Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) (16 page)

One way or the other, he was going to open the door.

Following their brief exchange, Mason gritted his teeth, listening as the man on the other side of the wall carefully navigated the bunker’s electrical plant. Neither he nor the intruder were careless enough to get in the other’s respective line of fire. It was agonizing to know that his enemy was barely twenty feet away but as unreachable as if he had been standing on the surface of the moon.

The soldier’s footsteps grew fainter until Mason could no longer hear them. If the man was to be believed, he was heading for the West Tunnel Entrance. Whether or not those inside the bunker were prepared to stop him was impossible to say, but Mason had to assume that they weren’t.

The radio sounded on one of the fallen soldiers, and he squatted down and pulled it from his vest to listen. The man inside, a soldier named Buckey, quickly communicated his situation to those outside. The conversation was brief, but helpful, because it confirmed their overall plan.

Mason conducted a quick search of the two men, discovering weapons, ammunition, and small packets of almonds. He left the armament but stuffed the almonds into his front pockets, figuring they might provide energy if faced with a prolonged siege.

 Kneeling in the dark, he considered his options. The most obvious course of action was to race around to the West Tunnel Entrance, tag up with the cadets, and try to disrupt the larger force from entering. That, however, seemed like an uphill fight, especially with the SpeedHawks circling overhead. The only other option was to try to find another way into the bunker and fight the soldiers from within. The Exhibit and air shaft doors were both secure, and the East door, although unchecked, was also likely closed. That left but one way in, and it was anything but a sure thing.

Mason dropped to a crouch and began shimmying his way back down the long dark tunnel. By the time he reached the shaft that led up, his quadriceps felt like he had just finished deadlifting a dump truck. He stood up, took a moment to stretch the muscles so they wouldn’t cramp, and stepped onto the ladder. Pulling himself up the rungs as quickly as he could manage, he arrived back at the small concrete building. The door remained partially ajar, exactly as he had left it. Even so, he took cover behind the wall and peeked out.

He looked left and right, taking a long moment to study everything and nothing. Trees swayed. Birds sang. The small slice of universe around him seemed to be in its natural state. Reasonably confident that he wouldn’t be stepping out into a sniper’s crosshairs, Mason hurried toward Leila and Bowie.

As he drew closer, Leila pushed up and dusted off her trousers. Bowie, too, scrambled to his feet, his tail swishing back and forth.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“They got inside.”

“You couldn’t follow?”

“No. One man managed to squeeze through a narrow vent.”

“And the other two?”

Mason shook his head.

“I see. And I suppose the man who made it through will open one of the doors for the rest.”

“He’s headed to the West Tunnel Entrance as we speak.”

“That’s where the cadets went.” There was worry in her voice.

“Yes, but for now, they’re on their own. We need to find another way in.” He started walking back toward The Greenbrier.

“Wait. Maybe I can fit through the vent. I’m a lot smaller than you.”

“No,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Of course, it’s dangerous. Every bit of this is dangerous. If I can go in and open one of the doors, it could give us a chance to get ahead of them.”

Mason thought of his brief exchange with Buckey. The man was a killer who would think nothing of gutting Leila and using her entrails as party confetti.

“No,” he repeated. “We’ll find another way in.”

“But how? There is no other way in.”

“There may be one.”

She furrowed her brow. “How?”

“The sewer.”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

Mason said nothing, but the determined look on his face was answer enough.

“Did you see that pipe? It was beyond disgusting. Besides, we don’t even know that it leads inside. And don’t forget about Ashby’s monster. Who knows what that really is.”

“All good points.”

“But?”

“But I don’t see another way. Do you?”

Leila heard the frustration in his voice. Mason was not a man used to playing catch-up. She considered pressing her point about crawling through the open vent but decided against it. Instead, she offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“No, I have nothing better. If you say that going in through the sewers is our best option, then we’ll go into the sewers.” She looked down at Bowie. “But I do feel sorry for him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because as bad as it’s going to be for us, his heightened sense of smell will make it ten times worse.”

Mason leaned down and scrubbed Bowie’s chin.

“Don’t worry, boy, I won’t tell her your little secret. You and I both know that for a dog, the stinkiest odors are often the most interesting.”

Chapter 10  

Mason, Leila, and Bowie stared down at the slime-infested hole. The sewage was weeks old and would have dried had it not been for water leaking from the hotel’s mains. The eight-foot sewer pipe ran roughly east to west, and if Ashby was to be believed, heading west would route them directly under the bunker. Of course, it was also his assertion that the pipes were the home of a fearsome monster that feasted on the dead.

“Might as well get dirty,” Mason said, sliding down a flap of torn carpet to land in a small puddle of brown water. Furniture, floor tile, and paintings were strewn about, stirred into the mud and sewage like candy pieces in a frozen dessert. He looked up at Leila and Bowie. “You two coming?”

The prompt was enough to get both of them moving. Bowie took two short hops and landed so hard that he splashed something green and sticky onto Mason’s pants. The dog smelled of it, but even he didn’t dare take a taste.

Leila was a bit more careful with her descent, navigating the debris until she had finally settled at the bottom of the blast pit, some twelve feet below ground level. She turned and shined her flashlight into the dark concrete pipe.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Not really, no.” Mason started forward, his M4 leading the way.

For once, Bowie seemed content to stay by his side. Even a dog apparently knew that walking into a sewer purportedly inhabited by a mysterious monster was not the time to be unnecessarily brave.

The pipe grew darker and wetter, and after a short distance, they came to a junction that allowed them to either turn left or continue straight ahead. The pipe veering off to the left was much narrower, and to get through it, they would have to crawl on their hands and knees. Worse yet, a pungent stench wafted out that caught in their throats.

Bowie traversed the narrow pipe a short distance, sneezed violently, and then bolted back to them.

“Tell me we’re not going in there,” Leila said, eyeing the stream of sludge slowly flowing out.

Mason shook his head. “I can’t see any reason to risk confusing ourselves by taking unnecessary turns. Let’s stay the course for as long as we can.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

The radio on Mason’s belt sounded, and they stopped to listen to the brief conversation that followed. A small team reported that they had finished clearing the stables located by the West Tunnel Entrance.

“Is that him? Is that the man you shot?”

“No, those men are outside.”

“Perhaps it’s General Hood.”

“Possibly.”

“Should you… you know, introduce yourself?”

“Let’s keep them guessing. Right now, they’re not sure if we’re listening.”

“You’re hoping they might slip up and reveal something important.”

He shrugged. “We have a unique opportunity to hear their chatter. Only time will tell whether or not it proves valuable.”

“Makes sense.”

They continued on, carefully placing each step in the sludge so as not to slide down. Bowie moved from one interesting item to the next, sniffing, nudging, and sometimes even licking his find.

Leila swept her flashlight across the walls and ceiling, searching for a secret hatch that might lead into the bunker.

“I’ve never been in a sewer before. Have you?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it would be so big.”

He shrugged. “Thousands of guests all taking showers and flushing toilets. The water has to go somewhere.”

“I suppose.” She flinched as a human arm floated by in the water, a watch still strapped to its wrist. “Do you really think there’s something living down here?”

“Hard to say. I once heard that a pulsating blob was discovered in the sewers under Raleigh.”

She made a face. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. People were running around claiming that it was some kind of alien life form. I’m sure it was all nonsense.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled. “We haven’t been taken over by aliens, have we?”

She forced a nervous laugh. “Right.”

Leila stopped and fixed her flashlight on a lump lying on the tunnel floor.

“What’s that?”

Mason turned his flashlight on the object. Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving.

“Check it out, boy,” he said, giving Bowie the signal to go ahead.

Bowie stood fast, looking up at him as if he didn’t understand.

“Very funny. Go on.”

The dog reluctantly trudged forward. When he got to the mound, he stood sniffing it for a few seconds before turning back to Mason as if to say, “Okay, now what?”

“It must not be alive or Bowie would be more excited. Come on. Let’s go see what it is.”

Together, they approached the mound with a level of caution fitting of their unusual surroundings. Mason bumped it with his boot, and as it toppled over, he finally understood what they were looking at.

Leila cringed. “Is that…?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

The horse head had once been a beautiful shade of brown, with a clean white stripe of hair running down its nose. Now, however, it was muddy and dark, the fur stained from all manner of sewage. Bloody tendrils of muscle hung from the base of the neck, and a two-foot section of spine dangled from its end, slowly swishing from side to side in the water.

“Where would a horse come from?”

“It must have been one of the resort’s carriage horses.”

“Even so, what’s big enough to drag something like that down here?”

Mason didn’t answer. He was too busy studying several deep scratches on the wall.

“Whatever it is, it has claws.”

“Never in my life did I think I would see a world filled with honest-to-God monsters.”

While Mason could have pointed out that the monsters were in fact nothing more than mutated victims of the virus, it seemed rather pointless. They were living at a time of creation, and whether or not those new manifestations would ultimately wipe out what remained of mankind had yet to be seen.

“Let’s go,” he said, continuing down the tunnel. “The bunker can’t be much farther.”

They walked on for another five minutes, passing numerous smaller pipes that neither of them felt compelled to explore. Eventually, they arrived at an opening, the pipe around them flaring out into a rectangular box similar to the one Mason had encountered in the air shaft. The tunnel continued ahead, winding around to the right, but there was also a heavy metal grate on the ceiling overhead.

They shined their flashlights onto the grate, studying it.

“Where do you think it leads?” asked Leila.

Mason squatted down. “Climb onto my shoulders, and I’ll lift you up to take a look.”

She carefully swung her legs over. When he stood up, her head was a few inches from the bottom of the grate. She pressed her flashlight against it to light the space beyond.

“It’s a room of some type. The walls are lined in a dark blue tile, and I see shower heads.”

“A bathroom?”

“More like a large spray booth.”

“It must be a decontamination chamber used to wash off radioactive particles.”

“Makes sense.” She pressed up on the grate with both hands. It didn’t budge. “It must be secured to the floor.”

He squatted back down, and she crawled off of his shoulders.

“If it really is a decontamination chamber, it’s probably inside the bunker.” She swept the bottom of the grate with her flashlight. “The hole’s plenty big enough to climb through. All we have to do is figure out a way to get through the grate.”

“That’s going to be a trick from down here.” Mason looked around for something to use as a battering ram. Other than a soupy mix of toilet paper, plastic bags, and bloody entrails, there wasn’t much to be found. He stared back up at the grate, thinking. “We’re going to have to blow it.”

“Blow it? Like with a bomb?”

He slid one of the satchels around and removed the Claymore.

“We’ll pull the C4 from one of the mines and use it to dislodge the grate.” He squatted down, drew his knife, and began to cut around the sidewall of the thick plastic housing.