Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught (35 page)

But this crossroads was clear enough, even for me.

I could give up and sit it out.

It's what I wanted to do. I was tired. And frightened.

The building seemed secure - well, as secure as anywhere surrounded by a horde of drooling zombies was gonna get. I could hide out with Juliette and whoever else was left, scavenge food from the apartments, keep out of sight, and cross my fingers that someone, somehow, would sort out the whole mess.

Think of the lawsuit payouts in the aftermath.

My gut told me to stay.

Especially as the other option involved throwing in my hat with a bunch of lunatics and rushing out into the fog. Which I doubted would end very well.

But this was the crossroads. Stay inside or try to reach the boat.

Had I known what was to come, I think I'd have stayed...

Budd sighed.

Juliette squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“Okay, okay. I'll give it a shot,” Budd said. “But if we all get eaten, the last thing you'll hear is me shouting that I told you so.”

Captain Brooks smiled. “That's fair.”

“Will you take us with you?” Katrina asked. “I don't want to stay here.”

Captain Brooks turned away and walked to the corner of corridor, his hand cupping his microphone. “Patterson, do you read me? Sitrep, now. Over.”

Juliette nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Budd looked at Katrina. “Personally, I'd shut shop and stay put. Wait for help. Custer here,” he said, nodding towards Captain Brooks, “is probably gonna get us killed.”

“What if no one else comes?”

“I guess you'll get hungry,” Budd said.

“Then we'll go with you. Can we fetch my friends?”

“I think I've seen one too many staircases today,” Budd said. He looked over his shoulder to where Brooks remained engrossed in his discussions over the radio. “But I'm sure you've got a minute.”

Juliette gestured down the corridor. “I will come with you.”

Budd watched the two women leave, their feet tapping on the tiled floor, the sound echoing back to him long after they had pushed through the set of glass doors to the stairwell. He tried to focus on the fading sound, preferring it to the groans on the other sides of the closed wooden doors.

I didn't like Juliette leaving, but who was to say which part of the building was safest. And, let's face it, time forgets no man - not even a full-blooded one like myself - so, after all that running and, well, terror, I really did need a breather...

Budd leant back against the wall, sliding down so that he was sitting on the floor, his arms draped over his knees and his head hung low on his shoulders. His left foot trembled inside his boot, bouncing around inside his soaking wet sock. Aware of the adrenaline draining from his body, he felt the tiredness wash over him, seeping into his muscles and invading his mind. He wanted to sleep, to rest, to curl up in a ball in a dark corner.

“Ready, Mister Ashby?” Captain Brooks said.

Budd raised his head. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

“You know, I thought you'd say something like that.”

Captain Brooks offered him the Glock. “Two rounds left. Make them count.”

“You're a better shot. Keep it.”

“If only one of us makes it through, it needs to be you.”

Budd chuckled and took the weapon. “See, we can agree after all.”

Using his flashlight for added illumination, Captain Brooks ventured down the stairwell, reconnoitering the way ahead. Budd watched the soldier disappear around the corner, content to sit sideways on the steps with his back against the wall. A door opened on the floor above and the stairwell filled with footsteps. Several hushed whispers drifted to him, getting closer.

Juliette appeared around the bend and she smiled when she saw him.

Budd smiled in return and got to his feet. “Everything okay, cherry-pie?”

“Yes,
Monsieur
Ashby.”

“Good, 'cause Custer's getting impatient,” Budd said. “He wants us in the lobby.”

Behind Juliette came Katrina and the two men and a woman she had gone to collect. The first man was tall and slim, with close-cropped greying hair, pinstriped pants, and a white shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a long kitchen knife in his hand. He nodded a silent greeting at Budd.

The remaining man and woman came down the stairs hand-in-hand, the man one step ahead of his partner. He had a tire-iron held ahead of him. The pair was in their early twenties, and both had dark hair and angular faces; they wore tracksuit bottoms and loose-fitting sweatshirts.

“Are you sure leaving here is a good idea?” asked the man in pinstriped pants.

Nope...

“You're welcome to stay here, partner,” Budd said, taking Juliette by the hand and leading her down the stairs. “But if not, just try and keep up.”

The group walked down the two flights of stairs to find the two glass doors at the bottom wedged open. There was no sign of Captain Brooks.

Budd crept through the doorway, where he paused and looked left and right. The corridor ran in both directions. To the left were several wooden doors and a sliver of light coming in through a high-level window. The tiled floor was empty.

He looked right. The corridor widened into a lobby, with gloomy light flooding in through a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and doors. Brooks was crouched behind an overturned desk, one hand up to his earpiece. With the other hand, he beckoned for Budd and the others to join him.

They hurried across the empty space and huddled beside the solider. On the way, Budd let his eyes venture to the widows. Beyond the glass, encased in the fog and shadows, he saw fleeting glimpses of fast-movers, some alone and some in small groups, rushing through the white atmosphere with no obvious purpose.

None looked back in his direction.

The windows faced onto the street where they had split from Bogey, Chris, and Father McGee. Budd wondered if, across the road and huddled in one of the buildings that loomed dark in the fog, the three of them were staring back over.

“How's the plan coming, Custer?”

Captain Brooks ignored Budd's remark. “The boat is ready to go and remains undetected. Bogey's positioned across the street, and we estimate we're about 750 feet from the pier. The plan is simple: we make a run for it, and the rest of the team will cover our approach.”

“And you make it sound so easy.”

The soldier turned to the newly-arrived members of their group. He didn't bother with any introductions. “How are these doors secured?”

“Electronic keypad,” Katrina said. “They won't open. But there's a service entrance at the back we could use.”

Captain Brooks shook his head. “We need to be on this side of the building. Wait here.” On his hands and knees, the soldier skimmed across the floor to an alcove in the wall. He extracted a large red fire extinguisher from its hook, and then returned to the shelter of the desk. “Bogey,” he said, angling his mouth towards the microphone on his collar. “We go on my mark.”

Juliette tugged on Budd's arm, drawing his attention. He'd been peeking around the side of the desk into the foggy whiteness outside. “
Monsieur
Ashby, if something happens to me, I want you to promise that you will keep going.”

Budd smiled. He saw his reflection glistening in tears that formed in the corners of Juliette's brown eyes. “Sure thing, princess. But, promise me this back. If something happens to me, I want you to carry me the rest of the way. Deal?”

“Three,” Brooks said. His voice a harsh whisper.

Juliette stifled a laugh. “Thank you,
Monsieur
Ashby. Thank you for making me smile.”

“Two.”

“No problem, kiddo. It's just a nightmare, remember?”

“One.”

I wanted to say something memorable.

Or reassuring.

Heck, I'd have settled for mildly amusing. But no words came...

Budd licked his lips.

Captain Brooks stood, holding the fire-extinguisher aloft. “Go!”

Captain Brooks jogged towards the window and used all his strength to hurl the fire-extinguisher at the center of the floor-to-ceiling pane of glass alongside the door. The red missile tore right through it and the glass spider-webbed with cracks for a split second before shattering. Much of the window exploded outwards, the shards cascading out onto the street and crashing over the pavement. The solider didn't hesitate; he continued on, plunging out into the fog, waving for the others to follow.

It was a good thing that we didn't need the tactical element of surprise. Oh, wait...

Budd led Juliette through the broken window, stepping out onto the street. Glass crunched beneath his boots.

Further away, lost in the fog, the screams and howls of the fast-movers erupted into a frenzy. He slid the Glock out from under his shirt and held it in front of him. They followed Captain Brooks a few feet behind, the soldier setting a quick pace as he broke into a dead sprint.

A female fast-mover appeared from behind a blue van parked at the side of the road. She rushed towards the soldier, her gait unsteady as she still wore one high-heeled shoe. There was blood splashed all up her knee-length white dress.

Budd let her get as close as he dared before he fired. The impact of the first shot knocked her to the ground while the second smeared her brain across the pavement.

Behind them, the valley-like street rattled with gunfire from an MP-5, the sound reverberating between the buildings. Budd looked over his shoulder. Thirty feet back was Bogey, crossing from the other side of the road, his weapon at the ready with a smoking barrel. Chris and Father McGee were a little further away, the pair emerging from the mouth of a darkened alleyway.

Beyond them, where the white fog grew dark and too thick to see through, the shadowy forms of hundreds of bodies started to materialize, pushing into view. Budd assumed it was the horde from the underground who had followed them into the alleyway, who were now once more on their scent, alerted by their noise.

They wouldn't give in. They wouldn't stop. And we were fast running out of places to hide...

Budd looked to the front, conscious that danger could spring from any direction. Captain Brooks slowed and fell behind them. When Bogey caught up to him, he gave him several ammunition clips.

Captain Brooks took his Glock from his holster and reloaded it.

Budd surged on, trying to ignore the fast-movers that spilled from the buildings, shadows and alleyways. He saw one launch itself from an open second-story window and crumple upon the pavement.

It tried to crawl after them.

“Look,
Monsieur
Ashby, the others,” Juliette said, her younger eyes seeing through the shadows further than Budd’s.

Slowly, the image came into his view. The road ended at a T-junction, and beyond it was a six-foot tall concrete platform. A single set of narrow steps provided access to the platform, at the top of which was one of the black-suited soldiers. He had the stock of his MP-5 against his shoulder, his right eye aiming down the barrel as he stood guard, allowing the leading half of the group to pass him. The concrete area behind the soldier was stacked with boxes and crates, and had a small wooden building on one side. Its windows were opaque in the dim light. The far end of the platform protruded out into the fog-covered water of the Thames. Floating there, partially visible, was a boat.

Budd tried to hurry, to keep pace with Juliette.

They at last had a chance.

With his Glock empty, he let Bogey and the soldier perched at the top of the stairs pick off the fast-movers that posed a danger. When one of them got very close, rushing straight down the space between them and the platform, Captain Brooks dispatched it with his handgun.

Although it took no more than twenty-five seconds to cover the last 250 feet to the base of the platform, to Budd the time felt like an eternity as his goal of safety was challenged by the horrors that swarmed around him. He ushered Juliette up the staircase first, her feet banging noisily on the steel steps. He followed her, his heart pounding in his chest. His wet pants chafed his groin and his calve muscles ached like they were being stuck with hot pokers.

He kept running.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Budd looked back the way they’d come. There was a veritable wall of the fast-movers flooding down the road, the forerunners of which were only fifty feet from the base of the platform. The cries of bloodlust reached a fever pitch.