Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught by Drew Brown

to rain on your parade, but those things are outside the fucking door. Are you going to ask nicely if they’ll let you go by?”
    Andy pointed to the bar counter, which ran in a circle in the center of the room. There was a built-up space in the middle of the bar, which rose like a column to the ceiling. “There’s a door on t’far side. T’cargo lift goes down to a storeroom in t’basement.”
    “But you just said there’s no food down there, right?” Budd said.
    “No, t’restaurant has its own store. It’s on a different level, an’ this shaft doesn’t connect them.”
    “Certainly it won’t be long before someone comes to rescue us,” the doctor said, adjusting his spectacles. “We could sustain ourselves on bar food for ample time, I’m sure.”
    “If the infection is contagious enough to down all the people both in this hotel and outside it,” Chris remarked, “do you really think anyone will be able to contain it? And what the fuck is going on with the clouds, fog, whatever you want to call it? Use your head, Doc. No one’s coming.”
    “Could the fog, like, be turning people into zombies?” Sam asked.
    Budd gave a small laugh. “Are we definitely using the Z word now?”
    “Like, what else would you call them?”
    “Zombies it is, then. But it can’t be anything to do with the fog. After all, they’re inside the hotel, too. The infection is something else. Maybe the rest is just the lousy British weather.”
    “I don’t know about the clouds,” said the doctor. “But the real question is: why are we still in good health?”
    His words provoked an awkward silence around the table.
    “Regardless of the rest, staying here isn’t an option,” Andy said after a while. “There’re probably only enough candles to keep this room lit for six or seven more hours. Even if we start to ration them now, they’re not going to last long.”
    “Why is there so little juice?” Budd asked. “The hallway’s upstairs are blacked-out. Doesn’t a place this size need its own power source?”
    “Yeah, it does. There’re diesel generators down in t’basement. They have enough output to run t’entire hotel for twelve hours, every light, every appliance, exactly as it should be.”
    “So,” Budd said, waving his hands out into the room, “why the darkness?”
    “When I started them up,” Andy said, “I only switched on t’most basic functions. T’strange thing was, I had to do quite a bit of repair work before I could even get them working. Most of t’circuit boards were burnt out an’ all the breakers had failed. That’s where I met Frank and Mandy. With all t’dead people round, we guessed we couldn’t guarantee a diesel delivery an’ only switched on t’barest emergency power. With this level of consumption, it means t’power will last about a fortnight before t’diesel runs out.”
    Budd considered what it would be like to be immersed in the blackness of the other hotel floors again. He almost shuddered at the thought. “Good move, boss.”
    “We can’t just sit here until the candles burn out,” Frank said. “I suggest we make our way up to the restaurant. The glass walls and roof will provide plenty of light, and there’s enough food and water to sustain us.”
    Around the table there were nods and murmurs of approval. “When the cloud lifts, we’ll also be able to signal any passing search aircraft,” the doctor added hopefully.
    “I’ve been up there,” Budd said. “It’s full of bodies.”
    “I saw how many guests and waiters there were at dinner,” Chris added. “Fucking hundreds of them.”
    The group went quiet for a moment; the knocking on the barroom doors had increased in volume and regularity. There were more of the things outside.
    “We did not see any guests up there, did we, Monsieur Ashby? Only staff. But there were a lot of them.”
    “Whatever happened here took place after service had finished,” Andy said, “an’ if that is t’case,