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

by Olah, Jeff

  “Get in, get out. Two minutes.”

  Randy thought about the route he’d take through the interior, and about how he’d get back to his friend out on the road.

  “Best-laid plans, yeah sure.”

  He stood, took one last look out over the yard, covered his mouth with his shirt, and moved through the door. There wasn’t much to see, nothing new and although the smoke had dissipated, it was still thick enough that he needed to use the wall as a guide. When he reached a break and the hall turned left, he stopped to listen.

  After a few seconds, he heard three pops from a gun. It was muffled and sounded as though it was coming from the interior, somewhere above. He held his shirt in place with his left hand, his eyes now burning, and used his right again to move along the darkened hall to the stairs twenty feet ahead.

  Into the stairwell, there was less smoke, but if it were possible he could see even less. And there were another two shots fired, this time closer. It had to be Lincoln’s people, and if so, he would have the element of surprise on his side. They would have expected that everyone ran away from the building, not into it.

  Randy paused behind the door to the second floor and held his breath. The firing had stopped, but he was certain that this was the location, somewhere beyond the door, probably near the escalators or outside the former arcade. He would take care of it at some point, but at the moment though, he had other priorities.

  When he was five steps from the final landing and the door that led to the fourth floor and the control room, there was a voice. It was shallow and weak. “Randy?”

  He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of his own face, but he knew who it was. “Lucas?”

  “Yeah.”

  The twenty-one-year-old came into view as Randy reached the landing. His face was damp with sweat and his eyes and mouth ringed with soot. “You alright?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You know if Megan and little Mason—”

  Lucas interrupted. “They made it out, one of the first to leave.”

  Randy dropped to one knee and reached for the door handle. It was cool to the touch. “Okay, what happened here?”

  “One of Lincoln’s men, Vince I think. He’s gone crazy, trying to take over Harbor Crest and …” Lucas’s voice trailed off, he could see that Randy was up to speed on most of the details. “But I think Travis was able to get—”

  “No,” Randy said, “What happened to you?”

  “Oh … uh, I helped Lincoln get out with Ethan, Emma, and Gentry. And when I came back for some of the others, I got hit in the back. I don’t think it’s that bad, but I can’t see it.”

  “You have a light?”

  Lucas handed him a hand-crank mini flashlight. The beam was weak but would do the job. Randy helped him to sit forward and pulled up the back of his shirt. There was a tear in the fabric and an inch-wide gash just below Lucas’s right armpit. The area was a mess and the wound oozed a good amount of blood onto his back and the floor below, although at the moment it wasn’t necessarily something that needed to be addressed.

  “You’re going to be okay kid, but we should probably think about getting the hell out of here.”

  25

  The second floor was cold and smelled of charred copper as Mason pushed the rifle into his shoulder and rested his index finger on the trigger guard. His breaths were slow and deliberate, his head on a swivel, and his heart rate again started to climb as he stepped away from the door to the stairs and out of the shadows. He was ready to defend his family, ready to do what needed to be done, ready to kill.

  He glanced across the floor to where he imagined the shooter must have been stationed. There was a small pool of blood near the bench outside the former mattress store and a trail of red leading toward the escalator thirty feet away.

  Okay, show yourself.

  Mason gave a count of five and then with his back to the wall, moved quickly to the hexagon-shaped column at the center of the floor. He’d have a view of the top four or five steps and about forty percent of the floor below. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was getting his head blown off.

  There was movement. He heard it, but decided to give it a moment before confirming what he figured he already knew. If it were one of his own, a few more seconds wasn’t going to change much, although if it were who he figured it might be, the slight delay might just give him the edge.

  “LUUUUCAAAAS?”

  He knew the voice, and could tell it was coming from the first floor. Travis, not who he was tracking, not yet. There was a little matter he needed to deal with first, and now was the time.

  There were quick footsteps ahead, sounding as though they were moving away, and then as they stopped, three quick blasts from a semi-automatic rifle. The deafening report echoed through the second floor, followed by a deep throaty laugh.

  “Yeah that’s right, run. Go on, get out.”

  It was now or never. Mason moved away from the column on the far side, further from where the shots were being fired. He spotted the shooter leaning over the railing, his weapon extended from his right hand, and his eyes roving the floor below. It didn’t appear that the man was expecting company.

  Mason increased his speed as he came at the man from behind. He kept the rifle tucked in close to his shoulder and slowly slid his finger over the trigger. The man began to rise, quickly turning to his left as Mason pulled back on the trigger. A single round left the end of the rifle, striking the man in the calf, throwing him into the railing, and then violently to the stained carpet, three feet from the doors to the former arcade.

  The man cried out in pain, attempting to compose himself long enough to bring up his own weapon. His face was contorted and his eyes wide as he looked from his blown apart lower leg to Mason. He also appeared to be hyperventilating. “You … this wasn’t … no one … we weren’t going to … hurt anyone.”

  Mason moved to him and yanked the rifle away. He set both weapons against the wall, took a quick glance over both shoulders, and then leaned in close to the man’s face. “How many others?”

  The man looked confused, or maybe he was just acting. “What?”

  “I’m only going to ask you one more time. How many others, how many are here?”

  “I don’t know, really. I don’t have any—”

  Mason pulled back his right arm and slammed his fist into the man’s face. He could feel the man’s cheek give a little as the skin below his left eye split open. The man let out a soft whimper and tried to cover his face.

  “That’s for coming into my home.”

  The man looked like he was trying to speak, but couldn’t seem to form any words.

  Mason hit him again, right in the same spot. “And that’s for firing at my friend down there.” Mason raised his arm once again. “And you better pray he wasn’t hurt.”

  The man started to choke, now turning his head to the side and spitting out a mouthful of mucus and blood. He was crying, but still trying to speak. “Please, I didn’t want to—”

  Mason drove another right into the man’s face and started to pull him to his feet. The man looked away for a brief second, his eyes drifting to Mason’s left, a hint of relief washing over his face.

  Mason released the man, reached for the rifle closest him, and in one motion, turned and fired two rounds. The first ricocheted off the railing near the escalator, sending a quick spray of sparks into another man’s face, He was big and heavy, knock-kneed. The second round clipped the bigger man just above the clavicle, tearing off a large portion of his neck and sending him onto his back in a motionless heap. He wasn’t dead, but he didn’t have long, and at least for now, wouldn’t be a problem.

  The first man had rolled onto his stomach and was now attempting to crawl back to his weapon. He was reaching for the rifle when Mason turned and started back toward him.

  “You’ve got to be the dumbest human still alive. I’m having a hard time even imagining what you’ve had to go through just
to have made it this far. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  The man stopped and leaned on his left side, his face already beginning to bruise. He didn’t speak and looked like he knew what was coming.

  “And,” Mason said, “this is for taking the girl.”

  The man shook his head as Mason dragged him up to the railing. “No no no no no no. I didn’t, I wasn’t.”

  “I don’t care.” Mason turned him around, grabbed a hold of his collar and his belt, and tossed him over the edge. There was a second where the man seemed suspended in the air, his body weightless as Mason leaned into the railing and watched him drop the twenty plus feet, head-first to the cold Italian marble floor below.

  “Okay then, who’s next?”

  Mason took up both rifles and started toward the escalator. He looked out over the floor below, his eyes moving between the overturned tables, the debris field of broken glass, and the wood-slatted bench that was used to prop open a pair of exit doors.

  Nothing moved.

  Mason then quickly glanced back at the man with the hole in his neck. He was also still, the rise and fall of his massive chest non-existent. The second floor now in pure silence, an eerie quiet that had him on edge, had him feeling like there was something coming, something right around the corner, something or someone watching his every move.

  At the escalator, he let the first rifle hang from his back and pulled the second again into his shoulder. He leaned into the handrail and began to descend the steps when a short burst of static came from somewhere below, quickly followed by a young female voice.

  “Mom … Dad … anyone?”

  Mason descended the remaining steps two at a time, turning where the escalator met the first floor, and running back toward the two-way radio. He slid to a stop near a metal waste container, lifted the radio from the floor, and keyed the mic.

  “Ava, are you there?”

  26

  Randy held the door and waited as Lucas slowly walked through. The air had cleared somewhat and the north lot now appeared to have been the right choice. They were able to avoid the gunfire from inside Harbor Crest and with the number of Feeders starting to dwindle, reaching the gates and the rest of their friends and family no longer seemed like an impossibility.

  “How ya doin’?”

  Lucas was a pale shade of grey. Even under the fading moonlight and the weakening tendrils of smoke hanging in the air, his declining condition was evident. And although they needed to cover less than three-hundred yards, it may as well have been three-hundred miles.

  “I’m alright.” Lucas’s voice came out low and unstable; it had lost its youthful energy. “But I’m not too sure I can run. My head is spinning.”

  Randy looked out over the lot, trying to find the path of least resistance. “You’re gonna be fine, just stay focused. You watch the right—I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “I don’t know, my legs are getting heavy.”

  Randy grabbed Lucas by the upper arm. “No they’re not, you’re just scared. But right now, for the next few minutes you need to not be scared. You need to tell yourself that everything is going to be fine, that you’re going to get to that gate, that there isn’t anything in this world that can stop you.” Randy motioned toward a group of three Feeders fifty feet ahead who had noticed them. “You need to tell yourself that you’re stronger than they are, that even though you aren’t a hundred percent, that you’re still better and faster than those things. You need to tell yourself that and you need to believe it.”

  Lucas started to slow, he was hunched forward and favoring his right side. He eyed the Feeders ahead, and then looked up at Randy. “Did they find Ava?”

  Before, he was just trying to get Lucas to think about something other than the pain behind his arm, just trying to keep him talking in hopes that when they stopped, they’d have crossed the lot and he could hand his friend off to someone more capable of offering assistance. He wasn’t prepared for a question and answer session, especially about things he couldn’t answer.

  “Mason went after her, right?”

  “Yeah, I was with him until—”

  “Can you think of anyone else you rather have going after her?”

  “No, but you heard that guy … uh Vince I think. Do you think that something went wrong, do you think Mason got—”

  “Mason’s fine, I can guarantee you that.” Randy cut Lucas off again. He had his young friend distracted for the moment, and that was part of his plan, but he still didn’t have any answers. Mason was the most capable person behind the walls of Harbor Crest or anywhere in this forgotten world, but Randy had been around long enough to know that nothing is ever as simple as it seemed, not anymore.

  They had attracted a small crowd, maybe six or seven slow moving Feeders, the exact number lost to the failing moonlight and the waves of thick dark smoke that drifted over the massive parking lot. They had a ten-second lead, but as Lucas again slowed, Randy looked toward the southeast wall.

  “You’ve got this kid, just another fifty yards.” He was lying, it was further, but Lucas wasn’t even looking in that direction.

  “Randy … I don’t …” Lucas’s words came out slow and his tongue sounded like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth. “I can’t …”

  Randy checked the group at their back and slipped his arm under Lucas’s. “Just stay awake; I’ll get you there.” And when he turned back there were two figures rushing away from the main gate and coming toward them. There wasn’t time to change course, to turn back, so when he realized who exactly it was, Randy breathed a sigh of relief.

  “TRAVIS, ETHAN, WE NEED HELP!”

  With less than thirty yards to go, Randy felt Lucas’s left arm go limp and his legs come out from under him. They listed right and fell to the pavement, Randy trying to avoid landing on top of his friend.

  “Let’s go, we can’t stay here.” Ethan had come around and was attempting to pull Lucas off the ground. There was pain evident in his face and he was favoring his lower back.

  Travis offered Randy a hand and then moved to Ethan. “Let me do it.” He dropped in beside Lucas, grabbed him by the pant leg and the wrist, and then rolled him into a fireman’s carry. “Anyone else back there?”

  “No, don’t think so.” Randy shook his head, looking back over his shoulder as another set of fast approaching footfalls drew his attention. A shock of red hair was backlit by the dusty black smoke and the oranges and yellows of the smoldering fires. He couldn’t make out her face, but there was no mistaking the woman he’d known longer than any other person left in this world.

  His cousin Savannah jogged toward them. She was crying and shaking as she moved to him. “Randy …” She threw her arms around him, pulled him into a hug, and then leaned back to look into his eyes. “Where is he?”

  He knew what she was asking, but didn’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy her, and although he wasn’t concerned for his friend, there would be no way to convince Savannah of the same. So, he wasn’t going to try.

  Instead, he took her by the hand and urged her to follow Travis, who’d already started toward the front gates. “We have to go.”

  Savannah forced a smile as she gripped his hand, her eyes drifting to a row of flaming vehicles near the east wall. “He’s going to make it back, he is. I can feel it.”

  Through the gates and out onto the road leading to Highway One, Travis moved to a small patch of grass and gently laid Lucas on his left side. He turned to Randy and then Ethan, motioning back toward the trees. “This is way above my pay grade.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’ll get Gentry.”

  Randy now stood with Savannah looking down at his wounded friend, toward the road, and then at Travis. “Where’s Megan … little Mason?”

  “We wanted to get them out away from this mess. Sent them ahead with the others. They’re safe, you have my word.”

  “What about Lincoln, Lucas said he came back with him?”

&
nbsp; Travis hesitated for a moment. “He’s down the road with the others; got Sean keeping an eye on him.”

  “Everyone else?”

  “Couldn’t find Harper, Griffin, or Bryce. They were out here on patrol when everything went sideways. A handful of the others made it out the back, Devin called in before his radio died and said they’d try to get to the bridge by dawn.”

  Randy looked back at his young friend. “You good?”

  Lucas had pushed into a sitting position, his face pasty and his lips as grey as the smoke lifting away from Harbor Crest. He stared back at Randy, an even grin starting across his face. “Travis is like half your size.”

  Randy shrugged his shoulders. “And?”

  “He was able to carry me.”

  “And?”

  Lucas coughed, sucking in a short breath. “And you couldn’t?”

  Randy matched his younger friend’s grin. “You’re fine, you didn’t need my help. Travis was just showing off. And anyway, I wasn’t the one who shot you.”

  Travis stood and moved back toward the gate. He scanned the lot and then turned to Randy. “You sure you didn’t come across anyone else?”

  He knew what Travis was getting at, even without his friend having to ask. “I need to go, but I also need a vehicle. I have something I still need to take care of.”

  Travis began to respond, but there was a voice that shot from the radio on his hip. “Back on Alpha channel. Travis, you around?”

  Savannah pulled away from Randy, snatching the radio from Travis. “Mason, sweetheart, where are you?”

  His voice came through heavy and tired, like he’d been running. “I’m okay, I’m inside.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Baby, I’m good. I’ll be back with you in no time at all, but right now I need to talk to Travis. Is he there?”

  Savannah held out the radio, but didn’t release her grip. She keyed the mic and looked at Travis.

  “Mason, where are you?”

  “Still inside.” There was a two second pause and then Mason was back. “You have any idea how many of Vince’s men were in here?”