The Dead Years-New Dawn (Book 1): Resurrection

by Olah, Jeff

  They had come close to a cure, or so they thought. It was three years ago, and all the signs pointed to a world free of Feeders. But as with everything in this new existence, it was short lived. The virus mutated, the vaccine failed, and the world was once again a dark place.

  But that was a long time ago, not at all what he should be focused on.

  Mason needed to clear his mind, get back to the present. His friend was down, and he had no idea what he was currently running toward. It wasn’t the first time, not even close. But this was different. He had convinced Ethan to come out here even though he should have ended—whatever this was—months ago. He would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to his friend, and knew there would be no real way of explaining it to the others.

  With one eye on a group of six Feeders over his left shoulder, Mason took the bat in his right hand. He clutched it halfway up and ran in a straight line toward the shadows afforded by the four-story concrete building on the opposite side of the massive alleyway.

  He dipped under the arms of a man who was missing the side of his face, looking back to where he thought Ethan should be. Still no sign of his friend. He’d either already closed the gate, jumped down, and somehow turned off the walkie, or fallen. Either way, Mason was praying that Ethan had made it to the row of dumpsters twenty feet from the wall.

  He kept his voice low. There was still a sizable portion of the crowd who hadn’t followed him away from the sanitation truck. “Ethan …”

  Again, nothing.

  Another three seconds and he was nearing the midway point. There were only a handful of the infected who had even come close to him—the larger group had all initially gathered near the west side of the alleyway—although the next thirty yards looked much different.

  Directly ahead, eight Feeders marched in a tight pack, almost shoulder to shoulder. They were the last out of the gate, but seemed to move at a faster pace than those now over his left shoulder.

  Mason took three quick strides, slowed to a stop, and planted his right foot. Raising the bat, he twisted back and swung on an older man that looked to have been recently turned.

  The man was wearing dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and a tactical vest that had a raised patch with the name Simper scrawled across the upper chest. The man, who appeared to have been in his mid to late forties, was missing the lower portion of his left arm and a massive chunk from his shoulder.

  As Mason bent at the waist and started his upward swing, the man lunged forward, his mouth opened and his teeth bared. Blood shot from the corner of the man’s mouth as he growled, his eyes glazed over in a white haze and his ears leaking a black fluid.

  The slight vibration as the bat connected with the left side of the man’s head was a familiar feeling—the sound wasn’t. It was hollow, like hitting a cantaloupe or a watermelon. The man’s right eye shot from its socket, and he went down hard, like his legs had stopped working even before the impulse from his severely damaged central nervous system had given the order.

  Three of the others, two tall women—who looked like they could have been twins—and a pudgy man with no shirt, lost their footing and dropped down on top of the man in the black tactical vest.

  Mason took a step back and to the left, quickly glancing toward the opposite building and then back toward the gate.

  Still no Ethan.

  Most times, even in the moment, he was able to convince himself that worry was a useless emotion and that it never changed the outcome. That he needed to stay present and focused. With the way the world was, you had no other choice. Losing yourself to a stressful situation usually meant that you were living out your last few seconds.

  But this was Ethan.

  The man who had saved his life.

  His best friend in what was left of this broken world.

  The old Mason would have given it a second thought, would have considered the possibility, although that Mason was gone. The new Mason only had one job and he wasn’t about to let anything get in his way.

  He took another step back, gave the remaining four a chance to clear the pile of bodies, and pulled the bat back over his shoulder. The first in the group, an average sized woman, stepped out away from the others. She appeared to also be newly turned and walked with only a slight limp. Her tan sweater looked like it had been painted in a deep red from top to bottom.

  Mason tightened his grip and swung hard, the bat smashing in the side of her head and pushing her into the stocky man to her right. She went down and the man beside her stumbled in the direction of her fall.

  In their absence, there was a hole. A brief window to get by the last two, and he took it.

  Dropping the bat into his right hand, Mason tucked his left arm into his side and darted through the opening between the decaying wall of the four-story building and the pair of Feeders who were still on their feet. He twisted away, pulling back his head as the closer of the pair reached for him.

  There was a second where he felt his pack scrape the wall and then he was jolted forward. His momentum carried him into the hands of the large male Feeder wearing a torn Hard Rock Café T-shirt.

  Mason lost control of the bat but was able to push away enough that he got his hands up and drove his fist into the side of the man’s head. The man rocked backwards, but now had ahold of Mason’s jacket.

  With his left foot planted against the wall at his back, Mason used his right to kick the man’s feet out from under him. The Feeder dropped to his knees, lost his grip, and then tumbled sideways to the asphalt.

  Before he could step away, the last of the group had closed the distance and had ahold of his arm. Mason tried to pull away, using his left hand to grip the collar of the man wearing a dusty leather jacket.

  Mason locked his elbow and leaned forward, the man’s snapping jaw only inches from his left forearm. He used the man’s momentum to push him to the right and get a look at the rest of the crowd.

  At least two dozen, maybe more. They’d be on him in seconds. No time to think, just action.

  He released his grip on the man’s collar and in one motion used both hands to shove him back into the approaching horde. The man was lifted off his feet for a brief second, although Mason had already turned and scooped the bat from the ground.

  “Mason …”

  His friend’s voice. It was faint, nearly indistinguishable from the groans of the crowd, but it was there. Twenty feet ahead, he couldn’t yet see him, but he could sense where it was coming from. Just to the right of the wall, maybe a few feet from the gate, at least that’s what his mind was telling him.

  However, there was a problem.

  Not that he wasn’t used to dealing with problems, although this one had him more irritated than fearful. He just needed to get to that damn gate, another fifteen feet now, just a few more strides. He could almost reach out and touch it.

  But, not today.

  The Feeder had to have been at least six and a half feet tall, probably somewhere near three-hundred-fifty pounds. A massive man with a long bloodied beard and a smooth shaved head. He had a black fluid running from his sunken eyes and was now the only thing standing between Mason and his friend.

  With a surge of adrenaline, he increased his speed over the final two strides. “Alright big man, let’s go.” And adjusting for height, Mason pulled the bat back, leapt from his left leg, and eyed the left side of the man’s head.

  The man was moving faster now. He was leaning forward and began to raise his arms. At the same time Mason swung in a downward motion, striking the massive beast just above and behind his left ear.

  The man’s skull gave under the pressure, his jaw dropping out of its socket and four of his badly darkened teeth shot out into the morning air. His hazy white eyes now began to roll as he slowly dropped to his knees.

  Mason’s follow through had sent him sideways and then into the wall at his back. He quickly gathered himself, pushed away from the building, kicked the man to the ground, and ran
to the gate.

  “Damn it.” He didn’t even need to look. The weight was different and it didn’t drag on the ground as it had only seconds before. Mason lifted the broken bat, tossed it toward the lifeless corpse, and unlatched the gate.

  “Ethan?”

  His friend was flat on his back and six motionless Feeders littered the space between the building and a silver electric vehicle to his left.

  Ethan winced as he wiped a dark line of blood from his forehead and pushed into a sitting position. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re gonna laugh.”

  Mason made sure the gate was closed and shook his head as he turned to face his friend. “Again?”

  “When I jumped down.”

  Mason reached out, offering to help his friend to his feet. “You really need to have your sister or Gentry check it out.”

  “Not much they can do, a herniated disc isn’t something they can just fix.”

  The crowd was now at the gate, pushing in. Mason glanced around at the half dozen Feeders laying in a semi-circle around his friend. “Good work, but how the hell did you—”

  “Wasn’t too difficult.” Ethan tried to push away from the asphalt but didn’t even make it to his knees before he breathed in quickly and sat back down. He reached for a large, fixed blade hunting knife and wiped it on his pants before sliding it back into its sheath. “I just let them come to me.”

  Mason looked back toward the gate, then out past the silver electric vehicle, and finally to his friend. “You okay keeping this between us, at least for a few days?”

  Ethan cut his eyes up at him. “How many times you gonna ask me that?”

  “I’ll talk to Savannah … and the others. Just not today.”

  Ethan looked past Mason, at the gate. “You’re coming back?”

  “Not today, but it has to be finished.”

  “You know it doesn’t.”

  Mason held out his hand, ignoring Ethan’s statement. “Just a few more days.”

  3

  The short ride back to Harbor Crest was mostly uneventful. Mason had continued to plead his case and Ethan continued to tell him why it was a monumentally bad idea to keep it from the group. He didn’t necessarily disagree, but he also wasn’t fond of the conversation he would have to have with Savannah.

  It would come out eventually, although he was starting to feel like he needed to come at it from a different perspective, maybe try to sell it to her like it was her idea.

  Yeah, that’s never going to work.

  After getting Ethan all settled in and saying hello to the handful of his friends sitting in what was once the food court, he started toward the second floor. The work had been completed on the row of skylights that ran between the north and south towers, the sky outside a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight.

  He took the stationary escalator two steps at a time, his eyes darting from the former mattress store turned infirmary, to the doorway that led to the security office and the loading docks. If he could just get to the rear lot, maybe make it look like he—

  “Mason.”

  Perfect.

  Already realizing his miscalculation, Mason feigned a smile as he turned to her. “Sweetie, I was just coming to find you.”

  “Seriously?”

  He needed a second, just to see where this was headed. “Which part?”

  Before she spoke, she curled up her nose. She wasn’t mad, not really. He’d seen her really mad and this wasn’t that. Savannah wasn’t one to hide her emotions, he didn’t think it was a skill she possessed.

  Her shoulder length red hair was pulled back and her freckled face had lines of sweat that glistened under ribbons of sunlight streaking in from overhead. She wore black leggings, a close-fitting tank top, and running shoes. Her outfit ran in direct contrast to the world beyond their walls, but for now he thought better than to comment.

  There would be time, but not now.

  Her quizzical grin grew into something close to a smile. “Which part? Is that what you’re asking me?”

  Mason shook his head, tried to look confused. “No, I mean I just …”

  As his voice trailed off, the look on her face told him that she could see what he was doing, right through him. Her voice had a slight snicker to it. “You’re an idiot.”

  Mason shrugged, now also beginning to smile. “I mean, I never said I was a rocket scientist.”

  Savannah looked at him, her eyes narrowed as she bit at the corner of her lip. “Whatever, just come over here and kiss me.”

  Mason paused a moment and then moved to her. He slipped his hand around her lower back and pulled her into him. “You smell good.”

  “Yeah?”

  She did. Like the light breeze near the ocean, with a hint of fresh flowers. He kissed her, lingering a moment to add emphasis. “Yeah.”

  As they parted, Savannah looked back toward the first floor. “You shower yet?”

  “Uh …” There was still one thing he needed to take care of, but for the moment it could wait. “Not yet.”

  Savannah pulled him back in, rested her mouth next to his ear. “You know they’ve been wanting us to conserve, use the solar for more important things.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe we could share, you know like old times.”

  Mason slid his hand down into hers. “I thought you said it wasn’t big enough for the both of us?”

  Savannah turned toward the escalator, started to walk, and pulled him along. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  They moved to the lower level, quickly crossing the open space at the center of the former shopping mall. White marble floors, window coverings at the entrances of the former shops, homemade welcome mats, and bench seats spaced evenly along the wide corridor. It looked like a suburban neighborhood right out of the 1970s.

  And that’s exactly what the residents of Harbor Crest had in mind. Simple, elegant, and clean. Everything the outside world wasn’t.

  Away from the wash of illumination and nearing the end of the south wing, Mason slowed and turned to Savannah. He continued to hold her hand and now stared into her eyes.

  “I … uh …”

  Savannah squinted as she tried to read his face. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Listen.” Savannah paused a moment, looked like she was trying to choose her words. “I know what day it is, what’s coming up. And I know it can’t be easy for you, but I’m here for whatever you need … even if that’s you just needing to be alone.”

  The five-year anniversary of the death of his wife and his son was fast approaching. Two weeks after the initial outbreak he lost the only family he had left in this world, and although the pain wasn’t what it once was, it was still there. Savannah wasn’t wrong, but she also didn’t have the full picture.

  “No,” he said, “I’m good.”

  Savannah dipped her head to the left, looking at him more intently now. “I know you’re not, but I’m here all the same.”

  He stared into her big blue eyes, attempting to find a way to transition back to the conversation he had started. He knew that if he didn’t get it out there now, the timing would be off, she might not understand.

  Although as the moment dragged on, she spoke first. “And if—”

  There was a short firing of static from her hip and then a voice. “Savannah, you there?”

  It was Travis Higgins, he sounded out of breath, like he was running.

  Savannah’s expression turned serious, she looked like she read the same thing in Travis’s voice. Reaching for the two-way radio on her right hip, she brought it to the side of her face. “I’m here Travis, what is it?”

  “You have a location on Owen, or maybe Natalie?”

  “I’m not sure where Natalie is, but Owen and Randy are out at the wall working on repairs, why?”

  There was a long uncomfortable pause, seemed like minutes. “It’s Lucas and Ava … w
e have a problem.”

  4

  At twenty-one years old, Lucas Cohen only ever had one girlfriend. And although he was just sixteen when the world went to hell, he’d never even met a girl more perfect or beautiful than the one standing right next to him. He only hoped he would be able to protect her from the men climbing out of the black Tesla with the darkened windows.

  Something was wrong.

  He squeezed her hand, mostly trying to keep his from shaking “It’s gonna be alright, we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Ava Mercer stood only a hair over five feet, and at nineteen weighed not much more than her younger brother. She was fierce, but had the face of an angel. Long red ringlets framed her high cheekbones and that perfect smile.

  Although right now, she wasn’t smiling. Under her breath, and out of the corner of her mouth she spoke only to him. “Do you think … is it them?”

  Lucas looked down the long highway. They weren’t more than a mile from the trail leading back to Harbor Crest, but he couldn’t think of a way that they could outrun the three large men who’d exited the Tesla. Not both of them, but maybe Ava could. Although if they were who he thought they were, there wasn’t necessarily anything to worry about.

  He hoped.

  Lucas slipped his radio into his back pocket, tilted his head toward her, and also spoke in a whisper. “You might have to run, but not out here. Get to the trees, you’ll be faster there.”

  Ava’s hand was also beginning to quiver. “What?” She sounded like she was going to cry. “What are you—”

  “Okay.” The man who’d stepped out from behind the steering wheel walked a step ahead of the other two. He was somewhere close to six feet tall and aggressively thin, like a drug addict, although more put together. He wore a black suit and a black skinny tie, like in that movie Men in Black. His hair was brushed straight back and he had a tattoo running from below his right ear, down into his collar, it looked like a dragon. And he smiled the kind of smile you have when you know a secret. “I’m assuming you’ve already used that radio in your back pocket to call home.”