’t let t’women see this,” Andy said sadly. He looked out across the bodies he’d so efficiently put down, rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand. It left a smear of blood across his neck and collar.

There was no mistaking it; Andy’s expression was not that of a happy man.
Only hours before, the bodies had been living, breathing people, probably some of them well known to him, but now they were smashed and lifeless.

I’m damn sure he wasn’t considering a conga line to celebrate his victory…

“Come and talk to me later,” the doctor said. “You look tired.”

I guess we were thinkin’ the same thing. That the man who’d appointed himself as our leader—and had done a pretty good job—was now very close to the edge.

So close, in fact, that he was probably balancing on it…

Andy shook his head. “Go tend to t’rest. We’ll get this sorted out.”

“Of course,” the doctor said, nodding his head and smiling kindly. “Budd’s offered to find some medical supplies.”

“Good idea,” Andy said.

“Let’s get cracking, then,” Budd said, pleased to be away from the grim restaurant. He pushed open a door and walked into the kitchen. “By the way, Doc: what’s your name?”

“Reginald. Reginald Scholes. My wife’s name is Caroline.”

“Good to meet you, Reggie,” Budd said, a smile on his face. He stopped and extended his right hand.

The doctor looked apprehensively at the blood-caked flesh.

“All right, Doc, we’ll shake on it later. First, let’s find those supplies.”

Budd heard the concertina door of the freight elevator slide open, but he stayed where he was sitting, cross-legged, rummaging through the lower half of a cabinet. In the minutes since the doctor had returned to the lift, there had been many more people coming and going, setting to work on different tasks.

A few seconds later, he realized that footsteps were approaching him. He turned to see Juliette. “Hey, babe.”

“Have you found anything,
Monsieur
Ashby?”

“Not yet.”

“Is there not a sign with directions to the first-aid station?”

Wasting time? Me? As if…

Budd shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so.”

“I will help you look,” Juliette said, glancing around the kitchen. “There is a notice board over there.”

Budd rose from the floor and walked with Juliette to where she’d pointed. Precisely as Juliette had believed, there was a sign stating that the first-aid point was located inside the kitchen offices.

“No one’s been in there yet, princess.”

“The doctor says we need to hurry. De is not well.”

“We’ll need the keys.”

“Does
Monsieur
Andy have them?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll find him,” Juliette said and walked towards the restaurant. She disappeared through a swing-door, momentarily revealing the sight of Carl dragging two of the corpses, a leather-clad shoe in each hand, across the vast dining room. Budd looked away and then retrieved the axe from the counter above the cabinet he’d been searching. He went over to the office door and peered through the glass.

Somewhere inside, there were plenty of windows providing the cloud-smudged light that also filled the kitchen and restaurant, but beyond the grey panels that acted as dividers between the workstations, Budd couldn’t see them. Nothing appeared to be moving.

Andy had said the offices were empty. I hoped he was right…

Budd tried the handle, but the door was steady in its substantial metal frame. Juliette returned from the restaurant, a ring filled with keys held in her left hand. She had one key pinched between her index finger and thumb. Slowly, she pushed the key into the lock and gave it a turn.

The lock disengaged with a click.

Juliette pulled the door open enough to pass through, but Budd ushered for her to step back and then raised his axe, the long shaft grasped in both hands. “You never know, sweetheart,” he said.

Juliette did as she was asked.

Budd ventured into the offices. There was a single desk on his right, but he continued past it to where the eight-foot tall grey panels ended to form a narrow walkway that ran left to right, thirty feet in each direction. He looked up it one way and then the other, his eyes pausing at each of the occasional spaces between the panels, which acted like doorways to further workstations.

The cluster of offices was much bigger than he’d expected, and he subsequently didn’t like the idea of investigating it all alone, but luckily, when he turned around, he saw that Juliette had already discovered what they were searching for. Beside the first desk was a tall, narrow metal cabinet that had a large red cross enameled on its door. There was a small padlock.

“Look,
Monsieur
Ashby.”

“I see it.”

Budd aimed his axe at the padlock and broke it with a single blow, allowing the door to swing open. Inside the cabinet was a wide assortment of items, from simple painkillers, bandages, plasters, splints, and hypodermic needles to tiny bottles of insulin and morphine that, until the power failure, had been kept chilled in a small, refrigerated compartment.

With care, he transferred the supplies into his rucksack, except for two large blankets, which he gave to Juliette to carry. With the first-aid cabinet empty, he closed the door and placed the rucksack over his left shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll lock the office door again once we’re outside. Someone else can check it out.”

Juliette nodded.

The sound of a woman’s scream came from the restaurant.

And that’s never a good thing. Well, hardly ever…

Out in the kitchen, Budd paused as Juliette re-locked the office door. The moment she was done, they hurried to the restaurant and barged through the swing-doors, nearing the sound of the scream.

Off to the right, Budd saw the backs of Andy and Carl. Beyond them stood the doctor’s wife, her plump body rigid with the effort of screaming.

Reluctantly, Budd let his eyes continue a little further, aiming for the space where James’s body had been laid out. The corpse was now sitting upright, the bloodstained tablecloth still cast over the head and torso, the legs twitching fiercely, kicking at the loose bits of broken table.

Budd heard several of the swing-doors open and close. He sensed many of the group were now gathered behind him, watching as James’s cadaver tried to stand, its head sitting at a strange angle between its shoulders. The young man’s neck had been mostly torn apart.

“Caroline, come here,” the doctor shouted, running to his wife. He dragged her away from the scene just as Carl stepped forward and raised his axe. He walked towards James’s body, which was still struggling to co-ordinate the movement of its limbs.

With a mighty blow, Carl struck James’s limp head with his axe and the body slumped to the ground, perfectly still.

“If that ever happens to me, people,” Carl said, looking back at the group, “I want someone to do the right thing.”

A near-silence befell the group, punctuated only by the sound of Caroline’s sobbing.

Budd removed his Stetson and swept his hand through his hair. “You gotta deal, brother.”

Carl smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“Budd,” Andy said, turning his attention from the gruesome sight of their companion. “Can you give Carl an’ I a hand? We want to use t’cloakroom as a store, but we’ve got to clear out t’lift section.”

Budd sighed and shouldered his axe. “No problem, boss.”

From the pile of dead waiters next to the double doors, I knew exactly what we’d be storing…

It took several minutes for the majority of the group to gather back inside the kitchen’s freight elevator and for Andy to fetch the equipment they needed from the cart and duffel bags. Chris had discarded his fire extinguisher and replaced it with a battery-powered flashlight. Andy also had one, in the opposite hand from his hammer, while Budd and Carl were still armed with their axes.