The Last Outbreak (Book 3): Desperation

by Jeff Olah

  After quietly following the last few through the garage and up the steps, Ethan simply closed the door behind them and sprinted back to his father’s SUV. However, glancing in through the windshield on his way to the driver’s door, his joy was short lived.

  Ben was pitched forward in the passenger seat, held only inches from the dashboard by the seatbelt now positioned high on his chest. His eyes were closed and he didn’t appear to be conscious.

  Rounding the front of the vehicle and without regard for their current situation, Ethan shouted at his young friend. “BEN, WAKE UP!”

  Clutching the remote in his right hand, Ethan locked and then unlocked the doors with the sound of a quick chirp. Opening the door, he laid his weapons on the center console and leapt into the driver’s seat.

  Slamming the door and shoving the key into the ignition, he leaned to his right and placed his arm across Ben’s upper chest. Guiding the kid back into his seat, he took a quick glance out through the passenger window. The last few Feeders were now moving toward the driveway and the rear of the SUV.

  They didn’t actually pose a threat, although Ethan needed to release some of the rage tearing apart his insides, if even just a small dose. He’d vent what remained when the opportunity presented itself, but for now, this would have to do. At the moment, he had a much more pressing issue seated only eighteen inches away.

  Turning over the engine, Ethan shifted the SUV into reverse, gently cut the wheel to the right, and plowed his size twelve boot down onto the gas pedal. The massive vehicle lurched backward and made contact with three of the five Feeders, throwing two of them to the opposite side of the street.

  The third beast dropped straight to the asphalt and caused the driver’s side of the SUV to jump as the rear wheel drifted over the severely mangled corpse. Checking his rearview mirror, he moved his foot from the gas to the brake just as the rear of the SUV downed the final pair of Feeders.

  With one last glance toward the darkened house, Ethan said good-bye to his father. This wasn’t a scene he’d ever want to remember. In time, he’d push this night aside and only allow himself to remember the days, weeks, and years before the world went to hell.

  He’d remember his last trip to this city only three weeks before. It was the last time he saw his father smile, it was the last time they’d shared a laugh, and it was the last time he told his father he loved him. That was the memory he’d hold on to… if that were even possible.

  Back to present, he still had job to do. His friend sat in the seat beside him, eyes closed and apparently bleeding to death. The makeshift tourniquet appeared to be working, but for how long, and just how much damage had already been done?

  Ethan wasn’t put off by the carnage; however, he also had very little experience with this kind of thing. As he turned right at the first corner, nearly taking the SUV up onto to two wheels, he spoke quietly and only to himself.

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  As he pointed the SUV down the last stretch of asphalt before reaching the gates, he again turned to Ben. His young friend was now slumped backward in the seat, his head back against the headrest, leaning ever so slightly to the right.

  Ethan placed his hand on Ben’s chest once again. He waited a few seconds to confirm the rise and fall, and then over the roar of the engine shouted, “DAMN IT KID, OPEN YOUR EYES!”

  He was breathing, but nothing much beyond that. The kid’s eyelids were still clamped down and he appeared to be losing the color in his face. Ben’s body shifted violently with each turn in the roadway and as they exited the gated community, he slipped down in his seat, the belt now resting squarely across his neck.

  There wasn’t time to reposition his injured friend; however, as they approached another left turn, Ethan had an idea. Even though Ben didn’t appear to be choking, the full weight of his body pulling against the taut seatbelt, combined with his current condition, couldn’t be helping matters. Ethan was through taking chances.

  With a quick check of his speed, Ethan pressed gently on the gas pedal and moved to the right side of the unusually empty residential street. As they approached the turn, he slipped his hand under Ben’s left arm and focused on a spot a few feet from the left-hand sidewalk.

  As they entered the turn, Ethan tapped the brakes and cut the wheel just enough to force Ben’s limp body up and to the right. Keeping his eyes on the darkened road, he used the vehicle’s centrifugal force to help him push his friend’s neck off the seatbelt and his body back against the passenger’s seat.

  Straightening out the SUV, Ethan punched the gas just as Ben’s right side slammed into the passenger door. The kid’s eyes shot open only a fraction of a second before he yelped in pain and pushed back against his seat. He stared at Ethan and blinked repeatedly, obviously unaware of their current situation.

  “Ethan… what’s happening?”

  Before Ethan had a chance to answer, Ben shook his head, attempting to make sense of this new reality. He quickly turned his focus out through the windshield and squinted into the night. Grabbing the sides of his head, the younger man cried out in pain once again.

  “I can’t do this… my head, it’s pounding.”

  Ethan turned to Ben and laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re almost there, kid. You just need to stay with me for another minute.”

  “Why is my—”

  Ben stopped his question and narrowed his eyes, as if he just remembered something. Because he had. Twisting his head at an awkward angle and staring down at his right arm, it all came back. Leaving the university, hiding behind the truck, watching Maddox murder Ethan’s father, and finally stepping out into the street and taking a bullet in his right arm.

  Turning back to Ethan, Ben was shaking.

  “I’m so cold.”

  As the words left his mouth, Ben closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He was fading. His lips were now a light shade of blue and he was sweating.

  Ethan slowed the SUV and twisted in his seat. Opening his right hand, he brought it around quick, slapping his young friend across the left side of his face. “BEN!”

  The kid shot up straight in his seat and once again opened his eyes. Turning to Ethan, he said, “I’m fine, I’m just very tired.”

  “You can sleep all you want when—”

  Ben leaned forward in his seat and again squinted into the night. “I think I see them.”

  His young friend was now hallucinating and Ethan was at a loss. They’d reach the gate to the university in seconds, but then they still needed to find the others and somehow convince those holding them captive to allow Carly to treat Ben. He was beginning to lose hope.

  “See who?” Ethan humored his injured friend. “Who do you see, my friend?”

  Ben lifted his left arm, winced through the pain, and pointed out through the windshield. “It’s them, they found us.”

  6

  Again seated on the opposite side of the Gulfstream G280 and now facing a less than pleased Marcus Goodwin, James Dalton waited in silence. He’d left the cockpit as the pilots agreed to attempt a landing and although the man seated less than three feet away said otherwise, he knew they were in for a rough couple of minutes.

  The pilot had indicated that although it was possible to put down in the open space near the far end of runway number two, he couldn’t guarantee they’d be able to refuel and get back into the night sky without an altercation. Dalton remembered him using the word luck more than once.

  With the tarmac coming into view through the window opposite him, Dalton squinted into the darkness and was just able to make out the growing number of silhouettes crowding the far end of the runway. As they grew closer to the airfield, the number of infected were now too many to count, and one by one they turned toward the sound of the descending jet. Gripping tight to the armrests, he watched intently as they moved into groups of threes and fours and started toward the private hangars.

  Turning away from the window, Dalton took in
a calculated breath and waited for Goodwin to notice he was looking at him. After a few seconds of awkwardly staring, Goodwin acknowledged the younger man, without turning to face him.

  “What is it, Dalton?”

  “I just want to be sure I understand what it is that we are doing. It’s not that I’m questioning anything, it’s just that I want—”

  Interrupting, Goodwin smiled. However, he still hadn’t given Dalton his full attention. “Yes, the plan has changed. The reason we are here has also changed. We are refueling and then we are leaving.”

  “Las Vegas, sir?”

  “Yes, I have faith that Anton and his men made it out.”

  “So the team we have here?”

  Touching down, the jet began to rapidly slow as those in close pursuit continued their death march from the opposite side of the runway. After what seemed an eternity, Goodwin finally turned away from the window.

  “I should have never allowed Josie to talk me into returning here. Her team was little more than a few private security contractors and a handful of criminally insane deviants. Their incompetence actually did us a favor.”

  “Sir?”

  “How comfortable would you have been sharing a trip back to the coast with Maddox and those other degenerates? Yes, they serve a purpose. Sort of like a hammer in a tool box. It doesn’t look as pretty as all the other tools and isn’t quite as intricate—only a handle and a large striking surface—but it does what it’s meant to do. As does Maddox.”

  Within a hundred yards of the hangar, the co-pilot returned. He stood hunched over the chair opposite Dalton, looking up at the ceiling and biting into his lower lip. After a few beats, he cupped his hands together and looked down at Goodwin.

  “Refueling is going to a problem.”

  Goodwin turned back to the window. He didn’t like the way this conversation was beginning. He was growing tired of the hailstorm of issues the first half of this trip was experiencing. It was time he took control.

  “We are going to refuel and then we are going to head to Nevada. Excuse my over-simplification of our itinerary, but where is the problem? Does this twenty-five-million-dollar jet not suit your needs? Have I not gone to extraordinary lengths to keep you alive? Have you even had come within a hundred feet of the infected?”

  “Mr. Goodwin, while I’m appreciative of what you’ve done, I don’t quite understand how that relates to our current situation. We do have a slight issue that requires your attention; however, I also have a solution that will see us safely back in the air within the next thirty minutes.”

  This was progress. A problem and finally someone other than himself to offer a solution. Goodwin turned toward the slender co-pilot, and with a grin, began to nod.

  “Yes, now we’re getting somewhere. First, why don’t you give me a rundown of why it is you’ve come back here… and then you can tell me how you’re going to fix it.”

  “It’s the flight back to the coast.”

  Goodwin leaned forward in his seat. “Yes?”

  “We don’t quite have the fuel to make the flight to Nevada, as well as the return trip to the coast. And with the crowds outside, we also don’t have the necessary time to completely refuel. Although, if we can draw them away from the hangars and give ourselves another five to ten minutes, we may just get what we need.”

  Goodwin nodded and looked back to Dalton. “We do have the keys to the fueling truck, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Dalton said, “yes we do.”

  “Good, then there isn’t a problem.”

  The co-pilot breathed out heavily and looked back toward the cockpit. “I’m not sure the two of us can pull this off on our own.”

  “Mr. Osborne…”

  The tall man straightened up. “Yes?”

  He knew what the man was asking without him even having to speak the words. Goodwin was used to it. Before the world went to hell this kind of thing—people unable to fully articulate their thoughts in his presence—happened every single day. It was as comical as it was exasperating. And over the last few years, he’d grown tired of these types of conversations.

  Narrowing his eyes, Goodwin smiled. “You’re assuming that I have no intention of getting my hands dirty, or maybe that I am incapable of doing anything besides giving orders?”

  “No,” the co-pilot said, “I just thought—”

  As the jet rolled up alongside a row of four private hangars, Dalton peered out through the windows once again. The crowds were now within fifty yards and closing in more quickly than he was comfortable with. “Mr. Goodwin, I think we should get about doing whatever it is we are going to do. Time is no longer our friend.”

  Standing quickly from his chair, Goodwin pointed toward the cockpit and motioned for the man he called Mr. Osborne. “Walter, have Nicholas stay behind the controls. Myself and Mr. Dalton will go after the truck and bring it back. You will need to clear the path for us.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Walter said.

  Goodwin started for the door with Dalton close behind. “Once we’ve got the truck, you’ll need to stay close by, help get us started, and make sure none of the infected come close.”

  Removing his suit coat, Goodwin laid it across his seat, unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling up his sleeves. “Also, have Nicholas respond to Josie… let her know she’s on her own.”

  7

  The two sets of headlights were nearly indistinguishable as they raced toward the intersection from opposite sides of the city. Pushed back against the five-foot retaining wall at the corner of University Avenue and Emerson Way, the group collectively held their breath and watched to see which of the two vehicles would reach them first.

  Down on one knee, Griffin spoke quietly to the others as he looked to the right and then back over his left shoulder numerous times. “That has to be Josie or someone from her group; she was never going to let us leave. She was using us to find Ethan. Something must have gone wrong.”

  Her knees ached and as the growing pain in the pit of her stomach again began to flare, Helen leaned forward, laid her hand on Griffin’s shoulder, and motioned back to the left. “That’s my husband, I know it. That’s has to be our car.”

  Nodding, Griffin placed his hand over hers and turned back to the others. “I need you all to get back away from the street.” His voice quickly trailed off as the sounds of the racing engines grew closer. And making eye contact with Frank, he increased his pitch and intensity. “Go, take them back into the trees. They haven’t seen us yet—they don’t know we’re here.”

  He had no way of knowing if that were true. Hell, he had no way of knowing anything at this point. His head still pounded and his vision continued to grow blurrier with each passing moment. He wasn’t quite back yet, not even close to one-hundred percent. Maybe fifty to sixty percent, but at this point, that would have to do. That’s all he had.

  As the others turned and started back toward the treeline, Frank narrowed his eyes and began to shake his head. “What are you going to do, just sit out here and play peacemaker?”

  Griffin leaned in close and spoke into Frank’s ear, wincing as he motioned to the right with his pistol. “No, I’m going to kill everyone in that vehicle.”

  Inching into the shadows, Cora squatted behind a short outcropping of golden elderberry. She watched as the others filed in behind Frank and stared back at the street fifteen feet away. Whispering to no one in particular she said, “He shouldn’t be the only one out there. He’s still not any better and needs our help.”

  Shannon shuffled forward and crouched between Cora and Frank. “Cora’s right, Griffin isn’t in any condition to—”

  In the distance, one of the vehicles must have slowed or stopped. Only the sound of one set of tires and the low hum of its motor could be heard rapidly approaching. Leaning forward and closing his eyes, Frank held his left index finger over his mouth, calling for silence.

  Calling out to Griffin, Frank stood and started for the street. “
What’s going on?”

  Stepping off the sidewalk and out into the street, Griffin didn’t turn. “Not sure. Looks like whoever was coming had a change of plans.”

  Frank stepped slowly to where the thick underbrush receded near the edge of the paved walkway and leaning into the last tree, peered down the long block. “Something’s wrong.”

  The large blue vehicle sat less than a hundred yards away. It was now positioned alongside the opposite side of the street and had dimmed its headlights. The ominous SUV appeared to be idling, as it shook ever so slightly against the blacked out background.

  Taking a step back toward the sidewalk, Griffin dipped his chin and spoke quietly to Frank as the second vehicle rapidly approached. “Go back.”

  Frank’s attention had already shifted. He didn’t respond. He’d already turned to the left and was moving away from the trees as Griffin raised his weapon and followed.

  “Frank, wait.”

  For a second time, the older man failed to acknowledge Griffin’s request. He continued to walk faster as the second vehicle continued to rush toward them, now less than fifty feet from the intersection.

  “Griffin, get the others,” Frank’s voice broke as he pointed at the massive black SUV bearing down on them. He could only manage two words. “It’s Ethan.”

  The two silhouetted figures in the distance now moved more quickly and had already stepped out from under the nightshade afforded by the dense row of pine. The larger of the two ran out into the street and began waving his arms. From this distance, it could have been anyone. Although as he continued forward and the light of the full moon flooded the man’s face, Ethan moved his right foot off the gas pedal and breathed a sigh of relief. His friends had made it out.