by Olah, Jeff
“Get everyone down to the shop and have them stay put. I’ll meet you back in the garage.”
The voice again came through the two-way radio, it was lower and quicker than before. “What if they, uh … what if they get through the gates?”
Ethan quickly glanced back at the screen and then looked around the room. He began to nod. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping they’ll do.”
35
Owen followed Travis out of the office, down two flights of stairs, and back to the second floor of the abandoned shopping mall. The lights were now dimmed and those who roamed the area outside the former mattress store had moved on. “I’m going out there, to help.”
“Yeah,” Travis grinned, but was shaking his head. “I don’t think so my friend.”
“I need you to get me out there, past the gates.”
Travis turned back to face him, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. “You aren’t serious?”
Owen could see where this was going. He wanted to convince his friend of all the things running through his head, but there wasn’t time. Not if he was going to do what he should have done weeks ago.
“Is there another way to get out there?”
“No Owen, this isn’t how—”
“Where’s Kevin?”
Travis turned away. “He’s with the others.”
There was something in the way Travis now looked off in the opposite direction. He hadn’t started toward the motionless escalator, but it was apparent he was attempting to end the conversation; however, Owen sensed it wasn’t for the obvious reasons.
“I’m going either way, you can help me or you can let me do this alone. I don’t care.”
“You know I owe it to Natalie and the kids to at least give them a heads-up.” Travis paused and turned back to face him. “But I know what you need to do and why you need to do it. Trust me, I get it.”
His legs were steady, but his left arm was numb and his head still throbbed. It wasn’t ideal, but this might be his only opportunity. “So,” Owen said, “give me a gun and tell me where to go. As soon as I’m out there, you can tell whoever you want. But this ends today.”
36
Owen pushed through the door and stepped out onto the dock. The ground was wet, shallow puddles dotting the massive asphalt lot as a pair of water tanker trucks drove away from the underground garage and sped toward the rear gates. He readied the SIG Sauer P226, clamped down with his left hand and winced as a stabbing pain shot from his forearm and slammed into the crease below his shoulder.
Come on Owen, just five minutes.
With his back to the wall, he moved quickly through the shadows afforded by the massive concrete structure. Thirty feet from the end of the dock, he paused to watch as the tankers pulled to a stop and four men climbed out. Two stayed near the doors and the others climbed the rear of the tanks and unwound the hoses.
The horde now began to spread out at the edges and turned its focus toward the men near the twin tankers. They piled in behind one another, pushing at the fences, and clawing at the gates, the sound of their low guttural moans and snapping jaws nearly drowning out the pair of diesel engines.
“Here we go.”
From his vantage, it appeared he would be hidden, at least until he reached the fences. A short two hundred yard run and then a quick—or not so quick—climb over the eight-foot chain link. It probably wasn’t the only hitch in his plan, but with his left arm at maybe sixty percent, things were about to get interesting.
To say the least.
Thirty feet from the fence, he was spotted. First by the stocky man near the rear of the first tanker—Owen thought his name was Phil—and then by a small group of Feeders who had broken off from the growing horde.
Owen slowly shook his head as the man he remembered as Phil turned to alert the driver. The man looked confused, holding his arms in the air and looking from the dock to the fence and then back to Owen. He finally lost interest and turned his attention back to the hose and the massive tanker.
At the fence, Owen tucked the weapon into his pants, lifted his right arm above his head, and jumped. He was able to get his hand over the top, but now had to deal with the row of barbed wire.
“This should be fun.”
Taking in a deep breath and trying to think about something else, anything else, Owen gripped the bar that ran along the top of the fence with his left hand and forced his right arm over the razor-sharp wire. It dug into the fabric of his coat, but so far hadn’t torn through. He pulled back, testing his weight, but then thought he may just lose his nerve.
“Three … two … one …”
Owen shifted all of his weight to his bent right arm and pushed off with his left leg, tossing it over the wire. And in one motion he released his grip on the top of the fence and allowed his momentum to carry him over the top, his right cheek catching on one of the barbs as he dropped to the other side.
Biting into the side of his mouth and forcing down the urge to shout, Owen pulled his sleeve up to his hand and placed it over the side of his face. The pain started slow, but quickly ramped. He felt the warmth of his blood starting to creep through the thin fabric, and a deep throbbing that ran from his ear to his jaw.
Back to his feet, he turned away from the fence and checked the crowd. They seemed—for the moment—to have lost his scent. But as he started into the trees, something caught his eye, a quick flash of blue and grey, from back by the docks.
A tall slender man with dark hair and baggy jeans.
The man had climbed down from the loading dock and was now jogging awkwardly in his direction. It wasn’t until the man was within fifty yards that Owen began to put the pieces together.
He was different than even a few hours before, maybe. Owen hadn’t been focused on anything but his wife, his children and their immediate safety. And even now it was hard to concentrate on what his friend was doing, putting aside the fact that Kevin looked to have aged twenty years in the last few weeks.
As his friend approached the fence, Owen glanced one last time at the crowd, shook his head, and again wiped his cheek. The blood was now darker and thicker, more than he’d expected. He was sure there were at least a few stitches in his future, and a scar that would be a constant reminder of this day.
But he didn’t mind.
Owen kept his voice low, leaning into the fence. “What are you doing?”
Kevin increased his pace over the last twenty-five yards, and then rested for a beat as he took a handful of chain link. “Making sure your wife and kids get to see you again.”
Owen stared back at his friend, his initial observation spot on. Kevin’s skin looked grey, like a pale napkin, void of all moisture. His eyes seemed to fall back into his head, the sockets brown and dry. His shoulders were slung forward and his arms looked like they were half their original size, but longer than before.
“I don’t think you should—”
Kevin interrupted as he started up the fence. He was beginning to smile. “And … I drew the short straw.”
Owen stepped back, waiting as Kevin slowly climbed down. “You don’t need to do this.”
Kevin straightened, maintaining the pained smile as he pulled a pistol from his pants. “Yeah, I do.”
“Do you even know why I’m out here, what I’m doing, what this means?”
“Yeah, but I’m having trouble understanding why your memory is so bad.”
Owen turned and started walking through the trees. There was a slight incline and he didn’t like the idea of having to slow his pace. “My memory?”
Kevin was already breathing hard. “We went through this more than a few times, but you’re not getting it. Those people back there, your wife, your kids, your friends, they need you. They need you alive.”
“Yeah,” Owen said, “I’m working on it.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Kevin’s voice turned sour. “Looks like something else, something selfish.”
The trees were t
hicker here, spaced only a few feet apart in some areas. The incline was also now more aggressive, nearly vertical, they’d have to climb to the road above on their hands and knees.
“Selfish?”
“You got a better explanation?”
“I’m out here to finish this, today, now. That man should be dead, should have never been able to hurt another human. But he’s not, and it’s my fault. I’m going to put a bullet in his head and I’m not walking away until I see him take his last breath.”
Kevin got down on his hands and knees and started up the harsh embankment. “No Owen, it’s not your fault, and it’s not your job. Those people back there, the ones who took us in, they know what they’re doing. They’ve seen things that you and I couldn’t even imagine. And they don’t need you out here trying to play hero.”
“Hero, really? Are you trying to piss me off, or is that what you seriously think is happening out here?”
“You know what I think, Owen. I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t believe in what you’re trying to do. But this isn’t the way.”
At the crest, thirty feet from the side of the road, the sound of the diesel engines were replaced by the softer, more monotone motors of a compact SUV and a pickup truck, as well as multiple male voices. They appeared to be laughing and debating the terms of a wager, one man shouting above the others that he “Would give two-to-one odds on the skinny brunette.”
Owen got to his feet, licked the blood from his lips, and spat it out onto the ground. He turned to offer his friend a hand, peering off toward the vehicles fifty feet away. “Yeah, okay. But it still doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t make any sense?”
“Why you’re out here.” Owen looked him over. “You look like you’ve lost like fifteen, maybe twenty pounds. I mean you look like you’re sick as a dog my friend. I think you need to—”
Kevin stepped to him and wrapped him in a hug, putting his face a few inches from Owen’s right ear. “Go take care of your family, they deserve to have you around. They need you.” And as Kevin stepped back, he placed his foot against the exposed root of a massive pine and shoved Owen in the chest.
There was a moment where Owen was weightless, where he seemed to float above the edge of the steep decline, everything around him instantly crystalizing. He could only watch as Kevin gripped the weapon in his right hand, and turned back toward the street.
He drifted backward, the heels of his boots catching first. He cartwheeled onto his left side, the anticipation of what was to come running a close second to the confusion of what his friend had just done.
Owen shouted, but again his voice was contained to his own head. NOOOOOOOO!
As he struck the ground, he pulled his legs in and tried to roll to his right. Extending his arm, Owen was able to catch himself on the base of a three foot shrub and slow his momentum, finally coming to a stop a few feet from where he had started his ascent only minutes before.
There was a moment where nothing felt real, where he laid on his back blinking through the spots in his vision. He laid still, attempting to catalog any new injuries, when his friend’s voice pulled him back to the present.
“DECLAN!” Kevin shouted. “LET’S GET THIS OVER WITH!”
Amid a flurry of unfamiliar voices coming from the roadway above, one on top of the other, Owen got to his hands and knees. He bit through the pain in his left arm and wiped the side of his face on his sleeve. He dug into the soft hillside, moving quickly between the trees, but with each second that ticked away, he felt himself falling further into the nightmare.
And now the voices were back.
They were right there waiting for him to fail, begging him to quit. Telling him that he could simply turn around and save what was left of his own miserable life, that he wasn’t responsible for this and that his friend had made the decision on his own. They told him he wasn’t to blame, and that he only needed to tell himself that it was okay.
Only it wasn’t.
“Hold on buddy, I’m on my way.”
Owen reached the roadside and saw his friend standing opposite the man he was out here to kill. Kevin’s weapon was drawn, although there were four other men, one standing directly in front of Declan.
Kevin had his gun pointed at that man, motioning the barrel to the right. “You either move aside or the first one is going through your forehead, makes no difference to me.”
Declan looked around the man and eyed Kevin. He was laughing as he turned to the others and said, “Kill him.”
Kevin fired first, but not by much more than a second. He was able to squeeze off four rounds and had adjusted his target. The two men on the left dropped before they could even line up a shot. The third, the man standing in front of Declan, was hit in the abdomen just as he fired back, striking Kevin once in the chest and once in the head.
His friend’s body went limp as he pulled the trigger a fifth time. The round clipped Declan’s left shoulder, sending him to the ground and pulling the attention of the horde away from the gates.
Owen ran to Kevin’s side. He dropped to one knee, avoided glancing at the wound, and closed his friend’s eyes. “I’m sorry … you didn’t deserve this, any of this.” Owen took in a breath, and slowly exhaled. “Rest in peace my friend.”
There was movement ahead. The man on the opposite side of the road was flat on his back and had his face turned to the side. It was the man that Owen had failed to defeat more than once. The man who threatened his family, shot his best friend, and ordered him dead.
It was the man he was here to kill.
Owen stood and watched for a moment as the crowd finally lost all interest in the abandoned shopping mall and began stumbling back out into the roadway.
He turned and walked to Declan, the anticipation growing with each step. His heart raced and his head pounded as a surge of adrenaline coursed through his wrecked body. He was shaking as he increased his pace, a mild wave of nausea twisting in his stomach.
There was a moment where the world went grey and the only sound was the light rain on the trees and the cool wind blowing across the bloodstained asphalt. And now standing over the monster he came to rid the world of, Owen felt an unusual sense of calm. The anger drifted, the anxiousness of the moment blurred, and the voices in his head were now only a whisper.
“Where are the others?” Owen stepped over one of the dead men and pointed the Sig at Declan’s face. “The rest of your people?”
Declan coughed, shaking his head. He looked better than Owen remembered, had more color in his disgusting face, and also looked like he may have gained a few pounds. His clothes seemed like they fit better and although the pain was evident, his eyes again resembled something close to human.
But not for long.
“You …” Declan paused. It appeared as though he was contemplating a response, or maybe he was just trying to gauge Owen’s intent. “You and your family won’t live long enough to—”
“Enough.” Owen raised his right leg and stepped down on Jerome Declan’s chest. There was a look in Declan’s eyes that told him he may have finally gotten through. Not completely, but just enough to put a grin on his face. “You know, it doesn’t really matter where they went.”
Declan turned his head back to the side and coughed. He opened his mouth like he was going to respond, but Owen pressed down on his sternum.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to find them. Every single person that ever helped you … and then I’m going to kill them, all of them.”
“Wha—”
Owen lined up the Sig and fired a single shot. It tore a hole through the center of Declan’s face, bouncing his head off the street and sending bone fragments, flesh, and a pinkish-red spray out across the side of the road.
With a slow breath out, Owen turned and started back toward his friend. And as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth, wincing at the pain, the treeline he had walked out of only minutes before came to life.
Trav
is stepped out into the street and tucked away his weapon. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his finger into his temple as he took a moment to look from the dead men littering the street, to Kevin, and finally back to Owen. “I’m sorry.”
Owen motioned toward Kevin. “Yeah … me too.” He paused for a beat, then looking back through the trees, finally cleared his throat. “Let’s take him home.”
37
Day one hundred...
Owen slid his chair away from the table and reached for her hand. “When did he know?”
Natalie looked around the lower level. And because they were mostly hidden in the shadows afforded by the second and third floors, she took his hand, but stared out toward the motionless escalator. “He had been in treatment for a few years, but said that it returned a couple of months before the outbreak. He wasn’t well before, and was declining pretty fast over the last thirty days.”
“Why didn’t he tell anyone, I mean until …”
She stared past him, but continued to hold his hand. Now both of hers were sandwiching his. “He did, he just didn’t tell you, or Travis. Maybe because he thought you might feel bad for him, or maybe because he just didn’t want you treating him any differently. He told me that he never had any siblings, that he thought of you like a brother. And he knew that he was hard on you, but I think you know why.”
Owen felt a throb in the back of his throat. For a moment, the pain radiating from the black thread in his cheek faded. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, forcing back the tears that had already started to come. “When did you know?”
Natalie nodded. “Shortly after we got to the Foundry. He was working with Dominic, but they weren’t making any progress. They talked about a new procedure using stem cells, but it didn’t go anywhere.”
“Wait.” There was a flash from the day he collapsed out on that street. From the day he last came face to face with Jerome Declan. “Stem cells, from where?”
