The Last Bastion [Book 2]

by K. W. Callahan

  “I just hope there are those out there who can get to us,” Ms. Mary frowned.

  Michael nodded. “This is a conversation I don’t mind having with you. But let’s try to keep these sorts of thoughts to ourselves or discuss them in private. It’s not something I want to be talking about in front of the kids.”

  “Agreed,” Ms. Mary nodded.

  “I’m going up on the roof later with the radio and a couple cell phones to see what we can pick up, if anything. You’re welcome to come if you’d like.”

  “I’d like that,” Ms. Mary nodded. “Oh, and Michael?” she said in a motherly sort of tone.

  “Yes?”

  “I can tell you’re having regrets about the decision to leave home. I know you. You’re asking yourself why we did it or how it could have been done better or safer. But don’t. I know it’s hard, but don’t let it distract you from the job at hand. We all decided to come on this trip together, as a group. We didn’t have to. And heaven knows, we might all be dead right now had we stayed at home. This is a situation without answers, so you can’t expect yourself to come up with the right ones.”

  “I know…but the Mendozas. The Hines family. We lost them. I lost them,” Michael shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

  “You can’t think about it that way,” Ms. Mary said forcefully. “You can’t think about having lost the Hines and Mendoza families. You have to think about it as having saved the Franko family, the Justak family, the Simpson family, me, and your own family. We’re all here and safe because of you and your leadership. And we’re going to continue to be, because I know that you’ll do everything in your power to keep it that way. But the one thing you can’t do, especially right now, is look back and second guess the decisions that have already been made to get us here. You can’t help that the world is disintegrating around us. You have to realize that there are some things you just aren’t going to be able to control in this sort of situation. That doesn’t mean that you just give up trying. What it does mean is that you have to accept the outcomes of your efforts for what they are.”

  Michael nodded glumly.

  “We’ve lost some good people,” Ms. Mary continued, choking on the words as she became emotional herself. “And in all likelihood, and as much as we might not want to admit it, we could very well lose some more. But that’s not up to you. It’s not up to any of us. It’s up to fate and this horrific situation in which we find ourselves. All you can do…all we can do, is do our damnedest to keep that number as low as possible and try to make the best decisions we can along the way. Right?”

  “Right,” Michael nodded. “You’re one damn wise woman, Ms. Mary,” he tried to smile.

  “Well,” Ms. Mary chuckled, “at least something good comes with age.”

  * * *

  “It’s weird up here,” Patrick said looking around the tower’s flattened rooftop.

  Castle-like turrets at each corner of the roof loomed a story above them. Between each turret ran a chest-high stone parapet lining the rooftop’s perimeter. Small, open-air rectangular windows, each set several feet apart, were cut into the parapet.

  “What do you mean it’s ‘weird’ up here?” his mother wandered over to where her son crouched, peering through one of the tiny windows to gaze out over the river.

  “Well, listen,” Patrick stood and gestured around him. “It’s so darn quiet.”

  “You’re right,” Josh walked up beside where they stood. Michael and Ms. Mary joined them. “It’s eerily quiet. No traffic noise, no airplanes…” Josh stood listening, only detecting the occasional smatter of distant gunfire, “…hardly any sounds of a defense being mounted anywhere. After the other night, it’s just… weird, you’re right.”

  “It’s almost like we’ve been abandoned. Like the military has given up on the city,” Caroline said sadly.

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case,” Michael shivered. “It’s damn cold up here, even with the sun out. That wind just cuts right through you at this elevation.”

  “No trees or buildings to break it,” Josh nodded.

  A strong gust of wind hit them hard and made “wooing” noises through some of the window holes in the tower’s parapet.

  “Now let’s try out some of these electronics and see if we can pick something up,” Michael reached into a sealable plastic freezer bag and pulled out several cell phones collected from the group after they’d arrived at the tower. They’d put the phones in the freezer bag to keep them moisture free. He handed them out, one by one, to the others. “See if you can get any reception on these things. I’m no good with them. I’ll use the hand-crank radio and see if I can pick something up, some sort of message or something.”

  “Anything,” his wife emphasized. “Even if it’s just a message relaying a timeframe for when they’re going to try to take back the city or a place to go or a number to call to get help. If we can get service on one of these phones, we might be able to reach someone and at least get an idea of what our options are.”

  But after several minutes of phone fiddling, it became blatantly apparent to the group that no service was available.

  “Shut them off and save the batteries then,” Michael instructed as he slowly turned the channel dial on the hand-crank-powered radio, creeping its tuner through the available frequencies a millimeter at a time. “We can try them again later.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m not getting anything on FM…just static. I’m going to switch over to AM,” he announced as the others shut off the phones, put them back in the freezer bag, and joined Michael with the radio.

  Suddenly there was a blip and a crackle as Michael passed one of the AM channels. He carefully adjusted the dial, gave the radio’s handle a few more cranks to power it up, and turned the dial slowly, almost imperceptibly back toward where he’d heard the sounds.

  A few seconds later, the group was greeted with a computer-toned voice that was obviously a recorded message.

  “Is no one left to record a live emergency alert now?” Patrick snorted.

  “Shhh…” his father hissed, putting up a hand to quiet his son, “…listen.”

  “The following is an automated response from the Emergency Alert System. A message will follow in five seconds. Please stand by.”

  The group looked at one another in silence, holding their breaths in anticipation as they waited, hoping against hope that they’d soon hear something worth waiting for.

  Then the message began:

  “The spread of the Carchar Syndrome has escalated. It is particularly prevalent in urban areas. It is advised that all non-infected persons remain indoors and shelter in place. Keep doors and windows closed and locked.

  Carriers of the syndrome will look similar in appearance to non-infected persons. Those already infected will exhibit certain symptoms or characteristics. The infected will not respond verbally or otherwise to commands or attempts at communication. The infected have difficulty with manual dexterity. They cannot operate complex machinery, use weapons, or manipulate simple tools. These persons often appear confused. They will wander without apparent objective in their destination; however, they have the ability to move faster when necessary. The infected eat meat. They prefer flesh, primarily human, but they will consume animals, both wild and domesticated.

  The most obvious physical characteristic the Carchar Syndrome carrier exhibits is a set of extended front teeth. These teeth tend to chatter when the infected are excited or are preparing to feed.

  Government agencies are actively involved in developing a coordinated response to these developments. The CDC is working in conjunction with state, local, and other federal agencies to find prevention and treatment options for the syndrome. Test results thus far are inconclusive.

  The armed forces are coordinating with state National Guard units to relieve major urban areas that have been cut off from support or overrun by Carchar carriers.

  The following locations are points the military has d
esignated as ‘biter zones’ around the Chicago area. People in these affected areas should shelter in place until assistance arrives.”

  The message then went on to relay a lengthy list of suburbs around Chicago that had been overwhelmed by biters and that included Brookfield, Riverside, and Lyons.

  After several minutes of listening to the list, Josh said, “Sounds like just about everywhere in Chicago. I’ve heard places to the north, south, east, west, downtown, way out west near Plainfield, close to Wisconsin. Is there anywhere that hasn’t been cut off or overwhelmed? I mean, how many suburbs have they mentioned so far?”

  “I lost count after fifty,” Michael said.

  “And that had to be a while ago because I kept count until about thirty, and they were only on the F section of the list…I think with Forest Park,” Josh added.

  “Not good,” Caroline shook her head. “How are they ever going to clear all those places they mentioned? Just look at how many biters are around this tower. And the number of biters is probably continuing to grow exponentially by the day as people try to escape the city or just come out to search for supplies and get bitten.”

  “Unless they just get eaten,” Patrick added somewhat mournfully.

  “Or that,” his mother nodded.

  “Whatever the case, it looks like we’re on our own here at least for the immediate future,” Michael said. “And with the weather the way it is, the number of biters outside, and most of the city apparently under siege, it looks like it’s where we’ll stay. We have a good idea of where we’re at with food, and we’ll need to start rationing immediately. We have no idea how long we’ll be here, and we don’t really have any way of procuring more food. The other major issue is water. We don’t have a lot for all the people we have. I’m sure we’ll be able to collect some up here on the roof when it rains or snows and then boil it.”

  “But an adult can use several gallons of water a day, and that’s without toilet flushing and showering,” Josh reminded the group.

  “Right,” Michael nodded. “We’ll really have to ration, but I have an idea. Ms. Mary, you said you saw some five-gallon buckets around here somewhere?”

  “I did,” Ms. Mary nodded with a glint of a smile.

  “If you could round those up, I brought some rope along. I’m thinking that we could open a window on one of the lower floors. Using the rope, we could lower down a bucket to the river, fill it, and then haul it back up. That way we should have an endless supply of water.”

  “You want to drink that stuff,” Caroline gave her husband a concerned raised eyebrow.

  “Do I want to? No. Might we have to? Yes. We’ll drink our bottled water first, rationing it for drinking and cooking only. The stuff we pull from the river will be used more for sanitary purposes like bathing or washing hands or whatever. We won’t want to use it for things like washing dishes or brushing teeth or anything like that unless we boil it first.”

  “And even then…” Caroline gave him a curled-lip grimace.

  “I know,” Michael nodded. “But we’re not living at the Ritz. We’re all going to have to come to terms real fast with some very serious issues of declining comfort levels.”

  “What are we going to do about bathrooms?” Ms. Mary asked. We’ve all been using those buckets we put in the two washrooms on the second floor. But they’re getting pretty nasty. And that’s without most of us having gone number two lately.”

  “I know,” Michael agreed. “I’m thinking of something where we could rig up a couple of those folding chairs…cut the centers out or something and put the buckets under them to create makeshift toilets. I’m not really sure. I’ll have to play with a couple ideas I’ve had. But for right now, after we get done with this little meeting, Patrick, why don’t you go down to the second floor. Take four folding chairs, and place two of them side by side in each bathroom. Leave a gap of about three or four inches between the two and put a bucket underneath.”

  “How’s that gonna work?” Patrick frowned.

  “A seat for each cheek, and a gap for crap,” his father shrugged with a slight grin. “It’s going to be cold as heck, and certainly not real comfortable, but it sure beats squatting over an open bucket.”

  “Especially for us old folks,” Ms. Mary interjected. “Just squatting is hard enough at my age, let alone trying to hit the bulls-eye at the same time.”

  “And as a side note. I want everyone to be sanitary, but please bear in mind, we have a limited supply of toilet paper, so please wipe thoroughly but carefully and efficiently,” Michael reminded. “And pass that message along to the kids and those who weren’t here, will you?”

  The others nodded that they would.

  “Okay,” Michael continued. “Next up, we need to get a handle on where we will distribute our weapons and ammo. If we have to hold this tower against all those biters, we want to make sure we’re prepared to fend off a sizeable attack. I don’t want to be caught with our pants down. We should round up the others, collect all the guns and ammunition we brought with us, and meet downstairs.”

  The Blenders spent about ten minutes rounding up all their weaponry and meeting down on the tower’s first floor. They put the youngsters to work scavenging and gathering useable material for further fortifying the tower to keep them busy and useful.

  “Looks like we have plenty,” Christine Franko nodded at the armaments laid out on a large folding table they’d found on the fifth floor and hauled downstairs.

  “You’d think,” Manny Simpson said. He had jumped at the chance to help organize the ammunition as a break from the monotony of his watch shift. “But it goes fast, especially in an emergency situation. We fired three or four hundred rounds over the past few days by the looks of it. People tend to fire a lot more often, more than necessary in fact, when their lives or the lives of their loved ones are on the line. Sometimes you keep pulling the trigger more out of fear than necessity.”

  “With the way those biters come lurching at you sometimes, is it any wonder?” Ms. Mary said. “And those teeth. The thought of those things being sunk into your skin is enough to make anyone keep shooting until there’s no chance of that happening.”

  “That’s why it’s good we’re inside here,” Josh gestured to the tower’s thick walls around them.

  “Okay,” Michael said, getting the conversation back on track. “Here’s what I think. Every adult carries one handgun. The lesser experienced will carry revolvers to limit the potential for accidents. Plus, revolvers don’t jam. Pull the trigger and they fire…unless you’ve got a damaged cartridge. Those with more training get the handguns with magazines. And I think it would be a good idea for those people to carry backup pieces as well, a revolver if possible. That way if they encounter a jam in their primary weapon, they’re not left defenseless.”

  “What about the bigger guns?” Patrick asked. “Where do we keep those?”

  “Good question,” Michael said. “I’ve been thinking about that myself. Personally, I’m in favor of keeping our heavier weapons and the majority of our ammo upstairs…second or third floor. The two semi-automatic rifles, as well as most of the other rifles and shotguns should probably be put on the second floor. That way, if there is a breach on the first floor, we won’t be cut off from our heaviest weapons. We can put some small caches on higher floors too, maybe the seventh, along with some food and water in bug-out bags.”

  “Bug-out bags!” Ms. Mary laughed. “Where in the heck would we bug-out too?”

  “Another good question,” Michael agreed. “We need a defense plan…something so that everyone is on the same page should the tower be breached.”

  “An S.O.P.,” Josh offered.

  “A what?” his wife looked at him with a curious frown.

  “A standard operating procedure,” Josh clarified. “A step-by-step set of instructions…a well thought out plan that clarifies how a particular event should be handled. It helps reduce confusion and miscommunication.”

 
“Right,” Michael nodded. “Should there be a breach of the tower, we don’t want to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. We don’t need people firing haphazardly with groups of people strung out all over the place, cut off on certain floors or without the weapons or ammunition to mount a defense.”

  “Good thinking,” Margaret Simpson nodded. “I can’t think straight when those biters start getting close. The way they look at you…and that chattering sound with their teeth. Ugh,” she shivered. “Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”

  There was a bang nearby as one of the boards in place over the tower’s main entrance was jarred loose by the biters clustered outside.

  Josh and Manny rushed to get it back in place and secured.

  “What about those,” Josh nodded toward the barricaded entry. “Shouldn’t we do something about them?”

  “I’d like to,” Michael agreed. “But I’m afraid that if we start shooting them, it will only draw more. Right now, there are not enough of them to do much damage. But if we draw hundreds more with the sound of our firing, the sheer bulk of their numbers might be enough to break inside.”

  “What if we try like, stabbing them or something?” Manny offered.

  “We’d have to un-barricade the door and get in close to try something like that. And then we risk being bitten or them getting inside,” Michael shook his head. “I think that for right now, it’s best to just let them be. As long as we have people down here who can do what you just did, putting that board back in place, or calling someone who can on the radio, we should be fine. But talking about these sorts of situations is good. It’s why we need to come up with a plan of defense.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Patrick asked his father.