Station Hope (Book 1): Humanities Last Stand

Station Hope

Humanities last stand

by

Thomas A. Bach

Thomasabach.com

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Station Hope 2

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Copyright © 2016 Thomas A Bach
. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

Version2016.04.22

1

I woke from my nightmare covered in sweat. Not again I thought, not another night’s sleep cut short by one of my terror filled dreams. Many years ago young men of 21 would have been worrying about girls or getting a job. Here I was having nightmares about those creatures and just struggling to survive. I could hear my brother James snoring softly in the bunk above me so I laid there not wanting to wake him. My mind went over the current situation I found myself in.

 
 
It happened decades ago before I was born. No one knows for sure how or why. Legend says
they
came out of Romania, the Carpathian Mountains to be specific.
They
spread like a tidal wave, west into Europe and south across the Middle East. Nothing seemed to stop them or even slow them down.
They
spread across Russia and into Asia, down to Africa.
They
crossed over to South America and headed north towards The United States and Canada.
They
engulfed the world in a matter of weeks. There came wild stories of bloodsucking creatures savagely attacking humans. The stories seemed so outrageous but in a blink of an eye humanity almost went extinct. The Earth’s population decreased from over seven billion to only a hand full, I have never seen more than seven hundred humans in my entire life. We never use the word vampire anymore, but that's what
they
essentially are. I've heard the old vampire legends from my Grandfather, but the only parts that hold true are the blood sucking and the increased strength.
They
can go out into the sun and
they
don't turn into bats. As for them being terrified of the cross or holy water burning them, I have never witnessed either.

   My grandfather would tell me and my younger brother James how
they
came to his town. He called it the “Great Evil” and his stories always gave us nightmares. He would recount in great detail how his hometown, in what was once Wisconsin, was overrun by the creatures. My Grandfather managed to get my father and Uncle Phil into the north woods where they hid for years. Living like animals, hiding and scavenging all the time. He would always say, “Humans ain't the top of the food chain anymore.” They barely survived those first harsh winters but survive they did.

The stories I enjoyed the most were the ones my Grandfather would tell about how things were before
they
came. About video games and cell phones, about how his parents would take him to a store that would be full of food, all they had to do was pick things off the shelf. How they drove in cars where and when they wanted. How they didn't have to carry a gun all the time. How they slept in peace in warm beds with full stomachs. How they would play games and have fun day or night. It seems so bizarre to me, so unimaginable. Sometimes I thought my grandfather must have made it all up. But then I see the remains of the old cities, full of houses that people once lived in, dilapidated and uninhabitable now. Their cars and possessions decaying slowly in front of me. It's hard to imagine what it was like for my grandfather as a child. Neither I nor my brother have ever known anything but fear. I often found myself looking at the remains of the roads and wondering what it was like to drive down them without a care in the world. We never walk on the roads or at least what's left of them. Wild game use them as trails and
they
hunt us on those trails. That's just one of the hundreds of tricks my grandfather taught me to stay alive. It’s been five years since he was killed by those things and I miss him terribly. He taught us how to hunt for food, how to survive on own, and most importantly he taught us how
they
could be killed. He died saving my life which is something that will haunt me all the days of mine.

  My grandfather founded what is now known as Station Hope. It's a small group of humans attempting to make a life, to survive, and to kill those dreadful creatures. No one ever leaves the compound at night,
they
move and see better at night. Almost everyone caries a weapon at all times, on rare occasions
they
hunt during daylight.
They
can't see as well but will come out if hungry enough.

   There are 597 humans living at Station Hope, down from 612 at the start of winter. Some were taken by the creatures and some were taken by God. Two women are pregnant and a few wanderers always find their way here during the summer. Humans use to run and hide in the woods or cities always in small groups. Taking refuge where they could find it but always living like rats. Four years before I was born my grandfather decided he had enough of that and returned to his hometown along with 25 others. He grew up just outside of Green Bay and picked an old jail complex northeast of the city as their new home. They found they could defend themselves better from a fortified fixed position instead of running around like rats constantly hunted by the creatures. They established themselves, Station Hope grew and continues to grow.

It is a constant battle between the creatures, the elements, sickness and starvation but overall we are better off than before. We live in the old cell blocks which provide security and some privacy. When I was a small boy a large concrete wall was constructed surrounding the main jail complex. Fences with barbed wire surround the rest of the complex along with some of the fields. Everyone sleeps within the security of the wall. We grow our food or hunt in the woods, some fish the bay. Everyone has a job and most have several. There is an armory where guns are repaired and casings are reloaded. The old sally port is now a repair shop for the few remaining vehicles. A power plant, both bio-fuel and solar energy, supplies electricity and pumps clean water up from the well. There are specialty shops where craftsmen make everything from furniture to tanning hides for clothes. Eddie is the electronics guru who fixes anything electronic. If he can’t scavenge for a part, he just makes it. He keeps what’s left of the computers, televisions, radios, and solar panels working. A small medical area where Dr. Hendricks doubles as a dentist is just off the main corridor. He also does research on the creatures with the help of my girlfriend, Ivy. Near the center of the complex the jail kitchen provides the community meals three times a day. Uncle Phil is in charge of security, sort of the Sheriff, he has five deputies to assist him. There is also a school that everyone under 13 must attend, Miss Esler is the only teacher. A middle aged woman who lost her husband two years ago, he was taken during a scavenging trip. The old gymnasium serves as the community center where meetings are held, sporting events occur, and movies are shown. Over the last few years a sort of class system has begun to develop within the compound. My father, he inherited the role of leader after my Grandfather was killed, and extended family are at the top, craftsmen along with their apprentices are becoming the aristocrats, the farmers and laborers make up the lower class. Everyone works hard, they eat the same, dress the same, are provided amenities and securities equally but there is definitely a change taking place.

   The complex is located on a hill just northeast of the city. From this vantage point, you can look west and see down the valley. The twisted metal spans of the old I-43 bridge seem to dangle in the wind as they hang down and disappear into the green water of the bay. Beyond that a few buildings and an old sports arena still penetrate the tree tops, the ruins of the old city. Only one bridge remains across the Fox River but it’s in the center of the old downtown. We only cross it when it's absolutely necessary, that seems to be where the creatures like to hide from the light of day. To the north the waters of the bay stretch as far as the eye can see. To the south and east lie the crop fields, beyond that nothing but forest. This is a good location to defend. The forest provides materials and food. The bay provides water and fish. The land is fertile and good for growing crops. Overall it would be a wonderful place to raise a family if only
they
were not here.

Almost morning now and my watch is nearing its end. No sign of them tonight which is a welcome relieve. Five days and nights now without a single sighting, a blessing to be sure but so out of the ordinary it makes everyone uneasy. What are
they
doing, where have
they
gone, and what are
they
planning next. We can never let our guard down, never relax for a single minute. If we do the creatures sense it and someone here dies. Enough of them die already from those monstrous evil things. Sleep will be welcomed after this long cold night. I can only hope the nightmares are kept to a minimum. As I sit in watchtower 2 and stare out into the darkness, it was my week for night watch duty, I wonder what’s beyond the valley. Are there humans out there better off than us, are there any humans left out there at all? Finally, I can hear my relief coming up the ladder. I gather my gear and head back down to good old cell block E. My cell is on the second tier, the metal placard on the wall as you enter reads B2. This is my home, my little escape from the real world. I share the cell with my younger brother James who just turned 18. My father and mother sleep in a cell on the first tier just below. My Uncle Phil and Aunt Jane sleep in a cell on the other side of the block. Their daughter Crystal sleeps in the cell next to them. In the center of the cell block are metal tables and an old control station where a guard would sit. Everything is made of concrete or steel, it is a cold and uninviting atmosphere. My mother made it feel like a home as much as she could. Each cell door was covered with wood or cloth in an attempt to have some privacy. The cells themselves were furnished with whatever could be salvaged from the remains of the past. By the front door a wooden table and chairs made by our carpenters. There are a few pictures hanging on the walls and plants near the windows. Crystal is 8 now and uses the back wall of the cell block as a canvas. She loves to draw on it and is always thrilled when I returned form a scavenging trip with any type of paint. Gathering around the metal tables for meals, playing games, or to plan scavenging trips was always a welcomed break. Cell block E was by far the least crowded compared to the others. This was in part because my father is the leader of the compound. Uncle Phil is the Sheriff and right hand man, this responsibility comes with a few perks, very few. The vast majority of the people living in the compound respected and followed my father, only a few felt things should be run different. George Bremer was the most outspoken of that group. He came across to me as an arrogant know it all who wasn't very smart and that could be a dangerous combination. There is a “board of elders” who are elected by the people and George is on that board. They discuss problems and concerns and give recommendations to my father. He would generally base his decisions on those recommendations but not always. The system has worked fairly well for over two decades now, the thought of taking my father’s place someday fills me with dread. My father is a large man, standing 6'2” and weighing 250bls. His full beard and long wavy hair engulf his face. Just a touch of gray is visible now and the wrinkles around his eyes seem deeper. To most he is an imposing and intimidating man but to me he has a kind heart with the safety of the compound his number one priority. Uncle Phil was almost an exact copy but a bit shorter and no gray yet. He walked with a slight limp from an injury he got as a boy. Neither he nor my father have ever really talked about it. Both men worked well together and the community was lucky to have them.

It wasn't until my Grandfather died that I realized I would be in charge of Station Hope someday. In so many ways, I'm not like my father. I lack the confidence and charisma that comes naturally to him. People automatically respect and listen to him. The fear of leading this place is with me every single day.

I climbed into bed and slid down under the warm blankets and clean sheets, a rare feeling of security and comfort overcame me. The sheets felt clean and crisp, my mother must have changed them. I pulled them up over my shoulder and feel asleep as my head hit the pillow.