Read Online Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught by Drew Brown - Free Book Online

room.
    Remembering that the maître d’ had told him the bar did not close, Budd’s quick examination failed to reveal the bodies he expected to see. The bar was only occupied by the living, and from the raised voices and uncomfortable atmosphere, he got the feeling that they were struggling to get along.
    Frank pointed to where the group was gathered around a large table in the center of the room. It was the brightest place in the barroom, as its surface was covered with more than an equal share of candles. “I’m going to go back down and keep a look out. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, spinning on his heels and hurrying away.
    “Okay, Frankie,” Budd said. “I’ll just put my feet up and relax.”
    Juliette smiled and then gestured towards the group of people. None of them appeared to have noticed their arrival. “Shall we go and introduce ourselves?” she asked.
    “Sure, I’m all for making new friends,” Budd answered with a wink. He led the way to the group, letting his eyes jump between them, forming an initial impression about each person as he approached.
    The first to catch his attention was a hotel worker. The mauve-suited employee was standing up at one end of the table, his arms folded across his chest. He looked to be in his mid-forties, was short and stocky, and his brown hair was touched with grey. His mauve suit jacket had been discarded and his white shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing the inky stains of tattoos upon his forearms. Around his waist he wore a tool belt, complete with screwdrivers, wrenches, a knife and a hammer. The man’s face was blank and expressionless; he was saying little, but from the way several of the others looked to him, Budd guessed he had already done enough to earn at least some of their respect.
    The second man, the most vocal, was tall and thin, and stood at the opposite end of the long table. He had black hair above a narrow, pale face and was wearing a well-cut black suit. On most of his fingers were rings, and he wore golden bracelets around his wrists, all of which shimmered in the candlelight. He was obviously a guest.
    “What are we going to do, lock the doors and wait until the food runs out?” The second man said. “Sit here and wait until we fucking starve to death?”
    Another vocal member of the group was a woman in her thirties. She wore a pinstriped panttorchsuit and had brown hair in a ponytail and a face that appeared clogged with makeup. She was expressing her agreement with the black-haired man’s opinions, standing to the side of his left shoulder.
    Budd counted ten others, including two more mauve-suited employees and three, fully attired, Catholic priests. These ten were sitting around the table, but none of them spoke out. For now, it seemed they were all content to listen.
    “Hey, good to see you,” the hotel worker with the tool belt said as Budd and Juliette neared the candle-lit table. His voice was tinged with a Yorkshire accent and he looked warily at Budd’s axe.
    “Yeah, you too.” Budd replied. “Any idea what’s happened?”
    “Judgement Day,” one of the priests said. His hands were clasped around a silver flask and his comment earned nods of approval from his two fellow men of religion.
    “Fucking terrorists,” the black-haired man said.
    The man in the tool belt shook his head. “No, we don’t,” he answered. “My name’s Andy, please take a seat. We’re discussing what to do next.”
    “There’s no discussion,” the black-haired man said as Budd and Juliette pulled up chairs. “We need to leave London.”
    “T’radio said that this has happened elsewhere,” Andy said.
    “What does it say now?”
    “Nothing,” the Yorkshire-man replied, but, either to prove or disprove his words, he took out a small clockwork radio and put a few turns on the mechanism. He then switched it on and rolled through the numerous frequencies. There was only white noise.
    The black-haired man spoke over the