by Jeff Olah
Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, Emma again pictured the forgotten city. This time, she imagined it as it had been two weeks ago. Midday, the sun sitting at its highest point in the sky, cascading down through the sparse cloud cover, and warming those who had no idea of what was coming.
She watched through her mind’s eye as men in three-piece suits, left the comfort of their air-conditioned offices, and marched to whatever emergency came next on their overcrowded schedules. The looks on their faces as they stared incessantly into their phones, checked their watches, and shook their heads. Mothers who pushed their children in brightly colored strollers on their way to a lazy afternoon at the beach. Young couples holding hands as they looked into each other’s eyes. Emma knew that these things, these simple everyday occurrences, were now gone forever, along with most everyone she’d ever met. Everyone she’d ever cared about and most likely… everyone she’d ever loved.
“Marcus Goodwin, what did we do?”
“What?”
Emma sat up straight and quickly opened her eyes. She smiled at his reflection, not quite sure how long he’d actually been there, listening.
“Not nice to sneak up on people, especially now.”
Tom rubbed his eyes, walked slowly in bare feet to the opposite side of the table, and sat down. He yawned, scratched his head, and smiled.
“Who’s Marcus Goodman?”
Emma turned to him and smiled. She paused a moment, attempting to determine exactly how much information she wanted to give a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours.
“Goodwin, his name is Marcus Goodwin.”
“And who’s Marcus Goodwin?”
Again she hesitated, this time maybe a bit too long. “He’s my—”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said interrupting. “I didn’t mean to pry. I mean if he was someone special, I’m sure it must be hard for you.”
Her smile grew and she nearly snorted as she began to quietly laugh. But since Tom had started down this road, she guessed that he hadn’t heard her entire statement.
“No, nothing like that.” Continuing to hold a wide grin, she continued, “Just some guy I used to work with.”
Matching her smile, Tom blinked twice and turned to look out into the night. He was curious, but didn’t want to press. He liked her and although he figured she was mildly aware, he didn’t want to assume that they were on the same page.
“So, you make it a habit of just closing your eyes and voicing random co-workers’ names to pass the time? Is this some new kind of stress reliever I wasn’t aware of? Maybe I’ll give it a try.”
Emma also turned toward the city, although she let her eyes drift across the rain speckled window to his reflection. Beginning to speak, she held her tongue. She wanted to tell him, and there really wasn’t a good reason not to, but something inside told her that it wasn’t the right time. That she’d get back to it. That one day soon she’d reveal who she was. Who she really was.
“No, I guess I’m just tired.”
Even as the words were leaving her mouth, Emma knew it was a cop-out. That her answer was almost as bad as telling him the truth. She hated to lie, but she was more afraid of the truth. She quickly dropped her head to her chest and waited.
Instead of responding to her last statement, Tom pointed out through the rain. “So… I have a question for you and I’m pretty sure I already know the answer, but I figured I’d ask anyway. And truth be told, it’s why I came out here to talk to you.”
Emma sat forward. “Okay?”
“How long do you plan on staying here? I mean, I realize you’ve sent a message to your brother and if he makes it here this is where he’ll come, but you do realize the odds of that happening are pretty low?”
Breathing out slowly, Emma tucked her feet beneath her and smiled softly. “I’d like to stay, but I also realize that you have another group you need to get back to. I’m sure they’re probably worried sick about you, so—”
Holding his hand up Tom nodded. “Emma, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I think the time for that ended last week, along with everything else. I like you… a lot. I know you want to stay and I can’t fault you for that. This place is secure, there is plenty of food, we have power for the time being.”
“And,” Emma said.
“And nothing. I say for now we get a good night’s sleep, wake up tomorrow feeling safe for once, and then just take this thing one day at a time. No pressure.”
Emma stood, walked to the other side of the table, and kissed Tom on the top of his head.
“I think I might just like you too.”
103
Dalton’s right shoe was pulled off near the second step, and the left was dangerously close to making the same leap as he was dragged into the G280. Marcus Goodwin now stepped backward into the jet and gave a final tug on the smaller man’s shirt, ripping the fabric from his hands as both men toppled to the floor.
Four quick cracks came from the stairs a fraction of a second before Walter Osborne closed the door and turned toward the cockpit. He was breathing hard, covered in blood and cursed as he dropped the AR-15 on the floor beside the two fallen men.
Pulling himself to stand, Goodwin reached out for the older man as he disappeared into the cockpit. Obviously angered, he quickly turned back to Dalton, who still lay on the floor, and rested his hands on his hips.
“Get up,” Goodwin said, shaking his head.
Dalton was confused. His eyes unable to focus on anything for longer than a few seconds at a time, the younger man coughed twice and rolled onto his side. He spit a mouthful of bile out onto the tan carpet and began to shake as a wave of nausea filled his stomach.
“I SAID GET UP!”
Goodwin moved around to the backside of Dalton and kicked him in the legs. He looked back at the cockpit, dropped his shotgun into the seat to his right, and wiped his face with both hands.
To no one in particular, he said, “We’re going back out there.”
Rushed voices could be overheard from the cockpit as Dalton rolled off the floor and into a sitting position. He pulled up his right pant leg, pulled down his sock and blew out a sigh of relief. He looked up at Goodwin, the nausea in his belly now replaced with anger.
“There are too many of them. This was a bad idea. We need to find another—”
Turning his attention away from the front of the jet, his eyes now wide with anger, Goodwin spat as he spoke. “No there aren’t too many of them. You’re just too scared to do the one thing that you absolutely have to do… save your own life. If we hadn’t turned back for you, you’d be out there on the tarmac in pieces. Food for the monsters that you can’t find the strength to destroy.”
Dalton raised his chin, pushed himself up, and slowly slid into the leather chair at his back. He knew anything he said at this point would just force Goodwin completely over the edge. The man who was responsible for this mess had just referred to his own creation as a monster. Dalton had yet to hear him speak of those infected as anything other than human. It was as if he had a soft spot in his otherwise empty heart for the individuals whose sole focus was feeding on what was left of humanity.
Goodwin’s drastic change in demeanor surprised Dalton. Why was he now so consumed with the destruction of those he initially seemed to have an affinity for? Since the first day of the outbreak, he’d all but called them his children. He looked proud, full of his own bravado. Dalton had expected him to struggle with the act of putting them down, however after the last several minutes out on the airfield, something had evidently changed.
As Walter and Nicholas moved out into the rear cabin, continuing their conversation, Goodwin stepped between the two pilots, held up his hand, and pointed out the window. He moved his eyes from the AR-15 to Walter, and then nodded toward the window.
Taking in a deep breath, Goodwin paused a moment before grabbing the older man’s arm and pulling him toward the exit. “Open the door; you and I are going back out there. W
e’ll do it ourselves.”
Walter yanked his arm back. A look of disgust spread across his face as he stood up tall and turned away from Goodwin. Motioning to his fellow pilot and nodding toward the exterior, he said. “Nicholas, I was right. He has no idea, I bet neither of them do.”
To the dismay of an obviously confused Marcus Goodwin, Nicholas began to grin as he shook his head. He pointed into the cockpit before starting to move away. “I’ll get us prepped. We’re going to need to get back in the air before those things tear this plane apart.”
Still positioned between the two pilots, Goodwin laid one hand on each of their shoulders. Clamping down, he lowered his voice to just above a whisper and spoke slowly. He emphasized each word as if they were the most important that he’d ever spoken.
“Why the hell is this door not open?”
Quickly making eye contact with Nicholas and then turning to Walter and raising a brow, Goodwin said, “I think you know that I don’t need the both of you to fly this thing. Either open the door and get out there, or I’ll open it myself and throw you out.”
Letting his eyes drift away, Walter took a step back. As Goodwin released his grip, the older man motioned toward the cockpit and asked that Goodwin follow. The four men moved quickly through the well-lit interior and stopped at the cockpit door.
Walter stepped aside and allowed Goodwin to enter first. Nicholas fell in behind, and Dalton stood at the back of the pack, attempting to see past the other three men. As Goodwin stepped to the left, he turned to Walter, held out his hand, and narrowed his eyes.
“This had better be good; we don’t have time for this sh—”
Walter leaned in near the co-pilots chair and pointed out through the cockpit windows to the fueling truck beyond. Through the falling snow, the rear of the massive vehicle sat under the light of moon.
“That is our problem,” Walter said.
Following the co-pilot’s line of sight, Goodwin’s nostrils flared as he read the single word spray painted along the side of the fuel tank. He slowly placed his hands together, brought them to his lips, and leaned back against the pilot’s chair.
“Empty?” he said looking at Walter. “Is that for real?”
“Yes, I was trying to get your attention out there. That thing is bone dry.”
“We have any other options? Another fuel truck… maybe another plane?”
Walter shook his head. “This place is a graveyard. We were out of options before we landed here.”
Peering back through the window, Goodwin appeared to be considering their situation. “Who else had access to that truck? I thought—”
“Mr. Goodwin, we don’t have time. At this point, it doesn’t really matter who used that truck. It’s of no use to us anymore, and we’ve now got a much bigger issue.”
“I’m listening.” And he was. Goodwin moved aside and allowed the pilots access to their seats. He was never this accommodating. This agreeable. Maybe he’d finally realized this was one situation he couldn’t control.
“We have to leave right now. Those things have completely overtaken runway number two and there’s just no way to maneuver around them.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We have one shot at this, but our window is closing pretty rapidly. You and Mr. Dalton will need to get back to your seats and buckle in. We’ll try runway number one and hope for the best. It isn’t nearly as crowded, but there are still a handful that we’ll have to deal with.”
The angered look from minutes before reappeared across Goodwin’s face. He gripped the back of the pilot’s chair, leaned in, and spoke quietly.
“We’re going to Vegas.”
Nicholas began guiding the G280 away from the growing horde and without looking back said, “Is that a question?”
“More of a directive; you work for me.”
“Sir, we may not have enough fuel to make Vegas. How about we try Salt Lake City or Provo. I can almost guarantee we make either of those two spots without any trouble.”
Goodwin straightened. But before turning and moving to his seat he said, “The other jet, the one that will take us back home, is waiting in Vegas. Nothing in Utah will do us a damn bit of good. So, do whatever it is that you need to do, but I expect that the next time the two of us speak will be when we touch down in Sin City.”
As the jet began rolling away from the empty fuel truck, Goodwin started back through the rear cabin. He walked quickly and only made eye contact with Dalton as they slipped back into their individual seats. Resting his hands on his knees and leaning forward, Goodwin breathed in through his nose and shook his head.
“Son, you aren’t quite ready for this new world.”
104
Griffin had Ethan by at least two strides. He had forgotten about the skull fracturing headache and the intense pressure building against the back of his eyes. He only briefly acknowledged the third man, now positioned between where he was and where he needed to go. Increasing his speed, he raised his pistol and fired a warning shot. The man dropped his weapon and froze in place.
His heart rate climbed as he sprinted toward the chaos. Partly from the exertion of the gradual incline, but mostly because he was about to watch his friends fall at the hands of the dozen or so Feeders that had exited the gated community. They’d taken Cora to the asphalt and were only seconds from making Frank their second victim.
Five seconds from the action, Griffin’s feet pounded the snow-dusted street as he looked for an opening. Unable to get a clear line of sight, he cursed into the night as his best friend disappeared behind a sea of rabid arms and clenching jaws.
Again raising the pistol, Griffin moved quickly to the driver’s side of the SUV. He rounded the door as Frank now fought with a large Feeder who’d climbed in behind the wheel and clawed at Shannon, who sat one row back.
He searched the pile of bodies and listened for her voice. Two male and two female Feeders climbed over one another as they fought for what lay below. Griffin placed the tip of the barrel against the back of the first male’s head, pulled the trigger and quickly moved to the second. Quickly firing a second and third shot as the beasts continued their assault on Cora, he caught his first glimpse of her body, face down on the asphalt.
As Ethan moved to his side and Frank continued to struggle with the Feeder still half inside the SUV, Griffin straddled the last attacking female and grabbed the back of its head. He gripped a handful of greasy, thick black hair and pulled it away from the woman he’d been with since the world went to hell.
Tossing the ravenous beast aside, Griffin placed his boot on its chest and fired one final shot into the forehead of the dark-haired female. Stepping back, he quickly scanned the area before kneeling next to Cora and placing his hand on her back.
The chaos around him died. The shrieking voices faded. He began to lose sight of the others battling the horde around him. And with each second that passed without the rise and fall of her torso, Griffin drifted further from the moment.
She was still face down and although he’d yet to acknowledge it, Griffin knew she was gone. She’d stopped struggling before he’d pulled the bodies off her, maybe even before he had arrived. He didn’t need to confirm her breathing—the pool of blood running from the massive hole in the back of her neck and the silence of her body told him everything that was left to tell.
He should have been here. He should have never left her side. There was nothing left in this world that was worth the risk of losing her and yet he had. His mind ran back to the moment he’d pulled her from that burning bus just over a week earlier. He remembered what it felt like to touch her for the first time. How she’d dropped her head into his chest, threw her arms around him, and told him just how bad he smelled.
He couldn’t go back. There would be no time to regret his decision to leave her. The pain of losing her would remain, and as Ethan shouted into his ear, Griffin was at ease with that. He never wanted this feeling of loss to subside, he needed
it. It would be what kept her here with him.
As he began to sink deeper, Ethan’s voice pulled him back.
“GET UP!”
Griffin slouched, his knees giving way. He dropped his weapon at his side, and leaned into her body. Her hair still held the scent of a warm spring afternoon, but had begun to relent to the sharp acrid stench of copper as he slid his arms below her waist, hoisted her onto his shoulder, and stood.
Ethan came again.
“GRIFFIN! SHE’S GONE… WE NEED YOU!”
Large tears formed in both eyes as he began to cry. They ran down his face in thick strands, before falling to his neck and absorbing into his collar. The throbbing in his head gave way to a clarity he wasn’t sure he completely understood. Griffin carried her lifeless body to the far sidewalk, away from the mayhem and laid her in the damp underbrush.
Her lifeless face was untouched, although the blood running from her neck and the milky white haze clouding her blue eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was gone, but in the next few minutes, maybe as long as an hour from now, she’d return… as one of them. He owed it to her to not let that happen.
Reaching into his front pocket, he retrieved a small folding knife. He cradled her head against his chest and leaned in close. Time was slipping away and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to bring her back. Swallowing hard, his throat swelled with emotion. There were many things he wanted to say, so many things he wished he’d said, although at present he was only able to manage three words as he drove the three-inch blade into the back of her skull.
“Cora, I’m sorry.”
There was nothing else to add. Anything more would have been for him, not her. She deserved better than this. More than he could give her in the time he had. There were others who needed him, and through the shouts of panic and cries for help, he would remain calm. For her… for them.
Ethan continued to shout in his direction as Griffin hugged Cora, kissed her forehead, and turned away. Standing, he slowly began to return to their world. He had six friends who still needed him here, and a lone figure to his left who Griffin no longer felt the need to kill.
