by Olah, Jeff
Natalie lowered the nine millimeter and carefully placed her hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “Let’s just go.”
Chuck pulled away and began to respond, but the tall man cut him off. “This was a lesson, a hard one, but a lesson all the same. You still have a way to protect yourself and if you go now, a path to the other side of the neighborhood. Take Sixth all the way through and you’ll avoid most of the horde.”
The tall man turned and started to walk back to the BMW, but then stopped. “Oh yeah, and you need to get the hell out of my city. There’s no place for you here.”
26
Owen recognized the voice coming from the hall, but with the flood of adrenaline and the blinding pain behind his eyes, he was having trouble remembering exactly who it was. It seemed to him like someone he’d only met a few times, maybe once or twice, not a relative or close friend. He inched forward, the Glock extended at eye level, and waited.
The man with the gravelly voice had knocked three separate times, but was now growing impatient. He kept his voice low—only slightly above a whisper—and again spoke directly to Owen. “Mr. Mercer, I know that you’re in there, please just open the door. There isn’t much time, they’re headed into the stairwell now.”
There were questions that needed to be asked; however, if the man was telling the truth and the hall was about to be overrun with Feeders, Owen didn’t think he could leave the man out there to die, stranger or not.
“We’ve got maybe thirty seconds.” The man almost sounded desperate, his words coming much more quickly now. “I don’t know if you remember, but we met in the city.”
Owen shifted his weight to his left leg, took a step forward, and ran back through the last few days in his mind.
Nothing.
The man in the hall appeared to be right up against the door, his voice now pushing through as if he was standing only a few feet away. “Mr. Mercer … Owen, open the door. I’m here to help you get back to your wife.”
Owen turned and looked back at Ava. She’d stepped out of the darkened corner and stared past him at the door. “Dad?”
He held his index finger over his mouth, motioned for her to return to the corner by the window. Owen then gripped the pistol in this left hand, moved quickly to the door, and placed the end of the barrel six inches from the peephole.
A silent count of three and then he brought his right eye in behind the fisheye lens. It took a second for the hall to come into focus, but when it did, Owen was overcome by a massive wave of confusion.
How was this even possible? He’d spoken to the man in the hall for less than thirty minutes, over three days earlier, but had revealed very little. They’d traded only surface-level information during their short time together and although it seemed like this couldn’t have been anything but a random occurrence, Owen was absolutely sure that this was in no way a coincidence.
One step back and then quickly to the right, Owen pulled open the door, and leveled the Glock at the man in the hall. “Back against the wall, hands down.”
The man now partially shaded in the dimly lit hallway looked intently into Owen’s eyes, and then around him into the apartment. “Mr. Mercer, we should probably sort this out inside.”
Then it hit him all at once. The man from the street, the man who saved him outside Natalie’s office building. The man they’d left three days earlier nearly thirty miles from where they now stood. “Kevin?”
The man nodded. “Yes, we met on the street.” He turned and glanced down the hall. “But right now, I’m telling you we need to—”
The sounds of stammered footfalls and low groans shot from the stairwell at end of the hall, much closer than Owen was comfortable with. He continued to point the Glock at the man in the hall, but now had a decision to make. “Why are you here?”
The man he remembered as Kevin looked toward the stairwell as the sounds of the dead intensified. “Maybe we talk about this inside?”
Owen stepped into the threshold. “I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“I’m here to help, but you need to make a choice right now.” He again looked past Owen and into the apartment. “If you want me to help you save your daughter, your son, and your wife, then I’m gonna need you to step to the side.”
Owen just stared back, looked him over, head to toe.
The man from the street appeared unarmed. He now wore a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and the same leather boots from three days before. Holding his hands out, palms up, he again glanced back at the stairs.
From memory, Owen knew the door at the end of the hall had been torn from its hinges, and as the first Feeder—a rail-thin young man in a blood-soaked track suit—lumbered out into the hall, he took a hesitant step back. “I don’t know you.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.” Kevin took one last look into the apartment before turning and starting toward the opposite end of the hall.
He watched as another three Feeders followed Mr. Track Suit out of the stairwell and into the hall. Before the man from the city had taken three steps, Owen shook his head and stepped to the side. “Okay … okay, but I swear if this is anything other than what you say it is, I promise I will kill you.”
Kevin turned back, eyed the quickly growing crowd, and followed Owen into the darkened apartment. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Owen said, quickly closing the door. “I haven’t even decided if you get to stay.”
As Owen checked the hall through the peephole, Kevin started toward the table. He turned and looked back as he pulled out a chair. “We need to talk.”
Owen looked toward Ava at the opposite side of the room, then back to the man he only vaguely remembered from the city. “I’m having trouble piecing all this together and it’s starting to mess with the part of my brain that’s keeping me from just shooting you.”
“Trust me, you’re going to want to listen to what I have to say.” Kevin turned slightly toward Ava, but continued to keep his eyes with Owen. “And I really am just here to help.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Owen motioned toward the table. “Turn in a full circle and then sit down.”
Kevin slowly raised his hands, his shirt pulling away from his waist revealing a pair of Smith and Wesson, twenty-one-inch collapsible batons. “Okay?”
“Pull those out slowly, put them on the floor, and then we can talk.”
Kevin paused a moment, held Owen’s gaze, and then did as he was asked. He stepped back, pulled a chair out, and sat in it backwards. “You’re cautious, I understand.” He again briefly glanced back at Ava. “It’s good, you need to be.”
Owen lowered the Glock, held it in his left hand. He took a step toward the table and leaned into the wall near the door. Keeping his voice low, he shook his head. “I’m running through every possible scenario and can’t come up with one good reason why you’d be here, so fill me in on exactly what it is I’m missing.”
The man from the city leaned into the back of the chair and rolled his neck. “How much do you know about what your wife has been working on for the last year?”
27
She hadn’t spoken a word to Chuck since walking away from the row of abandoned police cruisers, and now held her son’s hand as she marched toward the east end of Sixth Street. Ahead on the right, Natalie spotted what had once been an animal shelter and beyond that, a six-story parking structure. She’d driven through this part of the city many times and even now, on foot and under the current circumstances, it didn’t appear much different than she remembered.
The streets were—for the most part—empty, like it could have been just another night on the wrong side of town. The handful of Feeders walking the opposite sidewalk could have easily passed for a group of slightly intoxicated twenty-somethings leaving the local tavern after closing. The forgotten vehicles lining the sidewalk also looked oddly typical, other than the blue SUV with the busted-out windows and the white mid-sized sedan that
had rolled out into the center of the street.
However, the area was quiet, maybe too quiet.
Natalie slowed as she moved by the open spot left from the white sedan, held tight to the Beretta, and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Do you have a plan?” Chuck’s voice was quiet, flat, lacking all emotion.
Natalie knew she was going to have to speak to him at some point, but for the moment, she felt it best to respond with as few words as possible. She was more angry than scared, but still needed him. “Yes.”
Chuck grudgingly followed a few paces behind, shaking his head. “Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on in your head, or am I just supposed to guess?”
“No.”
“No what? No you’re not going to fill me in, or no I’m not supposed to guess?”
“No to both.”
Chuck slowed. “You know this isn’t—”
Natalie stopped quickly and turned. Still didn’t want to engage him, but needed to let out just a bit of what was ready to boil over. “You almost got us killed.” She dropped her voice and stepped closer, only inches from his face, now up on her toes, but still not quite eye to eye. “So for now, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t throw you a party.”
Chuck just stared at her for a moment, then glanced quickly to his right, now watching the half dozen Feeders as they continued along the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
She watched his eyes, waited a few seconds, wanting him to respond. “They can’t hear us from there and they definitely can’t smell us.”
“Yeah,” Chuck said. He opened his mouth like he was going to continue, but then didn’t.
“We need to keep going though, we have to find …” Her attention was pulled toward the parking structure.
Noah tugged at her hand. “Dad and Ava, right? We have to go find Dad and Ava.”
Natalie only nodded at her son. She pulled him in close and looked back at Chuck. “We need to get up there.”
Chuck stepped in front of her, moved in behind the blue SUV, and squinted as he scanned the abandoned animal shelter and then the six story parking garage. “Uh …”
Natalie was moving before he could counter. Urging Noah along, she was across the street and making her way toward the metal staircase at the north end of the lot as Chuck caught her.
“Hey,” he said under his breath, “what are you doing?”
She continued to the base of the stairs, moved the weapon to her right hand, and crouched alongside her son. Peering up at Chuck and then the massive concrete structure at his back, she pointed. “The roof, maybe we can get a better view of the streets, tell us where we should start looking.”
Chuck nodded. “Uh yeah, that’s actually a good idea.”
Natalie shot him a look, something nearing disgust. “Are you surprised because I’m a woman or because until now I’ve let you make all the decisions?”
Chuck didn’t answer; it didn’t appear he knew what she wanted him to say.
“Trust me,” she said, now looking back at her son, “I’m not as helpless as you might think.”
“Yeah, your husband told me you were a lawyer.”
She kissed Noah on the forehead, whispered something into his ear, and started to stand. “And?”
Chuck paused for a beat, biting into his lower lip as if contemplating how to say whatever it was he was thinking.
“Well, what is it?”
Chuck looked around, back toward street, at the parking garage, and then at the world beyond. “We aren’t in a courtroom, and this isn’t a trial. Your dexterous command of the English language isn’t going to do much for us out here … not anymore.”
“Wha—”
Chuck’s face said he regretted the words even as they were leaving his mouth. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out exactly the way I was hoping. It’s just that we need to be more careful, put some thought into—”
“You think my only contribution to this world is what my business card spelled out in those three little words?” Natalie straightened, stepped closer. “You have absolutely no idea what’s happening, do you?”
Chuck stared at her, looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to go on the offensive. “Not really, but I kinda doubt that anyone does.”
Natalie brought the Beretta up in the palm of her hand, pushed it toward Chuck, and stepped back. “Take it.”
She winced as she let her shoulders drop and then gently rubbed the knot above her left eye. Her face went slack and she shook her head, now peering out into the city. There was too much to explain, too many ways for him to misinterpret the things she’d have to tell him, and without Owen or Ava, it may not even matter. “I want you to understand that I still trust you. I know what you’ve done for me, for my family. You could have left me back there at that apartment, left my son, went out on your own. But you didn’t, you stayed, and for that I’m grateful.”
Her face changed, became hard again. “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you also nearly got us killed. The men back there may not have known that the shotgun was empty, but I knew. And while I may not like you very much at the moment,” she forced a grin, “I do realize that you’re trying to help.”
Natalie pointed to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
28
Owen stood over the man from the city, now sliding his left index finger over the trigger guard. There was a part of him that wanted to overreact to Kevin’s question, felt the need to let out the anger, the frustration, the well of anxiety he was holding back. Punish him for things that he couldn’t control.
But there was another a part of him—a much bigger part—that was curious to see what the large man in the black leather jacket had to say. He thought back to last winter and tried to recall anything out of the ordinary about his wife or her all-encompassing career.
Nothing was coming.
“Kevin … right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Tell me,” Owen said through gritted teeth, “why the hell are you here?”
Kevin slowly nodded, again he looked back toward the corner of the room. “Your daughter, uh she—”
“Whatever it is, it’s not going to matter, not anymore.”
“Alright then.” Kevin rested his hands on his knees, filled his lungs with air, and blew out slowly. “What do you want to know first—the why or the how?”
Owen called Ava over and motioned toward the couch to his right. She moved across the dimly lit apartment, flopped into the mess of cushions, and glared at the man sitting backwards in the chair.
“Have you been following us?”
“Not exactly.”
Owen slowly shook his head. “Okay, let’s start with you.”
“Come again?”
“Who are you?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“No, who are you really?”
“My name really is Kevin Rodgers and I worked for a company called BXF Technologies. I didn’t necessarily tell you anything that wasn’t true, just a few minor details, wasn’t anything you really needed to know.”
“And now you’re here.” Owen looked toward the door, dropped his voice. “For what exactly?”
“I spotted your truck a day and a half ago, was finally able to catch up to you and your daughter earlier today, within the last several hours.”
“So you were following us?”
“Tracking would probably be a better description.” Kevin seemed to regret the words even as they were leaving his mouth. “I mean it’s not like that, it’s just …”
Owen stepped closer, looked hard at Kevin. He didn’t like what he was hearing and now regretted opening the door. Nothing about this seemed right, not a damn thing.
“Start from the beginning, from when we dropped you off back in the city.” Owen pulled out a second chair, sat on the opposite side of the table, making a point of resting the Glock in his lap. “And this time I want the truth.”
Kevin lea
ned forward, glanced at his wrist, and then back toward the window. “Do you have any idea of where she would have gone?”
Owen could feel his pulse beginning to race. “Are you asking me about my wife?”
“I was only able to track you, thought you’d be together, but then realized you and your daughter were here alone.”
“You followed us from the city?”
“Not exactly.”
Owen just stared back, his finger drifting toward the trigger.
“I located your Hummer sometime after you abandoned it, and like I said, tracked you here.”
“My Hummer, how would you—”
“The company I worked for had a relationship with your wife’s firm.”
“A relationship?”
“I think it may be best if I let her explain all the intricacies, but let’s just say that BXF maintained an extensive data set on all of its business partners. They knew exactly what they needed to know and then some.”
Owen again shook his head. “I guess I’m not asking the right questions because I still have no idea what it is you’re doing here?”
Kevin let out a long, exasperated breath. “Okay, does the name Marcus Goodwin mean anything to you?”
Owen sat forward, sensed that he needed to listen. “He runs that company, billionaire tech mogul, right?”
“Same guy.”
“And?”
“What about Dr. Eugene Lockwood?”
Owen shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Emma Runner or James Dalton?”
“I don’t think so.”
Kevin opened his mouth, but quickly paused.
Owen slid forward in his seat, looked back toward the door once again. “How about you get to the point? What the hell does any of this have to do with anything? Seems to me like you’re talking in circles.”
“Did Natalie ever mention something called Project Ares or Major Richard Daniels, maybe Black—”
Owen sat up straight, swallowed hard, his pulse again climbing. Interrupting, he said, “Yes, Richard Daniels, he’s a family friend. Natalie is really good friends with his daughter April.”
