The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Olah, Jeff

  The mechanical ring reminded him of a time before cellular signals and phones that could control your home. A time before social media and likes and comments and shares. A time before he had met or even heard of Marcus Goodwin, and a time before he had come to realize just how the world might end.

  Three rings.

  And then four, and then five.

  He pulled the phone away from his ear, glanced again at the small screen. Confirmed the number, although for a brief second he thought he may have misdialed.

  Seven rings and then eight, and then nine and ten.

  He stopped counting at fifteen. Figured that even if there was someone around to answer the call, he may not be pleased with who it was. He’d be giving up his location without the absolute assurance of getting the information he would need. She was out there, he could feel it. He just wasn’t sure if this was the way to go about finding her.

  Gentry ended the call, again leaned back, and dropped the phone on the sofa. He may have overestimated Goodwin and his men. They had priorities, although carting around a satellite phone for days at a time, just waiting for Major Richard Daniels to call, probably wasn’t very high on their list.

  He pushed away from the sofa and started toward the kitchen when there was a pounding on the front door. It was distinct and uniformed. Three quick knocks and then a brief pause and then another three. There was also a voice.

  “Mr. Gentry … Mr. Gentry …”

  She pounded the door once more. It was her. He should have known. She’d come by twice yesterday and although he figured he knew what she wanted, it wasn’t safe to leave her standing out on the front porch.

  Through the kitchen and into the hall that ran the length of the home, he reminded himself of why he was here and why he’d kept his distance from the few neighbors who remained.

  Ten feet from the door she pounded again. Her fist sounding as though it was coming through the door. Her voice also held a sense of urgency it hadn’t before. “MR. GENTRY, PLEASE!”

  He hurried to the door, reached for the handle, and pulled it open before even checking the peep hole. Old habits die hard.

  Gentry stared at her face for a moment, maybe a half second too long. “Margaret …” He remembered her name. It felt like he’d accomplished something.

  She started forward, like she was expecting him to invite her in. But when he didn’t step back, she leaned away and turned to look back at her home. “Uh, my brother …”

  He looked past her, down the driveway, and then into the street. The same three vehicles that had been there since he arrived. A silver van, a white sports car, and a black SUV. For the moment, nothing to be concerned with.

  “He’s not back yet?”

  He knew the answer before he even finished speaking the words.

  And the expression that carried across her face came as an exclamation. “It’s been almost three hours!”

  Gentry looked back into the house, attempting to find a clock. As if somehow the exact time even mattered. “Are you sure he hasn’t just—”

  “I know my brother, this isn’t like him.” Her voice trailed off as she looked past him and into the hall. “Can we talk inside?”

  He didn’t like it, but also didn’t know what to say.

  Margaret turned again and looked toward the street. “I just … uh, there are more of those things out here today. Some are just a few houses down.”

  He quickly looked her over. “Sure.” And stepping aside, he pulled the door open, again glancing from one end of the street to the other. She wasn’t lying. A pair of Feeders—a man wearing tan slacks and a woman in a bright green overcoat—appeared from behind the black SUV. They crossed the street and stumbled toward the driveway as Gentry closed and locked the door.

  She followed him down the hall and into the living room. “Do you have a car?”

  The question came out as odd, but only until he ran it through. “Yes?”

  “Is there any way I can trouble you to drive me out there to look for him?” She knew what the answer was going to be, it was written all over her face. However, it appeared as though she still wanted an answer.

  “You know, I’m not sure that’s a good—”

  From the opposite side of the room, the satellite phone began to ring.

  66

  The man in the door hadn’t moved an inch. He continued to look from Travis to Owen and then toward the street, his arms folded tightly into his chest. “There’s nothing for you here. Wasn’t then and there isn’t now.”

  Travis took a half step back, quarter-turned toward the street. “We have one that’s injured, he’s in pretty bad shape. Probably won’t make it another few hours.”

  The man held tight to the chain he had used to roll up the door. “And how’s that my problem?”

  Owen leaned in, started to respond, but Travis held up his hand.

  “We can make a trade.”

  The man with the grey beard and the brown eyes now focused on Travis, his shoulders dropping a bit. “Oh?”

  “You said that you and your family needed a way out of here, you said that you would do just about anything for—”

  The man that Travis had addressed as Paul cut his eyes at Owen. “That your truck?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  He looked back toward the street, could see Zeus with his snout pressed against the rear window. “My friend, he was shot. It’s his truck.”

  Paul chuckled. He began to step back. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Wait,” Owen said. “What is it, what do you want?”

  The bearded man smiled. He now purposefully avoided looking at Travis, instead focusing solely on Owen. “Your friend, he’s having a monumentally bad day already?”

  Owen forced down the urge to push his fist through the back of the man’s head. “Yes?”

  “Well, if he does make it through the night, how do you think he’ll take the news that he no longer owns that rather useful vehicle?”

  Owen bit into the side of his cheek, trying to stay calm. He let his left hand graze the side of his belt just inches from the weapon he wanted to pull out and shove down Paul’s throat. “So, you’re not going to help my friend unless we give you the truck?”

  Paul motioned toward the street. “You’re more than welcome to go find someone else.”

  Travis stepped between them, looked Owen in the eyes. “This is it; he isn’t going to get another chance. And that truck, well, it won’t really matter to him anyway, not when he’s dead.”

  Owen didn’t like it, but the man who saved him and his family was absolutely right. He’d have to explain why he did what he was about to do, but it would be easier than watching his friend take his final breath without the ability to do anything about it.

  He turned from Travis to Paul, the hollow ache returning to his stomach. “Alright, but I want your word that he’ll be okay.”

  “You got it.” Paul said, the speed of his voice ratcheting up with each word. “Nothing happens until I get a look at your friend and we figure out if I can put him back together.”

  Not feeling a need to respond, Owen turned and started back toward the truck. He felt his pulse beating in his face and the beginnings of a migraine forming at the left side of his head. As he approached the sidewalk, he quickly scanned the street and offered Harper and Lucas a quick thumbs-up.

  From behind, Paul began to close the large metal door, but continued. His tone now more instructional than before. “Bring them around through the garage.” It appeared he was speaking to Travis. “I’ll meet you at the loading dock.”

  Five minutes later, they had climbed two flights of stairs and were laying Kevin on a pair of mahogany desks that had been pushed together. Owen slowly stepped back, watching his friend for anything that resembled life. There was the rise and fall of his chest, slower than before and then every few seconds, the spastic movement behind his closed eyelids.

  But
not much else.

  “Okay.” The man with the grey beard came around from behind, placing a short stack of towels on a leather-backed office chair. “I’m gonna need you to trust me.”

  Owen heard the words, but couldn’t focus on them. He was still staring at Kevin, willing his friend to open his eyes and climb off the desk. He wiped at his forehead, blinked a few times, and finally looked to his left. “Is this going to work?”

  Paul moved in quick. “I don’t know.” He placed two fingers against Kevin’s right wrist, looked at the ceiling for a beat, and appeared to be counting. “But I need you to go back to the others and sit tight. I’ll come for you when I’m done.”

  Like a slap to the face, Owen was pulled back to the present. “When you’re done?”

  “Yes.” The older man had begun to cut away the shirt near the left side of Kevin’s neck, but he stopped, planted both hands on the desk, and turned his eyes up to meet Owen’s. “As I said before, I’m going to do what I can, but your friend here is in really bad shape. Now we can sit here and go back and forth until his heart stops beating for good, or you can go back downstairs, allow my wife to give you and the others something to eat, and allow me to get to work.”

  Owen understood and knew that Paul was right, but there was still something about the man in the blue coveralls that he didn’t completely trust. Something other than the fact that he’d been willing to let his friend die in an attempt to negotiate a deal for a pickup truck. Something that he didn’t think was worth exploring at the moment. But for now, he still felt the urge to punch him in the face.

  Instead, Owen simply nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  Paul didn’t respond or even acknowledge Owen’s lukewarm attempt at offering an olive branch. He went back to work, now carefully pulling away saturated pieces of fabric from Kevin’s arm and neck. “Wait.”

  Owen was moving into the hall, but stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

  “Not you.” He motioned toward Travis. “You, you’re staying.”

  Travis shook his head. “I don’t think so, this isn’t my problem.”

  Paul continued to work. “You brought them here, so they’re your problem until they leave. And don’t screw with me, you should know better.”

  Travis rolled his neck, appeared to be thinking it over. He looked to Owen at the door, and then to Kevin on the desk. “I’ll help you get him right, but then I’m gone.”

  Paul chuckled. “Once we’re done, you do whatever it is you need to do. But for now, I’m gonna need you to get your ass over here and help me save this man.”

  67

  He let the sat phone ring three times before he even turned toward the sound. Gentry stared at Margaret and she stared back. Neither one blinking nor looking like they had any idea what to say to the other. She would have questions, lots of questions. And although he was grossly unprepared to answer, he may not get another chance at this. But he also didn’t have a choice.

  “You have a phone that works?” Her face was balled into a mess of disbelief and mistrust.

  He started toward the sofa, but spoke to her as he walked. “Well, yes. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  She followed him. “The lines around here went down the first day, and my cell hasn’t had a signal in the last seven days. What carrier are you with?”

  Okay, she really wasn’t getting it.

  Gentry leaned over the back of the sofa, pausing as he stared at the display. It was the number he dialed, although it could have been anyone on the other end of the line. Well, almost anyone. Goodwin’s team back at Headquarters numbered in the hundreds before the world went to hell, but now he could only imagine who’d be left to pick up the pieces.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Margaret started toward him.

  He held up his hand and motioned toward the kitchen. “I need to take this in the other room, can you give me a few minutes?”

  She still looked puzzled. He wasn’t sure whether she was stuck on the fact that he had a phone that worked or because he didn’t seem surprised to be receiving a call. Either way, he’d have a bit of explaining to do, but first …

  As Margaret turned and slowly drifted back toward the kitchen, Gentry keyed the talk button and placed it against his ear. He just listened for a few seconds, waiting to see if whoever had dialed him back would speak first. Nothing but the faint sound of static and low breath sounds for a count of three.

  It certainly wasn’t Goodwin, his lack of impulse control wouldn’t have allowed him to wait even a single second. And although he didn’t like walking into the unknown, he knew he had already taken the first step.

  Gentry returned to the office, closed the door, and took a seat behind the desk. And as he slipped down into the high-backed ergonomic chair, he sat up straight and planted his feet squarely on the floor. “Hello?”

  It was only one word, but he felt as though he had just revealed everything. Like he was running naked down the center of a crowded parade route, filled with every single person he’d ever known. It was remarkably intense, but also somehow satisfying all at the same time.

  “Daniels?”

  He couldn’t place the voice, but it was familiar. “No.”

  “Dalton?”

  The name caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting anything beyond the obvious and would never have thought that he and James Dalton sounded even remotely alike. There must be something he was missing.

  “No.”

  “Then who is this?”

  Gentry waited. He was hoping he could get a read on exactly who it was before deciding what to do next, and if he even wanted to continue the conversation.

  The man breathed out into the phone. “You still there?”

  Gentry turned in the chair. He looked toward the window, switching the phone to his other ear before responding. “Yes, I’m here.” And after a few seconds of nothing, he decided to take one more step. “Who is this?”

  The man’s voice shot from the phone, not a second after his own. “Wait … is this … no, no way. Is this … is this Dr. Gentry?”

  He didn’t respond, was caught off guard.

  “Dr. Gentry, it’s Billy.”

  The voice was more familiar now—warm, engaging—like that of an old high school friend. However, he still couldn’t place it. “Billy?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sorry. It’s William, William Block.”

  It made sense. There would have been more than a few who decided to stay around after the initial outbreak. Those without family. Those without the ability or the mental fortitude to protect themselves. Those just waiting for Goodwin to lower the gates of the castle and close off access to the rest of the world.

  If he remembered correctly, the small man with the big teeth and the thinning head of red hair worked two floors above him. Research and Development was one of the more profitable divisions of BXF Technologies—and as such—afforded certain privileges. So, the fact that William Block had access to the satellite phone certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  “William, are you okay?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “For the moment …” There was a pause, it sounded as though William had pulled the phone away from his face. And then he was back. “Anton and Frank left a few hours ago; I haven’t seen them since.”

  “You still in the building?”

  “Yeah, up in Dalton’s office, just waiting for word back from …” The younger man’s voice trailed off, sounded unsure if he should continue.

  Gentry started to respond, but was tripped up as the office door over his shoulder slowly began to open. He could hear Margaret’s light footfalls patting the carpet as she took two hesitant steps into the room and stopped six feet from the desk.

  He glanced back at her, noticing the pink in her cheeks and the single tear rolling from the corner of her left eye. Deciding not to make it an issue and realizing he may well pay for it later, he kept
his focus on the call.

  “Who, who are you waiting to hear from, Goodwin?”

  There was two seconds of nothing and then, “No … well yes. I mean no, I’m waiting for Douglas to come back. They’re saying that Goodwin is gone.”

  The words initially hit him like a two-hundred-seventy pound linebacker—what that would mean and how it would change the course of absolutely everything. But as he allowed the scenarios to begin to play out in his mind, he let out a short laugh and shook his head.

  “Goodwin gone? Yeah, I don’t think any of us would be that lucky. That man’s going to outlive each and every one of us, including the cockroaches.”

  William was quiet for a few seconds, like he was having trouble deciding how to respond, but then came right back. “His plane went down in Vegas. No one’s been able to reach him.”

  He shook his head again, this time twisting back in the chair and facing Margaret. He motioned toward the recliner in the corner of the room and offered a friendly smile. As she started toward the chair, Gentry pulled the phone away for a second and peered at the display.

  “Okay, what about the others?”

  “Others?”

  “Dalton, Jefferson, Declan, Team Six?”

  “Declan is somewhere in the city, the others haven’t checked in. Why, where are you, with Major Daniels?”

  He ignored the question, and even though he knew the entire call may have been a mistake, there was still one of his own that he needed to ask. It was the only reason he picked up the phone at all. He didn’t like his chances, but this was the only way. “Natalie Mercer, has there been any info on her or where she might have gone?”

  William’s voice came in over his own. “I have to go, they’re coming back.”

  “No, wait.”

  The former R&D tech dropped his voice, sounded as though he was pushing the phone into the side of his face. “She’s in the city as well, but Goodwin wanted her brought in. I think Declan is still out there looking for her.”

  68