The Last Outbreak- The Complete Box Set

by Jeff Olah

  Further on, he spotted a trio of displaced Feeders, the first he’s seen since coming into town. They lumbered along the sidewalk, not heading in any specific direction. As he waited for a count of five, another seven walked out from behind a small convenience store. And just before turning away, he caught a glimpse of another Feeder that had just one leg. It slowly dragged itself toward the street and appeared to growl at its more agile friends.

  With a good idea of how the rest of the city may have fared, Ethan looked down the long boulevard to an area that appeared somewhat untouched. He and the others would still have to get through the maze of destruction that was Las Vegas Boulevard; however, he desperately needed sleep. And if there were a bed somewhere in this town that he could get to without being shot, burned, or eaten alive, he’d do whatever it took to find it.

  Returning to the SUV, Ethan leaned inside. The others were already staring back at him. He wasn’t sure what their reaction would be after ignoring them for over three hours, but at this point, it no longer mattered. They needed to get somewhere safe before the night came and the time for that was quickly escaping.

  Gathering his thoughts, Ethan pointed back toward the street.

  “I don’t really know the area, but for the next mile or so it’s not very pretty. We’ll get through without any problems, only a few of those things out there, but after that, there’s a casino or hotel or whatever that looks okay.”

  Griffin brushed the cereal flakes from his shirt and sat up straight. “Okay, what does that mean?”

  “I guess we’ll see when we get down there.”

  Navigating the maze of discarded luxury vehicles, overturned dumpsters, uprooted palm trees, and the many, many lifeless bodies along Las Vegas Boulevard, Ethan focused on the driveway just before West Baltimore Avenue. Turning in and following the far left lane to where it ended at the valet stand, he left the engine running and opened the windows.

  Taking a quick look around the empty lot, Ethan waited and listened. Over his right shoulder, he spoke under his breath to the others, “Let’s give it a few minutes to see what we see. It’s going to be dark soon and this is a big place. We won’t be able to search the entire building, so for now, we’ll get one floor secured and go from there.”

  A full five minutes later, Ethan and Griffin had cleared the area around the entrance and slipped quietly into the lobby of the resort. Weapons drawn, the men jogged through the mostly untouched main floor. Attempting to draw out any hidden Feeders, they shook the handles of random slot machines and tossed hundred dollar chips into the hall leading to the elevators.

  Nothing… other than the hurried footfalls of the two men.

  Outside, Frank waited, keys in hand at the SUV. He stood at the open driver’s door and communicated with Shannon as they waited for their friends to return. The others gathered what they could, filling five plastic bags with the snacks and toiletries they’d taken from the hotel and stared with hopeful eyes at the bank of gold-rimmed glass doors.

  Another ten minutes and as the sun buried itself behind the Spring Mountains, Ethan and Griffin emerged from the darkened luxury hotel. They were out of breath and waving the others out of the SUV. Ethan moved quickly to the rear passenger door and offered his arm to his mother as she stepped out onto the pavement.

  “You’re going to be safe here.”

  His mother looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “We’re going to be safe here.”

  “Yes,” Ethan said, “we’re all going to be safe here.”

  135

  West Coast - Day Twelve…

  Emma had sat with Tom in the same room for the last three days, her head now pounding from the absolute boredom. She could feel her mind and her body slowly beginning to atrophy. She ate and drank sparingly, only crawling out into the hall a few times each day to stretch her aching limbs. Pushing back into the corner of the suite, pulling her legs into her chest, and gazing sideways at the window, the plan Cedric had laid out no longer made sense.

  She and Tom had done exactly as Cedric had asked. Radio on at sunset and off at sunrise. Their bags were always packed and they’d stayed out of sight. But as the minutes turned to hours and the hours turned to days, the chatter from Cedric’s radio had all but fallen off.

  The staged conversations between Cedric and Veronica could be heard intermittently over the first forty-eight hours; however, last night was more quiet than usual. Cedric had checked in from both ends of the building, reported the locations and movement of the various hordes, and only waited for his wife to confirm. Two quick bursts of static filtered through the radio and then they were gone.

  That was more than twelve hours ago, and Emma knew that something had to have gone wrong. “Tom,” she said, “why can’t we just leave? Why not just take the stairs to the garage and walk out?”

  “Really, you don’t think that Blake has someone watching every exit?”

  “There’s no way he can see everything, not all the time.”

  “I guess we could try, but you know what Blake would do to us, as well as Cedric and his family, if we’re caught.”

  “No, I really don’t. For all we know, he wouldn’t do a damn thing.”

  “Emma, you’re getting stir crazy. Let’s give it at least until tonight. If we don’t hear from Cedric or Veronica before then, we’ll make our own plan to get out of here.”

  She didn’t like that. Emma needed something more concrete. Cedric’s instructions from three days ago were too vague. They left too many questions. And without a way to ask, she was left with nothing but her own, less than rational thoughts.

  “We don’t have a weapon.”

  “No,” Tom said, “the revolver was empty. It’s still in my bag, but it’s not going to do us any good.”

  “So, leaving on our own isn’t going to work.”

  Tom shook his head. “Probably not. But we also have to think that since we didn’t hear much from Cedric last night, maybe Blake has moved on. Maybe he found something else to focus on.”

  “Then why hasn’t Cedric come for us? Why are we still up here waiting for… for… I don’t even know what?”

  Tom looked toward the hall before answering her. He closed his eyes and appeared to be listening to something. He held up his right index finger and after a short awkward moment, he turned back. “Did you hear something?”

  “Other than my own voice?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I know you want out of here, and so do I, but there’s just too much—”

  “Too much what?” Her face was red. It was frustration. It was anger. It was confusion. It was all of those things and more. She had something she needed to say to him, but didn’t have the right words. Although, she thought, maybe the wrong words were exactly what Tom needed to hear. And when he didn’t respond, she took a chance.

  “Tom, I need you.”

  “Yes, I’m here for you, Emma.”

  She took a deep breath. “No Tom, I need the real you. The one that saw me hiding in the garage and decided that I was worth the trouble. The one that pulled me out of there and saved my life. That’s the person I need. And I’m sorry, but you haven’t been that person since Cedric and his son carried you into this building. Without you, the real you, I’m afraid neither of us is getting out of here.”

  Tom looked down at the floor. He waited a beat, collected his thoughts, and said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve slowly been losing myself since we got here. I could feel it happening, but didn’t do anything about it. Before last week, I was used to running, taking chances, and almost started to think that was normal. But then we got here, we didn’t have to run, we didn’t have to hide, it just felt good to depend on someone else for once. Even if it was just for a few days. I don’t like it, but I guess I just got used to it.”

  “I was getting used to it as well. But I think we need to figure out what we’re going to do if Cedric doesn’t come back soon.” Now Emma felt bad, worse than she thought she would. Tom ha
d seen the same thing in himself and was actually apologizing. That’s not what she wanted, but for now it would have to do. Maybe he’d take the lead and somehow get them out of the oddly accommodating prison she felt trapped inside.

  “Okay,” Tom said. “I’ve got a way for us to get—”

  He was stopped mid-sentence. For the first time in three days, there was a sound coming from the twelfth floor that wasn’t produced by either Emma or himself. The slamming of a door that felt like it rocked the entire building resounded through the suite.

  Reaching for her bag and pulling it in close, Emma could only watch as Tom stood and started for the door. He was no longer worried about the windows and whether or not Blake’s men would see him. His only focus was on the door and what would be coming through it in the next few seconds.

  Backing into the corner and starting to stand, Emma flinched as Cedric came plowing through the open door. He was completely out of breath, and carrying a weapon in his left hand. He didn’t appear to notice her, and instead continued to the opposite side of the suite.

  The man who’d saved them only days earlier now looked dismayed. The mild bruising over his eye had completely taken over the left side of his face. And as he ran to the edge of the suite and checked the windows, he breathed in and out heavily, fighting to speak.

  “You… have… to go… right now.”

  136

  Dalton had grown comfortable, but knew their time in the city was drawing to a close. It had been three days and his only interaction with Goodwin had been a few trivial conversations as the two passed in the elevator on their way to somewhere else. However, today would be different. Goodwin had requested a meeting. He hadn’t given any specific details, so from experience, Dalton knew this wasn’t something he was going to enjoy.

  Before the world went to hell, there was a process for scheduling a meeting. There was email. There were agendas and there were others around to take some of the focus away from Dalton. He mostly enjoyed the weekly progress reports he and the other department heads of BXF had. His team usually was praised for their monumental achievements, while the newer Biological Research Unit typically fought Goodwin on timeline and funding.

  Now, sitting back and watching the city burn, Dalton began counting down. He continued to glance at the clock and with five minutes left, he stood, straightened his tie, and walked to the door. Goodwin would be waiting impatiently even if Dalton walked through the door twenty minutes early, so in his mind, showing up right as the clock struck five would be his best bet.

  Tablet in hand, Dalton called the elevator and watched as it descended from Goodwin’s penthouse. Once inside, he ran through the numbers he knew he’d need and remotely adjusted the air conditioning and lighting within his own suite. It wouldn’t make much difference to the overall consumption of the entire building, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to look like he was a team player.

  Reaching the penthouse, the elevator doors parted. Dalton stood against the rear wall of the glass-lined elevator car and paused. He stared down at the tablet that now glowed a backlit BXF logo and tried to prepare himself for what was to come. It would be impossible to outmaneuver Goodwin, but maybe if he used a different approach, he’d make it back to his suite with a small piece of his dignity still intact.

  As the doors started to close, Dalton leaned forward and placed his size ten loafers in the way of the sensor. The doors quickly responded and he stepped out into the cool hallway. Tucking the tablet under his left arm, he moved quickly along the dimly lit hall and through the massive glass doors.

  As expected, Goodwin was already seated in one of two white leather armchairs. They were positioned alongside the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked the city he no longer cared for. As Dalton walked quickly into the room, the man who essentially ended mankind addressed him without turning.

  “Dalton, before you sit, let me ask you one simple question.”

  Dalton continued walking, but stopped as he approached the chair. “Yes?”

  “Can I count on you?”

  This is where Dalton felt the new approach may change the dynamics of the remainder of the conversation. “Yes Mr. Goodwin, as always.”

  Goodwin finally took the time to turn away from the window and face him. “Your injuries, have they healed?”

  “I’m fine,” Dalton said. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”

  “Good, take a seat. I’m going to keep this short. We’ve already used up too much time in preparation, but I think we’re ready. Do you have any thoughts?”

  “Blackmore, sir?”

  “Yes,” Goodwin said, “Blackmore. Is there anything we’re missing? Anything we should have done or anything we still need to do?”

  Dalton knew what he was asking, and why he was asking, but he figured he’d stick to the plan and give Goodwin only what he needed to know and what he wanted to hear. Anything more would prolong their meeting and send the conversation in a direction that Dalton had no intention of heading.

  “No sir, everything is ready to go. The drone is on low power mode and standing by. I have powered down all other parts of the building, including Anton’s quarters and the kitchen, which I have set to only come up for a few hours a day.”

  “So,” Goodwin said, “the only thing we’re waiting on is Anton to return with the others?”

  “Yes, once he’s on his way, I can start the procedures for powering off everything from this level down. We can launch the drone at any time, even from right here if needed.”

  “And Nicholas, is he… recovered?”

  Dalton had hoped to avoid this. The one thing he wasn’t prepared to discuss. The Achilles’ heel that could derail the entire conversation. Stick with the plan, he told himself. Just give him what he needs and nothing more.

  “Nicholas will be fine, Mr. Goodwin. He’s well rested and knows the specifics of the trip to Blackmore.”

  “Yes, but I need his head right. I know how close he was with Walter, the man was almost like a father to him. I just want to be sure he understands that what happened in Las Vegas needed to happen for the rest of us to survive. That Walter saved us.”

  Again speaking only to himself, Dalton’s screams echoed against the inside of his head. “What a load of crap!” But remaining composed, he simply nodded, looked toward the doors, and gave Goodwin what he needed. “I haven’t spoken to him today, but I think he’s okay.”

  “And,” Goodwin said, “What about you? Are you all in? Are you going to be ready to do what needs to be done at Blackmore, or are you still that scared little boy we had to pull off the runway in Colorado?”

  It had arrived, not exactly in the manner he’d expected, but nonetheless it was here. Goodwin wanted to somehow make this more about what had already happened and less about what was going to happen. He wanted assurance that Dalton could respond in the same manner as the thugs he employed, even though that was the exact opposite of what he needed. Dalton could accomplish more with the device that was under his left arm than a hundred men armed to the teeth could in a million years, but that’s not what Goodwin wanted him to say. So he didn’t.

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” Dalton said. “You and the others are going to be shocked.”

  Goodwin glared at him for a moment, and then apparently satisfied with his answer, turned back to the window. “Okay, once we get word that Anton and the others are in place, you’ll need to be ready to move.”

  “Mr. Goodwin, I’m ready now.”

  137

  Ethan Runner had used the previous three days to do nothing but eat, sleep, and check every last inch of the resort they’d come to call their temporary home. He and the others secured what they could, and barricaded what they couldn’t. The non-stop work had proved to be worth it, as they now owned three floors, and half of the eighty-thousand square foot casino.

  Ethan was no longer tired. His head and lower back had stopped aching. The dark circles under his eyes had disappeared. And thanks to
Shannon, he’d eaten more in the last seventy-two hours than he once thought was possible.

  Now alone in a suite on the eleventh floor, Ethan sat at a round table near a window that faced west. He’d just reread Emma’s last message for the hundredth time and again typed back one of his own. He didn’t know exactly when he’d received her text or when he’d lost the signal. Either way, her last communication still rang in his ears as he prepared to do the only thing he could.

  Ethan, I’m still in the city. Don’t know for how long. Please hurry!

  Back to the window, he scanned the south side of town, focusing in on the area just outside the airport. It was less than five miles away, but much different from where he and his friends had decided to pull off the road. For whatever reason, it appeared that every Feeder in the state had congregated in that exact spot. His plan for getting his friends out of the city and on their way to the coast would have to wait. There wasn’t a single chance he’d make it through that area with six other people.

  A new plan, a different route, another path. How long would it take to figure it all out? Would there be any less of a challenge if he were to backtrack and follow another highway out to California? He didn’t know. He also didn’t think he had the tools, nor the time, to find out. But one thing was for sure, his sister certainly didn’t have the time.

  Standing and moving to the door, Ethan folded the handwritten note he’d spent the last hour writing and slipped it into his back pocket. Stepping out into the hall, he walked slowly toward the stairwell, pausing briefly to take one last look around.

  The trip down the stairs was much less gruesome than the trip up. He’d chosen the eleventh floor because anything above fourteen had been littered with rotting corpses and twelve had always been an unlucky number for him. Seven through ten looked to have been locked down when the power went out, and although the backup generators were still functional, Shannon was unable to figure out exactly how to access that bank of rooms.