Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) Read online

  The tunnel suddenly fell into complete darkness, and Mason instinctively lowered his head to the concrete floor. Not that that would have done much good. If a flashlight or night vision optics turned in his direction, the game would be up.

  He waited, lying perfectly still.

  Voices sounded, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Something metal clattered against the concrete floor.

  Had they gotten the door open? Not with a cutting torch, they hadn’t. But something had broken free. That’s when it hit him. They were in an air shaft, and air shafts had vents. The soldiers had found a way in.

  Mason reached for his flashlight. As soon as he had it in hand, he raised his head and pressed the flashlight against the stock of his M4. He had only one choice left.

  He had to fight.

  He clicked the flashlight on and fired a three-round burst where he had last seen one of the soldiers. The noise was deafening, like a garbage can being hit by hammers. He shifted right and fired another burst. Then back to the left. Then to the right. Two of the soldiers dropped to their knees, pushing their weapons out in front of them as they fell.

  Mason continued to fire, now targeting their torsos. Three rounds toward one. Three toward the other. There was no aiming, just point and squeeze. Bullets ricocheted off the steel door, veering up into the concrete wall and then back toward the other wall. The way the concrete tunnel opened up into a taller shaft had created the perfect kill box. Back and forth the bullets went until their energy was either expended or they had found something soft to sink into.

  He continued firing until the weapon ran dry. Thirty rounds downrange. He dropped the spent magazine, shoved in the spare, and released the bolt. Nothing at the end of the tunnel fired back at him—a good sign to be sure. He swept the flashlight over the area, but the light reflected off the thick cloud of smoke from the burnt gunpowder.

  Rising to a crouch, he shuffled down the last forty yards of the tunnel. When he entered the opening, he found two soldiers lying dead. Both had been hit with at least a half-dozen 5.56 mm rounds. There was also a hubcap-sized fan leaning against the wall.

  He brought his light up. Three identical air vents, each roughly a foot and a half in diameter, were positioned above the door. The fan had been pulled from the right-most vent, leaving a narrow cylindrical hole through the thick concrete wall. Mason checked the floor again for the missing soldier, refusing to believe that he could have fit through the hole. But each time he looked, he came up with the same answer. There were three rifles, and only two bodies. And that could only mean one thing.

  A Black Dog had managed to get inside.

  Chapter 8

  As luck would have it, Canal Road not only intersected M Street, it actually became M Street. A four-lane roundabout brought Highway 29, Canal Road, and M Street together into one giant intersection. It was only as Tanner and Samantha passed Dixie Liquors, did they realize they had actually walked on M Street the night before.

  The Francis Scott Key Memorial sat directly across the street. Canopies of interwoven branches topped concrete pillars to cast a refreshing shade across several reading benches. No doubt it would have been a comfortable place to sit and rest. But neither Samantha nor Tanner suggested they stop. Every distraction, no matter how small, seemed to bring new threats and delays. Both had accepted that it was better to get on with the task at hand. Besides, their hike had only just begun, and they were quickly becoming accustomed to walking several miles at a stretch.

  M Street wasn’t quite a shopper’s Mecca, but it did offer an assortment of upscale bicycle shops, clothing boutiques, and kitchen design centers. As they pressed on, stores became intermingled with pizzerias, ice cream stands, and sandwich shops. A few people even milled about, kicking aside Coach handbags and Lululemon yoga pants in favor of leather work boots and jugs of cooking oil. No one seemed particularly threatening, and before long, Samantha found herself offering the occasional wave to passersby.

  “You should try be friendlier to people,” she said, glancing over at Tanner.

  “Why?”

  “Because most of them are nice enough.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Most?”

  “Okay, maybe not most, but some.”

  “Problem is there’s no easy way to sort the good from the bad.”

  “So, what, we assume the worst about everyone?”

  He marched on. “Good idea.”

  “Wait,” she said, hurrying to catch up. “I wasn’t saying we should do that.”

  “Darlin’, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “So?”

  “So, until we discover a magic amulet that glows every time evil comes near, I’m assuming everyone’s rotten to the core.”

  “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But we’ll never have any friends.”

  “That’s all right. Friends are overrated.”

  She shook her head. “That’s what people without friends say.”

  Tanner grinned but said nothing more.

  A short while later, they came upon an abandoned Sunglass Hut. Someone had crashed a motorcycle through the plate glass window, and tiny shards of glass covered the sidewalk out front.

  Samantha nodded toward the building.

  “I’ve been wanting a pair of sunglasses. What do you think?”

  Sunglasses certainly weren’t a necessity where they were going, but it seemed like a reasonable opportunity to gather yet another potentially useful supply.

  He shrugged. “Nothing like a good pair of shades.”

  They stepped inside the small store and picked through the spilled racks of designer eyewear. There was tens of thousands of dollars of merchandise scattered across the floor, many of the sunglasses either bent or broken from scavengers having stepped on them. Samantha eventually settled on a pair of white-rimmed glasses that were nearly as big as those of Luna Lovegood, and Tanner picked out a pair of classic aviator glasses that would have made John Thomas Rourke proud.

  “We’re just picking up garbage, right?” she said, staring at her reflection in a broken shard of mirror.

  “Yep.”

  “Because I don’t want to steal anyone else’s stuff.”

  “I know that, but believe me, the owner of this place is long gone.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure.”

  It was a conversation they’d had a hundred times before and would probably have a hundred times again. While he often felt frustrated with her reluctance to take what they needed, he was also thankful that she possessed such a steadfast moral compass. Samantha brought a sense of morality to their quests, and while he bucked against it as often as possible, Tanner still appreciated the occasional nudge when it came to right and wrong.

  Before long, they were back on the road, satisfied with their selections and each feeling a bit more dapper. The morning was pleasant enough, and for two long miles, they encountered nothing more dangerous than a small pack of wild dogs, which thankfully scattered after a quick warning shot. Georgetown had been a peaceful enough place before the pandemic, and it had somehow managed to maintain much of that charm, despite the collapse of civilization.

  That charm faded, however, as the bars, restaurants, and two-story brick boutiques gave way to impersonal office buildings, banks, embassies, and hotels. The scavengers also thinned as the tall buildings cast ominous shadows over the street. Both Tanner and Samantha tightened their grips on their weapons, ready for anyone, or anything, that might step from the shadows.

  In an attempt to break the menacing mood, he said, “Whistle us up a tune, why don’t you.”

  “Why? So we can let them know we’re here?”

  “Them who?”

  “I don’t know. Just them.”

  “Brain-eating zombies?”

  “Probably.”

  “Werewolves? Vampires?”

  “You never know.”

  He snickered.

  “Laugh if you want,
but I’m not ruling anything out. Not after what we’ve seen.”

  Despite his ribbing, Samantha’s fears were closer to the truth than he cared to admit. The line between fantasy and reality had become blurred to the point that neither of them would have been surprised to see Frankenstein lumber out into the street, juggling flaming torches while singing “Send in the Clowns.” The intuition they’d once had about what was possible and impossible no longer held true. Every day offered the possibility of discovery, something that was both exciting and terrifying.

  When they finally arrived at 2301 M Street, they discovered an eight-story building set between a Park Hyatt Hotel and a large conference center. A royal-blue awning stretched out over the sidewalk with the words “Kaiser Permanente Medical Office” printed on its side.

  She eyed a small flight of stairs leading up into the building.

  “This doesn’t look like any hospital I’ve ever seen.”

  “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  Tanner took the stairs two at a time, and Samantha hurried after him. At the top, they came to a large sliding glass door. The glass plates had been smashed in, but a few shards still clung to the metal frame.

  He bent over and carefully stepped through the broken doors.

  “Careful not to cut yourself,” he said over his shoulder.

  She chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “That’s like the bulldog telling the mouse to watch his head on the pet door.”

  “And I suppose I’m the bulldog?”

  “Well, you’re not the mouse,” she said, snickering.

  On the other side of the doors, the space opened up into a short hallway. To the left was a waiting area littered with overturned chairs and magazines. At the opposite end of the room, they could see elevator doors. Men’s and women’s bathrooms lay directly ahead, and to the right was a small pharmacy.

  Tanner immediately turned right, figuring that the dispensary would be the most likely place for Jarvis to find medications. As he rounded the corner, he found himself in another small waiting room. The back wall had several built-in shelves, a few of which still contained cough medicine, antacids, eye drops, Epsom salts, and vitamins. Directly across the room were four counters, each with their respective number hanging above them. Behind the counters was a large glassed-in area from which the pharmacists had once worked.

  Samantha called out. “Dr. Jarvis, are you in here? It’s me, Samantha.”

  There was no answer.

  She looked to Tanner. “I don’t think he’s here.”

  “Watch the door while I take a look.”

  Samantha reluctantly turned to face the entryway with her rifle at the ready.

  “Okay, but hurry. This place is creepy.”

  “You say that about every place.”

  “That’s because they’re all creepy!”

  Tanner slid across one of the counters and discovered that the room containing medications had been cordoned off by a thick, sliding Plexiglass door. Unable to break the glass, looters had resorted to knocking it off its track, and then squeezing through a gap at the bottom.

  Amateurs.

  He gave it a couple of good kicks, and it the entire door fell in with a loud crash.

  Samantha hollered, “Practicing your ninja training again, I see.”

  He grinned but said nothing. He was too busy studying an assortment of tall shelves, no doubt once piled high with life-saving pharmaceuticals. Now, however, they sat empty except for a few asthma inhalers, aluminum finger splints, and clear plastic jugs of something that looked like a mixture of corn syrup and powdered milk. He carefully navigated the small room, his boots crunching on pills scattered across the floor. When he was satisfied that Jarvis wasn’t hiding behind one of the shelves, he returned to Samantha.

  “Find anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, this was all a complete waste of time.”

  “Not necessarily. It’s a big place.” He led her back to the entryway and studied a large directory hanging on the bright red wall. Tanner ran his fingers up and down the sign. “It looks like there are four floors. This one houses the pharmacy and records management. The next one up offers behavioral health, which probably wouldn’t have drugs. Then comes x-ray and imaging services, again no drugs. That leaves this one.” He tapped the sign.

  “Obstetrics, gynecology, and internal medicine,” she said, carefully reading the words. “I’m not really sure what any of those mean.”

  “People in pain, darlin’. That’s what they mean.”

  “Okay,” she said, leaning around the corner to spy the elevators, “but that’s three flights up. Are we going to pry the elevator doors and shimmy up the cables?”

  Tanner chuckled and pointed to a sign at the far end of the corridor that read Stairs.

  “What do you say we take the easy way just this once?”

  “Sure, whatever,” she said with a shrug. “But you have to admit that the elevator thing would’ve been cool.”

  “That it would have.”

  He turned and led her through a waist-high saloon-style door, whose only purpose had been to keep irritated patients from getting too close to the equally irritated receptionists. At the far end of the hall, they found a wide set of stairs leading up. As soon as they entered the stairwell, they detected the stench of decaying bodies.

  “You smell that?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Nothing we haven’t smelled before.”

  “True, but it means there are dead people up there.”

  “Dead people can’t hurt you.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  Tanner didn’t argue the point any further. The truth was that she was right to be a little nervous. Their day so far had gone far too smoothly, and both of them knew it.

  They crept up the stairs, stopping only when they got to the fourth floor. As with the other levels, there was no door, only a large doorway that opened up into a brightly painted hallway. Much to their chagrin, the worst of the odors seemed to be coming from within.

  Still standing in the doorway, Tanner leaned his head around to get a quick peek at what lay ahead. The hallway was strewn with overturned laundry carts, medical records, and spent needles. Blood and human waste were smeared across the walls and floor, making it look more like a slaughterhouse than a hospital. Worse yet, fresh footprints revealed that someone had recently walked through the slimy gore.

  He pulled his head back.

  “Well?” she said, nudging him.

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing we ate a few hours ago.”

  “That bad?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Samantha mimicked what he had done, and when she leaned back around, her eyes were watering.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “And then some.”

  “Do we really have to go in there?”

  “Those footprints could be Jarvis’s.”

  “Even if they are, how do you know he hasn’t already left?”

  “Look down. What do you see?”

  She studied the stairwell landing. Nothing looked out of place.

  “Nothing.”

  “Exactly. If Jarvis had come back out, there would be bloody footprints going down the stairs.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You want to wait out here?”

  “Of course not.”

  “All right then. Hold your nose. It’s going to get nasty.”

  Their shoes made a sickening squish as they carefully picked their way through the filth. The hallway looked like the site of a massacre, butchered hands and feet tossed into corners, eyeballs dangling from light fixtures, and buckets of blood splashed everywhere. The addition of urine and feces created a veritable cornucopia of all that was revolting.

  Samantha had pulled her scarf up over her mouth and nose, and refused to remove her sunglasses even though the hallway was barely brigh
ter than a broom closet. For his part, Tanner did what he always did. He put one foot in front of the other and listened for anything that might want to hurt them. Everything else was but a distraction.

  As they walked around a corner, they came face to face with an infected woman. She was barely in her twenties, naked except for one of those thin medical robes that tied in the back. She knelt in front of a half-eaten body, a doctor by the looks of it. His arms had been chewed off and his belly ripped open. The young woman rifled through his intestines, occasionally picking up pieces to chew.

  Samantha brought her rifle up and whispered, “Told ya.”

  The woman turned to face them, her obsidian eyes glowing a silvery white in the diffused sunlight.

  “Tanner?” Samantha said, her voice catching in her throat.

  Two hours earlier, Tanner would have shot the woman without a second thought. But that was before Issa. It could just as easily have been her kneeling in the hallway, doing what she had to do in order to survive.

  “Tanner,” she said again, slowly stepping back, “we really need to get out of here.”

  It took Samantha’s scream to break him out of the trance. She had caught sight of a man racing up behind them, his mutated hands extended as he prepared to rip flesh from bone. Tanner wheeled around and fired the shotgun. A fist-sized load of buckshot caught the man in the gut, and he staggered back. Samantha took aim and fired her .22, the tiny slug popping a neat hole through the man’s eye. He teetered for a moment and then collapsed onto the floor.

  A second man barreled around the corner, but before Tanner could get off a shot, something grabbed him from behind. Claws raked across his cheek, and teeth bit into the side of his neck. It was the woman! She clung to his back, riding him like a wild bronco as she ripped away at his flesh.

  Tanner’s first reaction was to try to elbow her off, but each time he turned, she turned with him, pulling ever tighter. Despite the threat of the man charging toward them, Tanner knew that he had to do something about the woman before she managed to bite into his carotid artery. He turned sideways and drove backwards, smashing her into the closest wall. The plaster crunched inward, but she continued to cling to him.