Dead Last, Vol. 3

by Quaranta, Marc

  Dead Last

  Volume 3

  By

  Marc Quaranta

  Copyright © 2019 Marc Quaranta

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781093602593

  Dedication

  Life isn’t about finding somebody you can live with, it is about finding somebody you can’t live without.

  This book, and every other story I’ve ever written, is only possible because of my amazing wife, Haylea. You are the reason I write, the reason I teach, the reason I coach, and the reason why I am happy every single day doing it. I am not sure where I would be without you. I cannot put into words, even as an author, how much you mean to me. No corny speech or rom-com monologue can express how much I care for you. If my world crumbled today, the only reason I would be able to rebuild it tomorrow is because you’d be there handing me the bricks.

  Well, what do you know? A romantic-comedy one-liner it is.

  I love you.

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  Dead Last

  Volume 3

  1

  Haylea Meyers

  Day 28

  I ’m not quite exactly sure how to describe the feeling of coming so close to death. I should be able to. I mean, I made it a career choice to spend my life in front of the camera describing events to the people watching, the people that couldn’t be there to see it for themselves. I wrote my own stories. I spoke with real emotion. Why was it so difficult to describe when I’m the person that is actually involved?

  I was no longer a TV journalist. Kurt wasn’t a Master Control Operator, Jack wasn’t a lawyer, and Emily wasn’t a doctor. We weren’t anybody anymore. I guess in some ways, it was a positive. People spend too many years of their life defined by what they do. I never wanted to be known as a journalist. I wanted to be me, Haylea. I was Haylea, who made money by reporting the news.

  I can’t describe what running for your life feels like. It is different than being in a car accident or being diagnosed with cancer. Those things happen, and they’re horrible, but not like running. There was a fear that could never be described.

  You know that feeling when you’re leaning back in your chair and for a brief moment, you tip too far? That feeling where your hands jerk forward by a quick reflex. There is that moment when your heart skips a beat and you feel, within the blink of an eye, that you’re going to fall and crack your head open.

  That’s what running from death is almost like. Except, it isn’t for that blink-of-an-eye second, it lasts forever. You feel your heart skip a beat, you feel that adrenaline rush shoot through your veins like the rush of water shooting through a waterslide forever.

  When you wake up, your blood pressure immediately rises. When you eat, you lose the taste of food. Smells, feelings, every one of our senses become dimmed down by the fear. We never sleep, but yet we don’t stop dreaming of something better. For anything better.

  I could feel everything that I worked for in my life completely wash away the moment we heard voices from the other side of the cheap wood of the shed walls. The flashlights shined through the cracks and under the door. There were men on the other side that had no other intention but to kill us. We had entered an area that we thought was friendly, but it was anything but.

  Those that were already standing froze every movement of their limbs. Those of us that had sprawled out onto the rock-hard floor rose to our feet expecting to be tipped back in our chairs and feel that adrenaline rush for the last time. This was that feeling. This was that moment death was going to catch us and we were going to fall.

  How quickly that feeling can change? Not fade away, but change. Maybe there was a God out there looking for us. A man, the man whose shed we were hiding in, turned out to be a man that believed there was. He was a man of God. A priest. While the District 7-1 army was seconds away from kicking the shed door open and gunning us down like stuck, sick cattle in a barn, the man threw them out of his yard and demanded they look elsewhere.

  He was the one that opened the door to see us shaking. I couldn’t imagine the sight he saw. There were only seven of us now. But we were all scraped, cut, bruised, and bloody. There was no pretty Monet picture on the inside of that cabin. He didn’t care. I couldn’t make a big enough point that he was a man of God. He wanted to help us.

  That’s just what he did. He told the army that there wasn’t anybody inside of that shed. He closed the door and talked Captain Kendrick’s men down and they just left. They moved on to the next house, the next yard and continued their search. After about a half hour, the priest came back and ushered us into his house. He saved us.

  “Thank you,” Jack spoke.

  The seven of us stood around his living room like a bunch of five-year-old children entering the first grade for the very first day. We stuck close to the walls. We didn’t want to sit on the couch. We didn’t know where we were.

  “I assure you that you are safe now,” he said to us. As if he’d read my mind. He nodded at the furniture in his place. “Please sit. Relax. Breathe.”

  I made the first move. I stepped over to the ottoman. I sat slowly and as my butt touched the cushion, I felt every muscle in my body relax. I let out a deep breath and looked at each of the others hoping they’d find a seat on the couches. They all did, except for Jack. He leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground like a raindrop slid down a window.

  I didn’t realize that Dan’s death would affect Jack so drastically. They had never gotten along. I never saw them have meaningful conversations or share any interests about anything, but apparently, that wasn’t the key to developing relationships anymore. We weren’t all friends. Anybody’s feelings toward Scott would back that theory up, but we were like a family.

  Some of us felt like cousins that never saw each other or ever spoke except for the random wedding where you’d see the person one time every five years, again just look at our feelings toward Scott. And then there were those of us that were like brothers and sisters. I looked at Jack that way now. I hated him at times. I liked him at times. But I would rather have him alive and by my side than dead. And I felt that way about everybody that I stood with. Everybody…even Scott. Surprised myself with that thought.

  “My name is Ricky.” He looked around at all of us and I could see such worry and sympathy in his eyes. “Can I get anybody anything?”

  Nobody answered him, but he still left the room and opened his pantry door. He grabbed a full case of water and uncomfortably carried it back to the living room. He dropped the case on the coffee table and ripped open the plastic. He pulled bottle after bottle out and tossed them to those that were conscious enough to catch it, and handed the others around to us.

  Jack opened it up and took a big sip. The water came out quickly. Some of it landed on his chest. Most of it landed down on the floor.


  Jack nodded slightly to us. Drink up, I’m sure he thought. He tilted his head back and poured the water on his face. He opened his mouth to drink some of it, but washing the blood and dirt off of his face was priority number one. I watched as others began to do the same. The man did not seem at all concerned about the water dousing his furniture.

  “I heard the General call you father,” I said to him.

  “The Captain. Captain Darren Kendrick.”

  “Yeah, him.” His name put a sour taste on my tongue.

  “Yes. Father Ricky. I am the priest of District 7-1.”

  “Catholic?” Heather asked hopefully.

  “Catholic, Christian. Jewish. It is truly hard to narrow spirituality toward one religion anymore with what’s going on in the world.”

  “It’s not hard to believe in God altogether?” Jack asked.

  “Not at all, son. Not at all. I pray and worship with anybody of District 7-1. With any religion. When somebody needs me or needs God, I find ways to connect them.”

  “Does that equal to a full salary per religion?” Jack joked. He finished his bottle of water by finally pouring some into his mouth.

  “Without God, do you truly believe that you would have stumbled into my shed? I can assure you the others would not have welcomed you in.”

  “That’s funny. The world has become hell on Earth and I’m all but positive we’ve hit the eye of the storm.”

  “Excuse me?” Ricky looked around the room to us. His expression hadn’t changed, but I could see his sympathy turned to worry. “What happened out there?”

  Jack started laughing. Loud. Obnoxiously. He’d gone from the calm and collected Batman to the insane Joker.

  I listened as Emily told the story to Ricky of how we ended up in the shed. It seemed like a story. Sitting there hearing it over, listening to her describe it exactly in the way that it played in my head, was frightening. I could see Ricky listen intently. I wouldn’t doubt him if he thought Emily was making parts of the story up to scare him, but it was all real.

  The bus getting shot up with what I could only assume still had Nick inside of it, Dan being shot, Darren threatening to kill each one of us in the same ruthless way. Everything was so real, and yet unreal.

  “My God,” Ricky exclaimed.

  “No, Father. God was most definitely not there for that.”

  And then that adrenaline spike feeling came rushing back to me when lights shined through the back windows of Ricky’s house. I turned quickly and held my breath as my heart beat harder and faster. A dozen flashlights shined through the glass and into our eyes.

  Captain Darren Kendrick and his men had found us. Darren kicked opened the back door and the military filled the room like rushing water. Their lights blinded us like a flash grenade. I wasn’t able to see their faces through the glare, but when I looked down to clear my eyes, I could clearly see a few red dots on my chest.

  “Nobody fucking move!” Darren shouted.

  I moved. Not my feet, but my hands. I put them up without any instruction to do so. It was a natural reaction. I guess my instincts figured that if I put my hands up in the air, they wouldn’t shoot me. You can’t shoot an unarmed woman willing to surrender, can you? It worked in the movies.

  The guns stayed pointed at us, but the flashlights turned off when Darren flipped the light switch on in the living room. Another guard turned a few other lights on in the kitchen and in the front foyer.

  “Nobody in your shed, huh?” Darren pressed up against Ricky. “If you weren’t a man of God.”

  “How unfortunate for you, though, that I am?”

  “What did you say to me?” Darren moved his gun from his stomach up to his chest as if it were intimidating Ricky.

  “You’ll have a lot of explaining to do in the next life.”

  Darren smirked, but I could see the hatred that he had for Ricky. Darren didn’t seem to have a happy or friendly side.

  “Cuff them and bring each one of them back to the border and wait for me,” Darren ordered. The men jumped at command and started moving toward each one of us.

  “Back to the border? You’re not taking them to the jail?” Ricky asked.

  “You’re no longer needed here, Father. Please step back and let us finish up here.”

  “No,” Ricky said defiantly.

  “Ricky.”

  “Father. And I said no. I suggest you call Glen right now or I’ll make sure that you are the one pushed outside the border and never welcomed back inside.

  Jack and I connected eyes. We didn’t know a Glen, but judging by the look on Darren’s face, Glen was a higher authority figure than Darren was.

  “Father,” Darren said.

  “Captain, if you don’t call him, I will.” Ricky stepped over to a house phone that hung on the wall separating the kitchen and the living room.

  Darren’s men didn’t finish detaining us. They stopped in their tracks. They realized that Ricky was right, but seemed frozen out of terror and to what Darren might say. I could have guessed at that moment that there was some sort of power struggle happening in District 7-1.

  Darren reached down and put his fingers around the radio that was clipped to his belt. His eyes drilled Ricky, but I could see his strong gaze weakening. He exhaled and as he pulled the radio off of the clip, he looked away from Ricky.

  “District Base, this is Captain Kendrick, I need a call put into Glen Fuller. Over.”

  “Captain Kendrick, District Base here. Request?” asked the voice through the static.

  “Request that Glen Fuller meet us at Father Richard Hailin’s residence. We’ve got perimeter intruders in custody.”

  “Copy that, Captain Kendrick. Issuing request. Stand by.”

  “Copy that.”

  “I hope you understand what you’ve just done,” Darren said. “You better start praying.”

  “Oh, my sins are forgiven. Are yours?” Ricky asked.

  I wanted to drop to the floor and give up. I had my whole family there. My new world family, but I didn’t have the strongest link. Kurt wasn’t with me anymore. He was gone, dead possibly, and it left every muscle in my body numb to the touch. I was standing, surprisingly, somehow, but couldn’t feel my legs holding me up.

  Where was Kurt?

  2

  Kurt Elkins

  E very tree, limb, branch, and thorn pulled at me and was sticking to my skin like a rusty nail, but we couldn’t stop. I could not stop. Death was usually around every corner, but there were those moments when death was literally chasing us.

  We’d been separated, some of us had been killed, but we couldn’t give up. I, in my head, envisioned a safe place, a safe haven, where we’d all meet again. There would be a day when Haylea and I were together again. It wouldn’t just be on the hard, itchy carpet of the WTIX building, but in a bed, with my arms wrapped around hers, our fingers interlocked, and our wedding rings touching.

  That was the vision that continually pushes me forward when I could collapse and be trampled by fear and taken by death.

  The five of us, Reggie included, had a quick moment to stop and catch our breath, but that just led to us fighting. Arguing, except for the punch Zach had hit Frank with, it didn’t get physical. We didn’t have long to come to any decision or to make a plan of attack on District 7-1. They continued to come after us far after we’d left their perimeter.

  I led the group on the run, but stopped and allowed for the others to cross in front of me and lead. Zach was robotic. He didn’t breathe hard or sweat. He wasn’t like most city cops with a cup of coffee and a belly hanging down over his belt. This guy was like a machine.

  Bryce passed by me next. He played the part of young, skinny smoker perfectly. His skin was pale, he had dark spots under his eyes, and he was breathing harder than anyone I’d ever heard breathe, but he kept running. It was life or death.

  Frank was last. He wasn’t in the worst shape. He was better off than Bryce, but Frank was slower as he carr
ied a crying Reggie with him. His eyes glared at me as he passed by as if this was all my fault. I put my hand on his back and pushed him ahead of me. I looked back through the woods hoping to see and hear nothing but was disappointed to hear a few guys screaming at each other to fan out and to keep looking.

  They were still coming for us.

  “I got to stop,” Bryce said without closing his mouth between words. He fell up against a tree and leaned over. He spit, which I was surprised didn’t come out with some vomit.

  Zach stopped on a dime and turned back to Bryce. He grabbed Bryce’s shirt at the shoulder and pulled him up.

  “You need to move your ass,” Zach said to him.

  “Let ‘em kill me,” Bryce said.

  “Bryce, move!”

  Bryce punched Zach’s hand away. “Like you’d even care. Really!?”

  “They’re gonna be here in about thirty seconds,” I said to them.

  “Don’t do this right now,” Zach said to Bryce.

  “How can you look at me like that when I know what you’ve done? You don’t even know me!”

  “I know you well enough to know you need to move your ass.” Zach pulled Bryce away from the tree.

  Bryce’s legs buckled. He dropped to one knee. “You’re a murderer!”

  Frank and I glanced at each other, but quickly. We wanted our eyes on Zach.

  “Bryce, you need to run.”

  “They were your family, man. Your own family.” Bryce pushed up with his hand to regain his stance. He reached out for a tree, but there wasn’t one close to him after Zach pulled him away. He kept his balance. Bryce was losing it.

  “Bryce,” I said.

  The young kid looked at me. He was probably eight or nine years younger than me. He seemed much younger than that. I was a mature guy that was still a few years shy of thirty, and from what I’d been through already with the stragglers, I was light years ahead of my age.

  Bryce looked at me, and then gazed right through me to the woods behind. I think he could sense just how close the others were. He nodded to me and took a deep breath in.