by Olah, Jeff
Mason didn’t respond.
“I need it to be you.”
Both men exited the truck and walked in silence back to the main building. Mason shook dry his clothes and walked down the long hallway to his room alone. Kicking off his boots, he moved to his bed and squinted through the light filtering in from the hall.
A half sheet of paper sat folded on his pillow. Mason turned toward the door and held it to the light. His decision was made the second he began to read. Although the note only had seven carefully-crafted words, they would prove a turning point for him and Lockwood, a partnership in rebuilding the world.
Mason, you made the right decision. Eugene -
217
The rapid succession of gunfire over the last ten minutes and its sudden decline told him he needed to get back to the roof. And since he hadn’t seen Mason come through the door, it was time to go find his friend. He was also going after her brother. It shouldn’t have been so hard to convince her, although nothing about today was easy.
“Megan, it’s your brother,” Randy said. “I have to go.”
“We haven’t heard a sound in minutes and you’re going to put yourself in the way of danger as well? I need you just as much—”
“I’m going. Sean could be hurt, and since they haven’t come down yet, I’m betting they need me.”
Randy started for the door and walking out into the hall, he paused and looked back. Scanning the room, both Jack and Cedric avoided eye contact and Randy knew why.
This wasn’t Cedric’s fight. He and his family had already done more than anyone else for this group and Randy couldn’t imagine asking for yet another favor. His wife and son needed him here even more than Randy needed help.
Although Jack possessed a special set of skills behind the stock of a rifle, he’d just be in the way. If Randy’s instincts were correct, and they usually were, this operation would be less about weaponry and more about extraction.
Going alone was his usual way, although over the last year Mason slowly showed him that sometimes it was necessary to accept help from others. This was different. Those men had other priorities and if this group were to somehow make it out of the building intact, their families would be dependent on them.
Randy turned to Megan, nodded, and started down the hall toward the stairs. Reaching into his waistband as he approached the door, he pulled out his nine millimeter and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”
Opening the door and standing in the threshold, two voices fought for his attention—one from the top of the stairwell and another from the room he just exited. Equal in their volume, the voice from above clearly won the battle for its cry of desperation.
“HELP, I NEED HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!” Sean’s voice trailed off as Randy pinned the door back and turned to see his cousin coming in from the rear.
Savannah charged down the hall, much quicker than he assumed she could and with all the intensity of a track athlete nearing the finish line. “Wait Randy, I’m coming.”
Hands extended, she slowed as she approached the door, although not quickly enough, and Randy stepped aside holding open the door as she plowed through. Reaching out for her arm as she started for the stairs, he said, “What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“No, go back. There isn’t anything for you to do; you’ll just get in the way.” He was trying to piss her off, trying to get her frustrated. He knew simply attempting to use logic to convince her to let him go alone would only take longer. “Let me do this.”
“Randy, I’m going and nothing you can say—”
A loud thud from above and then Sean, this time much more deliberate in his request. “MASON IS HURT… BADLY HURT, SOMEONE PLEASE HELP.”
Pushing past his cousin, Randy took the stairs two at a time. His right hand working the railing and pulling himself forward, he appeared to be gliding more than climbing up the partially lit stairwell. With only six flights to navigate, he reached the landing where Mason lay unconscious and was surprised to see Savannah not far behind.
Kneeling near Mason’s contorted body, Sean was motionless as Randy stood over him. Blood ran the length of each of the boy’s arms and his shirt was so saturated that for a moment he appeared to be the one needing assistance.
Randy crouched beside the boy and pulled his face up to meet his. “Sean.”
He only stared back. No response.
“Sean, what the hell happened?”
Again, no answer.
Looking away from the boy and quickly scanning Mason’s body, Randy found the source. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned to Savannah and said, “Get back downstairs and have them get ready. I’m bringing Mason down.”
“Okay.”
“Towels, any alcohol and first-aid items they have handy. We don’t have a much time; he’s lost a lot of blood. Now go.”
Savannah was moving away and out of sight before he finished speaking. Her footfalls trailed off much quicker than they approached and she was down the six flights of stairs before Randy stepped to Mason’s right side.
Pulling at the boy’s collar, he said, “I need you to move.” Randy then pivoted into position and in one motion, pulled his friend up onto his shoulder. “Sean, we’re going down six floors and then out into the hall. You’re leading the way and as we go, you need to describe to me exactly what happened here. You’re gonna save this man’s life. Let’s go.”
Sean moved past Randy and in passing caught a glimpse of Mason’s injured hand. He began speaking before reaching the first floor and rarely stopped for a breath. Randy’s plan to divert the boy’s attention worked.
“I’m sorry, Randy; I really am. I should have listened to Mason. He was right. This is my fault; this wouldn’t have happened if I’d just done what he said.” In between breaths the gravity of the situation came to him in waves. “Is he going to be alright? Can you help him, Randy?”
They’d traversed four of the six levels and fatigue began to compromise Randy’s form. He’d caught himself on the railing twice and the pain from the lactic acid devouring each of his thighs was just short of apocalyptic. He wouldn’t make it back to the room without falling, although he had to. “Keep moving Sean, and tell me what happened to Mason.”
As they reached the sixth landing, Sean turned back and waited for Randy to nod in confirmation that they’d arrived. Through the door, the others waited at the end of the hall as Sean began. “I tricked Mason. I let him think he convinced me to leave the roof, but I waited for him to go through the door and I closed it. I ran back to my spot and began firing on those men across town. I think I may have even hit one of them.”
As the others converged, Randy stopped walking and dropped to his knees as Jack and Cedric moved in. They carried Mason off toward the suite at the end of the hall as Randy turned back to Sean. “And then what?”
“That man from the parking garage, the one who beat up Megan and Eleanor… Tobias.”
“Yeah?”
“He shot back, almost as if he knew Mason was behind the door. He wasn’t firing at me, he was firing past me. Mason must have been coming back for me when the door was tore apart.”
“Okay?”
“Well, you saw his hand. That was because of me.”
218
The hall was quiet. No one had come in or out of the door since they carried Mason away and in some ways he was glad. His anger had taken control of the situation on the roof and it had little to do with the men he was firing on. The rage seething from within every cell of Sean’s defeated body came from somewhere else, somewhere much closer. At the moment, he wasn’t ready to grieve his father, he only wanted to hate him.
Mason wasn’t supposed to get hurt, no one was. He wasn’t thinking straight after watching his father take his own life—at least that’s what he hoped the others were thinking. Sean didn’t want to be responsible for Mason. Mason was an adult and made the decision to stay back. He had the choice to leave when the othe
rs did, but took the risk.
He was attempting to rationalize his actions. This would pull Sean further away from who he was as a person, although at the moment he couldn’t think of any other way to get past this. The group would eventually leave this building and when they did, it would be different. They’d look at him different. He was different.
The door opened and Sean looked up. Voices from inside came in quick whispers and were gone just as fast. He was scared for what would come next. Pressing his hands to the thin layer of commercial grade carpet below, he sat straight against the wall at his back and swallowed hard.
Megan walked out into the hall and closed the door behind her. She began to speak, although the tears forming in the corner of her eyes forced her to stop. Holding up her right index finger indicating she wanted to speak first but needed a second, she shook her head.
Sean pushed away from the wall and stood. He started toward her with his arms outstretched, although Megan shook her head. “It’s bad Sean, real bad.”
“Mason, is he um… gonna be—”
“They’ve got the bleeding stopped and he’s starting to wake up, but… wait, what the hell were you thinking? With all that Mason has done for us and you decide to—”
“Megan, I’m sorry. But our father just KILLED HIMSELF.” Sean’s voice rose and fell just as quick. He felt the need to emphasize his point, although with the others on the opposite side of the door, he also wanted to keep the conversation between him and Megan. “Don’t you feel anything? He was your father too.”
“That’s a stupid question. You know Dad and I weren’t very close, but he was my father and yes I am beyond upset. We’ve all been through so much in the last twenty-four hours that I can’t even focus on any one emotion right now. I’m running on fumes and constantly looking over my shoulder. I’ll deal with what happened to Dad as soon as I have five minutes to breathe.”
He looked away, toward the end of the hall. “Those men, did they hurt you?”
“Let’s just say that’s also something I can’t quite process at the moment. Those monsters you were shooting at, the ones who did that to Mason, they’re worse than anyone we’ve come across, by far.”
“I’m sorry, Megan, for everything.”
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, but we don’t have time for that right now. They’re working on getting Mason ready to travel. We have to get out of the city before Marcus Goodwin’s men come here, and they will come.”
The door parted for a second time in the last few minutes. The first time he hadn’t any idea of what to expect as Megan came out into the hall. This time, he felt better about the temperature of the group. If his own sister hadn’t torn him apart, he figured he’d at least be given the opportunity to explain himself.
It was Randy; he offered Sean a half grin before turning to Megan and nodding back toward the room. “Mason’s getting up. They’ve got him stable and it looks like Cedric wants us out of this building as much as we want to go.”
“They’re throwing us out?”
Randy shook his head. “No, but I’ve been watching the window and so far none of Goodwin’s men have made an appearance out on the street. Cedric realizes that we can’t stay here and he’s been more than generous already. We gotta leave this man and his family. We need to move on.”
“There’s no way Mason’s ready to leave,” Megan said. “He just woke up and he’s lost way too much blood.”
“He’s strong and also pretty damn lucky.” Looking to Sean, Randy paused briefly and then back to Megan he continued, “It looks like whatever he did when he tied his shirt around his hand actually worked. He didn’t lose much blood and came back around pretty quick. He says he’s ready to go and just wants to get everyone out of here.”
With the images still front and center in her mind, Megan tugged at the knot building in her shoulders. “You’ve seen his hand, right? He lost two fingers and was out for who knows how long. We can’t expect him to take care of himself and at this stage, I don’t think we can protect him.”
“We really don’t have a choice,” Randy said. “Goodwin’s men will come and when they do, we’d better be long gone.”
Not wanting to show a lack of interest in the group’s survival, and after the events of the last half hour, Sean felt the need to interject. “Randy, if we run into trouble and Mason isn’t full speed, it’s gonna get rough.”
“Kid, it’s gonna get rough—real rough—no matter what we do. We’re gonna get Mason and everyone else out of the city today. I’m counting on you to step it up. You’re gonna help us get past Goodwin’s thugs and to that place you and your Dad knew about… okay?”
Sean nodded and then leaned into the wall at his back. “Yeah, I’m ready. But the others, I’m not sure they’re going to—”
“We can deal with that later. Yes, what you did was stupid, but we’re all still here. Just keep your head together; we’re gonna need you focused to get out of this mess.”
The door still partially open, Megan looked over Randy’s shoulder as the conversation in the suite began to intensify. “What is it?”
Through the crowd at the edge of the suite, Cedric approached. He moved through the others and gave a half smile as he waited for Randy to step aside. Unable to maintain eye contact, he shifted from side to side and began to stutter as he spoke. “I… uh. We… we’re ready. I mean… I think we’re ready. The others want you all inside… just so… so we can discuss what comes next.”
Megan stepped forward and put her hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “How’s Mason doing?”
“He’s up and on his feet,” Cedric said. “But there’s… there’s something else.”
219
Marcus Goodwin sat near the window; he gripped the arms of his chair tightly as each breath became increasingly more difficult than the one before. The collar of his shirt now damp, he watched his men leave the room and then head toward the elevator. As Tobias stepped back in from the hall, Goodwin motioned him over and held up his whiteboard.
Only four words were scratched out across the eighteen-inch board. They were written with a red dry erase marker and were nearly illegible, although Tobias knew the source of Goodwin’s tension long before making his way over to the window.
What’s taking so long?
Tobias stared at the board; giving the impression that he was at least contemplating the question. “Our friends want to know why they should help you. They know that our crew is down a few men and that we need them more than they need us. They’ve been watching us for the last few days and don’t necessarily want to get involved.”
Before Tobias was finished speaking, Goodwin lined through the four previous words and added a few new ones: What do they want?
“They want the city. If they do this for you, they want us gone.”
Struggling to form the words as his face contorted into a fitful mess, Goodwin set off, slowly forming each syllable. “Let them know that the city is theirs after they’ve done what I ask. Once I’ve finished with Mason Thomas, there’s no reason for us to stay here.”
Squinting through the afternoon sun reflecting off the concrete parking garage, Tobias rested his hand on Goodwin’s shoulder and leaned in close to his ear. “You’re not serious? We run this town and although we’re down a few men, there’s no need to concede to Blake.”
Goodwin turned from the window and smiled. Taking in a deep breath and leaning back to fully fill his lungs, he said, “Just tell them what they want to hear.”
Both men looked on as Cory came into view. He and the last remaining member of Goodwin’s demented family marched out of the lower level of the parking garage and stopped fifteen feet from where Dr. Eugene Lockwood found his final resting place.
“What are they doing?” Goodwin asked, nearly unable to form the words in the proper sequence.
“They’re moving the body.”
Back to his board, Goodwin’s hand convulsed as he erased the earlier mes
sages and began again. Why?
Returning to the door and retrieving the sat phone from the folding table, Tobias looked back at Goodwin. “Because I don’t want to see that man’s body every time we leave this place. Because I don’t want to be reminded of what happened here today and mostly because we failed. Ultimately I know what that means.”
Goodwin agreed. He knew that without Lockwood here to guide his recovery, he’d be gone within a matter of months, if even that long. His health had progressed nicely for many weeks after being rescued by the men in his employ, although during these last few months things had moved in another direction altogether.
Just shy of ninety days ago, Marcus Goodwin knew he would one day walk. He’d have to use a cane and would move slower than every other living person, but he’d be upright. His arms had regained full mobility months earlier and as the infection became less and less noticeable, he took more risks with his recovery.
On a warm Sunday afternoon, Tobias sent the others out on a supply run and returned to Goodwin’s room to find him upright. The man, who only weeks earlier vowed to never try to walk again after taking a nasty fall, was up. He leaned into the wall next to his chair and although a large percentage of his weight relied on the angle of his body, he was standing on his own.
Pausing in the doorway and unable to believe what he was seeing, Tobias was frozen in place. “How is this possible?”
Goodwin pushed into the wall and dragged his left leg forward. It wasn’t an actual step, although it was definitely progress. Pulling his shoulders back, he nodded and said, “We’ve got to get him here. The man who did this, he can fix it.”
“Mason Thomas?”
“No, Dr. Lockwood. He tested the vaccine on me and because of it I never fully turned into one of those things. He can get me the rest of the way back. We must bring him here.”
