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

by Jeff Olah

  Instead, Owen simply nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  Paul didn’t respond or even acknowledge Owen’s lukewarm attempt at offering an olive branch. He went back to work, now carefully pulling away saturated pieces of fabric from Kevin’s arm and neck. “Wait.”

  Owen was moving into the hall, but stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

  “Not you.” He motioned toward Travis. “You, you’re staying.”

  Travis shook his head. “I don’t think so, this isn’t my problem.”

  Paul continued to work. “You brought them here, so they’re your problem until they leave. And don’t screw with me, you should know better.”

  Travis rolled his neck, appeared to be thinking it over. He looked to Owen at the door, and then to Kevin on the desk. “I’ll help you get him right, but then I’m gone.”

  Paul chuckled. “Once we’re done, you do whatever it is you need to do. But for now, I’m gonna need you to get your ass over here and help me save this man.”

  25

  He let the sat phone ring three times before he even turned toward the sound. Gentry stared at Margaret and she stared back. Neither one blinking nor looking like they had any idea what to say to the other. She would have questions, lots of questions. And although he was grossly unprepared to answer, he may not get another chance at this. But he also didn’t have a choice.

  “You have a phone that works?” Her face was balled into a mess of disbelief and mistrust.

  He started toward the sofa, but spoke to her as he walked. “Well, yes. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  She followed him. “The lines around here went down the first day, and my cell hasn’t had a signal in the last seven days. What carrier are you with?”

  Okay, she really wasn’t getting it.

  Gentry leaned over the back of the sofa, pausing as he stared at the display. It was the number he dialed, although it could have been anyone on the other end of the line. Well, almost anyone. Goodwin’s team back at Headquarters numbered in the hundreds before the world went to hell, but now he could only imagine who’d be left to pick up the pieces.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Margaret started toward him.

  He held up his hand and motioned toward the kitchen. “I need to take this in the other room, can you give me a few minutes?”

  She still looked puzzled. He wasn’t sure whether she was stuck on the fact that he had a phone that worked or because he didn’t seem surprised to be receiving a call. Either way, he’d have a bit of explaining to do, but first …

  As Margaret turned and slowly drifted back toward the kitchen, Gentry keyed the talk button and placed it against his ear. He just listened for a few seconds, waiting to see if whoever had dialed him back would speak first. Nothing but the faint sound of static and low breath sounds for a count of three.

  It certainly wasn’t Goodwin, his lack of impulse control wouldn’t have allowed him to wait even a single second. And although he didn’t like walking into the unknown, he knew he had already taken the first step.

  Gentry returned to the office, closed the door, and took a seat behind the desk. And as he slipped down into the high-backed ergonomic chair, he sat up straight and planted his feet squarely on the floor. “Hello?”

  It was only one word, but he felt as though he had just revealed everything. Like he was running naked down the center of a crowded parade route, filled with every single person he’d ever known. It was remarkably intense, but also somehow satisfying all at the same time.

  “Daniels?”

  He couldn’t place the voice, but it was familiar. “No.”

  “Dalton?”

  The name caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting anything beyond the obvious and would never have thought that he and James Dalton sounded even remotely alike. There must be something he was missing.

  “No.”

  “Then who is this?”

  Gentry waited. He was hoping he could get a read on exactly who it was before deciding what to do next, and if he even wanted to continue the conversation.

  The man breathed out into the phone. “You still there?”

  Gentry turned in the chair. He looked toward the window, switching the phone to his other ear before responding. “Yes, I’m here.” And after a few seconds of nothing, he decided to take one more step. “Who is this?”

  The man’s voice shot from the phone, not a second after his own. “Wait … is this … no, no way. Is this … is this Dr. Gentry?”

  He didn’t respond, was caught off guard.

  “Dr. Gentry, it’s Billy.”

  The voice was more familiar now—warm, engaging—like that of an old high school friend. However, he still couldn’t place it. “Billy?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sorry. It’s William, William Block.”

  It made sense. There would have been more than a few who decided to stay around after the initial outbreak. Those without family. Those without the ability or the mental fortitude to protect themselves. Those just waiting for Goodwin to lower the gates of the castle and close off access to the rest of the world.

  If he remembered correctly, the small man with the big teeth and the thinning head of red hair worked two floors above him. Research and Development was one of the more profitable divisions of BXF Technologies—and as such—afforded certain privileges. So, the fact that William Block had access to the satellite phone certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  “William, are you okay?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “For the moment …” There was a pause, it sounded as though William had pulled the phone away from his face. And then he was back. “Anton and Frank left a few hours ago; I haven’t seen them since.”

  “You still in the building?”

  “Yeah, up in Dalton’s office, just waiting for word back from …” The younger man’s voice trailed off, sounded unsure if he should continue.

  Gentry started to respond, but was tripped up as the office door over his shoulder slowly began to open. He could hear Margaret’s light footfalls patting the carpet as she took two hesitant steps into the room and stopped six feet from the desk.

  He glanced back at her, noticing the pink in her cheeks and the single tear rolling from the corner of her left eye. Deciding not to make it an issue and realizing he may well pay for it later, he kept his focus on the call.

  “Who, who are you waiting to hear from, Goodwin?”

  There was two seconds of nothing and then, “No … well yes. I mean no, I’m waiting for Douglas to come back. They’re saying that Goodwin is gone.”

  The words initially hit him like a two-hundred-seventy pound linebacker—what that would mean and how it would change the course of absolutely everything. But as he allowed the scenarios to begin to play out in his mind, he let out a short laugh and shook his head.

  “Goodwin gone? Yeah, I don’t think any of us would be that lucky. That man’s going to outlive each and every one of us, including the cockroaches.”

  William was quiet for a few seconds, like he was having trouble deciding how to respond, but then came right back. “His plane went down in Vegas. No one’s been able to reach him.”

  He shook his head again, this time twisting back in the chair and facing Margaret. He motioned toward the recliner in the corner of the room and offered a friendly smile. As she started toward the chair, Gentry pulled the phone away for a second and peered at the display.

  “Okay, what about the others?”

  “Others?”

  “Dalton, Jefferson, Declan, Team Six?”

  “Declan is somewhere in the city, the others haven’t checked in. Why, where are you, with Major Daniels?”

  He ignored the question, and even though he knew the entire call may have been a mistake, there was still one of his own that he needed to ask. It was the only reason he picked up the phone at all. He didn’t like his chances, but this was the only way. “Na
talie Mercer, has there been any info on her or where she might have gone?”

  William’s voice came in over his own. “I have to go, they’re coming back.”

  “No, wait.”

  The former R&D tech dropped his voice, sounded as though he was pushing the phone into the side of his face. “She’s in the city as well, but Goodwin wanted her brought in. I think Declan is still out there looking for her.”

  26

  Owen didn’t remember drifting off. He slowly opened his eyes and felt a twinge of pain in his lower back. One that he recognized. Not necessarily painful, but it told him that he’d been in the same hunched position for far too long. Rolling his shoulders from front to back and dipping his chin to his chest, he scanned the room and found that he was alone.

  For a brief instant, alarm bells went off in his head. He sat still, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him, the darks thoughts attempting to force their way in. He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes.

  “Kevin …” His voice came out in a whisper, a reminder to stay focused on the why rather than what-ifs. “Get up, go find the others.”

  Owen brought his knees to his chest, slowly stretched his lower back, and pushed away from the cheap, economy grade carpeting. Turning to the windows at the far end of the room, there were voices. Some familiar, others only vaguely so.

  He took a quick look back toward the door, then crossed the office. And as they came into view, he remembered. His wife, his daughter, and his son. They sat with the others in an oversized conference room—at a table that looked like it was built from a redwood the size of a small house. They were eating with their hands and laughing like they had forgotten where they were. Or when they were.

  On the opposite side of the table, Cookie, Harper, and Lucas sat beside two boys whom Owen didn’t recognize. One looked to be the same age as Noah and the other maybe a few years older than Ava. They ate with their heads down and only looked up when spoken to directly.

  From the corner of his periphery, a woman walked into the oversized conference room. Five-feet-four would have been his guess, just barely over one-hundred pounds. She wore a white long-sleeved t-shirt, black jeans, and carried a basket that was filled with plastic water bottles. Her face bore the same dead-eyed expression as the boys, avoiding eye contact as she moved around the massive table passing out the water.

  When the woman finished, she set the basket at the end of the table and started toward an empty seat. When she looked across the room, she spotted Owen staring back and froze. There were a few seconds where neither blinked nor looked away, and then Natalie noticed the woman stopped between two chairs.

  Owen began to smile. He didn't necessarily have a reason, it just happened. He looked into Natalie’s eyes, then at her face, her hair, her lips, and finally at her as a whole, as if he was seeing her through a high powered lens and had started to pull into a wide shot.

  She smiled back, wider than he could ever recall, her entire face lighting up with emotion. The room seemed to fall away behind her, like everything else had been temporarily blurred. Like he needed to hold his breath and savor each second.

  Owen placed his left hand on the window, and although the others had also turned and now noticed him, he continued to hold his wife’s gaze as he mouthed, “I love you.”

  Natalie slipped out of her chair, stood, and as the woman in the white long-sleeved t-shirt finally took a seat, she waved him over.

  He followed the sounds of laughter and muffled voices through the partially lit hall. Through the doorway and turning the corner, Noah stood beside Zeus waving his hands above his head. “Dad, over here.”

  He lifted his son off his feet and hugged him. “Hey buddy, you okay?” At nine years old, it was probably the first time he’d done that in the last five years, and while a bit awkward, he didn’t care.

  “Yeah,” Noah said as he wriggled free. “They even have chocolate chip cookies. I saved a bag for you.”

  “You mean to tell me that you were able to keep them from your mother the whole time? I. Am. Impressed.”

  Behind Noah, and just a few feet into the room, Ava stood side by side with Lucas. The image disturbed him on some level, although he was more delighted by the fact that they were still in one piece than whatever their friendship had morphed into.

  Owen hugged his daughter with one arm and kissed her on the forehead, before patting Lucas on the shoulder. He moved by them, offered the others a quick nod, and wrapped Natalie in his arms. She pulled him in tight, squeezing so hard he could feel his ribs giving under the pressure.

  Leaning in, Owen dropped his head next to hers. He kissed her cheek, lingering as he took in the sweet scent of her hair. “You smell like …”

  Pausing a bit longer than he should have, Natalie pulled her head back, meeting his eyes. “I smell like what?”

  He grinned, whispering only to her, “You smell like … like I remember.”

  Natalie shook her head, returned his sappy smile, and turned back to the table. “Owen,” she motioned toward the woman seated near the two boys. “This is Arlene, Paul’s wife, and their two sons, Timothy and Cade.”

  Owen didn’t know where to begin or how to properly convey his gratitude. The only way to do it is to just do it. “Nice to meet you all, and I don’t think I need to tell you how much my family here appreciates everything you’ve done.”

  Before he could expand, the woman he now knew as Arlene raised her head, slid her chair back a few inches, and folded her hands in her lap. “We’re just happy to be able to help.”

  He wondered if she knew about the deal her husband had made in exchange for that help. “We’re gonna make it up to you and your family, I promise you that.”

  She turned to her older boy and then to his brother. Neither looked up from the table. “Our family’s been through a whole lot. We haven’t met many good people since everything changed. We’re just trying to do what’s right and keep each other safe.” She looked around the table. “Just like you and your friends.”

  “Again,” Owen said, “I can’t thank you enough for everything. Once my friend is up and about, we’ll get out of your hair.”

  Arlene nodded, slowly looking past him and out into the hall. A second later, there were hurried footsteps from somewhere outside the room. “Owen.”

  Turning back, he started toward the door as Travis appeared. Out of breath and shrouded in blood from neck to waist, the man he’d known less than a day looked around the room and paused at Owen.

  “It’s your friend.”

  There was a hint of desperation in Travis’s tone that gave Owen hope. He wouldn’t have rushed in, wouldn’t have started that way if Kevin were beyond help. No, this was a plea.

  “What is it?”

  Travis glanced back into the hall. “He’s awake, but we’re going to need your help.”

  27

  Owen entered the room behind Travis. He wasn’t given any details, and his mind had already begun to draw the pictures he was trying to avoid imagining. Kevin lay in the same position as earlier, but now his legs were drawn up and he was clutching Paul’s right arm, just above the wrist.

  “Good,” Paul said. “Your friend’s as strong as an ox. I’m gonna need you for this next part.”

  Kevin continued to hold Paul’s arm, but turned toward Owen, his eyes as red as blood. “What the hell is this?” His voice came out thick, heavy. Sounded like needed to spit. “Who are they?”

  Owen moved to the desk, offered Kevin his hand. His friend just looked at it, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, like it was a gesture he hadn’t seen before this very moment. And as he slowly released his grip and relaxed his legs, his face went white and his eyes drifted toward the top of his head.

  Paul kept his hand over the wound on Kevin’s shoulder. “Good, I was hoping he’d go out again.”

  Owen started around the desk, the images that were holding him back quickly fading. “What did you say?”


  “This next part.” Paul motioned him over. “Is going to be a whole lot easier without him fighting us.”

  Travis moved to Kevin’s legs, pulled them straight, and then pinning them to the desk, regarded Paul with a short nod. “Okay.”

  “Wait, what is this? Why do you need—”

  “No time,” Paul said. “We gotta get this done, right now.”

  Owen looked to Travis, maybe he wanted a second opinion. Or maybe he was just looking for some answers. He didn’t feel ready for whatever this was, but in turning back to his friend, he understood that it wasn’t about what he wanted. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Like I said,” Paul reached for a plastic tray, setting it on the desk beside Kevin’s left leg. “Your friend is strong, too strong for me to hold down and suture the wound at the same time. You’re gonna hold down his upper body so I can get this done right.”

  Owen moved in over Kevin’s head, placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, and turned to Paul. “Thank you.”

  The older man took a half step back and pulled a thick mound of gauze away from the wound. It was clean, impressively so, only a thin red line ran from the grape-sized hole in to Kevin’s armpit.

  “Don’t thank me just yet, this ain’t over.” Paul emptied the clear liquid from the plastic dish, gave a count of seven, and pulled out a pair of needle drivers. He used the stainless-steel instrument to grip a suture needle that had a length of tan absorbable suture running from the end. “Make sure his shoulders don’t come off the desk, not even an inch. And I prefer you look away. I’ll let you know when I’m done. Before that, you just focus on keeping your friend still.”

  Owen was already turned away, his eyes peering down at Kevin’s face. “Okay.”

  Six feet away, Travis locked down on Kevin’s ankles. “Let’s go.”

  Then Owen’s whole world slowed to a crawl.