by Jeff Olah
Turning off the light, Dalton stepped out of the lavatory to find Walter seated across from Goodwin. He was pitched forward in the chair and apparently wasn’t pleased with the conversation the two were having.
Quickly making his way back to his seat, Dalton went unnoticed as he moved between the men and sat down. Their words came in rapid succession, with each increasing the volume in their voice as they continued to discuss their current dilemma.
“Yes, of course I know,” Goodwin said. “Nicholas explained in excruciating detail the problems we are facing with the landing gear.”
“Well then you know we don’t have many options. McCarran Airport would have been ideal, given the fact that we’re going to put down without any gear. And we’re going to need a much longer run up because essentially we’ll be sliding to a stop. Problem is, McCarran won’t work.”
“Overrun?” Goodwin asked.
“Yes, but it’s more than just bodies. There are also planes stopped on two of the runways. Looks like no one made it out from that end.”
“The other runways?”
“There is a runway at the south end, near the other G280, but we don’t have a line to it from here. We could use it to take off, but nothing else.”
“Okay, you said options, what else are we looking at? Private airfield, maybe a golf course?”
Walter nodded. “There is one possibility… Barton Field. It’s an old airstrip from back in the seventies, was just dirt and a few buildings back then. But in 2003, someone came through and poured asphalt on two of the runways. It was abandoned sometime later and now just sits empty, lots of dirt and brush, but no people.”
“How far from town?”
Staring at the ceiling, Walter thought for a moment and then said, “I think it’s about five or six miles from McCarran, maybe a little less from the Strip.”
Goodwin scratched at the three-day old stubble along his chin. “Anton and the others, have we been able to reach them?”
“Yes, but they’re aren’t faring any better than we are. They’ve barricaded themselves in a little wedding chapel that sits at the south end of town, only a few blocks from McCarran.”
“Have them meet us at the offices downtown, we’ll figure out the rest from there.”
The older man looked away. “I’ll relay the message, Mr. Goodwin.”
“You don’t sound too sure. Is there something I’m missing? Something else you need to tell me?”
“It’s nothing sir, just attempting to get my mind right for this landing. It won’t be easy. We need almost three thousand feet for a normal landing, and without gear there’s no telling what happens to that number.”
“So what aren’t you saying?”
Dalton sat forward in his chair as the tension in the small space grew. After a few seconds, he realized he was holding his breath. Letting it out as quietly as he could, he waited for the co-pilot’s response.
“Well,” Walter said, “we only have twenty-six hundred feet to work with, but that isn’t the worst of it. Beyond the end of the runway, electrical lines were installed just over three years ago. We shoot this thing long and it could get real nasty, right away.”
Goodwin furrowed his brow. “You telling me the power is still on down there? How is that possible?”
“Only sections of the city have powered down, and now with the sun up, it’s a guessing game as to which parts. Anton said the chapel and most of the area close by was still up.”
“Okay,” Goodwin said, “do whatever it is you have to do to stop this thing in the space you have. You and Mr. Jefferson are the best at what you do; that’s why the two of you are here with me now, instead of down there fighting for your lives.”
“Yes sir.” Walter moved from his seat and turned toward the cockpit.
As the older man walked away, Goodwin said, “Make sure Anton is aware of our plans. We’ll meet him and the others before sundown.”
Happy that he’d made it out of Colorado in one piece, Dalton now just wanted to be back on the ground. He didn’t like the details of their current situation, and realizing things we’re about to get much worse, he finally turned to Goodwin.
“Why are you doing this… and please, please don’t tell me that I wouldn’t understand.”
Goodwin didn’t answer. He didn’t turn toward Dalton and didn’t even acknowledge the younger man’s question.
“Why,” Dalton persisted, “why bring us all the way out here. Why not just land in Salt Lake City? The chances of us locating Anton and then making it back to the coast are virtually zero. You know that I’ve never questioned even one of your decisions, but this… this isn’t you. Say we live through this, we make it back to Blackmore, what then? Will there even be anything worth going back to?”
Pointing out through the window at his right elbow, Goodwin finally spoke. “There it is, that has to be it, Barton Field. I think Walter undersold it. If Nicholas can’t put us down there, I’ll need to rethink my decision to keep him on here.”
“Mr. Goodwin, did you hear anything I said? I really don’t think there’s any way—”
“Yes,” Goodwin said, turning away from the window. “You have made it abundantly clear that you’re displeased with the direction this trip has taken. Once we land, you are free to go your own way. To try it out there without any help. But if you stay, you’ll need to change the way you view this world. It’s time you stopped complaining and learned to be a survivor.”
20
The fear of waking in a strange bed, or not in a bed at all, had nearly worn off. Emma’s routine had shifted over the last several days. The first few mornings after the world died, she’d be on her feet, with her bag in her hand, ready to run before she’d wiped the sleep from the corners of her eyes. Since then, she’d learned better than to make any sudden movements upon first waking.
Slow and silent was her new routine. Even if her slumber was less than an hour and she recognized her surroundings, she found it best to get acclimated before rising. Lying flat on her back, Emma took a deep breath, and blinked away the confusion. Without moving her head, she glanced right and then left, and then stared straight up at the oddly clean ceiling tiles.
She knew where she was and also recalling the last twenty-four hours. She remembered why she was here. Slowly pushing away from the pillow she’d fashioned from her jacket, Emma pulled her knees to her chest and sat with her back against the fold-away sofa. Again without moving anything but her eyes, she scanned the remainder of the room.
Suite three-twenty-six was now warmer than it had been the night before, although without the benefit of window coverings, this side of the building would get much less tolerable later in the day. They had the benefit of solar power in a few of the suites; however, she was sure it wouldn’t be wasted on such trivial items such as air conditioning or heating. Creature comforts were now a thing of the past.
Sitting quietly, Emma pulled the thin blanket from her legs and stretched. She’d already noticed Tom sitting at the table in the center of the room. His back was to her and he appeared to be eating something from a bowl. She wasn’t sure if he knew that she was up and waited a few more seconds to see if he’d turn.
“Hey, leave some of that for the rest of us.”
Tom nearly jumped out of his chair. He caught the bowl he was eating from as it spun toward the edge of the table and dropped. With a plastic spoon still in his mouth, Tom twisted in his chair and shook his head.
“Nice of you to join us this afternoon.”
“Afternoon?”
“Not really, it’s still morning, but you are the last one up.”
It was a bit different for her waking up with another person in the room. And she hadn’t immediately remembered that there was supposed to be three others. Cedric, Veronica, and Patrick were obviously missing, and although Tom didn’t seem worried, she was still curious.
“Where’d they go?”
“Patrick and Veronica are doing rounds. They
said they’d be back in a half hour.”
“And Cedric?”
Tom reached back, grabbed his bowl, and set it in his lap. “Oh, he was headed to the garage to meet with that other group from across town. I guess they needed to talk to him about what happened yesterday.”
Sitting up straight, Emma’s stomach growled. “Yesterday… you mean what happened out there with us?”
Tom dug his spoon into the bowl and pulled out a mouthful of cold oatmeal.
“I guess. He said they like to know when someone new comes into town. They’d seen us running from the crowds and then disappear into the building with Cedric. Sounds like they want to say hello, and who knows, maybe even welcome us to the city.”
“Is Cedric with them now?”
Tom paused before shoving the lumpy cereal into his mouth. “Probably.”
“Let’s go down there and say hello ourselves.”
Tom held out a hand as he chewed the bland oats. “Wait.” As he finished what was in his mouth, he swallowed quickly and reached for the glass of water sitting behind him on the table.
“I’m not sure he wants us down there. I think he wanted to talk to them alone.”
Emma tossed the blanket aside, reached for her shoes, and slipped them on. She pulled her shoulder-length dark hair into a ponytail and tied it up. Pushing away from the sofa, she walked to the table and pulled out a seat next to Tom.
“Okay, finish that oatmeal and then let’s go find Cedric. I want to meet the others, don’t you?”
Tom scraped the bottom of the bowl, tossed back the last few bites, and took a long pull from the glass of water.
“Sure, but if our hosts aren’t cool with this, I’m telling them it was your idea and that I tried to stop you.” He placed his hands against her shoulders. “No. Don’t. Please. You’re too strong.”
Emma laughed.
Stepping away from the table, Tom shook free the stiffness from sitting and walked to the door. He stopped at the two-drawer file cabinet and reached for a dry erase marker and a twelve-inch whiteboard. He quickly scribbled out a message to Veronica and her son, should they arrive before he and Emma returned.
“Let’s try and make this quick.”
Emma placed her hands together and nodded. But instead of acknowledging his request, she changed the subject. “How’s your leg?”
“Uh… it’s fine. I guess I just needed some food and water.”
“The oatmeal looked delicious.”
He wasn’t sure whether or not she was being serious. Even though it was probably one of the better things he’d put in his stomach over the last few days, he knew it looked like something no one would ever be interested in consuming. Cold water and dry oats end up resembling something you use to patch a hole in your wall, not something even remotely appetizing.
“I’ll make you a bowl when we get back.”
“Okay,” Emma said, “let’s go.”
Through the lobby and into the stairwell, Tom led the way. And as they reached the first landing, he stopped and turned toward her one last time.
“Let’s play it cool. We don’t know who these people are, I mean we only met Cedric and his family yesterday… and if we’re going to hang around a while, we should probably try to play by their rules.”
Emma straightened up. “You can trust me. I’m not usually this spontaneous. Typically, I’m the most boring person you’d ever meet. But after sending that message last night, I feel different, kinda like I’m—”
From somewhere below a door slammed and quick footsteps could be heard climbing the metal stairs. Tom leaned over the railing and as he recognized his new friend, he turned back to Emma and whispered, “Too late.”
Before they could open the door and step back into the third-floor lobby, Cedric had rounded the last flight of stairs and looked surprised to see them standing there. As he slowed his pace and climbed the final three steps, he brought the radio to his mouth and keyed the mic.
“Hey, I just finished with Blake and the others. They want to meet our guests as soon as possible.”
As Tom began to speak, Cedric held up his finger. “One second.”
A brief burst of static came through Cedric’s radio and then the voice of his wife Veronica.
“Okay, we’re about finished, we’ll meet you in the suite.”
Slipping the two-way radio into his back pocket, Cedric turned to Tom and Emma. “You guys need something?”
21
Images of his father’s final moments continued to flash through his mind as he drove along in silence. Ethan had taken to counting the number of stalled vehicles that lined the sides of the road and eventually stopped when the count reached five hundred. They’d crossed the state line into Utah over an hour before, and although Griffin had been awake to watch the sign speed by, within the last thirty minutes, he’d joined the others as they quietly slept.
Continuing to check his mirrors, Ethan thought he’d seen another vehicle cresting the hill they’d passed a few minutes before. A raised black pickup truck, or at least from this distance that’s what it looked like, although he couldn’t really be sure. He wasn’t confident that what he was seeing was a truck at all. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and hadn’t eaten a thing since they’d left the police station in Summer Mill. At this point, he wasn’t confident in anything.
If there were another group also traveling Interstate Seventy, he didn’t have any plans to make contact. At this point, it didn’t matter whether they were friend or foe—Ethan was done trusting anyone other than the six individuals riding in his vehicle.
Approaching the next highway sign, Ethan could see that it had been altered. And within fifty yards of the sign, his heart jumped as he read what was spray painted in black over the sign for Exit 160 and the city of Green Valley.
Two words in giant black letters covered the sign that announced the exit less than a half mile off. They were as clear as a summer day and surely would be seen by all who traveled this patch of road. Ethan gripped the wheel tight in his tired hands and read them under his breath.
“Infection free.”
Forgetting about the black pickup possibly somewhere in the distance, Ethan backed his foot off the gas just enough to bring their speed below sixty-miles per hour. He thought about waking Griffin and getting his opinion about pulling into the town of Green Valley.
Why would the residents of the small town be looking to help random drifters? Why advertise your city as a safe haven when so many others are only searching for what they can take from you? Or was this something altogether different? Were the good people of Green Valley even aware of the altered sign?
He’d avoided checking their fuel for the last thirty minutes, but with this new information, his gaze shifted once again to the instrument panel. Less than half a tank remained, and with their options running out, Ethan realized that making a pass through Green Valley was now more of a necessity.
Staring ahead, the exit for East Main Street approached. He checked his rear-view mirror once more and then moved into the right-hand lane. Again slowing, he noticed three trucks, two cars and a large SUV in the same familiar pattern. Bumper to bumper, alone on the shoulder, and as they passed, not a single sign that anyone had ever occupied the lifeless vehicles.
Again whispering to himself, Ethan pulled onto the off-ramp and said, “Here we go.”
Out if habit, he again cautiously checked his mirrors. First the driver’s and then the passenger’s side, staying with the image of the motionless vehicles. As the road drifted right, he was able to see the remainder of the shoulder and was assured that nothing hid in the shadows, where the asphalt bled into the dusty hillside.
Pulling to the end of the off-ramp, Ethan stopped the SUV. He shifted into park and stared up at the stop sign at the entrance to East Main Street. Scanning the wide open desert terrain, all was quiet, with the sound of the idling engine as his only distraction.
He sat with his hands on
the wheel, relaxing his arms, as the motor’s heavy vibration crawled up into his shoulders and began loosening the tension from more than four hours seated in the same position.
Weary of leading his friends into another bad situation, he breathed out slowly and leaned into the steering wheel. Shifting his gaze to the right, he studied the abandoned road—where Main Street would lead into town—searching for something, anything. But nothing, other than the wind across the deserted landscape, seemed to move.
Shifting back into drive, Ethan twisted in his seat. He looked over his right shoulder and scanned the faces of his friends. As he got to Ben, he assumed his mind had begun playing tricks on him. The lack of sleep and the stress had finally taken over. Ben was awake, at least he thought he was.
His young friend’s voice came out low and broken. “Hey Ethan.”
Unbuckling his seatbelt and shifting the massive SUV back into park, Ethan leaned into the backseat and laid his hand over Ben’s. He wanted more than anything for this to be real and as Ben squeezed his hand back, he nearly exploded out of his seat with excitement.
Not wanting to wake the others, Ethan kept his voice to a whisper, although he was unable to control his joy. “Ben… are you… how do you feel?”
Ben forced a weak smile. “Arm hurts like crazy, but other than that, I’m pretty good. Super hungry, though.”
Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll get some food in you real soon.”
Squinting into the midday sun, Ben peered out through the windows, pausing when he saw the stop sign and the long road stretching out to the right.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are we?”
“Utah.”
“Utah? How long have I been out?”
