Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught by Drew Brown Page A

most of t’staff would’ve already left for home. All that will be up there is a skeleton workforce to prepare t’tables for breakfast.”
    “Andy’s right,” Frank said. “Thirty or forty people, maximum.”
     
    Oh, well, that’s just peachy. And did someone just say “skeleton workforce?’” Talk about sensitivity…
     
    “What about weapons? What could we use?”
    “The hotel security office has some stuff, I think,” Frank said. “Again, it’s down in the basement.”
    After clearing his throat, the male hotel worker who had yet to speak thumped his hand against the table. “I don’t believe we’re fucking considering this.”
    Beside him, his female companion nodded her head. When she spoke her voice was weak, almost a sob. “How are you all accepting this? I have family in London, and friends. All I can think about is them.”
    “What choice do we have?” Andy said. “Whatever’s happened, we just need to survive long enough to do some good.”
    “You’re talking about weapons, but do we really need them? How do we know there will be more of those things in the restaurant? And even if there are, will they really hurt us?” She turned to look at Sam. “You killed that man. Maybe he was just sick. You’re a murderer. We all saw it.”
    “Yeah, we all saw it,” Chris said quietly. He gestured to the bloodstains on his clothes, which appeared as horrid dark blotches in the flickering candlelight. “But you didn’t see what happened outside. They pulled Suzanne’s arm off. Bit chunks from her face. I don’t care if they’re people, that maybe they’re just sick. If one of those things gets close to you, you’ll need a fucking weapon.”
    The matter of fact way in which Chris had spoken, coupled with the continual sound of the knocking at the door, as well as the soft, wet sobbing of the male honeymooner was enough to end the wider discussion.
    “I suggest a group of us round up what we can find,” Andy said, “while t’rest stay here. There’s no point us all going out, a small group will be more mobile. I’ll lead t’sortie, Frank, your knowledge of t’hotel is as good as mine, so I want you to stay here; if something happens to me, you can lead t’others up to t’restaurant.”
    Frank nodded, but his reluctance at not being more involved was evident on his face. He lit another cigarette.
    Chris folded his arms over his chest. “You can count me out. A ‘sortie?’ What do you think this is, an army mission?”
    “I’ll come, dude,” Sam said, wiping the drying blood on the fire-axe’s blade with the sleeve of his green T-shirt. When he was finished, he ran his hand through his lank hair. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
    “Thanks,” Andy said. “One more should be enough.”
    Eyes darted around the table from person to person, but Budd sat still, waiting for somebody else to volunteer.
    The doctor did. “I’ll help.”
    “Thank you, Doctor, but I’d prefer it if you stayed with t’rest of t’group.”
     
    I could see where this was going.
    Aside from the old priest and the honeymooner, who was still crying into his hands and was ’bout as much use as a Girl Scout, the only other man not involved was the so-far-nameless male hotel worker. And I didn’t fancy anyone’s chances of stirring him into activity—his female companion had wrapped her arms around his neck so tight that she risked throttling him, and was fiercely meeting the eyes of anyone who even dared to look at her partner. She was like a bulldog eating a wasp.
    But uglier.
    It was useless. I knew it was going to come down to him or me.
    And I didn’t want that. But like all good cowboys, I know when it’s time to head ’em off at the pass…
     
    “I ain’t leaving Juliette,” Budd said. He got up from his chair walked over to where Juliette and the doctor’s wife were tending to the male honeymooner.
    The banging on the wooden doors had increased again, becoming an almost constant tirade of