by Olah, Jeff
Mason motioned toward the car, turning to face Lucas. “Take Lincoln back, go in through the rear gates. Let Travis know what’s coming and tell him to get everyone downstairs.”
“What are you doing?”
“I promised I’d bring Ava back, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. No matter what.”
15
There were six sets of headlights against the opposite side of the gates. Two more than he had initially thought. And four more than had ever traveled the long road to the solar farm at any one time. Randy was getting the feeling that his initial assessment was spot on—something was wrong.
Now to go find out exactly how much trouble he was about to get into.
“I think …” Randy looked over his shoulder at Mayor Gil as he started down the stairs and into the rain. “You might want to stay up here, at least until we know what this is. Maybe get Travis on the radio, let him know we’ve got more company than usual.”
Mayor Gil looked from Randy to the gate and then back. He ran his hand over his beard and nodded. “Alright, but once you get down there, make sure to keep your radio keyed. I’ll be listenin’ from up here, you know, just in case.”
Randy grinned. “Yes sir, will do.”
The rain was steady now, still coming down like cats and dogs, but the thunder and lightning from earlier had moved away. Randy reached to his lower back, felt for the radio, and started off toward the small wooden shack that sat to the right of the gate.
Randy held his hand over his eyes blocking the multiple headlights before quickly dipping into the shack and retrieving a three-foot section of steel pipe he’d fitted with a leather grip and black electrical tape. He wasn’t necessarily planning on using it, but this wasn’t like every other night.
Back out into the rain, he moved toward the right side of the gate, taking the keys from his pocket and keying the mic on his radio, but then stopped in his tracks as the driver’s door of the car directly ahead slowly started to open.
“Let’s go, we ain’t got all night.” Randy didn’t recognize the man who stepped out of the black Tesla Model X. He was average height, looked to be average weight, probably somewhere near thirty years old, and wore a green military rain jacket. He had one hand reaching behind his back and the other motioning toward the chain securing the gate to the post. “Come on, come on.”
Randy laid the pipe over his shoulder, moved closer to the wrought iron gate, and eyed the man he didn’t know. “I recognize the vehicles, but I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“You don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” The man in the green jacket bit at the corner of his lip. Was he contemplating his response or was he growing agitated at Randy’s apparent lack of urgency? It was almost comical, and for the moment Randy wanted to see how far he could push the guy.
“Uh Carter, is that you?”
The rain made this even better. The man rocked from one foot to the other, looking back into the interior of the Tesla every few seconds.
And then when he turned back and looked like he was going to answer, Randy cut him off. “Wait no, that’s not it. You’re that pushy guy from a few weeks back, the one who gave Travis all that crap about wearing blue jeans with a denim jacket. You’re Philip, or Steve, oh no, it was Julian. Yeah, now I remember you. Julian, yeah that’s it—”
The man started around the door of the Tesla, his right arm moving from his back. He made a point of motioning toward the gate with the black pistol in his hand. “I’ll give you three seconds to open the gate, after that I’ll open it myself.”
Randy wasn’t done, not quite yet. He’d been around more than his fair share of men like this, not the least of which, his own abusive father. The man on the other side of the gate didn’t look happy, but then again Randy knew he wasn’t about to waste even a single round from his weapon just to prove a point.
“Hold your horses my man, I’m just doing my job. It’s really pretty simple, if I don’t know you, you don’t get in. And right now, I still have no idea who the hell you are.”
The man in the green jacket looked back at the half dozen Teslas idling behind him. He made a motion like he was counting and then nodded at Randy. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve got eighteen men waiting for me to give them one of two signals. I don’t really need you at this point, and don’t care what you know or what you don’t know. One last time, either open the gate or I’ll do it—”
As the man’s words trailed off he turned and looked toward the top level of the three-story structure fifty feet from the gates.
Randy followed the man’s eyes, wiping the rain from his face.
The interior lights were now on, an obvious sign from Mayor Gil. Randy turned back to the man in the green jacket, held up his radio, and released the talk button. There was a quick shot of static and then Gil’s voice. “Randy, the man is right—we don’t need to know who he is.”
There was a slight pause, two or three seconds, and then Gil was back. “But we do need to know what he’s thinkin’, and why he’s decided to bring his entire convoy to our doors.” And as Mayor Gil’s voice drifted, it was replaced by the unmistakable sound of a rifle being cocked.
The rain from above began to slow as the man at the gate took a step back. He looked again at the line of electric vehicles and then at Randy. “I can guarantee you’re not going to want to do this.” He held his hand next to his face. “And to be honest, I really don’t want to go down that road either. This is a new jacket … well, it’s new to me. And I’d prefer to keep it blood-free, at least for a few days this time.”
Randy tucked the radio into his back pocket and peered out over the grouping of electric vehicles. “You only know what you’ve heard. This place isn’t open to the public.”
“I’ll tell you what.” The man in the green jacket held up his hand, his pistol resting on his shoulder. “We can resolve this whole thing in just a few seconds. How about you call up your friends at Harbor Crest, get them on the line, and ask them who I am and why I’m here.” The man waited for a beat and then said, “Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
Randy started to respond, but as he did, Mayor Gil’s voice shot from his radio. “Randy?”
“Gil?”
“Let them through.”
The man in the green jacket began to grin.
Randy stared down at the radio. “What are you saying?”
Mayor Gil’s voice had lost its typical energy; it now came out flat and lifeless. “Travis says we have a problem back at home and … and we need to let them in, give them whatever they ask for.”
16
There was light. It was coming from somewhere further down the hall, but Ava couldn’t see its source. She was running, faster and more erratic than she probably should. The pain along her left side, as well as the fear of what lay ahead, begged for her to slow.
From behind, the woman in the room must have somehow regained consciousness. It sounded as though she may have fallen from the bed, then stumbled to the door and was shouting something incoherent.
She sounded angry, even more so than just a minute before, as Ava was smashing in the side of her head.
“HEEEEYYYYY … SOOOOMMMMEBBOOOODDYYYY!”
Ava placed her right hand over her left side and gently pulled inward. The pain caused her to yelp, although she now felt like she could take a full breath. In the five years since the world fell, she couldn’t remember ever having to endure this level of agony, nor the fear that ran a close second.
It was all she could do to remain focused on her forward movement.
Ahead, probably twenty feet, was a door and another hall that turned left. She wanted more than anything else to exit this building, to give herself a chance out in the open. The door looked like it may lead to a garage or maybe a patio.
It was worth a shot.
The injured woman shouted once again, but now sounded further away. Like she had been unable to continue out into the hall or had given up. Her
voice wavered and then it sounded as though she was dry heaving.
Ava came to a stop at the door, attempted to control her rapid breaths, and placed her ear against the back of the door. For a moment, she thought she heard the thumping of a drum, but quickly realized it was just the pounding of her own heart.
“Okay,” she said. “Three …”
Ava could hear a rustling on the other side of the door. Probably the wind through the trees. She wasn’t even sure there were trees, but that’s what her mind’s eye was picturing.
“Two …”
Now there were voices. A man who sounded vaguely familiar and another who appeared to be asking questions, his words just out of reach. They sounded like they were moving away, further with each second.
“One …”
Ava opened the door. Slow at first and then all at once. She leaned around the corner, scanning the area ahead. There was a backyard, a covered patio, a few chairs, and a small round table. The voices of the men sounded like they were on the left side of the single story home, probably less than thirty feet from where she stood.
And now there were footsteps coming from behind, somewhere in the home. It wasn’t the woman, the pace was much too quick for someone who’d taken the pounding she had. And they sounded heavier, like a man. A big man.
On impulse, Ava let the door slam and ran toward the right side of the home. She sidestepped a tricycle, pushed aside a large black trash container, and leapt a half destroyed planter box.
As Ava dug in and planted her left foot to cut the corner, a bolt of pain tore through her side. She sucked in a quick breath, fighting back the urge to cry out as she increased her speed and headed for the gate twenty feet ahead.
The voices from behind and the hurried footsteps had now faded. Ava slowed at the gate and reached for the latch.
No lock … good.
Pulling open the gate, she stayed tucked in behind, waiting for the screech of the partially rusted hinge.
And when the gate failed to make even the slightest sound, she leaned out and checked the area beyond.
A paved walkway led to an oversized driveway. The street beyond was wet, shallow puddles reflecting the partial moon, and a large white SUV that looked as though it hadn’t been moved in years sat parked near the mailbox. Before the outbreak, this would have looked completely normal, like any other street in suburban California. But now it just felt odd, out of place.
Ava moved from the fence and tucked in beside the exterior wall of the garage. She scanned the front of the home next door and then the street. It was quiet, too quiet. Something was wrong.
“Hey …” A man’s voice, higher pitched than the others she’d heard outside the door, sounding like the man who spoke to the woman in the hall when she was first brought to the room.
She didn’t like the thought of running out into the unknown, but knew she couldn’t just hide and wait to be rescued. That wasn’t going to happen. She had to do this herself, somehow keep going, just keep running, one step ahead.
“Vince?” The man’s voice turned the corner a half second before he did. She squinted as she looked back, and for now it appeared he hadn’t seen her.
Ava slipped around the edge of the garage, and with her heart thundering in her chest, sprinted down the driveway. She dodged the massive SUV, her breathing labored and shallow, her left lung feeling like it may explode.
As she cleared the sidewalk and stepped out into the street, her head was pulled backward, her scalp feeling like it was being torn away. And out of the corner of her eye she saw his face. The tall thin man who’d struck Lucas with his weapon.
He had her by the hair and pulled her in close. His breath was warm and smelled of rotten meat. “So glad you could make it, and just in time.”
Ava struggled to turn her head and then looked into his eyes. As he began to smile, she spit in his face and returned his gesture. “My friends are going to kill you.”
The man she remembered as Vince wiped his face and continued to smile at her. “Maybe someday, but not today.” He began to nod. “Today, well today you’re going to get to watch one of your father’s friends die. Right here in the street, like the dog that he is.”
17
The stillness of the night was distracting. Mason had turned onto the long paved road leading to Lincoln’s compound and now jogged toward the gates. The rain had stopped, although with the thick cloud cover and the thirty-foot pine that lined the side of the road, staying hidden in the shadows would surely prove to be much easier than what was to come next.
At fifty feet, he dipped in behind the base of a massive pine. The fire along the left side of his head had returned and with it a headache that felt as though his head might crack in half. He leaned into the damp bark, gave himself a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, and then looked out toward the gates.
At first he thought the pain and exhaustion must have been playing tricks on his eyes. The gates, nearly identical to those at Harbor Crest—thick slatted iron, two halves, ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide, appeared to have been removed.
No, not removed.
They were open.
From his vantage, he could see at least four homes. A trio of two stories, and on the end, a single level that had the same color scheme as the first—tan, olive, and neutral browns, accentuated with white trim and a driveway enhanced with brick inlays. It was identical to every other planned community in southern California, and before the end of the world, was probably managed by a home owners association that would care for every single inch of the property.
But not anymore.
Now there was something missing. Where were Lincoln’s people? According to the older man, his people had thrown him out and taken over. But why? Why were the gates open, and where had they gone, where were all—
“Let’s go, let’s go. Over here.”
The voice. A male, he sounded calm, but strong. Mason recognized the tone, but the man’s name escaped him. Although it didn’t matter—in the next few minutes the man was going to cease to exist. His name, where he came from, who he was, it just didn’t matter.
Away from the trees, Mason strode out into the street and started for the entry to the community. He slowed at the open gates and looked toward a home that had its garage washed in illumination.
“Mason Thomas …”
The same voice, but now he was able to put a face to it. He knew the man and now couldn’t wait to end his life. Not only was he the man who’d bested Lucas and who’d also shot him in the head, he now had Ava by the hair, dragging her across the wet asphalt.
Mason fought the urge to run at the man. To take him by the throat and choke the life out of him, to watch as he would slowly fade from this world. It was the only thing he could focus on, his sole purpose. He knew the man as Vince or Vincent, but didn’t really care.
“Let her go, And I mean right now. If you do I will let the rest of your people live.”
“Oh,” Vince said, he appeared to be holding back the urge to laugh. “You’re not going to offer me the same—”
“No,” Mason said, cutting him off. “Either way I’m going to kill you. I’m going to end your life right here in the street and then I’ll decide what to do with anyone who tries to help you.”
Vince pulled Ava in close to his side and as she struggled, he looked back over his shoulder. Three men walked away from the illuminated garage and—carrying shotguns—started toward the center of the street.
“So.” Vince turned his chin up, his grin growing. “You were saying?”
Mason slowly reached to his lower back, first pulled the radio from his waist and then the nine millimeter from his lower back. He set them both on the ground at his feet, stepped away and then looked up at the man still holding Ava by the hair. “Let her go and I promise I will make it quick. I won’t let you suffer.”
Vince’s expression changed in the blink of an eye. His smile faded into a scowl as he cut his eyes hard at M
ason. “You’re kidding right? You won’t even make it across the street.”
Mason could see he was already inside the man’s head. It was his only chance, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away. With less than fifteen feet separating him from his target, he launched from his trailing leg and cocked back his right arm.
The men on the street didn’t even have time to raise their weapons and certainly wouldn’t have been able to get off a clean shot, not anymore. And as Vince released Ava and attempted to bring up his own weapon, Mason hurled himself forward, hammering the left side of Vince’s face with a massive right hook.
The others were now running toward Mason as he took Vince to the ground and again brought back his right hand. But before he unleashed hell on the man below, he turned to Ava and motioned toward the weapon he dropped over his right shoulder.
“GO, GET OUT OF HERE!”
Ava was already on her feet and had moved to the weapon, but paused to look back at the three men who’d come from the garage and then again at Mason. She was crying and appeared to be trying to decide what to do next.
Mason turned away from her, letting loose a big right hand as Vince struggled to get free. “GO NOW AVA, JUST GO!”
Below him, Vince was able to pull his left arm out and drive it into Mason’s neck, just to the right of his Adam's apple. There was a second where it felt like his throat was closing, like he wasn’t going to be able to take a breath, but as he got ahold of Vince’s free arm, the rage coursing through every inch of his body pushed the fear to the back of his mind.
Mason swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath. The left side of his head pounded and he could feel the wound letting blood out onto his neck and back. He leaned in and struck Vince with an elbow that tore the thin man’s cheek open. And then he hit him again with a left and then another right before the men from the street came in and pulled him off.