The Dead Years-New Dawn (Book 1): Resurrection

by Olah, Jeff

  “Mr. Goodwin, are we—”

  He didn’t acknowledge her; instead, he turned to the much smaller man who trailed by at least two paces and pointed at his plane. “James, let the pilot know that we need to be in the air within five minutes. I don’t want to hear any excuses. Once airborne, I need you to gain access to the offices and make sure we're ready. The next few days are going to be interesting.”

  As the smaller man moved away, Emma hurried to Goodwin’s side. “Sir, what are we doing here? Do I need to begin—”

  Stopping at the stairs to the second jet, Goodwin finally turned and acknowledged her. “I’m leaving.”

  “We’re leaving … right?”

  “Yes and no. I’m leaving in this plane and going back to the office. I’ve got a few things to take care of in the coming days, and will come for you when the time is right.”

  “Wait,” Emma said. “What do you mean come for me? I thought I was leaving as well.”

  “You are; however, you’re getting on that other jet and going home—to your house. I have arranged for a private security team to stay with you until I’m able to bring you to a safe place. I don’t have time to go through everything right now, although I want you to—”

  “Safe place?” Emma’s mouth went dry and as her knees began to falter, she questioned the cause. Was it from the punishing exhaustion brought on by her lack of sleep, or this new look of desperation poisoning Goodwin’s expression? She was willing to bet every penny she’d earned over the last year that it was the former. The man standing less than two feet away had little use for such emotion.

  Pulling out his phone as it again interrupted their conversation, Goodwin peered into the display and continued. “You haven’t seen the news tonight?”

  “No, why?”

  “I’ll have someone brief you on your flight back to Los Angeles. Just get home and stay put; I’ll be in contact.” Goodwin turned and quickly made his way into the plane, the door closing behind him.

  Walking back to the idling jet reserved only for her, Emma withdrew her phone, keyed in her four character pass code and began checking her social media feed. Now stopped at the foot of the steps, she leaned into the railing and tried to ignore the icy tendrils climbing up her spine. “What. The. Hell?”

  Early winter, approaching sunset…

  Standing with his back to the wall, Ethan Runner wasn’t yet ready to end his best friend’s life.

  The weapon hung loosely in his left hand. It was heavier than he remembered and now felt a bit awkward. Turning to the others, he said, “I can’t do this.”

  No one said a word. Avoiding his gaze, the others had already made up their minds. They were done negotiating.

  Shaking his head, he slowly raised the nine millimeter and placed it against David’s temple. He’d run out of excuses for not doing what these people had demanded and the decision was no longer his to make. The four remaining survivors backed tightly into the rear of the vault had to take priority, and his best friend—were he still able—would have agreed.

  Scanning the room, every expectant eye now focused elsewhere—the group had spoken. They not only wanted him to end what was left of his friend’s life, they were also asking that Ethan do it now, before it was too late. Some were scared and a few had just run out of patience. The group already made it extremely clear how they felt, and given the fact that this was for the most part his idea, he had a hard time disagreeing.

  Back to his friend, he stepped to the left and again checked the restraint. A five-foot section of audio cable tied around David’s wrists didn’t offer much in the way of security. He knew that. If what was happening out in the streets were to take hold of his friend, there would be little he or anyone else could do to stop what was coming.

  “Do it! You know what’s happening to him—just do it. You’re putting everyone at risk.” The outspoken drifter was finally putting a voice to what the group wanted to say.

  Ethan didn’t respond.

  “Give me the gun, I’ll do it.” Mr. Outspoken, again living up to his moniker, couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Placing him at just shy of forty years old, his overly muscled frame and a month’s worth of facial hair fit his exaggerated personality perfectly. Since entering the vault behind the two bank employees and pulling the door shut, he had yet to let up.

  Ethan turned to the casually dressed man as his friend began to pull away. “Last time, keep quiet! You’re the reason we’re stuck in here. I’m not going to ask you again.”

  “Oh yeah I forgot, you’re the big shot with the uniform and the badge. So tell me, what’s your plan—huh?”

  Ethan began to answer, but was cut short as the man continued. “You do realize that I just followed you and the others in here. And with those—those things outside the door, you’re all real lucky I even thought to shut it behind us. If I hadn’t, you’d all be dead or worse,” Mr. Outspoken said, pointing at David. “You’d be just like him.”

  Turning away, he again focused on his friend. Sliding the pistol to David’s forehead, he dropped to one knee, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him in tight. “You don’t deserve this. It should’ve been me.” Ethan leaned in and placed his mouth just outside his friend’s bloodstained ear. “I will get to Carly. I will get her somewhere safe. I promise you that.”

  His friend’s body began to go rigid. Ethan felt David beginning to struggle. Leaning away and starting to stand, what little remained of his friend was now gone. The wounds along his right triceps oozed a yellowish-orange fluid that leaked out into the pool of coagulated blood surrounding their feet.

  Peering into David’s eyes, they were nearly unrecognizable as human. His once sapphire-blue eyes had faded into something just shy of translucent and were now obscured by a milky white haze. What lay behind the thick film was no longer the man with whom Ethan had spent the better part of his life. The fragments of his friend that still remained were quickly losing the battle with what had taken hold.

  Beginning to growl, the beast now inching toward Ethan wore his friend’s face, but most certainly was not him. Tugging at his makeshift restraints, the thing that David had become fought to free itself as the group collectively took a step back. Twisting against the weakened audio cable, his left arm, the less injured of the two, gave way.

  The ensuing sound of bone on bone reverberated through the cramped vault. However, the realization that his friend had just broken his own arm in an attempt to free himself hung in the air with a bit more weight. What appeared to put an exclamation on the moment was the fact that David hadn’t even flinched. Not in the slightest. He didn’t look at the injury and only stared across the room at the five unbelieving individuals.

  Turning from the others as he again raised the weapon, Ethan heard their gasps only just before he realized his friend was loose. With his hands now free, David shot forward as if out of a cannon. He slammed face-first into Ethan’s chest, sending both men to the blood-soaked concrete floor, and Ethan’s nine millimeter sliding into the corner.

  Shielding himself from David’s snapping jaws, Ethan drew his legs back into his chest and kicked straight up. He drove what used to be his friend’s body back into the row of safety deposit boxes and twisted right in hopes of retrieving the weapon he’d just dropped. No luck—the only thing in his inverted field of view were the men and women now scrambling to either side.

  As Ethan slid up and onto his knees, scanning the vault for his weapon, David shot forward yet again. Reflexively turning away, Ethan held out his right hand, attempting to deflect the initial blow. He expected to be hit dead on and assumed that shortly following the collision he’d be flat on his back yet again. He envisioned his own demise, his friend tearing him apart without even the most remote chance of defending himself. This is where his life would end.

  Clenching his jaw, he twisted to the right as David lunged forward yet again. The two bodies slammed into one another like wet bags of sand, sending Ethan back a
nd into the bottom row of safety deposit boxes, the top of his head making contact first. Blinking through the pain, he attempted to draw in a deep breath and failed. This was it.

  As his friend climbed on top and inched his way toward Ethan’s face, his vision began to fade. Next, the low buzz in his ears told him that unconsciousness was not far off and if he hoped to walk out of the bank alive, he had to take some sort of action, only his arms were pinned to the floor below.

  With David clawing his way up onto his chest, Ethan was only able to get glimpses of the battle he was losing. In between the shouts and screams, his mind waded in the shadows until it finally gave up. The last image to flash through his narrowed field of vision was the nine millimeter he’d held to his friend’s head only moments before, and the glint of the barrel.

  Continue with the story here…

  Sneak peek of The Dead Years (Season One)

  No one knew how or where it all began. There were only rumors at first, spreading from one city to another. The infection took hold quickly. Many that became victims of the first wave were caught off guard by the unusual behavior of those infected. Millions perished with each day that passed and the number of survivors continued to dwindle as they desperately searched for places free of this hell.

  The devastation was almost immediate. Law enforcement fell, utilities powered down and civilization was shattered within the first few weeks. With no structure left in the world, the few remaining sought to band together to fight and survive in this new existence.

  They had no other choice …

  Mason looked out over the floor in between sets and was somewhat caught off guard, and also a little amused as one of his favorite songs from high school started up through his headphones. He hadn’t heard this for quite some time and figured his phone must be cycling through the deep reaches of his enormous playlist.

  Just as the chorus set in, the music muted, signaling a call was coming through. Mason pulled the phone from his pocket to check who was calling. “April,” he said aloud. He figured there must be something else she needed to harass him about and he wasn’t going to ruin another workout just to satisfy her need to belittle him. He hit decline and lay back on the floor for another set of crunches.

  Mason ran through his next set like a man on fire and lost all focus on the world around him. He often used his outside frustrations to fuel his high intensity workouts in the gym. This proved to be an effective tool in that he was able to push off his problems and at the same time get into top shape. The downside to all this was that his workouts, coupled with the time spent training clients, fueled the fire that resulted in his and April’s separation three months ago.

  Rolling forward and standing from his final set, Mason was surprised to see the weight room almost empty. He turned and noticed at least thirty people gathered outside the owner’s office and as he got closer, he saw there was at least half that amount inside the office.

  They seemed to be intently debating something as others hurried out the front exits of the gym and were headed for their cars. Mason asked one of the female on-lookers what was happening and just as she began to answer, his phone started to buzz, indicating he was getting a text message.

  Again it was April.

  Looking back at the woman standing directly in front of him, now appearing irritated, Mason said, “I apologize, what did you say?”

  “The old folks home,” she said.

  “Yes?” Mason followed.

  “They’re killing each other … LOOK!”

  Mason pushed his way through the diminishing crowd inside the office to get a glimpse of the television now directly in front of him.

  The reporter standing in the hallway was in the middle of his report when he was overtaken by what appeared to be three individuals, all of whom were at least eighty years old.

  Someone in the crowd said, “I am not sure what the hell they’re taking, but I want some. Damn, I have never seen people that age move so fast.”

  The news station cut away just as the threesome overtook the reporter. The footage was disturbing in that it appeared as though they were not just attacking the reporter, but trying to devour him. The first crazed senior appeared to bite the reporter on the neck or face and just as they cut away it looked as though the others had the same intention.

  The station went to a commercial and Tom the owner switched to another station covering a mysterious virus plaguing an emergency room with the same sort of crazy behavior; this time it wasn’t senior citizens. The cameraperson appeared to be running from the hospital and dropped the camera just as he was trapped on all sides by the angry horde.

  Mason looked over at Tom and watched as the remaining members either headed toward the doors or to the locker room, fearing the unknown. Tom stared at the screen a minute longer watching as the cameraman was torn to shreds by nothing more than the hands and mouths of the rabid individuals.

  “Tom!”

  “Yeah, what?” Tom said as though coming out of a fog.

  “What the hell is happening?”

  “How on earth would I know? It’s on every damn station though… check it out.”

  As Tom flipped from one station to the next, every station—even the local cable channels—had coverage of these bizarre events taking place. Some of the network channels had started to go dark and this appeared to concern Tom.

  “Mason, I’m closing up for the day. I need to get home; my wife is probably flipping out. I’m surprised she hasn’t called yet. If you want to stay you can lock up, otherwise let’s go.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “I’m going to grab my bag and I’ll just be a few minutes behind you.”

  Heading back toward the locker room, Mason turned and looked as Tom reached the front door.

  “Tom, take care, I’ll call you later.”

  Mason pulled the phone from his pocket and looked down remembering he had put April on ignore. “Great,” he said.

  Opening April’s text, it read: Check the news, I am really scared – PLEASE CALL ME!!!

  Mason sat in front of his locker and dialed April. Being the only remaining soul inside the gym felt a little creepy and not just because of the earlier images he had seen on the news. He always hated being here alone, especially when it was dead silent, and being here mid-afternoon with the place empty was just weird.

  “Mason!” April answered on the forth ring.

  “I’m just leaving the gym now,” Mason said.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Home… why?”

  “Can you come here?” April asked. “I’m really scared and I need you.”

  “Where is Justin?” Mason asked.

  “He’s in school; I just checked out the window and everything is quiet.”

  Mason had never heard April this worried. He figured he would try to set her mind at ease. “I’m on my way to your place. Stay put and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “I will,” April said, sounding a little less stressed.

  “Mason?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just spoke to my Dad.”

  “Oh yeah, what did HE have to say about this?”

  “He didn’t say very much, although he made me promise him that we would get out of the city. TODAY!”

  April hung up the phone and walked to the oversized bay window in her master bedroom. The home she had purchased eight years ago with Mason was supposed to be her dream home. Instead, it now reminded her of how hard she had been on him and how much she had let her father influence those bad times.

  Thinking back to the better memories they shared, she remembered that they had decided on this home in particular because it overlooked not only the elementary, but also the middle and high schools. She persuaded Mason that if they stuck to the budget she outlined, they could literally watch their son grow from kindergarten to high school. She was sure her being overprotective did nothing to help their marriage. Mason would constantly let her know
she needed to “loosen the reigns,” especially since Justin was only a few months shy of his fourteenth birthday.

  She desperately hoped Mason would arrive soon as she was freaked out after watching the news all day and talking to dear old dad.

  “I guess we were spared,” April said aloud as she looked out the window surveying both campuses, half trying to convince herself that she had nothing to worry about. No frantic people running around; in fact, the area seemed overly calm.

  April made her way downstairs and into the kitchen just as the phone rang. She was sure it was Mason with some sort of an update, although upon checking the caller ID she noticed the call was coming from Justin’s cell.

  “Hello?” she quickly answered, trying to sounds as if she had not a care in the world.

  “Mom, something weird is happening.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “All the teachers and staff were called to an emergency meeting and they haven’t been back to the classrooms. It’s been almost an hour now.”

  “Where are you?” April said.

  “I walked out into the gym because the rest of the school is too loud. The other students are kind of just running around the halls. Mom, some of my friends are saying that there is a war that was started.”

  “Justin, I think they’re just trying to scare you.”

  “Well, what IS going on? Why are all the teachers gone? Why haven’t they come back?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just go back to the—”

  “Mom they’re coming back, I gotta go.”

  April set the phone down and leaned back against the counter. She wanted Justin home and had to talk herself out of walking across the street to get him. She knew it would embarrass him and probably her as well.