The Next World - RESISTANCE - Book 2 (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

by Jeff Olah

  He wasn’t getting through to the lanky former athlete. There weren’t many ways he could redirect the conversation, and now his original intention almost seemed pointless. Either the man-child would do what needed to be done or he wouldn’t. It was probably too late to turn him into something else anyway.

  “I …” Tommy started to respond, but then his eyes drifted slowly toward the windshield. The men seated on either side had also seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and were watching something over Declan’s right shoulder.

  He stared back at the men, one to the other and then back again, finally turning to Kirk in the driver’s seat. “What am I missing, what’s gotten—”

  Kirk pointed out into the street, now beginning to nod. “Check it out.”

  Declan continued to stare straight ahead, his temper beginning to reach its boiling point. He took a measured breath, unclenched his fists, and then finally turned to look to his right.

  The crowds were thinner. Maybe by half. They were still bunched near the end of Sixth, but had vacated the sidewalks for almost fifty yards, and had now left an opening near the corner, just wide enough to drive through.

  It was time.

  “Okay,” Declan said, again buckling his seatbelt, and reaching for the handle above his head. “Get us over there.”

  Kirk quickly shifted back into drive and looked over his left shoulder. “And once we get around them, then what?” There was a hint of skepticism in his voice.

  Declan relaxed into his seat and rested his hands on his thighs. “Natalie Mercer is somewhere on the other side of that crowd, let’s go find her.”

  16

  Owen was running, now less than thirty feet from Lucas when he fired his first shot. To his right, Ava was at the rear passenger window screaming as Natalie opened her door and stepped out onto the asphalt. He waved her back and fired a second and third shot into the crowd. He was close, but it didn’t look like it was going to matter.

  There were simply too many of them.

  “LUCAS, GET UP AND MOVE!”

  The teen didn’t appear to have heard him. He was on his hands and knees, backing away from a group of four slow moving Feeders, but not quickly enough. They’d be on him in seconds. He didn’t turn to look at Owen, or even toward Kevin’s truck as it skidded into the fence ten feet from the gates.

  Again Owen cried out, this time increasing the volume and intensity in his voice. “DAMN IT LUCAS, GET ON YOUR FEET!”

  Twenty feet beyond the crowd, Kevin pulled away from the gate, again shifted into reverse and backed over what remained of the eight-foot chain-link fence. Sliding out into the street and braking quickly, his friend punched the horn and pulled to the opposite sidewalk.

  Only half the crowd had taken notice, the rest continued toward Lucas, unaware or unfazed that Owen had fired three separate times. They moved in tight circles, quickly closing off any chance he had at coming in from behind. He’d have to backtrack and somehow move right through the middle of the horde.

  Not something Owen wanted to do, but he also had no intention of leaving the boy to die. No matter how loud his mind was screaming for him to do exactly that.

  Six feet from the nearest Feeder and Owen again raised the Glock. There was no going back. No time to reconsider. No time to come up with another plan. This was it. “LUCAS, GET THE HELL UP!”

  Lucas was moving faster now, backing toward the building. He finally looked to his left and up at Owen, mouthing a few words that were lost to the distance.

  Twenty feet now separated him from the teen. Owen quickly calculated what remained in the magazine and lowering his shoulder, plowed into a Feeder that must have outweighed him by at least forty pounds.

  The bloodied man in the black jeans and torn white t-shirt fell face-first into the asphalt, his nose and his forehead exploding on impact. This created a mini-domino effect, taking down another five that had stumbled away from the others.

  Owen spun to his left, stepped behind a woman in a long dark coat, and grabbed her by the collar. Staying just out of reach of her snapping jaw, he pushed her forward and into a short thin man that looked like he’d been recently set on fire and left to burn.

  The torched man stumbled to the right and then toppled backward, landing only feet from Lucas, who had begun to get to his feet. Owen quickly released the woman, kicked her dead center in the middle of the back, and scanned the crowd. Although he could now reach the teen, there was no way they’d escape without a few bumps and bruises.

  Eleven rounds left.

  He was going to have to use every last one, and even that may not be enough. Owen dipped to the left and came in beside Lucas, who continued to back toward the brick exterior of Cecil’s.

  “LUCAS!”

  The slender teen finally met Owen’s eyes. He was shaking, out of breath, and appeared confused. “Uh … I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  “Get it together, we only have …”

  Three large males stepped out of the crowd, catching Owen by surprise. They pushed away from the crowd, moved faster, and covered more real estate than the others.

  “MOVE!”

  Lucas froze once again.

  Owen stepped in front of Lucas, used his right arm to pull him in behind, and raised the Glock in his left hand.

  Headshots, only headshots.

  Time slowed. His first thoughts were of his wife, his daughter, and his son. They were supposed to be his priority, the ones he should be protecting. His end and his beginning. Not a damn thing else. After his “talk” with Kevin, he had made a promise to himself that nothing was ever going to come between him and his family ever again.

  But there was something else. Something he hadn’t thought of, something that hadn’t occurred to him until this very moment. And when it did, it hit him like an out of control eighteen wheeler.

  Kevin had told him that he needed to look after what was most important, that his family was the only thing that mattered. And now he realized that even though it had always been Natalie, and Ava, and Noah, there were others. That since the fall of everything, his family had grown.

  And he was going to get each and every one of them out of this parking lot, and safely to the coast, no matter what.

  Owen reached back, took a handful of Lucas’s shirt, and pulled him in close. He lined up his first shot, took a quick breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  The man with the bloodied face and no lips dropped like a rock, the back of his head spraying blood and brain matter across the heads and necks of those behind.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Owen eyed Lucas. “Get ready to run.”

  Lucas was shaking, his eyes darting quickly between the agitated beasts. “Uh …”

  Owen fired on the other two male Feeders from less than three feet away. The first careened into the second, falling forward and nearly taking Lucas with them.

  “Let’s go.” Owen stepped quickly over the lifeless corpse of the first man, looked back toward the gates, and pulled Lucas into his back. “We got one shot at this.”

  The teen stayed close as Owen moved quickly along the brick exterior of Cecil’s. “What are we doing?” Lucas said. “My SUV’s back there.”

  Weaving in and out of the crowd, his head on a swivel, Owen abruptly came to a stop thirty feet from the front doors. He forced Lucas to continue past him and looked back toward the fence. “Change of plans.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Owen brought the Glock back up, fired off four more rounds. “I’m driving.”

  A stout female Feeder wearing a tattered nursing uniform was taken from her feet and thrown backward into the air, her body going limp before slamming to the asphalt in a heap. Owen’s third shot caught the man to her right, just as he opened his mouth to growl, his throat and neck exploding out of the back of his head.

  Lucas winced at the devastation, turned his eyes away. “But … but … we aren’t going to make it back—”

  Owe
n motioned over his left shoulder. “Yes we are.”

  Kevin had driven back over the downed section of chain-link and was heading toward the building. The massive black pickup sideswiped a group of eight Feeders, cut hard to the right, and slid to a stop.

  Owen paused a moment. He looked to where the crowd parted near the middle, nodded quickly to Kevin, and turned back to Lucas. “Let’s go.”

  “Where, what are we doing?”

  “No time.” Owen stepped out, fired on a male Feeder, sending him quickly to the ground, and then pointed Lucas toward the black pickup. “Come on.”

  Kevin rolled the truck forward, stayed just ahead of the approaching crowd. He lowered the passenger window and shouted from the driver’s seat. “OWEN, GET GOING!”

  Owen ran to the bed of the truck and continued to pull Lucas behind, finally releasing him near the rear wheel. “Get in and stay down.”

  Lucas climbed into the bed of the truck and began to ask another question, but Owen had turned and sprinted away. He disappeared around the front of the truck as Kevin gunned the engine and cut the wheel hard to the left.

  Owen breathed a brief sigh of relief as he saw the horde had thinned near the SUV his family sat inside. He continued to run toward the driver’s door, slipped in behind the wheel, and handed Natalie the Glock. “We’re all safe now.”

  She didn’t speak for a long time and just looked at him as he followed Kevin out into the street and away from the crowds. His children were also quiet in the back seat, except for the soft whimpers of his daughter.

  When Natalie did speak, her voice was different, somehow more delicate. Not anything like it had been. Not in all the years they’d been together. “You saved that boy’s life.”

  The adrenaline was still pumping hard through his veins. He was now a sweaty mess and felt like he could take on an entire army of the dead. “He’d have done the same thing for me, for you, for any of us.”

  Natalie looked into the back seat at her children, then cut her eyes at him and leaned in really close. She reached for his face and dropped her voice to a soft whisper. “I love you, more now than ever.”

  Owen smiled as he followed Kevin through the next intersection and slowed near the sidewalk, now nearly a mile beyond the massive horde. “We’re going to outlast this thing, I promise you that.” And finally turning back to her, he said, “And, I love you too.”

  17

  He’d found the vacant studio apartment three days before. There were more of the dead in this part of the city, but less people. In fact, he hadn’t seen another human for the last forty-eight hours, and that was just fine with him. The sixth-floor location suited his needs and offered a generous view of not only the downtown area, but also the highway, and his pre-planned route away from the neighborhood.

  The interior was sparse. A tan leather sofa he’d placed three feet from the window, a round wooden dining table with just one chair, and a red and white ice chest he had yet to find a use for. His backpack was placed in the center of the room, as well as his SIG Sauer P226, and an old hunting rifle that he mainly used for its high-powered scope.

  Exactly what he needed and nothing else.

  Crouched at the window, he stayed just out of sight and took another quick glance out over the streets. The rapid gunfire had stopped once again. He couldn’t quite pinpoint its location, but it was close. Much closer than he was comfortable with, probably less than two or three blocks. He’d seen the crowds growing over the last several days and figured that most everyone had already left the area. But he was wrong.

  And that was going to be a problem.

  Back to the sofa, he retrieved a black t-shirt, slipped it on, and paced the room from one end to the other. Kitchen to bathroom and back, seven times, counting each repetition before striding to the dining table, and finally taking a seat.

  If the gunfire returned, he'd have to make a decision. One that he knew he’d eventually have to make. Stay and hide, get involved, or find a new home. It was going to happen—he was just hoping it wouldn’t have come so soon.

  He folded his hands together, stretched the stiffness from his neck, and turned to look at the rifle.

  "No."

  His voice sounded different to him. He hadn't used it today and didn't recall using it the day before either. Maybe he did, but he couldn't remember. The days were all starting to run together. The mornings, the afternoons, and the nights. He was sleeping at odd hours and without the calendar he’d found in the apartment down the hall, he wasn’t even sure he’d know what day it was.

  But he did.

  It was Thursday. And back before the world died, he’d have lunch at Billy’s. They made the best sandwiches and had maybe the only fresh lemonade within walking distance of his former condo. It was Thursday, but for the moment that sandwich wasn’t the only thing he was craving.

  “No.”

  He leaned back in the chair, let his legs relax, and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to clear his head, get back to center, and focus on something other than what had been running through his mind for the last several hours.

  “You have to forget, they aren’t coming back, and there isn’t anything you can do to—”

  His voice still sounded odd, but there was something else. It was a low hum, just below the volume with which he spoke. It was a familiar sound, but one that he also hadn’t heard in days.

  A vehicle, maybe a newer truck or an SUV. It moved slowly, accelerating and braking multiple times. It was also close, but further than the gunshots, and coming from the opposite direction.

  The man breathed out slowly, sat up in the chair, and pushed away from the table. He slid the chair back into place, straightened the front of his shirt, and in one motion, reached for the rifle.

  “Okay.”

  He checked the door and returned to the window, sliding the red and white ice chest below the sill. There were other vehicles, more than the first few days, although the numbers had dropped off significantly since the bloated horde moved to this side of town.

  It was still odd. There wasn’t a reason to be that close, not unless someone was looking to get themselves killed. Death by undead mob. Not exactly the way he’d have chosen, even though he had been down that very same path more times than he could count in the last several years.

  So this made him curious. Was it simply someone who had made a series of wrong turns or something else? He didn’t know, but for once he was excited to find out.

  He took a seat atop the hardened plastic of the ice chest, opened the window, and pulled the rifle into his shoulder. Scooting closer, he dipped the end of the barrel out into the afternoon air and took in a slow, deliberate breath.

  “Where are you?”

  The crowd on the street directly below was dense. More than it was even an hour before. They must have been drawn to the gunfire, and now he at least had a point of reference. Pushing his right eye in tight to the scope, he quickly spotted the building two blocks down and then roved his way back toward the east end of the block.

  Not much to see.

  The crowds had nearly come to a standstill, now pushing into the alley behind the old garment factory. If their migration continued, he’d be safe, might even be able to ride out whatever this was without having to find a new home. And although he could see that the fences had come down, he wasn’t searching the right area. Whatever had happened there was already over.

  The man turned away, set the rifle along the edge of the window, and reached for a tattered Polaroid. He looked at the smiling faces on the grainy picture and tried to remember why he needed to keep going. There were fewer reasons now that the world no longer cared, and less with each passing day. He wondered if they’d even know if he gave up, if they’d somehow hold it against him, or if they’d even care.

  The unmistakable low rumble of a twin-turbo V8 pulled his attention back to the window, although this time, in the opposite direction. The crowds were thinner out there, only a handfu
l stumbled through the intersection two blocks away, and even without the use of the high-powered scope, he was able to spot a shadowy figure behind the wheel of the white BMW.

  He tucked the picture into his back pocket, took in a long breath and pushed into the frame of the window. He thought it was odd how far the sound of a vehicle traveled now that everything else in the world went quiet. It was as if it was magnified, somehow sent through a massive speaker, and then cranked all the way to ten.

  The angle here was better; he had a straight shot up to where Sixth Street faded into the backdrop of downtown. The steel and brick buildings formed odd patterns against the blue and grey sky, their shadows slowly creeping east with the waning of the day.

  Now there were two more vehicles, a large black pickup truck, and a cream-colored SUV. They stayed close, slowing and pulling alongside one another as they reached the opposite end of the intersection, now fifty feet from the front bumper of the BMW.

  Again reaching for the rifle, he pulled it into his shoulder, slowly bringing his eye in behind the lens and the scene into focus. “Well, this should be interesting.”

  18

  Owen rolled the SUV to a stop alongside the passenger door of Kevin’s truck. There was something telling him that the white BMW sitting on the other side of the intersection hadn’t found its way to this location purely by accident. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and before he could lower his window, the walkie to his right sent a short blast of static through the interior.

  Next came Kevin’s voice. It was quick and stilted. Not rushed, but not his usual laid-back tone. “Owen, stay put. I’ll handle this.”

  Owen quickly keyed the mic and looked from the truck to the street and back. “Whatta ya thinking?”

  “Just stay back, keep the others inside.”