The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Olah, Jeff

  The look on Declan’s face changed. It was subtle, but it appeared as though his grotesque features were beginning to tighten, his cheeks pulling up and back and his jaw tightening. There was a brief pause that lasted a few seconds longer than was comfortable, and then letting out a slow breath, he said, “Let me ask … how would you feel about Gentry using your son as a lab rat, about him testing things on Noah that may or may not—”

  “ENOUGH!” It hit him like it hadn’t before. The switch was flipped. The anger, the fear, the rage. His dark passenger had grabbed ahold of the wheel and locked out his rational self. “Either raise a weapon and see where this ends, or ask your men to turn around and walk away.”

  Declan looked around. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

  “You might have us outnumbered, but my friends and I aren’t going down without a fight.” Owen glanced again at each of the men. “And by my calculations you’re going to leave here without at least half of yours. That’s what, six, seven? So, let’s do this. Let’s see who’s ready to die for you, Jerome. Let’s see which of these men is ready to take their final breath here today … for you.”

  Owen took a step back, held his arms out at his sides. “Okay, anyone who wants to die for Mr. Declan please step forward.”

  There was long moment of silence and then a few restrained laughs.

  But no one moved.

  Declan looked like he was about to respond, but Owen continued. “And, just so we’re both on the same page, you need to understand that you’re never going to find my family, my wife, my children. They’re long gone and they’re never coming back.”

  There was another drawn out pause. A moment where the only sound was the soft rain against the asphalt. Then Declan slowly began to nod. “Sure, I get it. You’re not willing or able to understand what I’m offering, and that’s too bad. Because you’re going to die knowing that you could have saved them, you could have saved all of them. But, I’m guessing you’re just too stupid or maybe too stubborn. Either way, you need to know that’s what got you killed.”

  Again, the street between the two groups went quiet. Owen took in a breath through his nose and peered toward the men that lined the opposite sidewalk. He could take out maybe two or three before moving back behind the passenger door, hope that Travis was on his game, and pray that Kevin still had a lock on the men behind the retaining wall along the third level of the parking garage.

  The rest would run or hide.

  At least that’s the way he saw it going in his mind. The only way it could go for him and his friends if they had any chance of walking away with their lives.

  But nothing ever went the way he planned, not now, and not for the last several weeks. This new world had a way of turning your expectations on their head, a way of showing you how wrong you could be in just about every single situation.

  Owen looked to his left, could see Kevin slowly pulling the rifle into his shoulder. There was a slight tremor along his right arm and as his friend placed his eye back behind the scope, it all came clear.

  He knew what he had to do, what would give his family the additional time they so desperately needed and also allow his friends the chance to see another sunrise.

  Even if it meant he wouldn’t.

  “Okay …” Owen let his left arm drop to his side. “I’ll show you.”

  Declan ran his hand along the side of his face, like he was contemplating Owen’s response. “You’ll show me?”

  “Yes, I’ll go with you, I’ll take you to Gentry. But … you have to let my family go, my friends as well.”

  Declan nodded. It appeared as though he was smiling, but his face—with all its new details—was hard to read. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I don’t believe you.” Declan’s voice came out shaky, quicker than before. “I don’t believe you had a sudden change of heart. I feel like maybe you just think you’re smarter than the rest of us.”

  “You don’t know what—”

  Declan held his right hand in the air, extending his index finger. “So, I think I’m just going to go with my original plan. Although, I really do wish you had chosen to work with me instead of trying to prove something you know nothing about. I will find your family, and I will find Gentry, but I’m only sad you won’t be around to see it happen.” He looked back toward the parking garage and then at the man near the driver’s door. “Kill them, all of them.”

  The sound of gunfire came from every direction. The sidewalk to his right and the asphalt only inches from his feet exploding into a riotous cloud of fine grey dust and pebble-sized projectiles.

  There wasn’t time to get a read on the location of the individual shooters or to calculate their trajectories and find a place to hide.

  Only to run.

  103

  Death stopped having any meaning weeks ago. He didn’t enjoy this new existence, but he was also too tired and too hungry to actually care. He had killed hundreds of infected, but had yet to fire even a single round at the living. He knew that at some point he wasn’t going to be left with a choice, he was just hoping today wasn’t that day.

  The man in the dark hoodie rested his cheek against the edge of the stock, blinked twice, and peered through the scope. He fired once toward the man on the third level of the garage, striking the retaining wall just below the man’s face. The man was thrown backward and to the ground, grabbing at his head and screaming something undecipherable.

  Wounded, but not dead.

  Moving his line of sight toward the street, he spotted the silver electric vehicle from earlier that day and sent off two quick rounds, one at the driver’s side, and another at the rear passenger door.

  The first blew out the front window and sent the man beside it back into the driver’s seat. He grabbed at his shoulder, blood running through his hands and his eyes going wide as he slammed the door and reached for the ignition.

  Again wounded, but still alive.

  Next, the round sent toward the rear of the electric vehicle slammed into the frame of the passenger door just as the bizarrely disfigured man tried to turn away. He was sprayed with glass from waist to head as his legs failed and he dropped into the back seat. Possibly injured, but nothing approaching what had already befell the monster of a man. His death would have been a welcome first, but for now it would have to wait.

  Moving his attention back toward the opposite side of the street, the man in the dark hoodie peppered the sidewalk with a flurry of closely placed shots, one every three or four feet. The half dozen or so men who’d only seconds before fired at the men behind the truck now turned and began to run. They headed away from the street and disappeared into the garage.

  It was beginning to look like the previous two weeks of hell were going to pay off.

  Back to the third floor of the garage, he put four more rounds near the edge of the retaining wall. Not necessarily directed at anyone in particular, he just wanted to be sure the men on that level knew he’d hadn’t forgotten about them.

  Dropping the magazine to the rooftop between his legs, the man in the dark hoodie slammed home another and turned back to the silver vehicle. The doors were closed, the man behind the wheel sitting low and moving his head from front to rear as he began backing away from the intersection.

  As the electric sedan moved into a three-point turn, the man in the hoodie guided the end of the rifle to the back passenger door and waited. The disfigured man now pounded the seat in front of him, his mouth moving much too fast for anything to stand out. He looked back toward the street and then around at the rooftops of the nearby buildings.

  Everything had funneled to this moment. All the training, all the planning. Every single second since he found that man out on the street. He was here for only one thing, and although he could easily take care of that monster in the back seat, he needed to remain focused.

  Stay in the moment.

  Remember why he was here.
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  For a brief moment he flashed to his grandmother. The only woman who ever showed him even an ounce of affection. Her voice in his head, smooth but firm. She was telling him that he should be prepared for the worst possible outcome, but also that he needed to have a complete and unbroken faith in his original purpose.

  He quietly thanked her and then watching the silver electric vehicle turn and drive away, began to count under his breath. “One … two … three …”

  The rear window was now obscured by the light dusting of rain and the growing cloud cover that threw odd shadows over the street, but the shot was still there. He only needed to pull the trigger. It was an annoying itch that—at some point—would need to be scratched, but not today.

  “Four … five … six …”

  The hum of electric vehicle faded as it made an aggressive left at the street just north of the parking garage and then disappeared. He felt an odd sense of relief in allowing that man to escape, in caging his own fears and believing in the plan, start to finish. Now he just hoped it wasn’t all in vain.

  “Seven … eight … nine …”

  It was time to go.

  He figured he had maybe another thirty seconds, but also wanted to be sure he wasn’t running into a trap. Pulling back, he focused first on the bed of the truck. The two men who’d been bound to the cab were gone almost instantly, and at the hands of their own.

  The man at the rear of the pickup now crawled on his hands and knees toward the one who’d been speaking with the monster. There was a moment where it looked as though the man on the ground had also been eliminated, but as the rear door of the truck opened, and the tall man exited, the man flat on the asphalt quickly sat up and grabbed at the side of his head.

  On the opposite side, near the front door, another man sprinted away from the truck and scooped up a large black and tan German Shepherd that lay on its side, three feet from the intersection. The man’s wailing echoed through the streets as he moved quickly back to the pickup and laid the animal in the rear cab.

  The group was broken. They needed him, but his window for getting this done was quickly slipping away. He figured there was less than an hour of daylight, even with the thick cloud cover, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to leave them.

  “Damn it.”

  The man in the dark hoodie scanned the streets near the garage and the third level one last time. The men with the weapons, and monster they followed, had turn and run. They would be back, but for now the area was under his control.

  Well, almost.

  The last several minutes of gunfire had drawn a large crowd of Feeders away from the northern end of the long city block and cut off his exit back to the highway. He was sure he could improvise, but only if he got to the men at the truck before they did.

  He slipped the rifle back over his shoulder, pulled the hoodie back away from his eyes, and started for the stairs.

  “Twenty one … twenty two … twenty three …”

  104

  He tried to whisper, but was having trouble keeping his voice low with his heart beating so fast. “Mom?”

  “Noah, I need you to stay quiet.”

  The nine year old pushed back and tilted his head up. His neck was starting to cramp. “But Mom—”

  “Noah, I’m serious.”

  His mother pinched his lower back, pulling him in tight against her. They were so close together that he could feel her breath on his forehead as the smell of her morning coffee filled the small dark space.

  “I think—”

  “Noah, stop.” Natalie put her mouth against his ear and spoke fast. “Don’t say another word. I don’t care if you’re uncomfortable, if you’re hungry, if you’re too hot or too cold, or even if you have to pee. I just need you to keep your mouth shut and let me figure this out.”

  He wanted to tell her, but knew she was right. They needed to stay quiet. They weren’t able to get the doors closed in time, and if that herd from the street followed them inside, they wouldn’t be too hard to find.

  So, instead he played the head game. The movie in your head game. The one his dad had taught him when he used to have those bad dreams. It helped him get back to sleep even after the worst ones. The ones about the sharks and alligators, and only a few weeks ago about the dead people coming to get him. So, instead of telling his mother what he needed to tell her, he closed his eyes and played the movie game.

  But this time he had to do it without words.

  Noah remembered the mountains. The giant rocks and the melting snow. It was cold in his bare hands, and dirty as he attempted to form a snowball just as big as the one Ava had tossed at his father.

  He remembered the sled and the hill and the shovel he used to help even out the path from the big trees down to the cabin. The snow was wet and slippery, his boots sliding a bit with each step. The cabin looked warm from the outside. Soft white smoke rose from the brick chimney as his mother walked from the open door out onto the porch. She was holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

  His favorite.

  “Noah … Ava.”

  His sister slid to a stop, leapt from the sled, and turned to him. She motioned toward the porch and smiled. “Race?”

  He looked down, didn’t acknowledge her offer, but started to run. His first few strides were careful, upper body leaned forward, legs planted firmly beneath. He slipped on a small patch of ice, but quickly recovered.

  Ava turned a second later, also began to run, but was already three or four paces behind. She laughed as she ran, growling at him like a bear, taunting him as he approached his mother and the porch. “I’m right behind you, you’re not going to win.”

  As he hit the stairs, he noticed his father standing in the doorway. He also wore a smile. Only Owen was staring past Natalie and the massive wrap-around porch. He looked out toward the trees and held something in his left hand. Noah wasn’t sure, but it looked like a gun.

  “Dad?”

  Owen didn’t turn, and the look on his face began to change. His smile morphed into a scowl, and then something he didn’t understand. His father raised the gun in his hand, firing two shots into the trees.

  But as Noah turned to look, they weren’t trees, not anymore. Now they were the monsters that had been trying to eat him and his sister and his mom. They were able to run and were at least twenty feet tall.

  “Go inside,” His dad said. “Get under the sink, stay there with your mother and your sister until I come to get you.”

  There were growls and more gunshots, so many more gunshots. But as he and his mother and his sister ran into the cabin and closed the doors, all the lights went off. Not just the lamps on the end tables, or the light by the stairs, and not just the candle at the center of the dinner table. It was everything, every bit of light in the entire world.

  He couldn’t see anything, and he was scared.

  “Mom?”

  “Noah …” Her voice was a whisper into the darkness. Far away, but right next to him.

  “Mom, I can’t—”

  “Sweetheart, you need to open your eyes.”

  And when he did, he was pulled back from the movie in his head. The cold air and the snow and the cabin and the trees that were monsters. Snapped away as he looked at the side of his mother’s face.

  “Noah, you’re sweating.” Her voice was still low, but seemed less angry than before. “And your heart is beating a mile a minute.”

  He leaned his head into the bend under her shoulder and swallowed hard. His throat was dry and he was having a hard time holding back his tears. “Where’s dad?”

  “He’s coming … he just—”

  There were three gunshots that came from somewhere close. Noah had gotten used to the sound, but for the last few weeks they had been louder and more frequent, especially when his dad was outside. He wanted to believe his dad when he told him that he’d be fine, but he’d seen too much since the world changed.

  “Is that him?”

 
; Natalie stiffened. She leaned up onto her elbow and pressed her face against the back of the cabinet door. “I don’t know, but your dad’s going to be safe. He knows where to go and he’s got his walkie.”

  “Nat, Noah?” Another whispered voice, followed by hurried footfalls. They were light and quick. He thought it sounded like Lucas.

  “Mom, is that—”

  “Hold on Noah.” Her voice was low again, and back with a touch of anger. “Just stay still for a second.”

  “Natalie, Noah?”

  “Mom, that’s Lucas.” Noah now had his face pressed to the cold shelf paper. He remembered it being a blue striped pattern. He thought it looked old and ugly. “I can see his shoes, he’s right there.”

  Natalie lifted away from him, pushed open the door and squinted against the fading light. “Lucas, where are—”

  “They’re in the back, we found an exit.” Lucas was dirty, like he crawled through a sea of old spider webs. They were stuck in his hair and on his face. “But we have to go now.”

  “But?” Her voice cracked as she looked back toward the side door “What about Owen, Kevin and Travis? We were supposed to wait for them.”

  Noah climbed out from under the cramped cabinet. He pulled himself up beside an overturned display shelf and waited.

  “I don’t know,” Lucas said. “But we can’t stay here. That crowd lost interest when the shooting started, but it’s not going to last.”

  “Okay.” His mother reached for his hand, pulled him in close. She began nodding. “We can get them on the radio, tell them where we’re going, find out if they’re—”

  “Mom…” Noah tugged at her hand, interrupting.

  “What is it Noah, what?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Have what?”