by Jeff Olah
“Okay,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“But if we go, we all go. There wouldn’t be a reason for anyone to stay behind since we aren’t returning. We’re going after Ethan and I can guarantee that there’s no way he’ll come back here without Emma.”
“So?” Carly said.
“So … by a show of hands, who’s okay with leaving here and going after Ethan?”
Before the last few words left his mouth Ben, Carly, Shannon and Helen had all raised their hands. Griffin then turned to Frank, who slowly nodded and also raised his.
“How about you? You ready to do this?”
Frank smiled widely. It was a look no one in the group had yet seen. He continued to nod and slowly turned his focus out to the distant horizon, the sun now sitting high in the sky. “Ethan is like a son to me … of course I’m in. But if we’re going to do this, we need to go now, while there’s still daylight.”
142
Ethan moved his finger away from the trigger and in lowering his rifle to the street, held his hands above his head. He was initially confused as to why he hadn’t figured it out before now. His pursuer now stood less than ten feet away, peeking around the front of the mini-van and looked to be deciding what to do about the growing horde of Feeders that was less than five seconds from overtaking them.
Not wanting to spook his pursuer, but also knowing that the time to make his move was rapidly disappearing, Ethan slowly began to stand. He tried to appear calm and kept his voice just above a whisper. “I understand that you’re scared and so am I, but we need to get out of here.”
There was movement from behind the front of the van, although no response.
Ethan kept his eye on the front of the vehicle and stepping to his left, reached for his pack and his rifle. He slipped the pack over his right shoulder and clutched the handle of his weapon in his left hand.
“Okay,” he said peering down toward the opposite end of the street. “I’m going that way, you’re gonna need to come out and follow me. And we are gonna have to run … can you run?”
His pursuer, a boy not much taller than the mailbox he was backing toward, held tight to the straps of his own backpack and eyed Ethan with as much fear as curiosity. Sandy brown hair, a tousled mess that fell gently over his brightly colored green eyes, was stained with dried blood and what looked to be strands of dead grass.
The boy wore a pair of dusty blue jeans, a grey school-issued long sleeve t-shirt, fire engine red sneakers, and a frown that troubled Ethan. He needed to get the boy away from that van and at least a few hundred yards to the south; however, it appeared this was going to be a problem.
The boy moved his eyes from the ground to Ethan and then back to the ground. He inched backward and scratched at a cut along his left hand. Turning his eyes up one last time, the young boy flinched as he saw that the horde had filled in around both sides of the van and clawed at the air only feet from where he stood.
Everything inside Ethan told him that one way or another, he needed to help the obviously distraught child. He could only imagine the things that the small boy had to endure to stay alive in this broken world for nearly two weeks. He wasn’t going to leave him, and the longer he debated about what to do, the more that could and would go wrong … for the both of them.
Gripping the rifle and the strap of his backpack with his right hand, Ethan moved quickly while the boy still stared at the approaching crowd. He closed the ten-foot gap in only three strides and reached for the right shoulder strap of the kid’s bright blue backpack.
“Let’s go!”
Ethan’s voice startled the boy even more than being pulled away from the van. He let out a low whimper, but didn’t move his feet and reflexively dug his heels into the ground.
The first few Feeders swatted at the front of the van and lunged over the hood toward the frightened boy. A small framed female wearing a tattered cocktail server uniform led the pack. She came from the passenger’s side and was pushed forward as the others slammed into her from behind.
The former casino employee grabbed at the air, only inches from the boy, as her black and red satin uniform became entangled with the van’s antenna. And as the others began to climb over her, Ethan yanked the boy toward him. At the same time, one of the more aggressive Feeders that had fallen over the others dropped to the ground, grabbing ahold of the boy’s left leg.
Without putting much thought into what he was doing, Ethan reacted. He quickly placed his boot between the Feeder’s head and shoulder, kicking it away. He then pulled the boy free and continued to drag him toward the opposite side of the street.
The boy momentarily turned his focus away from the crowd that continued toward them and looked up into Ethan’s eyes. He didn’t appear relieved that Ethan had saved him or even concerned at the fact that he’d come as close to dying as was possible in this new existence. He almost appeared indifferent.
Ethan stared back and simply assumed the boy was in shock.
“We have to go,” Ethan said.
The boy just continued to stare.
Ethan did the only thing he felt may help. He knew if he couldn’t get the boy to cooperate, they’d both be in trouble. With his rifle still under his arm and less time than he needed, he moved to a squatting position in front of the boy.
Through gritted teeth, Ethan forced a smile. “Hey, can you run?”
The boy looked puzzled, as if the question made no sense.
Ethan nodded. “I’ll bet I can beat you to the end of the street.”
The boy still appeared somewhat confused, but smiled shyly and looked around Ethan, toward the end of the long street.
Without missing a beat, Ethan stood, pointed in the direction the boy was looking and said, “Ready … set …”
He looked down at the boy and could see that he was engaged. His light green eyes were now focused on a spot at the end street and he had dropped his right foot behind him, in a sort of improvised runner’s stance.
Ethan drew his voice up an octave and leaned in close.
“Go!”
The boy was on the move before he could get a good handle on his pack and weapon. And as Ethan began to follow the boy down the gradual incline of the residential street, he was pleased to find that the kid was not only able to hold his own, but was exceptionally fast for such a young age. So fast, in fact, that after a full ten seconds, Ethan was having trouble just keeping up.
As they passed one deserted home after another, Ethan began looking for an exit that would lead them back toward the interstate. He peered down to the end of a long block and saw that they had two options. The first appeared to lead to another street that from his vantage, looked oddly similar to the one they were already traveling.
The second cross-street sat six houses beyond the first and appeared to open up to a much wider area. As Ethan stepped off the curb to get a better look, three commercial buildings came into view, but so did the one thing he was praying wouldn’t be there.
Ethan shouted to the boy who was nearly five strides ahead. “STOP!”
The boy now saw what Ethan saw and had also stepped off the curb. Not for a better look at the street ahead, but to change course. He continued running as he darted right, seemingly unaware that Ethan had called out to him. In fact, he increased his pace and ran in a straight line toward the home at the end of the cul-de-sac.
“HEY STOP!”
The boy kept running; however, he did turn back to quickly glance at Ethan, before continuing toward the dead end. In doing so, he lost two strides to Ethan, who had lowered his shoulder and forced what little energy he possessed into one last burst of speed.
With the first crowd over fifty yards behind and the second just having taken notice, Ethan caught the boy at the entrance to the driveway. Again grabbing the small child by the shoulder strap of his backpack, Ethan pulled him to a stop.
They’d overshot the street leading away from the residential neighborhood, although that may hav
e been for the best. Now taking a moment to survey the area they’d run away from, Ethan could see that further back, both of the cross-streets were filled with dozens of Feeders. Alone, this wouldn’t have been too much of a problem, but with his new unpredictable friend in tow, he needed another plan.
Again squatting alongside the boy, Ethan fought to catch his breath as he watched the three separate hordes beginning to converge at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. He released his grip on the boy’s backpack strap and looked him in the eye.
“Listen kid, we don’t really have time to get into—”
The boy shook his head, interrupting Ethan’s train of thought.
“What is it?”
The boy slowly reached out and took Ethan’s hand. He began to pull him toward the driveway and pointed back toward the home.
“What,” Ethan said. “I don’t—”
The boy pulled harder. And with tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, he finally spoke.
“Safe.”
143
They’d only taken this stairwell on one other occasion. It was with Cedric and his son, and at the time, their trip was guided by a pair of high-powered flashlights. Today, that was a luxury they weren’t afforded, and running away from Mitchell Blake, they were going to have to improvise.
They’d descended a single flight of stairs, and with each step, their world fell deeper into darkness. With Emma gripped tightly to the back of Tom’s shirt, and her entire focus on the rhythmic cadence with which she moved from one step to the next, she continued to the next landing and stopped.
Emma felt that they needed an advantage. They could possibly outpace Blake and his men through the stairwell and then to the doorway three floors below, although she wasn’t completely comfortable with their current lead.
“Wait,” she said, pulling back on his shirt. “Give me a second.”
“Emma, we don’t have time for this.”
She released her grip on his shirt, slipped her backpack out in front of her, and fumbled in the dark to slip her hand inside. She cursed under her breath as she dug through her pack and ignored Tom’s continual requests to keep moving.
With only a few items still left in her pack, Emma quickly found what she was searching for. She pulled back her hand, powered on her cell phone, and swiped on the flashlight app.
Again clutching a handful of Tom’s shirt, she angled her phone down toward the next set of steps. As the stairwell was instantly flooded in illumination, Emma dipped under her pack and gave him a quick nudge. “Okay.”
Tom started away from the landing, this time moving at a pace that had her almost wishing she hadn’t given him the advantage of sight. They were descending the stairwell much more quickly than before, and would most certainly reach the street before Blake or his men, but she was no longer sure that was something to be thankful for.
They were running out into the unknown. Definitely not for thrills, and also not simply because there was a psychopath chasing them, but because Emma and Tom both knew that their lives depended on actually living. That for every second they stayed hidden from what was outside, they’d lose more of what it took to survive.
Down beyond the last landing and rounding the final set of steps, Emma looked over Tom’s shoulder. Squinting through the light trailing away from her phone, she was able to make out the concrete floor below and the door leading to the world beyond.
Tom was breathing hard and beginning to slow as they reached the door. He turned to Emma and held up his hand. “Once we get out there, we’ll have a few seconds before the crowds notice us, so we need to take advantage of that. You’re doing great, just stay on my heels.”
Emma’s heart was racing from the trip down the stairs; however, with the realization of what they were about to do, it felt as though she was also now fighting just to take a breath.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll be … right behind … you.”
He couldn’t see her face, but obviously knew something was wrong. “You good?”
This wasn’t the first time Emma had experienced this feeling. She knew what it was and had dealt with it many times over the first few days of the outbreak. This oddly constrictive phenomenon seemed to attack when there was a long run-up to something unusually stressful that she knew was coming. Never when she was caught off guard, only when she had time for her mind to contemplate the what-if’s. It was also the reason she was living alone in a parking garage when Tom found her.
“I’m good … I’m ready … I just need to—”
Four floors above, the doorway they’d come through less than two minutes before opened. Heavy footfalls could be heard and then the hushed voices of multiple men. They appeared to be arguing, one after the other in rapid succession, and then as Tom pulled Emma toward their own door, the voices fell away.
Powering off the phone’s flashlight, Emma tucked into the wall behind Tom and attempted to calm her breathing. Slowly in through her mouth and then out through her nose. She buried her head into Tom’s back and closed her eyes.
A voice came from above. “They’re going to let you go.”
It was Cedric, but both Emma and Tom knew he wasn’t alone. Given the circumstances, he probably wasn’t even choosing his own words. It didn’t matter, either way Emma was going to follow Tom out into the street and away from whatever this was.
“They just want to talk to you, make sure you get off without any problems.”
His voice was different, almost robotic. Cedric was lying.
With his left hand on the door, Tom leaned back and whispered into Emma’s ear. “Go or stay?”
Emma was sure that Blake and his men were carrying weapons, but for whatever reason, they had yet to use them. What were they waiting for? Why had they chased them into this abandoned corner of the building only to offer an olive branch? It didn’t make any sense, but then again nothing did.
She was now more confused than when they had first run out of the suite; however, something about this just didn’t feel right. It was the way that Cedric spoke, the indifference in his words, and the fact that he was even allowed to speak. As much as Emma feared what was beyond the door, she knew it was time to leave.
“Let’s go.”
Tom used his free hand to reach down and grab Emma’s. He slowly and quietly depressed the panic bar and pushed the door open a few inches. Craning his neck, he peeked through the slight opening and appeared to be letting out a sigh of relief.
“What?” Emma said.
“Let’s go.”
Tom stepped over the threshold, pulled Emma toward the wall, and released her hand. He scanned the area beyond the building in both directions and then made a point of looking directly into her eyes. “Do not move.”
Emma gazed out into the street in disbelief. Maybe a hundred Feeders, possibly more, she was unable to see beyond the first fifty or so. They roamed from one end of the block to the other, and apparently hadn’t yet become aware that she and Tom had entered their world.
She pushed down the urge to run, the impulse to do exactly what Tom had asked her not to do. Her hands began to shake and her face turned a bright shade of pink. She felt the pores alongside her nose and below her hairline open up, releasing the first few beads of sweat that ran down into her neckline.
Again attempting to calm her breathing, she watched as Tom moved quickly toward an overturned cardboard box. He snatched it from the sidewalk and hurried back to the door. Kneeling, he pulled something from his pocket and leaned in over the box.
Two seconds, and then five, and as she turned her attention back to the crowds, Tom finally stood and returned a small lighter to his front pocket. The box was now starting to smoke and by the time he moved back to her side, tiny spots of black began to grow along the sides.
With her back pressed into the wall, Emma watched as the horde turned their attention to the box that was now spitting flames. She turned to Tom and motioned toward the crowd. “Let’s go!”
Tom put his hand on her shoulder. There were a half dozen Feeders now captivated by the burning cardboard and another ten following them off the street and toward the sidewalk. They didn’t seem interested in Tom or Emma. Maybe it was the flickering light or maybe they just hadn’t seen them yet. But whatever the reason, the pair were nearly invisible to the massive crowd.
“Just a few more seconds,” Tom said, nodding toward the opposite side of the street. “Let’s give them a bit more time.”
In her head, she was screaming. What are we waiting for? They’re right there. Just a few feet away. We need to run.
Tom slid his hand down her arm and held her tight. He brought his other arm up and holding it close to his chest, pointed out into the intersection fifty yards away. Again keeping his voice only slightly above a whisper, he said, “That’s where we need to go. Once we get past that corner, it’s only a five-minute jog. There’s a small bagel shop three blocks down where my friends stored some supplies about a week ago. We should be okay there, at least until tomorrow.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Tom again looked out over the growing crowd and nodded. The horde had converged on the torched cardboard and were pushing out toward the corner of the building. One of the slower moving Feeders tumbled to the pavement as it attempted to navigate the six-inch curb with a shattered left leg.
The young man wearing a brightly colored cycling outfit was a bloodied mess. His chest had been opened up from just under his shoulder and down to his waist. Three of his ribs protruded from the sizable hole, and as he unintentionally rolled onto his left side, they dug into the ground and forced him onto his back. Struggling to right himself, he pushed away from the curb and locked eyes with Emma.
She stepped away from the building and pulled Tom with her. “Let’s go, please … we can make it to the intersection. Enough of them have cleared out.”
Tom surveyed the area one last time and then nodded. He didn’t appear to like it, but he also stepped away from the building and held tight to her hand. “Don’t let go.”
