The Last Bastion [Book 5]

by K. W. Callahan

  For now, she would wait for Patrick to express any concern he might have. If she let him open the subject, it put her in a better position, a position of power. If she just remained silent, it was as though nothing was bothering her, that last night was a freak occurrence that meant little, even if it meant much more to her.

  “Are we getting close?” Patrick asked quietly, interrupting Marta’s thoughts.

  “Yes. Not far now,” she responded coolly.

  Patrick couldn’t tell if Marta was upset about last night or it was just one of her usual short responses. She seemed even quieter than usual this morning, but then again, it wasn’t exactly the environment for casual conversation. Between biters and the band of mercenaries who had taken Riverport, they needed to be on guard for an array of potential dangers.

  “There,” Marta pointed ahead of them to a break in the forest.

  Patrick could see a building in the distance. It didn’t look like much. Then again, what did a boat rental business really need to be? It was just a place to greet customers and hand out paddles and lifejackets. The rest could pretty much take place outdoors, including the storage of their largest inventory item – boats.

  The two approached the rental building cautiously, pausing as they came to where the tree line met with a now largely overgrown lawn around the small building.

  The building was a single-story, vinyl-sided, black-shingle-roofed structure that couldn’t have been much larger than 1,000 square feet.

  After taking a minute to ensure that no one was around, Patrick and Marta moved from where they sheltered behind a particularly large oak tree. But Patrick stopped Marta with a hand on her arm.

  Outside were parked two detached trailers. One trailer was loaded with six aluminum canoes. The other trailer was loaded with eight kayaks of various colors and sizes. From first glance, neither of them could tell whether the kayaks were one-person, two-person or a combination of both types.

  “Looks like they have plenty of boats,” Patrick said. “But we need some extra paddles to replace the ones we lost in the river. I want to see if there are any supplies inside the rental building.”

  “Okay,” Marta nodded.

  “I want you to stay here,” he told her.

  “No,” she shook her head firmly.

  “If someone is inside, I don’t want to endanger us both.”

  “If someone is inside, I can help,” Marta said confidently.

  “I know,” Patrick nodded, not doubting that Marta could hold her own in any number of tight situations. “It’s not that. But if someone is inside, or something happens, you might have to bail me out…that, or go back and get help. I don’t want us both getting into a situation and no one knowing back at the roadhouse that something is wrong.”

  Marta nodded, not liking being left behind, but realizing that Patrick was right. It was better to hedge their bets and not show their full hand all at once.

  “Okay,” she nodded. “I stay here. But you call if need.”

  “Okay,” Patrick looked at her for a moment. Their eyes met, a combination of apprehension, fear, and longing.

  Patrick pressed his lips tight together as if considering something, and then said, almost as though to himself, “Screw it.” Without another moment’s hesitation, he pulled Marta up close to him. He kissed her hard, passionately, relieving just a little of that angst he felt about leaving her to venture into the unknown.

  She seemed surprised at first, but then she kissed him back with the same passion.

  “Take this,” Marta gave him her hatchet as they broke from their embrace. “Is better to fight biters.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick accepted the hatchet. “Be right back,” he did his best to look and to sound unconcerned about having to investigate the canoe rental on his own.

  “Be careful,” Marta looked at him, not liking the emotions flowing through her.

  It was hard enough being racked with constant concern regarding Louise’s wellbeing. Now she had someone else she was beginning to care about. If felt like the more she let herself care about people, the more frightened she became. It was both wonderful and terrifying all at the same time. She found her tummy a tumble of writhing snakes. But she tried to shove her nerves aside and focus solely on scanning the area for approaching trouble.

  She watched as Patrick stealthily made his way to the front of the boat rental building, the hatchet she’d given him gripped tightly in hand. He paused as he reached the front of the structure, taking a moment to peer inside one of its windows. Then he moved to the front door, reached out, and tested its handle. Finding it unlocked, he gave one last glance back to where Marta stood waiting and watching behind the large oak, and then slipped inside.

  The interior of the boat rental was illuminated by two windows at its front. There was a sort of odd odor inside, but Patrick was finding that this was nothing unusual in structures having been left unattended since the outbreak. Mold, rotten food, dead pets, and yes, dead humans could all contribute to some unsavory scents to say the least.

  Patrick paused just inside the door, scanning the large room into which he’d entered. A counter that ran the length of the room was located at the far wall. Along the wall to his right, there were racks containing an array of paddles of various types and lengths. Along the opposite wall, there were bins of lifejackets sorted by size.

  Behind the counter was a closed door leading to what Patrick guessed was an office.

  He stood, pondering whether he should have a look. His gut told him that he’d find nothing there of use. But a desire not to return from their scouting mission empty handed pushed him to have a look.

  He gripped the hatchet’s handle tightly, took a deep breath, and made a decision.

  He walked over to and around the counter. He wondered if there was any cash left inside the register and then found the thought laughable. Cash was about the most useless thing he could imagine finding in his search. A roll of duct tape would prove far more valuable than a grand or two in cold, hard cash.

  The door to the back room was closed but wasn’t latched. Patrick re-gripped the hatchet in his hand, steeling himself against the potential possibilities waiting within. He paused, listening for sounds of life, then, hearing nothing, he kicked the door open with a foot.

  The inside of the office was dark and it smelled of death. Sadly, it was a smell that Patrick was starting to become, if not accustomed to, at least acquainted with far more than he’d care to be. There was a tiny window in one office wall that illuminated the space. The office was maybe eight feet by eight feet and was sparsely furnished. To Patrick’s right, there was a desk with a computer on it. A black desk chair sat askew behind the desk. In a corner of the room behind the desk sat a mini-fridge. There was a file cabinet in the other corner. A wilted potted plant sat atop the cabinet. Along the wall behind the desk was a shelf that contained an array of books and manuals regarding canoes, kayaks, paddling techniques, water safety, and similar subjects. Toward one end of this shelf was a small framed picture of a family of three – two parents and a young boy who looked to be about Justin’s age. Patrick guessed that this was probably the family who owned and operated the boat rental business.

  But it wasn’t the office furnishings that vied for Patrick’s attention. Rather, it was what he discovered in the other side of the room. In the opposite corner, huddled in a nest of blankets, were several corpses in the latter stages of decay. Two were curled up in the nest of blankets. The other sat, withered legs drawn up in front of it, leaned up against the adjoining wall, just a few feet away. It was difficult to tell the sexes of the corpses due to decomposition. Judging purely by size, and going by the little knowledge he had of the business he was inspecting, Patrick guessed that this was the family in the picture.

  Upon closer inspection, and while covering his mouth and nose with his shirt sleeve, Patrick could see the evidence of the hideous fangs associated with the Carchar Syndrome on at least one of the cor
pses. He wondered how the family had died. Had they come here to hide from the infection? Had they been infected before they came here or after? Had one become infected and then infected the others or had they all been bitten? How long ago had they died? If they were infected, had they even realized what was happening to them?

  It didn’t matter now. Seeing the small corpse huddled up against what Patrick assumed had been its mother in the nest of sheets made him feel bad. It made him think of Justin, Justin’s dead parents, and the fatherly role that he had now assumed with the boy. And it made him think of Marta and Louise and the possibility of making a family with them. But a family for what? To live in this hellish nightmare they floated amidst? To have no stability, moving from place to place, scavenging for food, hiding from biters and marauding gangs of brutal killers? What sort of life was that? But they couldn’t just give up. It wouldn’t be fair to the kids. They had to have some sort of future, even if it was in the world as it stood now. And who knew for sure what the new world would shake out to be. In some ways, it might be better than the one they’d left behind. And with Justin and Louise being so young, their old world, a world that Patrick and the other adults had loved so dearly, might one day not seem like anything more than a distant dream.

  Again, it didn’t matter right now. There was plenty of time for contemplating such things later. He needed to finish his search of the place and get back to Marta.

  The thought of Marta churned his belly in numerous ways and for numerous reasons. He felt excited anticipation at returning to her. He felt nervous apprehension at having left her alone in the woods. He felt the hopefulness of a possible future life with her, although he knew he was getting ahead of himself. A night of adolescent-style kissing and groping was not enough on which to base the anticipation for a potential relationship. But he couldn’t deny that the hope existed nonetheless.

  He made a quick search of the desk. It was mostly filled with useless paperwork and office supplies. Then he kicked open the mini-fridge door revealing a plethora of mold and several unopened cans of soda. Patrick quickly grabbed the sodas, stuffed them inside a small pack he carried, and made his way back to the front of the building. He shoved Marta’s hatchet through his belt, gathered a couple paddles under one arm, and pulled several lifejackets of various sizes from their respective bins. Then, after a quick scan of the outside through the front windows, Patrick quickly exited the building and hurried back to where Marta awaited.

  “Good,” she nodded, seeing Patrick’s accumulation. “I help you,” she reached for the paddles.

  “You can take the lifejackets,” Patrick quickly offered, trying to be the gentleman and not wanting to overburden Marta.

  “Please,” she gave him a steely-eyed gaze. “I am not helpless woman,” she said in that deep, thick, lovely, Polish accent that Patrick found so intriguing and so enticing. She took several of the paddles and two of the lifejackets from Patrick. “There…better,” she nodded, now straddled with her own load.

  “Thanks,” Patrick smiled at her.

  “You find anything more?” Marta asked, all business.

  “Nothing of use,” Patrick decided to forgo telling Marta about the bodies he’d discovered inside the office.

  Marta nodded. “We come back later with help to carry boats.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “No, you know what? On second thought, let’s take a canoe back to the roadhouse. River’s right there. And it will save us having to carry all this stuff. We need another canoe anyway so it solves multiple problems in one fell swoop.”

  “Good idea,” Marta agreed and then hesitated. “What about water?” she referred to the unknown contaminate that had turned the river orange. The bright orange had faded to a more rusty brown, but it was obvious the river was far from clean.

  “What about it? We’re not swimming in it.”

  “But if canoe tips?”

  Patrick shrugged. “Just have to make sure it doesn’t tip. And if it does, we sure as hell don’t want to be ingesting any of that sludge. Otherwise we’ll be floating belly up like all those fish we saw earlier.”

  Marta was quiet after that.

  Five minutes later, they had one of the aluminum canoes unloaded from the trailer on which it sat, and had carried it over to the riverbank. The couple took a few extra minutes to explore a small storage unit at the rear of the boat rental. Most of what they found inside was junk, but they stumbled across a tent that appeared to be in good condition and a pair of binoculars in a hard protective case.

  “These might come in handy,” Patrick pulled the items from inside the shed and set them on the ground as they continued searching the space. “Doesn’t look like there’s much else in here, though.”

  After their brief inspection, they donned lifejackets, placed their additional paddles and lifejackets in the center of the canoe, put the canoe in the river, and shoved off for the roadhouse.

  A short quarter of an hour later, they were approaching the roadhouse, but Patrick, who was steering, guided the canoe over toward the bank before they reached their destination.

  “What are you doing?” Marta swiveled to look at Patrick from her position at the head of the canoe.

  They glided smoothly to a stop at a sandy shore along the riverbank about 50 yards from the roadhouse.

  “I just want a few minutes with you…alone,” he added.

  Marta sat silent, waiting until Patrick had guided them onto the sandy shore and exited the canoe. He walked to the front of the canoe where he offered Marta a hand, which she accepted.

  Once he had assisted her from the canoe, Patrick continued to hold Marta’s hand. He guided her across the short beach and into a patch of secluded woods.

  Marta moved stiffly, almost as though she were afraid. Patrick hoped that wasn’t the case. He wanted Marta to feel comfortable with him. That’s why he wanted to have this talk. It was so hard to communicate with her in the first place, let alone when they were around the rest of the group and the kids. He just wanted a few minutes with her to explain how he felt, if he could put how he felt into words, which he wasn’t sure he could. But he at least wanted to try.

  There was a certain something about Marta. It made Patrick feel something special, something no other woman ever had. He felt like a timid little boy around her, worried that she’d scold him or get angry with him, and he had no desire to incur her ire. He wanted only to please. Yet there was something else he experienced when he was around her, something that made him feel as though he could take on the world and win. She was so beautiful, so strong, so intriguing. And watching her with Louise had shown him her caring and compassionate side.

  Patrick was sure there was no way such a woman could have anything more than a passing interest in him. And for as much as he was afraid of what her answer might be, he had to know how she felt.

  They walked together a brief distance into the woods and found a spot where they could sit on a fallen tree. Once they were settled, Patrick pulled one of the sodas he’d found at the boat rental office from the pouch in the front of his sweatshirt.

  “Oh! Soda! I’ve not had soda in so long time,” Marta said wide-eyed.

  “I know,” Patrick nodded with a proud smile. “Me either.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Inside the boat rental building. There were a few of them in the office mini-fridge. I wanted to save the other ones for the kids. I think they’ll be really excited,” he smiled.

  “I am sure,” Marta agreed. “Louise say she dream of soda sometimes.”

  “Good,” Patrick grinned, glad he could make the child who was under the care of this lovely woman happy.

  He cracked the soda open with a hiss and handed the can over to Marta. She took a drink and handed the can back.

  “Mmm,” she closed her eyes as she swallowed. “Good.”

  Patrick took a drink. “Mmm hmm,” he nodded. “That is good. Warm but good.”

  They shared back an
d forth in this manner for another minute, largely in silence. Occasionally, one of them would comment on the delicious sweetness of the carbonated beverage.

  Patrick found it unusual that he was wooing a woman with a can of luke-warm soda. But in their current environment, it seemed to work.

  The can empty, Patrick set it beside him on the log and turned so that he could face Marta. Taking both her hands in his, he said, “I know we haven’t had much time alone together other than last night. And I wanted to talk about, well…” he hesitated and looked away uncertainly, “…I guess about what happened last night. I’m not sure exactly how you feel about me. And I know that you’re taking care of Louise, and that I’m kind of taking care of Justin. I mean, I’m not really his father or anything like that, but I think he thinks of me kind of like a father now. I well…I don’t know really how it feels to have a son, but I’d say I care about him…a lot. And well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not really sure what you’re looking for in a man. Or if you’re even looking for a man at all, I guess, and…”

  Marta had stopped listening. She didn’t like all this talking. Marta understood how it worked back in Poland. A confident man took what he wanted. Patrick’s words only confused things. Marta didn’t like it, so she did what she knew – what she felt. Her hand reached up and around Patrick’s neck. She pulled him toward her, kissing him hard at first, then softly, their tongues touching, flickering back and forth against one another. She pulled away, went in again, softer this time, probing with her tongue, using it to explore Patrick’s, then licking gently at his top lip as they broke from their kiss.

  Their eyes met, locked in knowing silence. Then Patrick wrapped his arm around Marta’s waist, pulling her in closer against him as he dove back in passionately, eagerly, longingly for more of what he’d just experienced.