Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7)

by Arthur Bradley

  “Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine.”

  Chapter 13

  Mason wasn’t sure of exactly what he was looking at. The creature was nearly as tall as the tunnel and generally humanoid in shape, with two arms, two legs, and a head. But that was where the similarities ended. Its body was thick, plastered like papier-mâché, only in this case, the packing material consisted of human waste, toilet paper, used condoms, children’s toys, and a collection of other oddities that had somehow managed to find their way into the sewer. Its hands had developed claws as thick as that of a grizzly bear, and its mouth had mutated into a toothy annular ring that pinched shut from all sides.

  Mason began to backpedal as he brought up his rifle.

  Leila ducked her head through the drain hole.

  “Quick, grab my—” She screamed and fell back as the creature swiped at her.

  “Stay up there!” shouted Mason.

  The sewer monster paused to reach up into the hole, dragging its heavy claws across the decontamination chamber’s tile floor. Bowie snarled and bit its hand, but the creature paid him no attention.

  “Over here!” Mason shouted, taking aim and firing a quick burst into its chest.

  Undeterred, the sewer monster eyed Mason, lowered its head, and charged.

  Mason did the only thing he could. He shrugged off his backpack and ran. Water and muck splashed his pants legs, but any worries he’d had about soiled clothes were quickly replaced with the raw desire to survive. Even as he ran toward the sewer entrance, he knew that continuing in that direction would only lead to his being caught and killed. His only chance was to somehow evade the creature and circle back to Leila.

  Spotting the particularly foul-smelling tunnel to his right, he skidded to a stop. As he did, his feet slipped out from under him, and he sat down hard. His flashlight fell from his grip, rolling away. Afraid to go after it, he scrambled into the tunnel on his hands and knees. It wasn’t quite tall enough to stand upright, but he managed to get back on his feet by hunching over. He felt his way down the dark tunnel a short distance before turning back to see how the creature would react to his escape.

  The monster had stopped in front of the opening, blocking out the faint glow of his lost flashlight. It let out a loud belching noise.

  “I’m in here, and you’re out there. Get used to it, pal.”

  Mason brought his rifle up again, figuring that he would try for a few well-placed shots if the creature was dumb enough to stand still. What happened next surprised him. The sewer monster pressed itself against the opening of the tunnel, and as it did, its body seemed to compress as if its bones had somehow become malleable.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Mason squeezed the trigger, and once again, the bullets were absorbed by the mass of crusty packing material surrounding its body.

  Not wanting to risk being grabbed, Mason turned and felt his way further down the tunnel. The problems that he encountered were twofold. First, the tunnel was both dark and wet, leaving him to stumble and slip every few steps. And second, the stench was growing steadily worse. His eyes watered, and his gut began to cramp. He thought it likely that the air contained methane and hydrogen sulfide, both of which could be deadly if breathed in high enough concentrations. The watery eyes and stomach pains were telling him that his body was headed for trouble if he didn’t find fresh air, and fast.

  He felt of his pocket, issuing a silent prayer of thanks that his lighter hadn’t fallen out during his less than graceful spill. He was about to strike a flame when he recalled that a sewer main had once blown up in New York City thanks to the careless flick of a lit cigarette. The resulting blast had reportedly shot manhole covers thirty feet into the air.

  He hesitated. Could the gases around him be combustible? If so, they weren’t only dangerous to him; they might also be the way to stop the 400-pound human poo monster chasing him.

  Stuffing the lighter back into his pocket, Mason shuffled ahead as fast as he dared. He needed a little distance, not to mention a hefty dose of good luck, to get out of his current predicament. The tunnel gradually curved to the right, and as it did, the stench grew even more intense. He retched, his breakfast spilling out into the darkness.

  Pausing only to wipe his mouth, he continued on. With every step he took, the sound of the creature’s incessant clawing grew fainter. That growing lead, however, wasn’t going to mean much if Mason dropped unconscious before finding a way out of the noxious fumes.

  A faint glow of light appeared from up ahead, but he couldn’t be sure if it was real or simply a hallucination brought on by the gas. Clutching his gut, he stumbled forward. With consciousness fading fast, Mason heaved himself out of the narrow tunnel, landing on his knees in a puddle of wet muck. He closed his eyes and forced the wretched air from of his lungs. Tipping his head back, he took a deep breath. And then another. The world seemed to steady, but the churning in his stomach remained.

  He turned and looked around. The tunnel looked a lot like the one he and Leila had originally entered, but there was a string of orange numbers spray-painted on the wall. Definitely not something he had seen before. That meant he was either further up the same tunnel, or he had made his way into a different one. Whichever the case, he couldn’t chance leaving the creature behind him while he searched for Leila. It was time to end the fight, if such a thing were even possible.

  Mason flicked the lighter, and a bright yellow flame came to life. There was no explosion, nor had he expected there to be one in the larger tunnel. The question was whether or not the gas mixture in the smaller tunnel was right to cause combustion. Only one way to find out.

  He moved up next to the tunnel’s exit and listened. He could hear the creature clawing its way toward him, but he couldn’t see down the dark tunnel far enough to get eyes on the beast.

  “Fire in the hole!” he shouted, lobbing the lighter into the tunnel.

  The result was spectacular. A loud boom was followed by bright green and orange flames licking their way out of the tunnel. Mason ducked to one side as the colorful flames shot out, blackening the opposite wall. The inferno lasted perhaps ten seconds before dying out. Cautiously, he leaned around and peered into the smaller tunnel, his rifle at the ready.

  Nothing. No scratching of claws. No moans or screams. It had been a fitting end for a creature made from things best burned.

  Mason took a long moment to collect himself and then started off in search of Leila and Bowie. He eventually came upon the open grate from the opposite direction, and his first sight was that of Bowie’s enormous head leaning down through the hole. As soon as the dog saw him, it began to whine loudly.

  Leila tugged him back and ducked down through the opening.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said with a smile, “but you look absolutely awful.”

  He picked a clump of toilet paper from his hair.

  “I’ve had better days.”

  “Did you kill it?”

  “I think so,” he said, retrieving his backpack and passing it up through the hole.

  “Okay, now your turn,” she said, reaching for him.

  “Give me a minute. I need to get my flashlight.”

  “Okay, but hurry. It’s taking everything I have to keep Bowie from jumping down there.”

  Mason jogged down the tunnel, listening as Bowie whined and carried on. When he arrived back at the smaller pipe, he fished his flashlight out of the water and wiped it off. It was still burning brightly, and he credited the light with saving his life as it illuminated a huge shadow approaching from behind him.

  He wheeled around and fired the M4 at waist level. Bullets struck the monster, ripping away at the thick layer of trash covering its body. Mason started to backpedal, cursing aloud as once again he slipped and fell on the slime-covered concrete. The creature rushed toward him, its body and face charred from the fire. Mason flipped the selector switch to automatic and squeezed the trigger. As the monster closed the fina
l few feet, he let the weapon drift up, hoping for a head or neck shot. The M4 bucked against him as round after round smashed into the gigantic beast, but none seemed to find their mark. The bolt of the rifle finally locked to the rear as the creature fell upon him.

  Mason’s arms were pinned by its incredible weight, and clumps of stringy Tubifex worms dangled down to touch his face. The wet pulsing of the worms and the charred smell of burnt waste were almost too much to bear, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. Instinctively, he sought to get his Supergrade in hand. It finally pulled free, and he wriggled his hand out, placing the muzzle of the 1911 against the side of the creature’s oversized head. The beast’s mouth opened, thick strands of drool dripping out as it prepared to tear the flesh from his face.

  Mason pulled the trigger, and the result was instantaneous. The monster’s head fell forward, landing on his shoulder with a wet plop. He held the Supergrade pressed tightly against the creature’s temple for several more seconds before finally accepting that the sewer monster was truly dead. Getting free proved only slightly less difficult than killing it. By the time he squirmed out from under it, Mason was soaked from head to toe in worm guts and sewer sludge.

  This time, he made no attempt to clean himself up. Any hope he’d had of maintaining his hygiene, or dignity for that matter, had long since been lost. Instead, he put one foot in front of the other, half-walking, half-stumbling his way back up the tunnel.

  The one piece of good fortune was that the decontamination chamber provided Mason with a chance to clean up. He stripped naked, washed himself, and thoroughly rinsed and wrung out his clothes. All the while, Leila watched from a small bench along the wall, more amused than she probably should have been. Bowie stayed close to Mason, taking every opportunity to snap at the streams of water spraying from the powerful jets.

  When he was dressed and finally presentable, Mason turned to face Leila.

  “Well?”

  She smiled and got to her feet.

  “I think I liked you better naked.”

  “You think?”

  She winked. “Maybe we’ll both live long enough for me to decide.”

  Bowie suddenly went into a full body shake, spraying both of them with hundreds of tiny water droplets.

  “Bowie!” she cried, wiping the water from her face.

  The dog looked at her as if he couldn’t understand what the problem was.

  “Yes, you!”

  Bowie yawned and looked to his master.

  He smiled. “She doesn’t understand you, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I understand him fine. Liking him, however, that’s another matter.”

  Mason patted Bowie and was amazed to find that his fur was already drying.

  “She doesn’t mean it, boy.”

  “I do so,” she said with a small laugh.

  Mason straightened up and wandered over to the heavy door leading out of the chamber.

  “You ready?”

  She gave a quick nod and pulled her Beretta free.

  He pushed the door open and found himself staring at the wrong end of a Colt M1911. A stocky man, about sixty years old and wearing a military uniform, stood ten feet away. Two gold stars adorned his lapel, and his name tag read, “Carr.”

  “Hold it right there,” he said, tightening his grip.

  Quick draw or not, there was no way Mason was getting off a shot before the general plugged him. So, he did the only thing he could. He froze.

  “Who are you?” demanded Carr.

  Mason pointed to his jacket. “May I?”

  “Go ahead, but don’t make me nervous.”

  He slowly parted his wet jacket so that his badge and gun were visible.

  “I’m Deputy Marshal Mason Raines. This is Leila Mizrahi, a member of Mossad. And that’s Bowie. We’ve come to help protect President Rosalyn Glass.”

  “Why would a deputy marshal and a Mossad agent come to protect anyone?”

  Mason offered a reassuring smile. “That, General, is a very long story. What I can tell you is that a group of soldiers led by General Hood is outside at this very moment.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re wrong about that,” he said, lowering the pistol. “They’ve already breached the West Tunnel Entrance and are preparing to invade the bunker as we speak.”

  Mason wasn’t terribly surprised. “I knew one man had made it into the power plant, but I didn’t know he’d managed to get one of the blast doors open.”

  “Not only did he open the door, he also killed our physician. A gentler soul never walked this earth.”

  “Where’s President Glass? Is she safe?”

  “No, she is most certainly not safe.”

  Mason swung the M4 around to hang across his chest.

  “As I said, General, we’re here to help.”

  “While I appreciate the gesture, I’m afraid that a marshal, an intelligence agent, and a very large dog aren’t going to be enough.”

  Mason patted the satchel. “We brought anti-personnel mines.”

  Carr’s eyes lit up. “Claymores?”

  He nodded.

  The general took a long moment to study him.

  “You seem like a man who can handle himself. Tell me I’m right.”

  Mason met his stare. “You’re right.”

  Carr nodded. “All right then, let’s get back to the others.”

  General Carr, Mason, Leila, and Bowie stood in the center of a small conference room. Tom Pinker, Bill Baker, Jack Fry, and Rosalyn Glass huddled around them. Brief introductions had been made, as well as a few basic questions answered, but given the urgency of the situation, pleasantries had been forgone.

  General Carr led the discussion.

  “Madam President, we have to get you out of this bunker.”

  She pressed the electrolarynx to her mandible, and a slightly mechanical voice sounded.

  “You mean we have to get everyone out.”

  “No, ma’am. Most of us will need to stay behind to cover your escape. There’s simply no other way.”

  President Glass shook her head. “General, I know you mean well, but that’s unacceptable.” She thought of Dr. Tran’s body, discovered by Carr only moments earlier. “I simply won’t see another person die on my behalf.” She paused. “And that’s why I have decided to surrender myself to General Hood.”

  Nearly everyone in the room started to object, but she held up a hand and said, “I’ve made my decision. I will give my life so that the rest of you can live.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to work,” said Mason.

  Everyone turned to face him.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because they’re not here to kill you.”

  “What do you mean? Of course, they’re here to kill me.”

  “No, ma’am. They’re here to kill the truth. And that truth lies with every person in this room. No one will be allowed to live, no matter what you say or do. These men are not here to negotiate or make concessions. They’re here to kill each and every one of you. And they’re not going to leave until that mission is accomplished.”

  Murmurs broke out, but no one challenged his assertion.

  “All right then, Marshal, what can we do?” she asked.

  “We can fight.”

  “Against an army of professional soldiers?” said Baker. “What chance would we have?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be the one betting on us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s not very reassuring,” said Glass. “Surely, there’s another way.”

  “If there is, I don’t see it. If we leave the bunker as a group, the helicopters will make short work of us, and you’ve already excluded the option of the rest of us offering a diversion while you escape.”

  Carr spoke up. “He’s right. We’re going to have to fight these bastards.”

  Mason looked at General Carr. He had proven himself to have the right fortitude. Pinker, too, seemed capable. He wasn�
��t so sure about Baker, and even less so about Fry. As for President Glass, she was barely able to stand.

  “I’m in,” declared Pinker. “Better to take a few of them with us.”

  Baker sighed. “I suppose they can’t be any worse than the militias I fought when living with the Bayaka Pygmies.”

  President Glass only nodded, and Jack Fry said nothing at all. Of the group, he seemed the most fearful of confrontation.

  Mason said, “We don’t have enough people to mount a defense that would stand up against their assault. So, instead of defending, we’re going to attack.”

  “Attack?” said Baker. “That sounds like suicide.”

  “Not if we do it right. We’ll start by slowing them down. And the best way to do that is to teach them a hard lesson.”

  “What lesson?”

  “That nothing will come easy.”

  Everyone stared at him, waiting to hear what he had in mind.

  “Gather around. We’ll need to move quickly if we’re going to pull this off.”

  Chapter 14

  The air in the tunnel was damp and cool, and there was a sour smell that reminded Samantha of Tanner’s socks after a long day’s hike. She swung the flashlight around, sweeping it across the landing to light up the walls and tunnel floor. A single set of tracks ran in both directions as far as the eye could see. To either side of the tracks were narrow driving lanes painted atop a stretch of blacktop that was as smooth as the Bonneville Speedway.

  “What are you doing?” she said, turning around to face Tanner.

  He stood, frowning, studying the staircase like a professor might a blackboard filled with differential equations.

  “Trying to figure out a way to close this thing back up.”

  “Are you kidding? Leave it open.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Why not? We’ve still got to get back out, you know.”

  “That’s true, but it wouldn’t be right to leave a way for the infected to get up into the city.”

  He squatted and lifted the bottommost stair. To his surprise, the entire case raised, the stairs collapsing in on themselves like an elaborate wooden puzzle box. He continued to lift the entire structure until it was high above his head. The collapsible stairs pulled at his hand as if rigged with some kind of spring.