Free Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught by Drew Brown

they’re not?”
    Gradually, the rest of the group convened around the large candle-lit table and the individual mutterings and concerns grew in volume, each person trying to be heard above the others. In the end, Andy calmly and carefully knocked the side of his hammer against the tabletop, waited for all eyes to settle upon him, and then hung the tool back on his belt. “Doctor,” he said, glancing at the bespectacled man who had not given his name, “is there a medical explanation for what’s happened to these people? Firstly, why they collapsed, an’ secondly why they’re now moving? I’d swear that t’porter’s eyes were following me.”
    Sitting next to his wife, who, Budd guessed, was in her mid-forties, the doctor looked anxious as the people around the table waited for him to rationally explain the night’s events. He pushed his circular spectacles up his nose and then wiped at a bead of sweat that had sprung from his forehead. “Truly, I do not have any reasonable idea as to why so many people would die in such a short space of time. An extremely contagious viral infection, maybe a biological weapon, my guesses would be no different from yours. As for the movement of the corpses we have witnessed, cadaveric and postmortem spasms are well-documented phenomena, but, to my knowledge, they would not involve such sustained and violent activity. As far as I am aware, a deceased organism is not capable of such acts. And I have checked several of these people for pulses and heartbeats. There were none to be found.”
    “So what the fuck are you saying?” interrupted a voice from the far end of the table. The speaker was standing beside the counter of the bar, a little way from the rest of the group. Budd turned and recognized him as the black-haired man who’d advocated leaving the hotel. “Are these people dead, or not?”
    “They must be dead, but they are showing a reaction that I have never seen, or even heard of. Honestly, I have no more answers than any of you.”
    “Well, this doesn’t change a fucking thing. I reckon we should get out of this death trap to the countryside.”
    Around the table, several people spoke at once, talking over one another as their fears and insecurities grew unabated. The senseless jabbering continued until Andy hit the table with his hammer again. “I’m staying. There’s plenty of food an’ stored water in this building, everything we need to survive until whatever has happened becomes clear an’ we’re rescued. We’ve no idea what’s beyond these walls. We’re safer in here, for now.”
    “I don’t think so,” the black-haired man responded. “If this is some kind of disease, some kind of outbreak, the authorities will probably just nuke the whole fucking area. They’ll be a containment perimeter and we need to get there to show them we’re uninfected. And we need to do it fast.”
     
    I’ve gotta admit it, right then, all that talk of containment perimeters, outbreaks and diseases seemed completely bizarre. Yeah, I know a big majority of the hotel’s guests and staff were dead—or dead and twitching—but chatting ’bout that sort of thing with a group of strangers in a candle-lit bar still seemed like a strange thing to be doing. Especially as the rest of the city looked like it was in the same state of affairs.
    I was also amazed at how well everyone seemed to be coping. There was none of the wild hysteria that there would’ve been if we were in a Las Vegas hotel, I can tell you that for sure. Of course, on the flip side, there were also a lot less showgirls to comfort, but hey, I was doing fine with Juliette, so I couldn’t complain.
    Although everyone was keeping a tight lid on it, I knew their minds must’ve been filled with thoughts of their family and friends, as well as fears for themselves. Heck, I even thought ’bout Shirley, my last ex-wife.
    She owed me money…
     
    “T’radio says that—” Andy began.
    The black-haired man