The Next World (Book 3): Resurgence

by Olah, Jeff

  He stepped away from the desk and started back toward the windows. “One last thing.”

  “Yes Mr. Declan?”

  “If you or one of the others happen to spot him before he reaches the building, be sure to let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “You know how much I hate surprises.”

  5

  Whoever it was, was fast.

  Big and fast.

  Someone young, probably in their twenties, couldn’t have been much more, the way they shot from one end of the mostly empty parking garage to the other. The way they leapt the three foot retaining wall that divided the two halves of the concrete monolith. They were fast and seemed familiar with the terrain. They’d been here before, and not just a few times.

  With the nine millimeter held tight in his left hand, Owen stayed near the wall at the edge of the garage and began tracing a path toward the stairs at the opposite side of the second level. He stayed low, running when he could and intermittently checking the area over the side.

  A thirty foot drop to the paved area below and then a few dozen random vehicles parked end to end blocking the passage to the street beyond. He remembered working with Travis and Lucas to position the abandoned SUVs, trucks, minivans, and sedans. They looked much the same as they had three weeks before, except something just wasn’t right.

  Slowing twenty feet from the opposite stairwell, Owen sucked in slow breaths through his nose and inched his way to the top of the three foot retaining wall. He scanned the lot and quickly saw what he hadn’t before. What his mind’s eye was telling him was out of place, what he should have checked for as he worked his way to the second level.

  A silver pickup parked at the end of the row of cars.

  It wasn’t there yesterday and certainly not three weeks ago. He and Lucas had placed the twenty-three vehicles, largest to smallest in an effort to fill the sixteen foot void where the rear gates once stood. He remembered personally backing the final piece to the puzzle—a white minivan—into place as Travis stood atop the eight foot wall, his rifle tucked into this shoulder.

  The silver pickup was also much too clean. It would have stood out even to someone who was unfamiliar with the area. But it was also backed in, like the owner knew they were going to be followed. Like they knew they’d be in a hurry to leave even before they stepped out onto the cold wet pavement.

  Or maybe they wanted to be followed.

  It didn’t make sense, but then again nothing made much sense anymore. He needed to remember what he’d promised his family, but he also needed to finish what he’d come out here to do.

  Owen looked back the way he’d come, and then again over the wall toward the line of cars. He moved to the concrete post to his left and slowly stood. He had a better vantage of the entire lot, as well as where the first level of the garage opened to the rear yard.

  Come on … show yourself.

  Against everything his mind was screaming, Owen closed his eyes and attempted to focus only on what he could hear. First there was the sound of the wind and what he thought was a plastic bag being pushed along the wall to his right. He forced that down, attempting to go deeper, somehow allow his subconscious to drift away from the garage and probe the world beyond.

  There was the distant sound of gunfire, probably more than a few miles away. It was something he hadn’t completely gotten used to, but it bothered him less with each passing day. As much as he knew this was the new normal, Owen hated what that said about him.

  Under his breath, he began to vent. “This is useless, he’s probably already halfway to—”

  And just as he began to open his eyes, it was back. The sound of hurried footfalls. They were coming from the stairs, twenty feet to his left. His first instinct was to follow, although that hadn’t proved effective in any of his previous attempts, so today he decided to sit tight and give whoever it was a chance to hang themselves.

  With the Glock extended from his left hand, Owen leaned into the three foot wall and stretched out over the edge. He could see where the stairwell ended, and the fifty foot gap between the concrete structure and the first few vehicles.

  That’s where he’d make it happen.

  Wait and watch. Don’t overthink it, and don’t overreact. This had become his default mantra since leaving that freeway where he lost one of his own and nearly lost everything. It went against who he used to be, but who he used to be would have been dead by now. Just get what you need from the stranger, let him know who you are, and get back home. Everything else will figure itself out … somehow.

  The rushed footfalls now sounded as though they were coming from the rear lot. They echoed from the wall at the east corner, bounced between the nearly two dozen vehicles, and drifted back into the garage twenty feet below. They were louder now, and closer.

  But as a silhouetted figure appeared in the open space at the bottom of the stairwell, the sound abruptly came to an end.

  “Hello?” The voice was low, not much above a whisper. Meant only for Owen. The shadowed figure stayed just inside the threshold and perfectly out of view.

  Owen’s pulse began to beat in his temple, but he didn’t respond.

  “Hello, I know you’re out there. You’ve been watching me for the last week.”

  It was a male’s voice. Not much older than Lucas if he had to guess. Maybe early twenties.

  Owen fought the urge to speak, he wanted to see how far the young man was willing to go before either coming out and giving up or turning and running. He preferred the first option, but didn’t want to reveal his own hand just yet.

  “I know you’ve been coming out here and have been watching me.” The young man’s voice seemed to waver. “But … I’ve been watching you too.”

  Owen’s face felt warm. His finger began to tighten around the trigger guard, and although the temperature would have normally precluded it, a single bead of sweat began to form above his right eyebrow.

  Again leaning into the wall, Owen watched the entrance to the stairs, but pulled back his weapon. He made sure to match the volume of the man’s voice. “Who the hell are you?”

  There were a set of eyes, and then a face. Still partially shadowed, but vaguely familiar. The young man stepped halfway out into the morning air, holding a rifle tight against his right side. “Don’t shoot. I’m not here to hurt you or your family.”

  Owen choked down his initial response. It would have either taken the conversation in a completely unproductive direction or ended it all together. If the young man was to be believed, he had been watching Owen just as long as Owen had been watching him. There had to be a reason. If he had wanted to hurt Owen or his family he would have, and probably long before today.

  But there was something else, something in the man’s voice that was different. Again familiar, but also with an edge to it. Like he had a history with Owen and his friends. “My name is Thomas … and I’m here to help you and your friends.”

  As the young man stepped out away from the door to the garage and into the light of day, Owen’s heart felt like it missed a beat. It came to him all at once, even before he could make sense of what it meant. He remembered the man’s face, his massive presence, and how his best friend had ended up face-down in a pool of his own blood in the middle of that intersection.

  Owen brought his right hand up below the Glock, slipped his left index finger over the trigger, and aimed for the younger man’s chest. “I’m going to give you exactly three seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  The young man slowly began to shake his head and bent at the waist. He laid his rifle on the ground and held his hands up at his sides. “I know you probably remember me and what those other men did to you and your—”

  There was a crack that echoed from somewhere close. A single shot that took the tall young man from his feet and threw him to the pavement in a twisted heap.

  Owen instinctively flinched and pulled himself in behind the concrete post only a fraction of
a second before two more shots sounded from beyond the four-level parking garage and exploded into the wall eighteen inches away.

  The area quickly fell back into silence, but only for a few seconds. Another man’s voice—one he didn’t recognize—came from the adjoining lot. He was shouting. “FINISH THE KID AND THEN TAKE THE GARAGE. WE’LL COME BACK FOR THE OTHERS!”

  6

  Owen tucked his back tight against the post. For the moment, he had the upper hand. They would have to cross the lot—out in the open—reach the stairs, and then somehow climb the two flights. They’d have to go through him to get to his family, and today that wasn’t going to be an option.

  Unless.

  “Oh shit.”

  There was also the chance that they’d decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and circle back around to the front of the garage. Harper might still be at the gates, and now that shots had been fired, maybe even out in the street, along with his family and his friends.

  Before the thought had time to manifest, he was running. In a dead sprint within five seconds, he leapt the short concrete wall at the center of the garage and was descending the stairs two at a time when he heard it.

  The short quick barks, three at a time, were unmistakable. Owen took the last four steps, moved out of the stairwell, and turned toward the building he’d called home for the last two months. The gate now sat open and Zeus, in full gallop, was mostly a blur.

  “NOOOOO!”

  Travis appeared a few seconds later, followed closely by Lucas. They both carried handguns and Travis had a semi-automatic rifle hanging from his left shoulder. He waved with his right hand, motioning back toward the parking structure. “GET BACK OWEN, GET BACK INSIDE.”

  On instinct alone, Owen turned to look back at the garage and the long city block that ran the length of the four-story concrete structure. Three men exited the ramp from the garage, each with a weapon trained on him. The last man to walk out into the street and join the others was dragging the tall young stranger who had identified himself as Thomas.

  Instead of turning and ducking back into the stairwell, Owen offered Travis a quick nod, turned to face the man, and raised his Glock. The trio slowed their pace, but continued forward, the man on the right tossing Thomas out into the middle of the street.

  With Zeus now tucked beside his left leg, and Travis and Lucas positioned on the opposite side of the street, Owen looked quickly over his shoulder and then back at the men. “Whatever it is you think you know, you’re wrong. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but it isn’t here, and it isn’t with us.”

  The three men stopped fifty feet from Owen. The one dragging Thomas out of the garage and along the street moved the end of his weapon just slightly away from Owen, now eyeing Zeus. He wore dark colored jeans, a tan jacket, and a black Yankees cap. “What’s your dog’s name?”

  Owen shook his head. “Last chance.”

  The man in the black ball cap used the end of his pistol to motion back toward the gates Travis and Lucas had just exited. “You think you and your wife and your children are safe behind those gates, you think …”

  As the man continued to rattle off what Owen imagined was building toward some sort of poorly articulated threat, he turned toward the wall over his left shoulder, found Kevin perched behind his rifle, and gave a quick nod.

  Before Owen could turn back, there was a crack that echoed across the street, through the stairwell, and into the garage. The man in the dark jeans was thrown backward, his ball cap suspended in the air for a brief second. He hit the asphalt, slid on his side into the curb, and the right side of his head poured blood into the gutter.

  He curled up his nose, reminded himself to breathe, and fought to keep the Glock steady in his left hand. Owen hated this—it went against everything he typically stood for—but he was also done giving people the benefit of the doubt. If it meant his family would survive, he was willing to do just about anything.

  Including what came next.

  The men standing on either side of Thomas quickly turned to one another, tossed their weapons into the street, and held their hands out at their sides. The one on the right, closer to the man with a hole in his head, looked back toward the wall, and then to Owen. He was breathing hard and fast. “Please … we aren’t …”

  The second man wore a green aviator jacket and black combat boots. He scoffed at his friend, his voice coming out low and gravely. He sounded rattled, but not scared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Owen turned his weapon from the downed man to the man in the green jacket. He started forward, his eyes straight ahead. “Take two steps back, get down on your knees, and cross your ankles.”

  The first man had already moved back and was beginning to get to his knees. However, the man in the green aviator jacket was moving a bit slower, almost as if he hadn’t heard Owen’s simple instructions.

  “You’re not gonna want to test me.”

  The man in the green jacket began to shake his head. “You have no idea how bad this day is going to end for you and your family.”

  Owen continued forward, pausing near Thomas, who was now rolled onto his side in the fetal position, moaning quietly. “Hey.”

  The younger man looked up at Owen, he was bleeding from his left hip. “Uh … I’m not—”

  Owen cut him short. He kept his eyes on the man in the green jacket but spoke only to the injured young man. “Thomas?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you move?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Okay Thomas, get yourself up, and go sit on the sidewalk.”

  “Uh, alright?” The tall young man who’d identified himself as Thomas pushed away from the asphalt, slowly got to his knees, and winced as he finally stood.

  Owen turned back to the man in the green jacket, who’d finally started to move to his knees. He gestured toward the man lying motionless in the gutter, and with his heart racing in his chest, counted to five in his head before continuing.

  “That’s not on us, that’s on you. That’s on you and your friends. All of this.”

  The man in the green jacket opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but then just looked at the ground in front of him and shook his head.

  Owen stepped closer, now only a few feet separating them. “You chose to come out here, you chose to do this.”

  The man lifted his head, now staring up at Owen. “You can do whatever you want to me.” He looked to the left. “And to him. But I’m telling you, it’s not going to matter. You and your family, your friends, you’re already dead.”

  There was a long moment where the street and the area around fell into silence. All eyes now focused on Owen as he turned back toward the gates and confirmed that his wife and his children weren’t present.

  “That actually helps.”

  Green jacket guy tilted his head and cut his eyes at Owen. “Excuse me?”

  Owen turned again to Thomas. “You come out here with these guys?”

  Thomas offered a half shrug as he pressed his hand into his side. “Not really.”

  “But you know them?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Good, which one do you know better?”

  Thomas looked confused, but after a beat, motioned toward the man only feet away.

  “Okay,” Owen said. He looked back to Travis and then to Kevin, still seated on the wall. “Bring them around back, get what we need, and then take them out to the highway.”

  As Travis stepped off the opposite sidewalk and started toward him, Owen moved to the man in the green jacket, raised the Glock above his head, and slammed it into the side of the man’s face.

  7

  She had paced the hall between the front door and the room her children were in for the last twenty minutes. There wasn’t going to be time to stop whatever this was, but with Gentry not fully recovered and the others starting to come around to Owen’s way of thinking, she no longer had the strength to fight him on it.

 
; Natalie Mercer leaned into the room, reached toward her lower back, and handed her daughter the Beretta M9. She offered her a weak smile and looked back into the hall. As usual, there wasn’t time to go over the details, and although this wasn’t the first time she’d run this drill, it hadn’t gotten any easier. “Stay here and—”

  Interrupting her mother, Ava held the Beretta out in front of her and racked the slide. “And don’t come out.” She turned and looked back at her brother. “Either of us, we got it.”

  She lowered her eyes and stepped into the threshold. “I’m sorry.”

  Ava looked confused. “Uh …”

  Natalie wasn’t usually the type to apologize, but things had changed over the last month. “I should have listened. Your father was right, we aren’t safe here. He knew it the first week and I should have too. I’m sorry.”

  Ava turned back to her brother, could see that he had lost himself to the music flowing through his earbuds. “For what?”

  “For what we’re going to have to go through once we go back out there. I thought we could make it work, that we could be safe here …”

  There were footsteps outside the front doors. They were quick and sounded like they had a purpose. Natalie stepped into the hall and began to close the door behind her. “Stay put, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She was twenty feet from the front door when it opened. Harper’s face looked a shade lighter than usual and she was breathing hard. “Kevin shot someone.”

  Natalie’s heart leapt in her chest. She quickly shut down the mental images firing in her mind. “Where’s Owen?”

  “He’s okay. He’s on his way in right now, but …”

  “But what?”

  “I think he’s losing it.”

  “Yeah, you said that earlier.”

  “No, I mean I think he’s the one who told Kevin to do it.”

  Natalie didn’t know how to respond. She’d seen a change growing in Owen, but as of yet it hadn’t been a cause for alarm. He said he was going to do whatever it took to keep his family and friends safe, but it appeared he may be taking his new decree a bit too literally. “What are they doing?”