by Olah, Jeff
The former Mayor matched Randy’s expression. “Probably longer than either one of us wants to remember.”
“And I still don’t think I’ve heard you use the same phrase more than once. That well’s gotta run dry at some point.”
The Mayor stroked his beard once more. “I’m old son, I got lots of highway at my back.”
Randy moved through the doorway, his smile beginning to fade as he paused to peer out toward the gate. There was something different, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. But as the headlights on the opposite side of the gate grew to four, and then six, and then finally eight, his heart kicked in his chest.
Mayor Gil noticed it only a fraction of a second later. “Looks like they brought the whole damn fleet.”
Randy stepped out into the rain, gripped the railing, and started down the stairs. “Something’s not right, I don’t like this.”
12
The rain came down like it was angry as Mason jogged away from the gates and toward the silver electric vehicle parked near the side of the road. He wiped his face, glanced back at Travis perched atop the rear wall, and gave a quick thumbs up.
The rear window on the driver’s side lowered a few inches. “Mason …” It was Lucas, his eyes shone through the darkened interior, wide and unblinking. “Let’s go.”
Mason climbed in behind the wheel, laid a nine millimeter pistol on the passenger seat, and turned to face Lucas. “You good?”
Lucas sat up in the backseat and slid to the passenger side. He held up a glossy Colt forty-five and nodded. “Yeah, but the others aren’t going to—”
“Travis knows and that’s all we need to worry about. He’s the one with the keys to the armory, so he’ll be the one that has to explain it to the others. We have bigger fish to fry.”
“But …” It was only one word, although it came through in his voice—the younger man was conflicted.
“You just worry about doing what we’re out here to do,” Mason said. “Nothing else matters.”
Lucas nodded quickly. “Yeah, okay.”
Mason turned back in the driver’s seat and scanned the road. He needed to keep his young friend focused if they were going to pull this off. Owen and Natalie were trusting in his plan, and he had no intention of letting them down.
Even if he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with all the details.
“You remember what I said, what you’re supposed to do?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, no deviations. No matter what, got it?”
Lucas stared at the weapon in his hand and nodded.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I got it.”
“Alright then.” Mason shifted the electric vehicle into drive and pulled away from the side of the road, Harbor Crest now fading into the rearview mirror. “Like I said, you don’t move unless I call for you, not even an inch.”
The highway ahead was mostly clear. Although with the rain continuing its onslaught against the outside world, and visibility cut to less than a hundred feet, Mason aimed for the center of the road and kept his speed to half of what he would have liked.
“Mason?” Lucas had slid down into the space between the front and rear passenger seats and was trying to somehow extend his legs.
“Yeah?”
“You think …” Lucas’s voice shook as it trailed off.
“We’re gonna get her back.”
There was a long pause where it was just the sound of the wind and the rain and the too-old wipers against the windshield. Lucas had his head down as he continued to try to find a way to fold his nearly six-foot frame in behind the passenger seat, but then finally spoke. “How do you know?”
“I don’t think—”
“How?” Lucas interrupted. “I mean really, how do you know? You said that Lincoln wouldn’t hurt her. You said that it’s not who he is. You said that there must be something else going on. But how do you know? How do you know for sure?”
Lucas was right, Mason didn’t know. He had a good idea of what this was, but there was also that thought sitting in the back of his mind, that what if, that chance that he was completely wrong about all of this, that he had underestimated Lincoln and his people. There was the possibility that this had all been planned from the start and that he had just been looking at all the wrong things.
Mason leaned forward in his seat and clamped down on the wheel. “We have to stay focused.”
As Mason’s voice trailed off and the car began to slow, Lucas reached for the passenger seat and looked up. “What, what is it? What’s going on?”
“Nothing probably, just a random out in the middle of the road.”
Still attempting to stay hidden, but wanting to get a glimpse, Lucas tried to push up between the two seats. “Why are we stopping?”
“It’s just …”
“What?”
Mason brought the car to an abrupt stop, his foot reflexively shoving the brake pedal to the floorboard. He released his seatbelt, reached for the weapon in the seat to his right, and kept his voice just above a whisper. “Why are you out here?”
“Mason, what is it? Is it them?”
“No, stay down.”
It wasn’t a Feeder.
It was a man. He was hunched over, on his hands and knees, his head down, near the center of the road. The headlights illuminated his tall wiry frame and long dark hair. His shoulders were rounded, he looked like he had vomited, and his blood-soaked clothes sent a pinkish glow into the puddle that was forming around his body.
“But Mason—”
“Hold on.” Mason shifted into park, his eyes not leaving the man in the road as he pulled the nine millimeter into his lap. “Okay, get up.”
Lucas quickly pushed up into the backseat and squinted through the windshield. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure, could be a trap.”
Lucas scanned the side of the road and then the highway beyond the injured man. “You think he’s infected?”
“Don’t know, but I’m going to keep it running just in case.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just be ready.” He had started to turn back to face Lucas, but then stopped. Something about the man in the road was familiar and it hadn’t hit him until now. “Wait a second.”
“What?”
Mason gripped the nine millimeter and reached for the door handle. “That man …”
“Yeah?”
“That’s Lincoln.”
13
The voices out in the hall had returned. It was the woman from earlier, but now she spoke to someone different. They weren’t trying to keep their voices low and although Ava could hear every word, the conversation wasn’t making much sense.
She looked around the room, and then back to the door. Ava could hear the woman tell whoever she was with that she would see them later that night and then it sounded as though the other person, a male with a shallow voice, moved away.
It was now or never.
Ava’s heart raced as she quickly leapt from the bed and slid the small area rug with the blue and tan squares to within a few feet of the door. She stepped back, positioning herself alongside the tall dresser, switched off the light, and held her breath as a key was inserted into the lock.
She closed her eyes for a brief second, pressing down hard and hoping that they would adjust to the darkness as the door slowly began to part.
“Hello?”
Ava opened her eyes.
The woman’s voice sounded kind, like a grandmother. She only peeked her head in at first, looking out toward the bed and then to both sides of the room. There was a moment where it appeared as though she might turn around and leave, but then she stepped into the room and started toward the bed.
Ava came in from behind, bent at the waist, and gripped the edges of the small area rug just as the woman placed her left foot on one of the corners. She hesitated, thinking that the nice sounding woman maybe didn’t dese
rve what was about to happen.
The woman turned at the sound of Ava crossing the hardwood floor, squinting as her eyes moved from the bed to the corner of the darkened room. “Wha—”
She only got half the word out as Ava leaned away and pulled the rug up and back. There was a second where the woman was suspended in the air and her eyes finally locked on Ava’s face.
The woman cartwheeled backward, her head striking the thick wooden post at the foot of the bed. She let out a grunt as her temple was sliced open and blood squirted out onto the small area rug.
Ava started to fall back, lost her footing, and slammed into the corner of the tall dresser. There was a flare of pain that shot through her upper back as the air was forced from her lungs. She tried to get to her feet, now watching the woman who also attempted to do the same.
“Why?” The woman’s voice was weak. She was hurt, sounding confused, but building toward anger. She wiped at the side of her head, drawing back a handful of blood as she pulled her legs up and tried to stand.
Ava fought to take a breath, rolling to her right and reaching for the dresser. Her heart again raced in her chest as she pushed away from the floor and calculated the odds of getting through the door before the woman got to her.
The woman pushed away from the bed, her hand streaking red across the olive green comforter. “You little bitch.” She was bigger than Ava was expecting from the voice, especially around the middle. She had big shoulders, a thick neck, and stringy black hair. She wore a grey sweatshirt and faded jeans that looked like they were a few sizes too big.
Ava would be giving up at least fifty pounds to the woman, and quickly realized a hand to hand wasn’t going to get her where she needed to go.
The woman wiped at her face once again and although her footing was a bit shaky, she started toward Ava. “I don’t care what he says. I’m gonna hurt you. I’m gonna hurt you real good.”
The door, although less than three feet away, now seemed like an impossibility. Ava imagined the woman catching her from behind, dragging her to the ground by her hair, and then beating her to within an inch of her life. Turning and running wasn’t going to work, at least not yet.
The woman looked from Ava to the door and then back. She was smiling, like she was begging her to take the bait. Although as Ava squared her shoulders, planted her right foot, and launched forward, the woman’s expression changed. She looked surprised, and then again angry, her lip curling and her eyes narrowing.
Within a foot of the woman, Ava twisted left, balled her right hand, and swung in an upward motion. It felt unnatural, and not at all like she’d practiced with her father.
And she was on the edge of hyperventilating.
The woman tried to lean away, still apparently caught off guard by Ava’s aggression, but was a bit too late. Ava’s right hand exploded against the right side of her face, along her jawline and just below her ear. The woman instinctively brought her hands up, pushing Ava back and again into the dresser.
The impact knocked the wind out of her and sent the dresser onto its side. Ava heard a crack and was almost certain she had broken a rib. She crumbled to the floor, the pain along her left side causing her to gasp for air. Although as the woman moved to the wall and turned on the light, she was overcome by a surge of adrenaline.
“Little girl, that was the last—”
Ava forced down the pain, spun up onto her knees, and launching away from the floor, surprised the bigger woman. She stayed low as she covered the short distance in the blink of an eye, her shoulder plowing into the woman’s midsection, and driving them both back onto the bed.
The woman was pushed into the corner, her left arm now pinned against the headboard. “You’re gonna pay.”
Ava scrambled to get on top, bringing her right hand back and aiming for the same spot on the woman’s head. She swung hard, twisting into the punch, everything in her upper body behind it. The woman tried to use her right arm to block the blow, but was a half-second too late, and took every ounce of Ava’s rage to the side of her already battered head.
She struck the woman a second and then a third and then a fourth time, the final shot sending a bolt of pain into the top of her hand and wrist. Ava pulled back her fist, fighting the urge to let up.
In the momentary reprieve, the woman growled as she pulled back her free right hand and drove it into Ava’s left side. She moved in for another strike, although Ava dropped her arm and deflected the blow.
Ava fought to get a breath, her left lung now feeling like it was in a vice and her eyes beginning to lose focus. She dropped her left hand over the woman’s throat and bit into her lip as she again used her right to pound the woman’s face.
The woman squirmed as Ava landed a half-dozen shots, the side of her face now wet with blood and beginning to turn a deep shade of blue. She looked like she was trying to speak, although her words only came out in stilted syllables.
“Vin … sha … mak … stur …”
And as she looked like she was sliding toward unconsciousness, Ava hit her with one last giant right hand, leaned away, and ran toward the open door.
14
Mason had begun to open the driver’s door, but then paused. His mind raced at the possibilities. He didn’t like this, whatever this was.
“Lucas.”
“Uh …” Lucas stared through the windshield, squinting as the heavy rain obscured his view. “Yeah?”
Mason didn’t turn and kept his voice low, as if there was someone else listening. “Get ready to get out.”
Lucas now turned his attention back to Mason. “What are we doing?”
“I’m going out to him, but I need you to cover me … from the road.”
“I thought …” Lucas didn’t finish.
And Mason didn’t need him to. He knew what the boy wanted to say. He wanted to tell Mason that they were going against the plan, that they were breaking protocol, that if this was a trap they’d be left out in the open. But watching as Lincoln slowly pushed from his knees to his feet and then started to stand, Mason knew they didn’t have time to discuss all the ways this could go wrong.
“Get out when I get out. Go straight to the trees, stay hidden, and shoot anything that moves.”
“What about Lincoln?”
“Something tells me he’s not the problem here.”
“Okay.”
“You good?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Mason pushed open his door, turned for a second to watch Lucas climb out, and then closed his door and started forward through the rain.
Slow as he approached, the man in the middle of the street, now soaking wet and bloodied from face to mid chest, didn’t look like the man he remembered. It had been less than two months, although Lincoln appeared to have aged more than a decade. His eyes were deep set, dark circles ringing his otherwise vibrant green eyes. His shoulders were rounded, and the light colored long-sleeve t-shirt hung from his body like it was three sizes too big. Mason was guessing that Lincoln had lost at least twenty pounds in the weeks that had passed since their last encounter.
“LINCOLN …” Mason shouted through the downpour, stopping twenty feet away, and raising his weapon.
The beaten man just barely made eye contact; however, he didn’t speak.
“WHAT ARE WE DOING? WHAT IS THIS?”
Lincoln shook his head. He wiped at his face and motioned back toward the vehicle. “Go.” His voice came out weak and desperate.
Mason scanned both sides of the road and then started forward. “Are you … have you been …”
“No.” Lincoln stumbled forward, favoring his right side and nearly losing his balance. “I’m not infected.”
Moving closer, Mason again glanced side to side. “Why are you out here? What did you do with Ava?”
The older man’s eyes widened. He looked around Mason and then at the car. “You need to go, you need to get back to Harbor Crest.”
Mason moved in close. He
grabbed a handful of Lincoln’s shirt, near his right shoulder, and pushed his face into the barrel of the nine millimeter. “I’m only going to ask you once, and then I’m going to put a bullet in your head, where is Ava?”
“The girl?”
Mason pressed the weapon harder into the side of Lincoln’s head. “Do not screw with me.”
“They still have her.” Lincoln looked away. “She’s not hurt, not yet. But you and your people have bigger problems.”
There was something in the way Lincoln directed his end of the conversation. It didn’t seem that he was avoiding the question, but the urgency in his words told Mason that he needed to listen. However, at the moment, Mason was having a hard time not picturing Ava being thrown into the back of that car.
He released his grip on Lincoln’s shirt, forced him to stand up straight and stared into his eyes. “Where is she?”
Lincoln was answering even before Mason had finished. “I told you, they still have her. And for now, she’s safe, they aren’t going to hurt her, she’s just a pawn.”
Lucas came out of the trees at the side of the road. He also had his gun pointed at Lincoln. “Mason, why are we waiting, why don’t we—”
“You need to save whatever it is you still have left in those weapons. Killing me isn’t going to help, but it will be a waste of your time and resources.” Lincoln turned to the side, bent at the waist, and spat a mouthful of blood out onto the street. “You need to get back to Harbor Crest. The girl will be fine—it’s the rest of your people that are in trouble.”
Mason looked back at Lucas, motioned for him to lower his weapon, and then turned back to Lincoln. “What are you talking about? Why are you out here?”
“It’s Vincent, he’s taken my home, my friends, my family, my people, and now … now he’s going after what’s yours.”
“What do you—”
Lincoln put up his hand. “There’s no time. He’s sent a group to Harbor Crest, probably thirty, maybe more.”