by Jeff Olah
Go wide and show yourself before they find you.
Around the rear of the delivery truck, he again tucked the rifle into his back, began raising his hands above his head, and walked quickly toward the coming intersection. He hadn’t quite reached the halfway point when the boy—who looked to be high school aged—first spotted him.
The tall young man was covered in blood from neck to waist, his eyes wide, and his face wet with sweat. He was squatting beside another man who didn’t appear to be moving—who he remembered as the man who took the bullet to the shoulder.
After pausing for a moment to stare at him, the young man twisted on his knees and looked back toward the light-colored SUV.
“Owen, there’s someone. Uh, you need to get over here.”
A second man—probably early forties, maybe late thirties—appeared from the front of the SUV. He held a pistol in his left hand and as he approached, he brought the weapon up, pointed it at him. “I’m going to give you one second to turn and run, if you don’t I’m going to kill you and not feel bad about it. Your choice.”
The man in the black t-shirt continued to hold his hands above his head. He figured that there was a fifty-fifty chance that things would end this way, but he was in it now. No going back. The time to turn and run was long gone.
“Listen sir, I don’t want any trouble, but I’m guessing your friend there is going to need some help, maybe more help than you or your friends can give.”
The man’s face softened, but he continued to hold the pistol steady. “I told you to turn and walk away.”
Now or never. “Sir, there isn’t time. Your friend isn’t going to—”
The man with the gun stepped forward, now shaking his head. “What are you doing out here? You need to—”
“Owen.” The kid looked like he was trying to lift the body. “He’s waking up.”
The man with the gun turned quickly. He took a beat to glance at the kid, but then swung back around, looked like he had finally put the pieces together. He leaned to the left, stared at the rifle. “Wait, are you …” He again shook his head, this time slower. “You’re the one.” He motioned toward the intersection. “You’re the one.”
The man in the black t-shirt nodded. “Yes, I am.” He began to lower his hands. “My name is Travis Higgins and I’m here to help you and your friends. But we’re gonna need to go, right now.”
20
Declan backed the BMW into an alley and pulled to a stop alongside a blue, windowless Ford van. The doors sat open, but for the moment, appeared to be unoccupied. He shifted into park, brushed the shards of glass from his lap, and stared out through the shattered windshield.
Out of sight, at least for the next few minutes.
The area here was quiet. Maybe two or three miles from the intersection at Sixth Street, this end of the city was much different. There were less infected, probably only a few dozen, and most appeared to have other interests. As if they no longer mattered, like they were already dead.
After a few minutes of sitting in silence, there was a muffled ring that came from the glove box. Both men turned to look, but neither moved. Another ring came within a few seconds, and then a brief pause, and then another.
Declan leaned across the console, quickly opened the glove box, and reached for the satellite phone. He pressed the talk button, cracked his neck, and placed it against his ear. “Declan here.”
The voice that came through the speaker was clearly agitated. It also sounded like there were others in the distant background, all shouting over one another. “Declan, we have a problem.”
He glared at the phone, clamping down so hard his knuckles started to turn a pale shade of white. “And?”
The voice came back, now just short of shouting. “And, we figured you might want to know about it.”
He waited, let a full ten seconds go by, then turned to glance at Tommy and again put the phone to his ear. “You forget what it is you wanted to say or are you just waiting for me to guess? Because whatever it is, I can guarantee I don’t have the time or the inclination to care about it.”
“It’s Goodwin.”
“It always is.”
“He’s gone.”
Declan could feel his face beginning to warm, blood pooling in his cheeks and forehead. “He’s gone?”
“His plane went down somewhere in Vegas, no one has been able to reach him since early this morning”
He dropped his head, closed his eyes, and struck the steering wheel with the back of the phone. He could feel himself going to that place. That place where rational conversation would be virtually impossible. He’d hear the words spoken to him and even had the ability to respond, although with the way things had played out over the last few hours, he needed to stay in the moment. Listen, keep a level head, and above all else, not overreact.
“Okay, so what are we doing?”
There was a long moment where Declan sat in silence staring into the street. He rubbed at his chin, trying to imagine what this really meant. He never much cared for Goodwin as a person, however it was hard to argue with the man’s unwavering determination to make the world bend to his will. And now that he was gone—whatever that meant—it was time for a change of plans.
As Declan turned the phone over and stared at the display, the voice shot back thorough the speaker. “No one’s really sure. We were thinking about sending a crew to Vegas, see if there’s anything or anyone left.”
Declan nodded, as though the man on the other end could see him. “What about HQ, who’s watching the house?”
“Anton and the boys from Team Four have the place secured, but there’s talk they may try to get to Blackmore, find out why it’s been so quiet.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded. And without access to at least one of the other units, he was as good as on his own. He never really minded that before the end of the world, but now that carried a much different meaning.
He checked his mirrors. “How’s it look downtown?”
The man’s voice changed. It held an air of defeat, almost dripping through the two-inch speaker. “Worse than yesterday, and more dead with each hour that passes. It’s gonna be up to you to—”
Declan ended the call and tossed the phone into his bag. He had heard enough. There wasn’t anything left to be said, and the details no longer mattered. He would take care of things the way he always did. It would get messy, but it would get done.
Beside him, the young man he typically referred to as Thomas Jefferson released his seatbelt and sat up straight. He was sweating and covered in speckled blood, but didn’t appear to be injured. “Jerome … I’m sorry, Declan?”
It was the first time the tall young man had spoken since climbing into the BMW, but it appeared that now there was something he needed to say.
Declan kept his hands on his thighs, trying to control his thoughts as well as his temper. He rolled his neck from left to right and spoke in a rushed tone, his words coming one right after the other. “Yeah Tommy, what is it?”
Tommy turned toward Declan, a looked of shock starting across his face. “Whatta we do now?”
Declan looked at the instrument panel and then out through the windshield. “That’s up to you.”
Tommy hesitated, sounded like he swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Uh … up to me?”
“Yep, from now on you get to decide what you do. I know what I’m doing and where I’m headed, but you have to decide for yourself what you want to do, where you want to go.”
“I don’t understand.”
Declan shifted in his seat, stretched his neck. “Let me ask you a question, how did it feel out there, doing what we did to those people? Did you like it, did you enjoy it? Or is the only reason you’re still here because you’re too afraid to find out whether or not you have what it takes to survive out there on your own?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just feel bad that—”
“Get out.”
Tomm
y narrowed his eyes, cocked his head. “What?”
“Get out.”
“What do you mean, why? I don’t understand what this is.”
“You don’t have it, you never did. I knew that from the very first day and so did the others. We also knew you wouldn’t survive one minute without us. But that’s probably a good thing now. You wouldn’t want to live in this new world anyway, you’re not built for it. And the sooner you realize that the better.”
“No.” The younger man’s face changed. He looked harder, even a few years older than just a few minutes before. It was something that might have been useful, something he should have learned to harness before he decided to follow Declan in the first place. “I don’t think so, there’s no way I’m getting out. I’d be dead in a matter of minutes.”
Declan curled up his lip. “I’m not asking.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m going with you.”
Declan leaned forward, pulled a pistol from under the seat, and pointed it at Tommy’s face. “This is where you get out my young friend. Now, I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll let you have your choice of two weapons from the trunk, and a day’s supply of water. But this is where we part ways. You’ll either figure out how to make it work or you won’t. If you do, you’ll probably be thankful for this moment right here, and if you don’t, well then, you won’t remember any of this anyway. It’s a win-win I’d say.”
Tommy looked out through the cracked glass, bit at his lip. “What is this, what are you doing?”
Declan motioned toward the passenger door. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going back out to find that woman and her family.”
“But Goodwin’s gone?”
“And yet there’s still work to be done.”
“Declan, you’re wrong.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, you are a monster.”
“Be that as it may, I’m still going to need you to get out.”
21
It was warm near the shore this afternoon. The cloud cover had finally burned away, and although the area was relatively secluded, there were still those that had decided to flee. More with each passing hour. He knew this wouldn’t last and had planned to move again in the next few days, but for now he just wanted to stay in the same place for more than a few nights.
“Helloooo.”
To his right and back thirty yards, the woman in the ten-million-dollar home again stood on her deck waving him over. She had told him that she was following her brother out of town, but after their last conversation, he wasn’t surprised to see her yet again.
Dr. Dominic Gentry pulled on a heather grey hooded sweatshirt and reached for the gun that lay wrapped in the towel to his left. Kicking the sand from his shoes, he peered down to the opposite end of the beach and pushed away from the bright-colored folding chair.
The woman now stood back away from the railing, her eyes darting from north to south. When he was within ten yards, she turned and quickly looked him over. For the moment, her name escaped him. He thought it was Helen or Diana, or Cynthia, or maybe Cheryl. He never was good with names, and now was just hoping this wasn’t going to get awkward.
He stopped at the set of steps leading to the raised deck and offered the woman a friendly smile. “I thought you were headed out?”
The woman looked past him, toward the shore break a few hundred yards away. She held her hand over her mouth for a moment, and then slowly shaking her head, again met his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand why you’re out here.”
“I’m sorry?”
She was rubbing her hands together. “How can you be so calm about all of this?” She pointed toward a group of three Feeders struggling to navigate the soft sand and churning waters. “I mean they just keep coming, they don’t ever stop.”
Gentry shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t anything he could tell her, nothing about what he actually knew would make any sense. He could let her know the extent of what this really was and how this whole thing came to be, but it just wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.
“I’m just taking it one day at a time. Hoping I make it to see the sun come up tomorrow. That’s it. Getting all worked up about it uses energy I’d rather save to fight those things.” He was lying to her with the best possible intentions.
The woman turned back to watch the trio near the water, but unclenched her hands and relaxed her shoulders. “Have you had to do it?”
He nearly laughed at her ominous delivery. “Do what?”
“Have you had to kill one of those things? My brother said you need to aim for the head or better yet, run.”
Okay, now he might be of some use. Give her something that may actually keep her alive for more than a few days. He could offer some advice without it coming across as if he knew something he shouldn’t. But he also wanted to be sure this wasn’t going to lead to another set of questions.
“I think your brother is right. The only way to make sure that they don’t come back is to shoot them in the head. You can run, and probably should in most situations, but if you find yourself unable to—”
She interrupted, looked like she was having trouble keeping it in. “Are you sure? My brother is always coming up with those conspiracy theory type stories. Some of the things he says make absolutely no sense.”
Something occurred to him that hadn’t before. He quickly scanned the deck and then peered in through the open sliding glass door. “Wait, do you even have anything to protect yourself?”
“Yes, my brother has a few long rifles and a bunch of handguns. He’s given me a few lessons, but I’m still not really comfortable using them.”
On his toes, Gentry attempted to see further into the massive home. “He’s still here, I thought he was leaving last night?”
“No, he wanted to wait to see if his nephew shows up. Said he’d give him until this afternoon. Personally, I think we’d be safer here.”
She was right, they would be safer here, but probably not for all the reasons she was thinking. With the ocean at their backs, they really only needed to watch three sides, and for the last twenty-four hours, the streets leading to the shoreline community were clearer than most. He knew that wouldn’t last, but for now it was something.
“Is your brother still thinking about leaving the city?”
He’d lost her once again. She turned away and started for the other end of the deck, glancing back to see if he was following. “Oh no, there’s even more down there. It looks like they’re coming this way. We need to get inside.”
Gentry took the stairs, crossed the deck, and now stood beside her at the far railing. He squinted into the distance, fighting the late afternoon sun to get a quick head count. “Yeah, that’s a good-sized crowd. But they’re still too far off to know for sure what spooked them. Could be just about anything.”
She moved back, reached for his arm and motioned toward the home. “We should go inside.”
He instinctively pulled back his arm, maybe too aggressively from the look on her face. She didn’t know him, his past, didn’t know what it had taken to get him here. But then again, how could she? “I’m sorry, but you’re right. You should probably get back inside.”
The woman appeared annoyed for second, but then quickly began to nod. “Yes, let’s go. I don’t want to be out here.”
There was movement over his right shoulder. Gentry turned to see the woman’s brother standing near the open slider, his hand resting on the weapon on his hip. He was a large man, probably close to six feet, looked to be somewhere over two-hundred pounds. He wore a blue ball cap, a grey and white track jacket, and black denim.
“Margaret, they’re close, but there’s a problem.”
Her name … Margaret. He wasn’t even close.
She turned from her brother to Gentry and then back to her brother. “Bernard, you remember Mr. Gentry?”
The large man stepped out onto the deck, offered Gentry his hand. “Yes, how ar
e you?” Then without waiting for an answer, turned back to Margaret. “Arlo and his friends are stuck near the highway. I’m going out to help.”
“You’re going? I thought we needed to pack everything up first?”
“I have to get out there, it won’t take but thirty minutes.” He turned to Gentry, looked down at his weapon. “You coming with us?”
Gentry motioned back over his right shoulder. “Think I’m going to ride it out here, at least for the night.”
Bernard stepped inside, reached for Margaret’s hand. “I want you to stay inside, keep the blinds closed, and stay near the radio. I’ll ring you when we’re close. Be ready to go.”
Before following her brother inside, Margaret again glanced back toward the end of the beach. Then back to Gentry she said, “Are you sure?” She forced a smile. “There’s strength in numbers.”
He matched her expression, but shook his head. “I’ll be okay here, got a few things I need to take care of before I move on.”
22
Owen drove the SUV between a pair of concrete barricades and pulled to a stop behind Kevin’s pickup. Reaching for the radio, he lowered his window, and watched the city around him. Scanning the abandoned vehicles that lined the sidewalks, he was looking for movement behind glass doors and windows. Not searching for anything in particular, just allowing his eyes to drift over the area and see if anything jumped out.
Nothing but a slight breeze, the distant wail of a car alarm, and the rapid beating of his own heart.
Before he could turn to her, Natalie reached across the console and rested her hand on his. “He’s going to be alright.”
Owen looked down at the radio, fought the urge to speak first. Instead, he glanced back at his children, offered an even grin, and nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” And then back to Natalie he whispered. “What the hell’s taking so long?”
