by Jeff Olah
“Sit down and keep your mouth shut. Pray if you’d like to… go ahead and cry if that’s what you need, but do it quietly. I do not want to hear another word out of your mouth until we’re on the ground. Got it?”
Dalton didn’t respond. He also didn’t move. Standing near the overhead compartment, he only glared back at Goodwin, and for the first time thought about what it would be like to watch him die. He had no intention of doing it himself—hell, he even had a hard time imagining it at all—but as he drilled a hole into the side of Goodwin’s head with his gaze, he thought of the irony of the man who may have ended humanity perishing at the hands of those he created.
One final jolt, and as Goodwin turned and headed for the cockpit, the grinding beneath their feet ended in a slow sputter. It was gone as quickly as it began and was now replaced by the low hiss of cool air escaping through the overhead vents.
Stepping back, Dalton turned away from Goodwin. He dropped down into the crème-colored leather chair, and rested his left arm on the window ledge. Peering out into the night, he watched as the world below shrank, and the only illumination coming from the many spot fires peppering the landscape.
On the opposite side of the cabin, Goodwin brushed aside a few errant pieces of glass, and continued toward the cockpit. Just as he began to call out to the pilots, Nicholas appeared in the doorway. He continued walking quickly toward Goodwin and spoke with just enough volume to also command Dalton’s attention.
“What you heard was our landing gear being torn to pieces by those things out there. We were unable to avoid the crowd at the end of runway number one and as such, the gear took a direct hit from more than a few of the bodies.”
Goodwin looked past Nicholas, in through the cockpit door, and then turned back toward the rear of the jet.
“And?”
“Well,” Nicholas said, “at this point the nose gear is completely inoperable and it appears that the right rear is no longer capable of fully retracting… or extending.”
Goodwin began to speak, but then paused a moment. He stared back at Nicholas, as a look of confusion washed over his face. “You don’t look worried?”
“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t do any good. We don’t have any other choice now.”
“No?”
“We’re gonna have to put this thing down at some point, and with only one leg left, things are gonna get interesting real fast.”
As Nicholas turned and started back for the cockpit, Goodwin had one final question.
“What are our chances?”
“Don’t know, never had the opportunity to run this one through a simulator.”
17
Rolling away from the gated community and the gathering horde, Ethan followed Griffin toward the blue SUV, while avoiding his mother’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. The tortured look on her face told him that she knew what he needed to tell her. That she’d put the pieces together and although she hadn’t yet begun to grieve, she’d want to hear it directly from him. Ethan would have to give her closure. Just not now.
Pulling to a stop, Ethan checked the mirrors and watched as Griffin approached the smaller vehicle. He peered in through the windows, checked the front and backseats, and then before opening the driver’s door, turned to Ethan and held up his right index finger.
Holding Griffin’s gaze, Ethan reached to his left, gripped the handle, and began to open his door. His friend didn’t need any help, nor did he ask for it; however, he wanted a few seconds alone to quickly discuss their next move away from the others. Griffin shook his head, pulled the door open, and disappeared behind the glare of the windshield.
Back to the others, Ethan paused to do a mental inventory of what was what. His mother sat along the third row, between Frank and Shannon, quietly crying. Carly sat directly behind him, tending to Ben, who appeared to be sleeping.
Turning to face her, Ethan furrowed his brow.
“Do I dare ask?”
“He’s gonna be fine. He’s lost a lot of blood, but with some sleep and something in his stomach, he’ll be fine… well, as long as we can keep the wound from getting infected.”
“How’s it look?”
Carly turned her eyes to Ben and lowered her already quiet voice. “It’s not good, but if we can find somewhere to rest for a few days, I think he’ll be okay.”
“I’ll get us out of here, I promise.”
Laying her left hand on Ethan’s shoulder, Carly forced a weak smile and spoke quietly. “It’s not just for Ben. We all need a break, Griffin maybe more than the rest of us. Things are happening too fast; we haven’t had time to process any of this, let alone deal with what just happened out there. I’m just not sure how we go on. What we do. How we live through this.”
Turning his attention back out through his frosted window, Ethan breathed out heavily as Griffin trotted away from the smaller vehicle. “I’m not sure either, but whatever it is, however we get through this, it will be together. That’s the only way.”
A hush fell over the interior of the SUV as the passenger door opened and Griffin slipped into the seat beside Ethan. Neither man looked at the other, and as Ethan shifted the enormous vehicle into drive, Griffin laid two items on the dash.
The first, a two-way radio, not unlike the unit Shannon had brought from the police station. And second, an odd shaped cell phone that Ethan knew really wasn’t a cell phone at all. He was issued one that looked strangely similar on his first day working for BXF Technologies. His sister said it was only for emergencies. Holding it up for the others to see, Ethan said, “Anyone need to make a call?”
His attempt at easing the tension fell flat. His timing wasn’t ever perfect; however, this was one instance when he probably should have just allowed the awkwardness of the moment to play out. He turned to hand it back to Griffin as a voice came from the third row. His mother spoke quietly, her voice breaking as thick tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
“Ethan… it’s your sister… Emma is alive.”
How did that lead to this? His mother’s statement didn’t seem to make any sense. He understood that Emma’s final moments were still unknown, although if she had contacted his mother, why was he just now finding out?
Unable to form an articulate thought, Ethan was lost to the events that had played out over the last several hours. Too many things were happening too fast for him to properly address his mother’s monumental statement. He and his friends had narrowly escaped his hometown, only to come face to face with the men stationed halfway up the mountain.
After their brief initial encounter with Maddox, the short stay behind the university walls, and the horrific events leading to his father’s murder, Ethan was then forced to the edge of sanity as he strode out of his parents’ garage, only to find Ben lying in the middle of the street in a river of his own blood.
And just when he believed they had nothing left, he and his friends were tested yet again. Thrown headfirst into the thirty-minute standoff that ended in four deaths, they were now completely numb. Unable to process all that had taken place over the last seven days, they were having trouble just attempting to communicate. What was left to be said, and by who? The group of seven was without a voice, but for the moment, the cell phone handed from Helen Runner to her son would at least distract from the awful narrative they were unable to outrun.
Confused, Ethan reached for the phone, looked it over, and scanned their faces. “I left this in the truck… I think back there in the parking lot?”
Helen wiped away a tear. “Yes, you did.” She then turned to Frank and nodded.
Sitting to Helen’s right, Frank sat back against the third row seat and cupped his hands in his lap. “I pulled it and your charger from the console when we all got out, shoved it in my jacket, and that’s where it’s been ever since.”
As Frank’s voice trailed off, Helen graciously interjected. She almost couldn’t wait. “Go ahead and check your messages. Your sister is alive.”
Powerin
g on the phone, Ethan fingers shook. He missed the message icon three separate times. Breathing out through his nose in frustration, he slowed himself. Holding the phone steady in his left hand, he used his right index finger to call up his messages and instantly saw her name next to the first message.
Opening the thread, he closed his eyes for a second before moving to the first word and reading them aloud.
“Ethan, I’m still alive, in the city, about ten miles from my house.” He paused once again as a smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. “It’s the Stern Building on Sixth Street. I hope you get this.” His voice broke and then started to trail off.
“I love you… Emma.”
Opening his eyes as wide as he could, Ethan wiped away the tears clouding his vision. He wanted to see his mother’s face. To give her a small bit of joy in what was surely to be her darkest day. The confirmation of his father’s demise would strike a blow to her that could never be repaired. Ethan was now thankful she still had something to live for.
The SUV fell silent as the group allowed the small bit of good news to wash over them. They collectively held their breath and waited as Ethan let his eyes drift to each of his friends individually. Finally, again finding his mother’s eyes, he half smiled.
“Let’s go get Emma.”
18
Within an hour, they’d reached Interstate Seventy and left the city, as well as the light snowfall, in their rear-view mirror. The SUV’s interior from the second row back had gone silent well before they reached the on-ramp at Santa Fe Avenue, and as Ethan focused on the road, Griffin stared out through the passenger window.
“Anything about this seem off to you?”
Ethan motioned through the windshield toward the open highway. Not a single vehicle could be seen along the six lane interstate for miles in either direction. There were groupings of twenty to thirty cars every five or so miles, although they sat pinned together in tight bunches, bumper to bumper at the shoulder, and in the center divider. But not one trace of anything resembling the destruction they’d seen over the last several days.
“I’m not sure,” Ethan said. “Maybe the military came through, cleared the area. Who knows? But hey, it’s about time we got a break.”
As his words trailed off, Ethan couldn’t help but think about the fact that the pair still hadn’t discussed losing one of their own. He didn’t want to push, but he knew that Griffin and Cora had formed a special bond. They’d been inseparable since he found them in the hospital parking lot on day one. And although he had his own demons that needed to be addressed, he wanted his friend to know he wasn’t alone.
With his last statement still hanging in the air, Ethan searched for a way to start the conversation he wasn’t sure he was ready to have. But before he could find the words, his friend surprised him.
“Ethan…”
If it were at all possible, the interior seemed to grow even quieter. He could hear only the sounds of the tires on the long stretch of highway and the breathing of five slumbering individuals. Ethan felt a bead of sweat form along his brow as he gripped tight to the wheel. “Yeah?”
“I don’t really have anybody.”
“You have all of us.”
“That’s not really what I mean.” Griffin turned away from the window and finally looked at Ethan. “I didn’t have any family before this whole thing and I wasn’t really the most upstanding citizen. But I felt like this new world, and everything that went with it, was my chance to do something right for once. Something where I could finally help someone other than myself.”
“Trust me, my friend, you have.” Ethan motioned toward the rear of the SUV. “Every single person back there owes you their life. I heard what you did and I’m grateful as well. I lost my father tonight, but because of you, I still have my mother.”
Griffin ran his dirty hand over his face. But though the darkened cab, the residual trail from the tears that had rolled down his cheek were still visible.
“Yeah but…” Griffin paused. He swallowed hard and wiped his face once more before continuing, “But the one person I swore to protect is gone. I deserve this pain, but she didn’t deserve to have someone like me. I failed her.”
Searching for a proper response, Ethan sensed that his friend wasn’t looking to be pulled from his anguish. Griffin wanted to experience this pain—he needed it. He’d feel that he cheated Cora by not accepting the grief and then wading in it for the time being. Ethan knew this because he was living in the same reality, and his father also deserved more.
“Listen Griff, you aren’t responsible for what happened back there. None of us are. Now, I’m not trying to talk you out of the feelings you’re having, but you need to know that none of this is your fault. We’re all living in this hell together and it’s probably not going to get better any time soon, we just have to do what we can to get through it.”
Nodding, Griffin turned and stared back through the windshield. “So, what do we do? I’m with you on heading out to the coast, but Carly is right, we need a few days to regroup. There has to be somewhere we can just lay low until we figure things out?”
“The sun’s gonna be coming up in a few hours. Once we can actually see where we’re going, we’ll find somewhere out of the way to set up camp.”
“You okay with taking a few extra days to get to your sister?”
Ethan grinned. “It sounds like she may have found a safe spot to ride this thing out, or maybe it’s just not as bad out there. I mean, I have yet to see even one of those things since we jumped on the interstate.”
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “It’s been oddly quiet since we drove away from the city. Almost too quite. Like something isn’t right.”
“I get that feeling as well, but as long as this lasts, I’ll take it. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough of those things to last me a lifetime.”
“I agree,” Griffin replied. Again massaging his temple, he rolled his neck from left to right and seemed lost. He turned and peered into the back of the SUV for a few seconds before lowering his voice and returning his attention to Ethan. “You’re going to have to talk to her.”
His friend was a bit vague, but Ethan knew what Griffin was attempting to tip-toe around. Also lowering his voice, he checked the rear-view mirror. “My mom… about my dad?”
“Yeah, she knows he’s gone; you’ve made that clear. And I don’t think she wants or needs any of the details, but she does need some closure. I understand there really hasn’t been—”
“No Griff, you’re right. I do need to talk to her, and I will.”
As the horizon turned from a deep shade of black to a muted lavender, the interior again quieted and the pair drove on in silence. Thirty minutes had passed and Griffin now fidgeted with the single knob positioned along the top of the two-way radio. He thought more than once about turning it on, searching the available channels and what they’d do if they ran across another group of survivors.
Losing faith in others was dangerous, but the last few days taught them that blindly trusting anyone they came across may prove to be just as troubling. Griffin wiped the radio’s display on his shirt, tossed it back into the console and instead stared at the satellite phone.
Noticing his friend’s interest, Ethan was curious, but also sick of listening to the inside of his own head. “Who do you think is on the other end of those things? Anyone worth knowing?”
Griffin sat up in his seat, pulling tight on his lap belt. “Didn’t Shannon say that she thought those people had something to do with the guy that owned your company?”
“Oh, you know… I think she may have.”
“That man, the one you worked for, is he worth it?”
“You know Griff, I really couldn’t say. I never really knew the man. Emma was the one, she actually worked directly for him.”
Griffin sat back for a second and watched as they sped past the exit for Trail Gulch Road. “Your sister… Emma, you try to return her text?”
“No signal,” Ethan said. “I typed out a message, but got a send error. Maybe when we reach Utah in a few hours.”
19
As the sun broke free of the eastern horizon and began to warm the day, Dalton yawned, opened his eyes, and stretched. Balling his hands into fists, he shoved them into his eyes and began to rub. He didn’t remember falling asleep, and as the events of the previous night came rushing back, a much more urgent matter called for his attention.
Turning to the window and attempting to find their place in the sky, he estimated that he’d been out for about two hours. It looked as though they were descending, and before one of the two pilots announced that he needed to remain seated, Dalton pushed out of his chair and started for the lavatory.
Moving through the rear cabin, he turned to see Walter stepping out from the cockpit and quickened his pace. He avoided direct eye contact with the slender co-pilot, as well as Goodwin, before opening the lavatory door and disappearing inside.
Turning to the sink, Dalton reached for the handle, turned on the hot water, and stared back at his reflection in the mirror above the bowl.
“Wow,” he said, wondering if it was the stress of the last few days or the fact that he’d slept less than five hours over that same time period. Or maybe it was simply the weight of the world going to hell at the hands of the man he still seemed to work for. The reason didn’t really matter as much as the fact that he looked like he’d aged ten years in the span of just eight days.
Deep lines filled with dried blood ran from one side of his forehead to the other. What looked like a dirty handprint sat plastered to the right side of his face. He’d bitten his lip at some point and the swelling had turned the right side of his mouth up at an awkward angle.
Running his hands under the tepid water, Dalton used the liquid soap to quickly wash his hands and face. He then brushed his fingers through his unruly dark brown hair, smoothing it as much as was possible. Turning off the water, he pulled a towel from the rack and quickly dried his face, neck, and hands. As he carefully folded the towel and placed it alongside the sink, anxious voices broke from the rear cabin.
