The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Olah, Jeff

  Lucas didn’t hesitate. He dropped it into the pocket of his sweatshirt and then looked back toward the dining room. “Now?”

  “This is it buddy.”

  The teen’s hands were shaking. He again looked toward the doors and then back to Owen. “Thank you.”

  Owen grinned. He had, for the moment, forgotten about the man he used to be and was somehow able to quiet the voices in his head. His mind hadn’t had the time to drift, hadn’t had the chance to fall into the darkness that usually took hold. It felt good, it felt new, it felt like what Natalie and the kids would need from him.

  Back through the doors and into the main dining room, Owen jogged alongside Lucas. They reached the doors as the others stood just outside, waiting for the right moment to make their move.

  Kevin inched to the edge of the building and slowly peered around the corner. He turned back to the others and waved them forward, his voice only a soft whisper. “Go now, get to the trucks.”

  Owen kissed Natalie and the kids, pointed them toward the light-colored SUV, and turned to Lucas. “Okay, you ready for this?”

  The teen brushed the hair away from his face and nodded. “Yes sir.”

  “This was your idea. Remember how this works and what you told me about how you’ve seen those things move. We’ve got one shot at this, so let’s get it right.”

  Lucas stalled for a moment and then turned to meet Owen’s eyes. He was breathing fast and his lips were a lighter shade than they were two minutes before. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Owen placed his hand on Lucas’s shoulder and leaned in close, made sure to maintain eye contact. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  The others moved quickly to the vehicles, just slightly ahead of the crowd as Owen motioned toward a grouping of a half dozen Feeders. “As soon as they pass in front of the gate, we go. Stay on my left side until we reach the corner, and then get out there and do your thing.”

  Lucas looked like he was going to speak, but then just nodded. He was again breathing faster and now licked his lips, he looked scared.

  More scared than Owen would have liked. “Hey, you don’t have to do this. We can—”

  The teen used his forearm to nudge Owen forward and then pushing past, started toward the corner of the building. He was two paces ahead before Owen even realized what was happening. “HEY!”

  Lucas jogged a few strides ahead and then as Owen began to pull alongside, he broke into a sprint. As they came to within twenty feet of the corner, he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled free the egg timer. Now scanning the crowd, he twisted the dial forward and then quickly back, the bell beginning to ring even as he tossed it to the back of the lot.

  Owen slowed. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, now eyeing Natalie as she helped their children into the rear seats, started the engine, and closed the doors. Turning back, he rotated the dial on the second egg timer, pausing a moment to watch the movement of the crowds before twisting it forward.

  The horde had noticed the ringing bell, but was slow to turn. The majority instead remained focused on Owen and Lucas, now out of the shadows afforded by the massive structure at their backs.

  He looked for a pattern, something that would indicate how the next thirty seconds would play out. He could launch the second device, hope it would stay in one piece, hope it would ring for more than just a few seconds, and then in turn, would begin to pull the crowds away from his friends.

  But as the first egg timer fell silent, he started to see the bigger picture.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  None of it.

  Three quick-moving Feeders turned the corner—almost appeared to be running—and locked on Lucas. They were less than two strides away when the teen became aware, and now had his path to the gate blocked.

  “Owen?”

  Sixty feet to his right, Kevin had begun to back his truck toward the fence. He waved Lucas and Owen away from the building and appeared to be mouthing some sort of instruction; however, his voice was lost to the interior of the massive black pickup.

  Owen pulled the Glock, looked toward Lucas, and motioned toward the gate. “GO, GET TO THE GATE, DON’T WAIT FOR ME!”

  He was already running toward his family, and only slowed once to check if the teen had done what he’d said. Lucas had started forward, but then hesitated as another group of four rounded the truck and joined the others.

  “LUCAS, YOU HAVE TO MOVE, RIGHT NOW!”

  As the two groups converged, now gaining the attention of another half dozen, Lucas stopped moving. Forty feet from the gate, and another ten to Kevin, he looked from the crowds, to the gates, to the truck, and then finally back to Owen. His face was wet with tears and sweat. He opened his mouth to speak, but then turned away and dropped to his knees.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  The teen had saved his family only days before, and on more than one occasion. Now Owen was going to return the favor.

  57

  The crowds had followed the exact path he had assumed they would. Through downtown and spilling out onto the east side. They moved slow and were now beginning to bottleneck as the first wave reached the end of Sixth Street. Hundreds of Feeders pushed into the former garment district, blocking off access to the highway, and for the moment, everything else.

  Jerome Declan sat in the passenger seat of a white BMW X6 and was content to simply wait and watch. He ran his hand along the edge of the window, held back a grin, and turned to look at the man in the driver’s seat.

  “Kirk …”

  The younger man shook his head and exhaled in a low groan. He didn’t answer right away, and instead turned his eyes to the sidewalk outside his window. “Let’s not do this.”

  Declan unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned to first look at the three men in the second row, and then back to Kirk. “Do what?”

  “I’m not really in the mood for this. Why don’t we just focus on what we came out here to do?”

  Declan slapped his right hand against the dash and turned back to the others. “He’s not in the mood fellas, how about that?” Then back to Kirk he leaned in close. “How about you humor me for the next hour, what do you say?”

  Kirk continued to stare out the window, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his arms flexed at the elbow. He sat quiet for what seemed like a full minute and then turned to face Declan, “Okay.” A fake smile started across his face. “Whatta want to chat about?”

  Declan nodded. “That-a-boy.” He reached out and laid his left hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “See, it’s not that hard, you just have try.”

  From the back seat there was a short burst of laughter that was quickly stilted. The young man in the middle sat up straight and turned to look out through the driver’s side window.

  Declan’s smile returned as he looked into the back row, slowly drawing out the young man’s name. “Thomas Jefferson …”

  The former college basketball star was bright pink, his hands folded in his lap, and his shoulders frozen in a permanent shrug. “Uh … I …”

  Twisted further in his seat, now leaning back against the door, Declan folded his arms into his chest. “Tell me, who was it that decided on your name? Was it your mother, maybe your father, was it a consensus? I mean, come on. There’s no way it was just a spur of the moment thing, there’s got to be a good story behind it.”

  “Uh … I mean … it wasn’t really that big of a deal.”

  “Not that big of a deal?” Declan quickly sat forward. “You were named after our third president, and there’s no way that was an accident. How on earth could that not be a big deal? I mean you must have taken some pretty nasty abuse in grade school.”

  Tommy nodded “Yeah, but more because of my height.”

  Declan matched Tommy’s gesture. “Yeah, I could see that too, but I’m more interested in the story behind your name. Now don’t get me wrong, I would have been one of those kids making fun of you, hell I probably woul
d have led the charge. But now I just have to hear about how you survived fourth grade.”

  Tommy had a weird look on his face, something that Declan didn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment and didn’t appear to be anger. The twenty-something former college athlete looked from the men at his side, to the driver, and then finally back to Declan. “I’m not too sure that the kids in grade school even knew who Thomas Jefferson was, maybe once I got to high school, but even then I think it seemed like a pretty dumb thing to make fun of.”

  Declan held back the urge to respond with the anger that was building. The much younger man hadn’t taken the bait, and now the moment felt flat, uninspired. He needed to come at this from another angle. “So, you’ve never had to throw up those massive hands of yours, never had to take down a bully?” His words were coming faster now. “Never had to tear someone’s head off for disrespecting your lineage?”

  Again, Tommy’s face looked odd. It was obvious he was confused, or possibly scared, maybe a little bit of both. “Uh … I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t really remember having to. The only people that ever mentioned it were my teachers. They were interested, but never really—”

  “You mean to tell me that there wasn’t a single person in your life that found the humor in you being named Thomas Jefferson? You’re telling me that I’m the only one, that somehow I’m wrong, that it’s perfectly normal to name your child after a president, and that pointing it out makes me some sort of …” Declan took a breath and leaned toward the back seat. “Makes me what?”

  He wasn’t getting through to the lanky former athlete. There weren’t many ways he could redirect the conversation, and now his original intention almost seemed pointless. Either the man-child would do what needed to be done or he wouldn’t. It was probably too late to turn him into something else anyway.

  “I …” Tommy started to respond, but then his eyes drifted slowly toward the windshield. The men seated on either side had also seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and were watching something over Declan’s right shoulder.

  He stared back at the men, one to the other and then back again, finally turning to Kirk in the driver’s seat. “What am I missing, what’s gotten—”

  Kirk pointed out into the street, now beginning to nod. “Check it out.”

  Declan continued to stare straight ahead, his temper beginning to reach its boiling point. He took a measured breath, unclenched his fists, and then finally turned to look to his right.

  The crowds were thinner. Maybe by half. They were still bunched near the end of Sixth, but had vacated the sidewalks for almost fifty yards, and had now left an opening near the corner, just wide enough to drive through.

  It was time.

  “Okay,” Declan said, again buckling his seatbelt, and reaching for the handle above his head. “Get us over there.”

  Kirk quickly shifted back into drive and looked over his left shoulder. “And once we get around them, then what?” There was a hint of skepticism in his voice.

  Declan relaxed into his seat and rested his hands on his thighs. “Natalie Mercer is somewhere on the other side of that crowd, let’s go find her.”

  58

  Owen was running, now less than thirty feet from Lucas when he fired his first shot. To his right, Ava was at the rear passenger window screaming as Natalie opened her door and stepped out onto the asphalt. He waved her back and fired a second and third shot into the crowd. He was close, but it didn’t look like it was going to matter.

  There were simply too many of them.

  “LUCAS, GET UP AND MOVE!”

  The teen didn’t appear to have heard him. He was on his hands and knees, backing away from a group of four slow moving Feeders, but not quickly enough. They’d be on him in seconds. He didn’t turn to look at Owen, or even toward Kevin’s truck as it skidded into the fence ten feet from the gates.

  Again Owen cried out, this time increasing the volume and intensity in his voice. “DAMN IT LUCAS, GET ON YOUR FEET!”

  Twenty feet beyond the crowd, Kevin pulled away from the gate, again shifted into reverse and backed over what remained of the eight-foot chain-link fence. Sliding out into the street and braking quickly, his friend punched the horn and pulled to the opposite sidewalk.

  Only half the crowd had taken notice, the rest continued toward Lucas, unaware or unfazed that Owen had fired three separate times. They moved in tight circles, quickly closing off any chance he had at coming in from behind. He’d have to backtrack and somehow move right through the middle of the horde.

  Not something Owen wanted to do, but he also had no intention of leaving the boy to die. No matter how loud his mind was screaming for him to do exactly that.

  Six feet from the nearest Feeder and Owen again raised the Glock. There was no going back. No time to reconsider. No time to come up with another plan. This was it. “LUCAS, GET THE HELL UP!”

  Lucas was moving faster now, backing toward the building. He finally looked to his left and up at Owen, mouthing a few words that were lost to the distance.

  Twenty feet now separated him from the teen. Owen quickly calculated what remained in the magazine and lowering his shoulder, plowed into a Feeder that must have outweighed him by at least forty pounds.

  The bloodied man in the black jeans and torn white t-shirt fell face-first into the asphalt, his nose and his forehead exploding on impact. This created a mini-domino effect, taking down another five that had stumbled away from the others.

  Owen spun to his left, stepped behind a woman in a long dark coat, and grabbed her by the collar. Staying just out of reach of her snapping jaw, he pushed her forward and into a short thin man that looked like he’d been recently set on fire and left to burn.

  The torched man stumbled to the right and then toppled backward, landing only feet from Lucas, who had begun to get to his feet. Owen quickly released the woman, kicked her dead center in the middle of the back, and scanned the crowd. Although he could now reach the teen, there was no way they’d escape without a few bumps and bruises.

  Eleven rounds left.

  He was going to have to use every last one, and even that may not be enough. Owen dipped to the left and came in beside Lucas, who continued to back toward the brick exterior of Cecil’s.

  “LUCAS!”

  The slender teen finally met Owen’s eyes. He was shaking, out of breath, and appeared confused. “Uh … I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  “Get it together, we only have …”

  Three large males stepped out of the crowd, catching Owen by surprise. They pushed away from the crowd, moved faster, and covered more real estate than the others.

  “MOVE!”

  Lucas froze once again.

  Owen stepped in front of Lucas, used his right arm to pull him in behind, and raised the Glock in his left hand.

  Headshots, only headshots.

  Time slowed. His first thoughts were of his wife, his daughter, and his son. They were supposed to be his priority, the ones he should be protecting. His end and his beginning. Not a damn thing else. After his “talk” with Kevin, he had made a promise to himself that nothing was ever going to come between him and his family ever again.

  But there was something else. Something he hadn’t thought of, something that hadn’t occurred to him until this very moment. And when it did, it hit him like an out of control eighteen wheeler.

  Kevin had told him that he needed to look after what was most important, that his family was the only thing that mattered. And now he realized that even though it had always been Natalie, and Ava, and Noah, there were others. That since the fall of everything, his family had grown.

  And he was going to get each and every one of them out of this parking lot, and safely to the coast, no matter what.

  Owen reached back, took a handful of Lucas’s shirt, and pulled him in close. He lined up his first shot, took a quick breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  The man with the bloodied
face and no lips dropped like a rock, the back of his head spraying blood and brain matter across the heads and necks of those behind.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Owen eyed Lucas. “Get ready to run.”

  Lucas was shaking, his eyes darting quickly between the agitated beasts. “Uh …”

  Owen fired on the other two male Feeders from less than three feet away. The first careened into the second, falling forward and nearly taking Lucas with them.

  “Let’s go.” Owen stepped quickly over the lifeless corpse of the first man, looked back toward the gates, and pulled Lucas into his back. “We got one shot at this.”

  The teen stayed close as Owen moved quickly along the brick exterior of Cecil’s. “What are we doing?” Lucas said. “My SUV’s back there.”

  Weaving in and out of the crowd, his head on a swivel, Owen abruptly came to a stop thirty feet from the front doors. He forced Lucas to continue past him and looked back toward the fence. “Change of plans.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Owen brought the Glock back up, fired off four more rounds. “I’m driving.”

  A stout female Feeder wearing a tattered nursing uniform was taken from her feet and thrown backward into the air, her body going limp before slamming to the asphalt in a heap. Owen’s third shot caught the man to her right, just as he opened his mouth to growl, his throat and neck exploding out of the back of his head.

  Lucas winced at the devastation, turned his eyes away. “But … but … we aren’t going to make it back—”

  Owen motioned over his left shoulder. “Yes we are.”

  Kevin had driven back over the downed section of chain-link and was heading toward the building. The massive black pickup sideswiped a group of eight Feeders, cut hard to the right, and slid to a stop.

  Owen paused a moment. He looked to where the crowd parted near the middle, nodded quickly to Kevin, and turned back to Lucas. “Let’s go.”