by Jeff Olah
As the door to the hanger slammed shut, Emma dropped her phone into her bag and turned toward the exit. He came through with the same exaggerated stride as earlier, although he was different. Much different.
Moving quickly to the second jet at the far end of the open air hanger, Marcus Goodwin spoke quickly to the unidentified man at his side. As Emma tossed her bag over her shoulder and started at a right angle toward the jet, he didn’t appear to notice her existence.
“Mr. Goodwin, are we—”
He didn’t acknowledge her; instead, he turned to the much smaller man who trailed by at least two paces and pointed at his plane. “James, let the pilot know that we need to be in the air within five minutes. I don’t want to hear any excuses. Once airborne, I need you to gain access to the offices and make sure we're ready. The next few days are going to be interesting.”
As the smaller man moved away, Emma hurried to Goodwin’s side. “Sir, what are we doing here? Do I need to begin—”
Stopping at the stairs to the second jet, Goodwin finally turned and acknowledged her. “I’m leaving.”
“We’re leaving … right?”
“Yes and no. I’m leaving in this plane and going back to the office. I’ve got a few things to take care of in the coming days, and will come for you when the time is right.”
“Wait,” Emma said. “What do you mean come for me? I thought I was leaving as well.”
“You are; however, you’re getting on that other jet and going home—to your house. I have arranged for a private security team to stay with you until I’m able to bring you to a safe place. I don’t have time to go through everything right now, although I want you to—”
“Safe place?” Emma’s mouth went dry and as her knees began to falter, she questioned the cause. Was it from the punishing exhaustion brought on by her lack of sleep, or this new look of desperation poisoning Goodwin’s expression? She was willing to bet every penny she’d earned over the last year that it was the former. The man standing less than two feet away had little use for such emotion.
Pulling out his phone as it again interrupted their conversation, Goodwin peered into the display and continued. “You haven’t seen the news tonight?”
“No, why?”
“I’ll have someone brief you on your flight back to Los Angeles. Just get home and stay put; I’ll be in contact.” Goodwin turned and quickly made his way into the plane, the door closing behind him.
Walking back to the idling jet reserved only for her, Emma withdrew her phone, keyed in her four character pass code and began checking her social media feed. Now stopped at the foot of the steps, she leaned into the railing and tried to ignore the icy tendrils climbing up her spine. “What. The. Hell?”
Early winter, approaching sunset…
Standing with his back to the wall, Ethan Runner wasn’t yet ready to end his best friend’s life.
The weapon hung loosely in his left hand. It was heavier than he remembered and now felt a bit awkward. Turning to the others, he said, “I can’t do this.”
No one said a word. Avoiding his gaze, the others had already made up their minds. They were done negotiating.
Shaking his head, he slowly raised the nine millimeter and placed it against David’s temple. He’d run out of excuses for not doing what these people had demanded and the decision was no longer his to make. The four remaining survivors backed tightly into the rear of the vault had to take priority, and his best friend—were he still able—would have agreed.
Scanning the room, every expectant eye now focused elsewhere—the group had spoken. They not only wanted him to end what was left of his friend’s life, they were also asking that Ethan do it now, before it was too late. Some were scared and a few had just run out of patience. The group already made it extremely clear how they felt, and given the fact that this was for the most part his idea, he had a hard time disagreeing.
Back to his friend, he stepped to the left and again checked the restraint. A five-foot section of audio cable tied around David’s wrists didn’t offer much in the way of security. He knew that. If what was happening out in the streets were to take hold of his friend, there would be little he or anyone else could do to stop what was coming.
“Do it! You know what’s happening to him—just do it. You’re putting everyone at risk.” The outspoken drifter was finally putting a voice to what the group wanted to say.
Ethan didn’t respond.
“Give me the gun, I’ll do it.” Mr. Outspoken, again living up to his moniker, couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Placing him at just shy of forty years old, his overly muscled frame and a month’s worth of facial hair fit his exaggerated personality perfectly. Since entering the vault behind the two bank employees and pulling the door shut, he had yet to let up.
Ethan turned to the casually dressed man as his friend began to pull away. “Last time, keep quiet! You’re the reason we’re stuck in here. I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Oh yeah I forgot, you’re the big shot with the uniform and the badge. So tell me, what’s your plan—huh?”
Ethan began to answer, but was cut short as the man continued. “You do realize that I just followed you and the others in here. And with those—those things outside the door, you’re all real lucky I even thought to shut it behind us. If I hadn’t, you’d all be dead or worse,” Mr. Outspoken said, pointing at David. “You’d be just like him.”
Turning away, he again focused on his friend. Sliding the pistol to David’s forehead, he dropped to one knee, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him in tight. “You don’t deserve this. It should’ve been me.” Ethan leaned in and placed his mouth just outside his friend’s bloodstained ear. “I will get to Carly. I will get her somewhere safe. I promise you that.”
His friend’s body began to go rigid. Ethan felt David beginning to struggle. Leaning away and starting to stand, what little remained of his friend was now gone. The wounds along his right triceps oozed a yellowish-orange fluid that leaked out into the pool of coagulated blood surrounding their feet.
Peering into David’s eyes, they were nearly unrecognizable as human. His once sapphire-blue eyes had faded into something just shy of translucent and were now obscured by a milky white haze. What lay behind the thick film was no longer the man with whom Ethan had spent the better part of his life. The fragments of his friend that still remained were quickly losing the battle with what had taken hold.
Beginning to growl, the beast now inching toward Ethan wore his friend’s face, but most certainly was not him. Tugging at his makeshift restraints, the thing that David had become fought to free itself as the group collectively took a step back. Twisting against the weakened audio cable, his left arm, the less injured of the two, gave way.
The ensuing sound of bone on bone reverberated through the cramped vault. However, the realization that his friend had just broken his own arm in an attempt to free himself hung in the air with a bit more weight. What appeared to put an exclamation on the moment was the fact that David hadn’t even flinched. Not in the slightest. He didn’t look at the injury and only stared across the room at the five unbelieving individuals.
Turning from the others as he again raised the weapon, Ethan heard their gasps only just before he realized his friend was loose. With his hands now free, David shot forward as if out of a cannon. He slammed face-first into Ethan’s chest, sending both men to the blood-soaked concrete floor, and Ethan’s nine millimeter sliding into the corner.
Shielding himself from David’s snapping jaws, Ethan drew his legs back into his chest and kicked straight up. He drove what used to be his friend’s body back into the row of safety deposit boxes and twisted right in hopes of retrieving the weapon he’d just dropped. No luck—the only thing in his inverted field of view were the men and women now scrambling to either side.
As Ethan slid up and onto his knees, scanning the vault for his weapon, David shot forward yet again. Reflexively turning away, Ethan
held out his right hand in hopes of deflecting the initial blow. He expected to be hit dead on and assumed that shortly following the collision he’d be flat on his back yet again. He envisioned his own demise, his friend tearing him apart without even the most remote chance of defending himself. This is where his life would end.
Clenching his jaw, he twisted to the right as David lunged forward yet again. The two bodies slammed into one another like wet bags of sand, sending Ethan back and into the bottom row of safety deposit boxes, the top of his head making contact first. Blinking through the pain, he attempted to draw in a deep breath and failed. This was it.
As his friend climbed on top and inched his way toward Ethan’s face, his vision began to fade. Next, the low buzz in his ears told him that unconsciousness was not far off and if he hoped to walk out of the bank alive, he had to take some sort of action, only his arms were pinned to the floor below.
With David clawing his way up onto his chest, Ethan was only able to get glimpses of the battle he was losing. In between the shouts and screams, his mind waded in the shadows until it finally gave up. The last image to flash through his narrowed field of vision was the nine millimeter he’d held to his friend’s head only moments before, and the glint of the barrel.
Eleven hours earlier…
After what Ethan had subjected himself to the prior night, no amount of sleep would have been sufficient to completely erase the damage. With his head placed ever so gently atop the costly memory-foam pillow, he could feel every individual hair on his head begging for mercy. He now regretted not downing the two glasses of water he was offered in between drinks.
Sliding his hand along the right side of the bed, and finally locating his phone, Ethan winced as he cracked his eyelids. Pulling the phone to his face, it cried out for the fourth time. Rolling onto his side, he silenced the phone and shoved it under the pillow. His alarm was always an unwelcome stranger, although this morning it came much too soon.
Out from under the warmth provided by his patchwork comforter, Ethan slowly dropped his legs over the side of the bed and placed his fingers against his eyes. Attempting to rub away the pain, he instinctively pulled back. The jackhammer working the inside of his skull had now decided it was time to turn up the intensity.
“Okay, that’s not gonna work.”
Pushing to stand, Ethan closed his eyes and waited as the room slowed its spin to a level that allowed him to start making forward progress. Driving his middle fingers into his temples somewhat made the trek to the kitchen a bit more bearable; however, in crossing the room and slamming his big toe into the forward bedpost, he stumbled into the door frame.
Speaking only to the gods of karma, he said, “Seriously? If this is what you’re giving me, I’m goin’ back to bed.”
Taking a breath and peering out into the living room, he knew something was off. Daylight savings time had ended over a month ago, but that wasn’t it. The absence of light seemed odd as he’d awoken at the same time every weekday for the last six months. He wasn’t dreaming, or so he thought, although in his current condition there were no absolutes.
Accustomed to his new morning ritual, Ethan started for the light switch, and before noticing the time on the backlit desk clock, his attention was pulled back into his bedroom. The woman’s scream from outside his bedroom window now fought for attention as his phone begged to be heard. Did the scream truly exist or was the unsettling sound just a memory? Again, he was at the mercy of too many tequilas from the night before.
Glancing into the kitchen before turning and walking back to his room, Ethan was satisfied that at least his humble apartment hadn’t suffered the usual carnage. Following the kind of night he and his co-worker usually had, he wasn’t ever sure exactly what, or for that matter who, he’d find.
The smile on his face for not having destroyed anything within reach was short lived as his phone fired off its second call for attention. Shuffling the last three feet to the bed and falling face-first toward the ringing, Ethan inadvertently pushed his phone off the left side of the bed, silencing his nemesis. “Thank you.”
Rolling onto his back, he reached toward the headboard, pulled his pillow back under his head, and closed his eyes.
Another scream, this time followed by a cry for help.
Ethan leaned onto his right side and craned his neck, attempting to get a glimpse of the commotion without actually leaving his bed. No such luck. All he was able to see were the distant street lamps and the glow they filtered into the night air. The city below would have to remain a mystery, at least for now.
“Do not get involved,” he said to himself. “Do. Not. Get involved Ethan, you’ll get out of bed and go to that window and if you see something, it’ll be too late. You'll be in it. So, just lay here and don't move. In your condition, even if you did try to help these people, you’d probably just screw things up. Just stay here.”
Back to his pillow for another sixty seconds, he lay motionless with his eyes closed, praying that whatever turmoil had begun outside his usually tranquil apartment building had concluded. “Probably the Burkharts having another one of their late night discussions. If I had a nickel for every time those two lost their minds this past year, I’d be rich—and finally able to get the hell out of this town.”
With little doubt that his defeated body could do with another few hours of sleep, and still unsure of the exact time, his head was spinning. Remembering his phone still lay on the floor, Ethan rolled over and picked it up. Hitting the home button, he stared into the lighted display and shook his head at the three missed calls from his sister. “Emma.”
His attention moving to the top and then right corner of the screen, he made a note of the time and the fact that he was left with only a one percent charge. Quickly pulling up the clock app and confirming that his alarm was still set, Ethan said. “What in the hell is so important at four a.m.?”
Placing his phone on the nightstand and plugging it in, he raked his hand through his dense, black mop of hair and gave into his curiosity. Again sliding out of bed, he moved to the window and pulled back the partially opened shade.
The first silhouetted figure moved quickly toward the area between the two apartment buildings and out of sight as Ethan caught a glimpse of the second. It moved much slower and if his sleep-deprived vision could be trusted, owned a considerable limp. “This is new.”
As the second individual also disappeared into the blank space, Ethan turned from the window and drew the shades. Pulling off his tee-shirt, he tossed it to the ground, pulled back the comforter, and climbed back into bed. “Don’t those idiots realize some people have to work in the morning?”
Lying flat on his back, eyes closed and counting backward from one hundred as he drew in each new breath, Ethan focused only on welcoming the warm embrace of sleep. The mild pounding at the back of his head had an altogether different plan, and a slight advantage for keeping his attention.
“Seventy-five…” Also attempting to keep his mind from running through the possible scenarios playing out between the two obvious drunks outside his window, he continued his countdown.
“Forty-eight…” He’d usually never make it to sixty and as cloudy as his brain was rolling into bed a few hours ago, it amazed him that he’d awoken at all.
Out in the alley, the woman’s voice returned. Only this time there were no cries for help, no frantic screaming. The only thing that remained were the bitter sobs usually indicating the conclusion of a night she’d surely regret.
As Ethan began to drift off, he doubted the next morning would be any kinder to him than it would be to the woman less than a hundred yards from his bedroom window.
Continue with the story here…
Sneak peek of The Dead Years
No one knew how or where it all began. There were only rumors at first, spreading from one city to another. The infection took hold quickly. Many that became victims of the first wave were caught off guard by the unusual behavior of those
infected. Millions perished with each day that passed and the number of survivors continued to dwindle as they desperately searched for places free of this hell.
The devastation was almost immediate. Law enforcement fell, utilities powered down and civilization was shattered within the first few weeks. With no structure left in the world, the few remaining sought to band together to fight and survive in this new existence.
They had no other choice …
Mason looked out over the floor in between sets and was somewhat caught off guard, and also a little amused as one of his favorite songs from high school started up through his headphones. He hadn’t heard this for quite some time and figured his phone must be cycling through the deep reaches of his enormous playlist.
Just as the chorus set in, the music muted, signaling a call was coming through. Mason pulled the phone from his pocket to check who was calling. “April,” he said aloud. He figured there must be something else she needed to harass him about and he wasn’t going to ruin another workout just to satisfy her need to belittle him. He hit decline and lay back on the floor for another set of crunches.
Mason ran through his next set like a man on fire and lost all focus on the world around him. He often used his outside frustrations to fuel his high intensity workouts in the gym. This proved to be an effective tool in that he was able to push off his problems and at the same time get into top shape. The downside to all this was that his workouts, coupled with the time spent training clients, fueled the fire that resulted in his and April’s separation three months ago.
Rolling forward and standing from his final set, Mason was surprised to see the weight room almost empty. He turned and noticed at least thirty people gathered outside the owner’s office and as he got closer, he saw there was at least half that amount inside the office.
