The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Olah, Jeff

  The man seemed to be measuring Devin’s response. Something he’d also seen a thousand times. “Anything about what happened there today seem familiar?”

  “Listen man, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m getting a weird vibe about this conversation. It’s like you’ve got something you want to say, something you want to ask me, but don’t know how.” Devin motioned out the window. “It looks like we’re gonna be landing soon, so whatever it is, why don’t you just come out with it already?”

  The man reached into his pocket and handed Devin a business card. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”

  That was obvious. “Okay?”

  “I also knew your uncle, and worked for him until just recently.”

  Devin felt his face begin to warm. “Marcus Goodwin?”

  “Yes.”

  Devin shook his head. “He hasn’t been an uncle in years, and I don’t consider him to be family. He’s a terrible person and only thinks of himself. I’m only surprised he’s not in federal prison … or worse.”

  “Yeah,” the man said. “I feel the same way.”

  Devin breathed out slowly, thinking he may have come on a bit strong. “So, why are you on this plane? There’s no way it was just a coincidence?”

  “There isn’t time to go into it now, but you have my card and will probably want to contact me in the next few days. I’ll be at one of those two addresses.”

  He felt like he was running in circles. “Yeah man … I don’t really know what it is you’re saying.”

  The man pushed away from his seat and stood. “That stuff on the news lately, what happened with that man today, it’s all related, and it’s much bigger than you could possibly imagine. This is only the beginning.”

  “So?”

  “So you do need to be scared, but you also need to be ready. And once you are, you’ll want to give me a call or come find me.”

  Devin stared down at the card in his hand and when he turned back, the man was gone. He didn’t understand, but felt that he should. Looking back at the card he said, “Dr. Dominic Gentry … what the hell do you know?”

  90

  Day eighty-six of the outbreak...

  The paved walkway was damp with the rain from the night before. Small puddles glinted in the early morning light as Owen Mercer gently slid the door closed and jogged to the wall at the eastern corner of the property. He glanced to his left and spotted Harper where she’d been every single morning for the last month. He held his finger over his lips, waited for her to give a thumbs up, and quickly scaled the wall.

  If the tall man in the black hoodie returned, he was going to be ready.

  “Ssssttt”

  The voice came from the gate. She’d done this before, but not in the last several days. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, but knew better than to ignore the hard-headed twenty-nine year old. If Harper told Natalie what he was doing, it would all be over.

  Owen wiped the dirt from his hands, quickly scanned the parking garage to his right, and ran back to the gate. “Are we doing this again?”

  Harper grinned as she looked him over, stopping at the Glock 17 extended from his left hand. “I think you should be asking yourself that same question.”

  “You know what I’m doing, why I come out here.”

  “I know what you told me, but I also know that you haven’t told anyone else.”

  “I can’t, and you know that. You also know that I wouldn’t have told you anything if you hadn’t found me out here.”

  Harper gripped tight to the gate, pushing her head into the cool iron. “Just answer me one question.”

  “This again?”

  “What do you want me to tell your wife if you don’t come back? What do you want me to tell Ava, Noah?”

  Owen looked away, back again toward the exterior of the parking garage. “I know what I’ve seen, nothing is going to change that.”

  “So what? Maybe someone is out there, maybe they’re trying to reach us, maybe even trying to get to us. But it doesn’t make sense for you to try to do this on your own. I know you feel responsible for everything that’s happened, but it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you and neither do any of the others.” Harper looked back toward the mound at the other side of the yard. “I’ve made my peace with what happened to my grandmother and you should too. She trusted you and so do I. And now you need to trust me; please don’t keep going out there alone, at least let me come with you.”

  Owen stepped closer to the gate. He reached through the bars and held her arm. “Give me an hour. If I’m not back, you can let the others know. Tell Nat you tried to stop me and I went anyway. Tell them whatever you want, but at least give me an hour. I think I know where they’re coming from.”

  “They, you think there’s more than one?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling today is the day I find out.”

  Harper pulled back her arm and looked toward the front doors. “She should know, this isn’t right and you know it.”

  “I have to go, I have to do this.”

  “I know why you’re doing this, but you know that I can’t give you an hour. If you’re right, if there is someone out there, you shouldn’t be going alone. Why not take Travis or Kevin, or even Lucas?”

  Owen looked back toward the building where his family slept. “I have to do this, and I have to do it alone.” He met her eyes. “Please just give me an hour.”

  “Your wife is going to kill me, are you okay with that?”

  He offered a weak grin and nodded. “Trust me, if Nat finds out what I’ve been up to, she won’t be able to focus on anything beyond kicking my ass … so I think you’re safe.”

  Harper shook her head. “You give me two minutes to grab my rifle and get set up on the wall, and I’ll give you your hour.”

  “Deal.”

  As Harper trotted off toward the north wall, Owen checked his weapon and crossed the street. He ducked in behind a silver Nissan minivan. A good view of the yard and a direct line to the parking structure one hundred yards away.

  He waited for her to kneel beside the black duffle bag and then dipped between the van and a light-colored sedan. He stayed low, sprinting toward the entrance to the four-level garage, his eyes trained on the exterior stairwell.

  As he ran, Owen could almost feel her standing and turning back toward the gate. He could feel her eyes scanning the street, disappointment setting in as she cursed his name and tried to think of a reason not to walk back through the front doors and wake Natalie. He didn’t like the prospect of returning and having to explain his actions, but letting this go even one more day wasn’t something he could live with.

  He was going to deal with this today.

  Twenty yards and he was at the base of the exterior stairwell. Poured concrete and stainless steel, probably not much more than a few years old. There were eight steps to the first landing and then another eight to the second floor.

  “Okay, now we wait.”

  Owen dropped into a squat and put his back against the wall. He took in a few slow breaths, attempting to block out the sound of the world beyond. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake two days in row. This was officially his last chance to make this happen.

  He took one last glance back toward the gate—no sign of Harper—and then back toward the far end of the parking structure.

  “Come on, come on. I know you’re out there. Let’s do this.”

  After ten minutes, his legs were starting to cramp and he began imagining Natalie and the others as Harper detailed their brief encounter. He probably should have found another way of doing what he was out here to do, but he had long grown tired of making every single decision as a group.

  Then it hit him.

  This wasn’t the spot.

  He needed to get to the third floor before they arrived, and for a brief second he debated the merits of going back and trying again tomorrow.

  But only for a second.


  Owen stood and shook the stiffness from his legs. He gripped the Glock in his left hand, reached for the railing with his right, took the first two steps, and paused. There was movement somewhere on the second floor. It was subtle, but it was there. The sound of rushed footfalls, faint as they were, drifted out into the stairwell and then faded into the early morning air.

  “Okay then, let’s go.”

  91

  Jerome Declan winced as he slowly leaned into the glass. He stared down at the street below, wiping his brow and blinking through the pain. When the chaos from forty stories below finally came into view, he swallowed hard, and licked his lips. “Where is he?”

  Her voice came from the foyer and held a hint of hesitation. “We … uh … we aren’t sure.”

  Donna Diaz—one of twenty-two who remained in the building built by Marcus Goodwin—was hiding something. The slight dimming of her voice, the distance she’d allowed herself, and the fact that she hadn’t come here on her own indicated he might need a different approach.

  Something in contrast to what she was expecting.

  “Ms. Diaz?”

  “Yes?”

  It was only one word, but he knew he already had her. “I respect your opinion.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Declan.”

  He turned away from the window, and through clenched teeth, sucked in a breath. “Do you think I have anything to worry about?”

  She walked slowly out into the light of the main office. “Sir?”

  “He’s come and gone more than a handful of times in the last several days and I don’t have a good feeling about what it says for our group.”

  “He hasn’t said anything.”

  “To you?”

  “To anyone, not in days. He only leaves his floor to eat and then disappears again, sometimes for days.”

  Declan moved to the desk at the center of the room and pulled out the chair. He took a moment to finally sit, the excruciating pain evident on his face. “I guess I’m not asking the right questions.”

  The woman with the shoulder length dark hair and the burgundy sweater was trying to maintain eye contact, but appeared as though she was having a hard time coming up with a response. “I … uh …”

  Declan pressed his thumb into his temple. He thought about what he wanted and how to avoid having her shut down. There was a fine line between persuasion and intimidation. He needed to make sure he didn’t let old habits creep in. “Where do you think he goes? Has he ever mentioned any names you don’t recognize?”

  “No, nothing. He’s stayed mostly to himself since …”

  As her voice trailed off, she looked away, toward the windows. He knew why and had figured they’d end up discussing the elephant in the room eventually. “He’s still holding on to it, isn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s pretty obvious, but it also doesn’t matter. I just need to know where he’s been going and why. We aren’t running a bed and breakfast here.” Declan could feel himself beginning to slip. “Either he’s with us or he can attempt to live out there on his own.”

  “I understand.”

  He wasn’t finished. “I get that he’s upset, that he’ll never forget what happened out there, but that’s all in the past. We need to move on.”

  Donna bit into her lip, looking like she was measuring her response. “He was the one who spotted you out there on the sidewalk.”

  “I know.”

  “At first he didn’t want to bring you in, he wanted to let you die out there.”

  Declan gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. “Oh?”

  “He told me he wanted you dead for what you did to him, for leaving him out there in the middle of the city. He wanted you to suffer, to pay for what he said you did, but that only lasted for a few seconds until his conscience got the better of him. He was the one who ran through the doors and out into the street. He was the one who looked you over and the one who said we needed to get you inside.”

  Declan shook his head. “None of that matters, no one gets a pass.”

  “I think he just needs time to—”

  “Have Phil take his things and leave them in the garage. I’m removing access to his suite until I speak to him directly. This ends today.”

  Donna just stared at him. Her expression blank and cold. She looked like she wanted to respond, but then didn’t. Stepping back away from the desk, she turned and started toward the door.

  “Ms. Diaz?”

  She stopped, but didn’t face him. Her shoulders hung down, and her voice came out low and defeated. “Yes?”

  Declan took a moment to push himself into a standing position. He pulled up his right pant leg, exposing the purple skin along his calf, now beginning to ooze blood. Again biting through the blinding pain, he sucked a breath through his nose. “I’ll give you the chance to fix this, but only if he comes to me today. I have no intention of causing harm to Mr. Jefferson, but all of the theatrics have to stop. He’s either with us or he’s against us; there is no in between.”

  It was subtle, but she nodded her head. “I’ll be sure to have him come meet with you when he returns.”

  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.”

  92

  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.