The ensuing screaming from the biter was almost deafening as it stumbled backward down the hall, running into the other three biters who were making their way toward Chris. It tripped over the remnants of Paul Richardson’s carcass, still lying in the hallway, and fell, continuing to writhe and screech in pain. The other three biters appeared swayed by the obvious agony of their companion. While they continued to move toward Chris, they were obviously wary, and it certainly seemed there was less urgency to their advance. Chris retreated to allow Wendell free reign to fire his pot of water.
But as the biters approached Wendell, the chatter of their teeth unnerved him.
“Get ready!” Chris cried from behind. “Don’t let them get too close!”
“I know…I know,” Wendell said. “Charla keep that light steady, damn it!” he commanded, glancing behind him.
In the process, he tilted his pot, sloshing some of its contents onto the floor.
“Damn!” Wendell cursed.
“Keep moving forward!” Chris said. “We haven’t pushed them back enough.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” Wendell spat, not wanting to get any closer to the approaching biters than he had to.
The scalded biter was crawling on hands and knees into a nearby open condo door. The other three were now clustered tightly in the hallway, still about 15 feet from the stairwell entrance. They were only about five feet from Wendell.
“Hit ‘em! Hit ‘em all!” Chris cried, concerned about the proximity of the biters to Wendell.
Wendell finally moved to toss his pot of water. At the same instant, the first biter lunged toward him. Wendell’s pot struck the biter in the midsection, sloshing still-steaming water all over the creature.
The biter screeched, but it couldn’t retreat due to the two other biters still advancing right behind it.
“Move Wendell!” Chris and Charla cried almost in unison.
But Wendell had found that the biter he had just tossed the water on had latched its teeth onto the arm in which he held the pot. It held on tenaciously as Wendell attempted to push it back and shake it free. Worse yet, another biter had lurched from within the condo of Charla and Wendell’s next-door neighbor.
Wendell continued to struggle with the second scalded biter. But with his only good arm now intertwined with the biter’s teeth, there wasn’t much he could do. He pushed the biter back, but the two biters behind it kept it from moving far. They reached out around the biter with whom Wendell was struggling, tearing at Wendell’s clothing with their jagged fingernails.
Wendell thought about the cleaver he carried, but with his other arm injured, it was useless. Therefore, he began trying to extract the arm that the biter clung to. He was doing his best to wrench it away, using everything in his being to detach the devilish creature.
Finally, Wendell began to break free from the biter’s grasp. But in the process, as he gave his arm a final yank and found it detached from the biter’s grip, the lack of a restraining force meant his arm flew back behind him uncontrolled. It collided with the pot Charla was carrying, knocking it from her hand and splashing its rapidly cooling contents all over the floor as well as some on Wendell and Charla.
With the situation quickly devolving into chaos, Chris gave up on the plan. He grabbed Charla and yelled for Wendell to retreat.
Seconds later, they were back inside the relative safety of Charla and Wendell’s condo, the door locked and re-barricaded. They were all breathing heavily and Charla was crying.
“Are you okay?” Chris did a quick visual inspection of both Charla and Wendell.
Charla looked herself over. “Thankfully we were wearing this heavy clothing and our coats. The material helped to block or absorb most of the water that spilled on me. I think I’m okay.”
“Yeah, I’m okay…no thanks to you,” Wendell frowned, glancing over at Chris. “What sort of boneheaded idea was that?” he began to shed some of his water-saturated clothes.
Chris didn’t respond, but it was obvious to Charla from the look on Chris’ face that Wendell was pressing his luck.
“If you recall, it was my idea,” Charla said to Wendell, not even looking at him as she removed her damp coat. She hoped to diffuse the situation between Wendell and Chris before it got out of hand.
Chris busied himself with getting the rest of the door re-barricaded. There was loud banging on the door from the biters who hadn’t been scalded.
“Wonder how long they’ll keep that up?” Charla said.
“No idea,” Chris shook his head, working to maneuver a small bookcase. “Now that they know they’ve got a food source in here, they’ll probably stick around…especially as they start to get hungry again. It looks like they’ve already consumed most of Paul.”
“Well, that didn’t work out too well…did it?” Wendell sneered, not giving up on his critique of their failed endeavor. “The best laid plans and all that.”
“Back to the drawing board, I guess,” Chris did his best to appear un-swayed by Wendell’s piss poor attitude. “I guess we learned one thing, though.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Wendell inspected a patch of red skin on his hand that had been burned by the hot water.
“It sure looks like we’re the only ones left alive on this floor. That, and if we want to leave, we’re going to have to find another way to do it.”
“Leave? Why would we want to leave?” Wendell scoffed.
“Well, we might not want to right now, but eventually we’re going to run out of food. And when that happens, we’re going to have to figure out something.”
“Brrr,” Charla shivered. “Cold in here.”
Chris walked over to the stove and turned the knob to one of the burners. The ignitor clicked, but nothing happened. Chris sniffed the air, searching for the scent of natural gas. “Shit,” he said after a moment. “Gas is off. He walked over and turned on the kitchen sink faucet. It sputtered for a few seconds, spitting out a combination of pressurized air and a little water, and then went silent with a slow hiss.
“Great…just great,” he sighed. “Looks like the water is off too. We’ll really have to start making it count now.”
“Sure glad we wasted three pots on those biters out there,” Wendell shook his head sadly, grimacing as he sat down on the sofa. “Damn arm,” he sighed.
The pounding continued in the hallway as the biters beat on the condo door.
“I have a feeling that’s going to get old fast,” Charla said to Chris, nodding toward the door.
“I have another idea,” Chris said.
“Oh no,” Wendell said from the sofa. “No more ideas. You almost got us killed out there with your big idea. You want to try something? Go for it. But you’re on your own. You’re not endangering me or my wife again,” he stood and walked over to where Chris stood near where the kitchen and living room met. “We’re fine here. We have food. We have extra water. And we’re safe from the biters for now. In a few days, if help hasn’t come by then, we can look into other great ideas. But for now, we’re content to sit right here and ride this thing out. And as for you,” he poked a finger into Chris’ chest, “well, in my opinion, you’re just another drain on our resources, and a rather dangerous one at that.”
Chris looked down at the finger Wendell was jabbing into his chest, and then back up at Wendell. Wendell stopped with the poking but kept on with his little tirade.
“Your ridiculous banging on the balcony last night got us both hurt. And your little stunt out there in the hallway didn’t pan out too well either,” Wendell looked at his slightly burned arm. “We’re lucky we made it back in one piece. So if you want to stick around, that’s one thing. I’m not going to ask you to leave with those biters out there.” Wendell knew it was really up to Chris whether he wanted to leave or not anyway. “But you’d better just calm the hell down and start listening to me since it’s my food you’re eating, my water you’re wasting, and my roof you’re sleeping under.”
C
harla watched with baited breath, afraid to say or do anything that might exacerbate the tense situation.
Chris clenched his fists, then his teeth to keep from talking, and then nodded his head silently.
“Will do, boss,” he said at last as he walked around Wendell and over to the balcony’s sliding glass door. A substantial amount of gunfire was occurring across the parking lot outside. “Will do,” he said again softly.
Chapter 13
“Hon’! Biters! Lots of ‘em!” Caroline Trove called to her husband.
Michael broke from where he was unloading the last of the Blender vehicles that they’d pulled up to the fenced perimeter of Hofmann Tower. The rest of the Blenders closed ranks to fill the gap Michael left in the fire brigade that was moving supplies from the vehicles into their tower bastion.
Michael moved to the corner of the fenced perimeter where his wife was currently serving as guard and lookout. “Ho-ly crap,” he breathed softly to himself as he scanned the situation around them.
Biters were approaching from almost every direction. And it wasn’t just a few scattered biters here and there. There were multiple large groups containing several dozen biters or more moving down Joliet Avenue, 39th Street, and across the far side of the parking lot between Hofmann Tower and the condo complex across from it.
“We’ve gotta move, people!” Michael called to the rest of the group still toiling in their early-morning work to get as much of the stuff they’d brought with them out of vehicles and inside the tower. “We got biters on the way!”
Josh had been able to take down most of the biters in the small group earlier that morning before they’d ever gotten close. His scope-fitted .22 rifle had enabled him to kill one and injure three more. The other two had fled in fear once they’d seen what happened to the rest of their small herd. But the groups of biters now approaching numbered close to a hundred or more. And as Michael watched, it seemed like even more biters were filtering through the trees and buildings around them.
He quickly realized that trying to defend against such numbers outside in the open wouldn’t work. Since the biters weren’t concentrated all in one area, instead being spread out around a nearly 180-degree radius, the Blenders just wouldn’t be able to keep them at bay.
Therefore, Michael pulled his wife Caroline and his son Patrick from their positions at the corners of the tower’s fenced perimeter to help unload the last of the supplies.
“One minute!” Michael called over the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional grunt or groan from his people as they hurriedly hauled the remainder of the supplies inside the tower.
Thankfully, most of the Blender vehicles were mostly empty by this point in their efforts. And while the tower’s lower level was awash in supplies, some stacked in piles as tall as Michael himself, it was a relief to have the stuff safely inside. Otherwise, it’d still be sitting in their vehicles out in the open parking lot where it was at risk of being stolen by looters or marauding gangs of vigilantes.
Michael jumped in to help Patrick carry a gas-powered generator inside the tower.
By the time he got back outside, he was amazed at how quickly the first waves of biters had closed the distance between themselves and the group. At least two dozen were now less than 50 yards from the perimeter fencing and closing the gap fast.
Suddenly there was a commotion toward one end of the tower perimeter. It was at the south end where the other entrance to the tower was located. A lone biter had made it to the perimeter fencing and partially fallen over it.
Michael ran over to where the biter was struggling to right itself. Its leg had become ensnared upon the stomach-high fence where the fence’s spiked posts protruded several inches past its top cross-section. It lay fallen, twisting awkwardly as it tried to extract its ankle from where it had become wedged.
It snarled and snapped its teeth at Michael’s approach.
Michael drew his .45, aimed at the center of the biter’s back, and squeezed the trigger.
The biter instantly fell still.
Michael turned, weapon still and hand, and walked quickly back to the front entrance to the tower.
“Everyone inside!” he called. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” he commanded sternly. “Another few cans of food aren’t worth your life!”
The rest of the Blenders grabbed what items they could carry with them and hurried back inside the relative safety of the tower as biters began to reach the perimeter fence.
Once inside, Michael helped the others get the front door shut and their barricade back in place. His mind was racing with a to-do list that he was trying to prioritize. He was torn. Half of him wanted to send people upstairs to fire from the upper floors to clear the biters outside. But he was concerned that this would only draw more biters to the tower. The other half of him wanted to focus on securing their position and their supplies inside. He decided that maybe the biters outside would move on to easier pickings if he and the Blenders just held out quietly inside the tower for a while. So he decided that getting situated inside the tower should come as their top priority, at least for the moment.
“Okay people,” he directed. “Josh! Patrick! Christine! Grab some of the tools we brought and help me ensure that these barricades are as secure as they can be. If those biters get past the fence, we’re going to have a boatload of them trying to push through these two entrances. The rest of you, start hauling the most important supplies, guns, ammo, food, water, medicine, the generators, fuel, and the camp stoves, upstairs. We want as much of this stuff off the first floor as possible just in case the biters break through our barricades.”
“How high should we take them?” Ms. Mary asked, already looking exhausted.
“The higher the better. We’ll be able to barricade and hold the stairs easier than the two entrances down here, so get them up at least one flight.” He helped Josh slide the scaffold plywood back before the door and screw it in place with a battery powered drill he’d brought. “Once we have everything upstairs, we can re-evaluate and decide whether it’s necessary to go any higher.”
Ms. Mary turned to get started with the others.
“Hey…Ms. Mary,” Michael called to her in a lowered voice. She turned back to him. “You take it easy,” he reminded her. “You need a break, you take it. Right?” he smiled. “You let the young bucks take the heavier stuff.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Ms. Mary exhaled heavily with a smile and a weary-handed salute.
But Michael had no illusions. He knew Ms. Mary. He’d seen her work in her garden too many times. And he knew he was going to have to keep a regulatory eye on her to ensure she didn’t overdo it.
“Remember people, work hard, but work safe,” Michael called, making sure that those already headed up the stairs with bags and boxes of supplies could hear him. “We won’t be taking anyone to the hospital if they get injured,” he reminded them.
The rest of the group continued with their supply hauling effort. This time, their pace was less frantic. Hauling heavy containers of food and water inside was hard enough work, but lugging them up a flight of stairs was far more difficult. Little nine-year-old Justin Justak was by far the most energetic. His enthusiasm for the work at hand counterbalanced his inability to carry anything much heavier than 20 pounds. He raced back and forth up and down the stairs, making three trips in the time it took the adults carrying heavier items to make one. The adults constantly admonished him to slow down and take it easy, but the only thing that slowed him down was his having to dodge the adults bearing bulkier loads coming up the stairs.
Once Michael and his assistants felt they had the entrance sufficiently secured, they joined the effort currently underway to get the entirety of their supplies up to the tower’s second floor.
Michael left the hauling of the gas-powered generators upstairs to Josh, Patrick and Andrew. The pieces were heavy and awkward, but after some moaning and groaning, they managed.
“Man, it’s dark as crap up here,�
�� young Andrew Franko shook his head as they stumbled along with the generator, finally setting it down against one wall on the second floor.
A single, battery-powered camp lantern acted to illuminate the space. But with the floor’s windows having been bricked over years ago, and with no electricity running to the structure, it didn’t help much.
“Should we get a generator going for some additional light?” Josh asked after they’d worked for about half an hour.
“First things first,” Michael said. “We got everything from downstairs?” he asked the group.
There were answers to the affirmative as the Blender remnants formed up around the lantern’s soft glow.
“Good,” Michael nodded. “Now before we get ahead of ourselves, I think we should post guards downstairs in case the biters manage to breach our defenses. Do I have any volunteers?”
“We’ll do it,” Andrew Franko volunteered himself and his younger brother Jack.
“Thanks boys, but I want two adults for this job,” Michael said. “No offense.”
“Aww,” they hung their heads in disappointment.
“Don’t worry, I’ll need you for other duties here shortly,” he reassured them.
“We’ll do it,” Manny Simpson volunteered himself and his wife Margaret.
“Perfect,” Michael nodded. “Both of you arm yourselves, and if you think there’s a chance, even a small one, of those biters starting to work their way inside, you come get someone. In fact, here,” he rummaged in a bag set among the piles of supplies. He pulled out one of a handful of small walkie-talkies he’d brought, turned it on, and handed it to Margaret. “I thought these might come in handy for us to communicate back and forth between our homes in Brookfield. But they should work well here in the tower for us to communicate between floors. I’ll keep one clipped to my belt. That way, you can reach me at a moment’s notice. Remember, don’t wait until the biters have broken through, and don’t try to fight them on your own. They get a hand, even a finger through that barrier, and you call me. With the numbers they have out there, once they get through they’ll be pouring in like water into the Titanic, and we’ll be sunk for sure.”
The Last Bastion (Book 2): The Last Bastion Page 13