The Next World (Book 3): Resurgence

by Olah, Jeff

  His favorite.

  “Noah … Ava.”

  His sister slid to a stop, leapt from the sled, and turned to him. She motioned toward the porch and smiled. “Race?”

  He looked down, didn’t acknowledge her offer, but started to run. His first few strides were careful, upper body leaned forward, legs planted firmly beneath. He slipped on a small patch of ice, but quickly recovered.

  Ava turned a second later, also began to run, but was already three or four paces behind. She laughed as she ran, growling at him like a bear, taunting him as he approached his mother and the porch. “I’m right behind you, you’re not going to win.”

  As he hit the stairs, he noticed his father standing in the doorway. He also wore a smile. Only Owen was staring past Natalie and the massive wrap-around porch. He looked out toward the trees and held something in his left hand. Noah wasn’t sure, but it looked like a gun.

  “Dad?”

  Owen didn’t turn, and the look on his face began to change. His smile morphed into a scowl, and then something he didn’t understand. His father raised the gun in his hand, firing two shots into the trees.

  But as Noah turned to look, they weren’t trees, not anymore. Now they were the monsters that had been trying to eat him and his sister and his mom. They were able to run and were at least twenty feet tall.

  “Go inside,” His dad said. “Get under the sink, stay there with your mother and your sister until I come to get you.”

  There were growls and more gunshots, so many more gunshots. But as he and his mother and his sister ran into the cabin and closed the doors, all the lights went off. Not just the lamps on the end tables, or the light by the stairs, and not just the candle at the center of the dinner table. It was everything, every bit of light in the entire world.

  He couldn’t see anything, and he was scared.

  “Mom?”

  “Noah …” Her voice was a whisper into the darkness. Far away, but right next to him.

  “Mom, I can’t—”

  “Sweetheart, you need to open your eyes.”

  And when he did, he was pulled back from the movie in his head. The cold air and the snow and the cabin and the trees that were monsters. Snapped away as he looked at the side of his mother’s face.

  “Noah, you’re sweating.” Her voice was still low, but seemed less angry than before. “And your heart is beating a mile a minute.”

  He leaned his head into the bend under her shoulder and swallowed hard. His throat was dry and he was having a hard time holding back his tears. “Where’s dad?”

  “He’s coming … he just—”

  There were three gunshots that came from somewhere close. Noah had gotten used to the sound, but for the last few weeks they had been louder and more frequent, especially when his dad was outside. He wanted to believe his dad when he told him that he’d be fine, but he’d seen too much since the world changed.

  “Is that him?”

  Natalie stiffened. She leaned up onto her elbow and pressed her face against the back of the cabinet door. “I don’t know, but your dad’s going to be safe. He knows where to go and he’s got his walkie.”

  “Nat, Noah?” Another whispered voice, followed by hurried footfalls. They were light and quick. He thought it sounded like Lucas.

  “Mom, is that—”

  “Hold on Noah.” Her voice was low again, and back with a touch of anger. “Just stay still for a second.”

  “Natalie, Noah?”

  “Mom, that’s Lucas.” Noah now had his face pressed to the cold shelf paper. He remembered it being a blue striped pattern. He thought it looked old and ugly. “I can see his shoes, he’s right there.”

  Natalie lifted away from him, pushed open the door and squinted against the fading light. “Lucas, where are—”

  “They’re in the back, we found an exit.” Lucas was dirty, like he crawled through a sea of old spider webs. They were stuck in his hair and on his face. “But we have to go now.”

  “But?” Her voice cracked as she looked back toward the side door “What about Owen, Kevin and Travis? We were supposed to wait for them.”

  Noah climbed out from under the cramped cabinet. He pulled himself up beside an overturned display shelf and waited.

  “I don’t know,” Lucas said. “But we can’t stay here. That crowd lost interest when the shooting started, but it’s not going to last.”

  “Okay.” His mother reached for his hand, pulled him in close. She began nodding. “We can get them on the radio, tell them where we’re going, find out if they’re—”

  “Mom…” Noah tugged at her hand, interrupting.

  “What is it Noah, what?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Have what?”

  He felt dizzy, like when he fell off his bike and watched the blood soak through the knees of his pants. “I took the walkie talkie from Lucas, but I dropped it.”

  “What?”

  “I took it from his pack when we got out of the car, but then everybody started running and I dropped it.”

  Lucas moved to the window. He carefully slid a sheet of dusty cardboard aside and scanned the street. “Where?”

  Noah closed his eyes and tried to remember. “By the trash—”

  “Never mind, I see it.” He slowly moved the cardboard back into place and stepped away from the window.

  “Where?” Natalie asked. “Can we—”

  Another quick round of gunfire silenced the darkened space.

  Lucas stepped toward the door and pulled the Ruger LC9 from his waist. “Get to the back room with the others. Stay close to the door, but don’t go out until I get back.”

  Natalie shook her head. She looked down at Noah and then back at Lucas. “What are you doing?”

  “We need that radio, it may be the only way we can reach them. They don’t know where we are and won’t be able to find us. I have to go get it.”

  “You can’t go out there by yourself, why don’t you at least take Harper to run cover.”

  “No, I’m going by myself. I don’t need anyone slowing me down. Just go to the back and wait. I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

  Noah looked up at his mother, trying to judge her reaction. She was quiet for a moment, like she was trying to find something else to say, but then didn’t. She just laid her hand on Lucas’s shoulder and smiled. “Be careful, and thank you.”

  She took Noah’s hand and started to turn, but he pulled away. “Lucas, I’m sorry.”

  The teen gave a quick nod and flashed him a devious grin. “Don’t worry about it buddy, this is going to be fun.”

  18

  Owen tasted blood.

  His head felt heavy and the sounds of the world beyond now came in waves. The gunfire he remembered was gone, although the buzzing in his ears came with a scorching pain that radiated from the left side of his skull. He wiped at his face, tried to stand but was held down from behind.

  “Owen, stay still buddy. I need to get you into the truck.”

  Seated next to the sidewalk, he put his hands under his legs and tilted his head back. “Travis?”

  “You’re gonna be okay, but we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Owen tried to focus. Blinking, he looked right and saw the tall young man from earlier, now pulling a body out of the bed of the truck. He thought the man’s name was Thomas, but he wasn’t sure. The tall man looked at him, but then dragged the body away and moved to the other side of the truck.

  “Travis?”

  Travis had stepped toward the truck, was looking into the cab, and talked to someone he couldn’t see. “Is he okay?”

  There was another voice. “Yeah, I think so.” It sounded familiar. “How’s he?”

  Travis turned and looked at Owen, his face hanging at the edges. “It’s bad, but I think he’ll be okay. You ready to get the hell out of—”

  Travis turned at the same time as the tall man, Thomas. Yes, he was now sure it was Thomas. Things wer
e beginning to come together in his mind. Like putting together a puzzle—the more pieces you placed, the more you’re able to see where the others should go.

  And in this case, the more you remember.

  The pieces of the last several minutes began to fall into place when he noticed Travis raising his weapon and Thomas stepping around the back of the truck. They both stared off toward the left end of the parking garage.

  “STOP … DO. NOT. MOVE!”

  He turned quickly, but the pain from the side of his head was blinding. His vision dropped for a brief second, and then came in spots and flashes. Instinctively he put his hand against the left side of his head. It felt wet and sticky.

  Blood.

  More than seemed possible. It covered his hand, from the top of his ring finger to where his palm met his wrist. And then another wave. The men in the street, the men near the silver car, and Jerome Declan hobbled and broken, ordering that he and his friends be killed.

  Owen pushed at the ground, again attempting to stand. His vision had cleared by maybe seventy percent, but the pain was growing. He took in a long breath and blinked as he stared off toward the four-level garage.

  There was a shadowed figure, probably fifty yards away. “I’m here to help.”

  Travis shook his head, continuing to shout as he held up his hand “WE DON’T NEED YOUR HELP.”

  The shadowed figure had his hands above his head, the end of a rifle showing above his shoulder. “Listen, you don’t have much time. They’ll regroup and come back, and when they do, they’ll bring their entire army. And just for the record, the only reason you’re still alive is because of my help. So how about you just thank me …” He started forward again, lowering his hands. “… and try to pay attention.”

  Travis took a quick look back at Kevin and then turned to Owen, his eyes going wide for a brief second. “You need to sit down.”

  Owen had a thought, something he wanted to say, but whatever it was had begun to escape just as the figure in the distance stepped out of the shadows.

  “The dog isn’t going to make it …” He was young, less than thirty for sure, probably closer than twenty without the dirty beard and the obvious lack of sleep. He walked slowly, still with his hands above his head, but with a definite purpose, like he’d practiced this encounter before. He motioned toward Owen. “… your friend either.”

  Travis shook his head. He looked like he was going to shoot the younger man. “I told you to stop, we don’t need—”

  “LISTEN.” The man shouted, but then quickly dropped his voice when Travis paused. “You need to trust me or your friend is going to bleed to death. I can get you out of here and back to the rest of your group before they come back. I have a place …” his voice trailed off for a second. “We have a place, somewhere I need to take you.”

  Something caught Owen’s attention, something that the others may have missed. It grabbed him by the throat and pulled him back from the searing pain behind his left eye. “What did you say?”

  The man started to respond, but Owen stepped away from the sidewalk and holding his hand over the radio on his waist, continued. “What do you know about the rest of our group, why would you say that?”

  Kevin stepped around the door, the front of his shirt a bloodied mess. “I’ve got to get Zeus some help. He’s gonna need to get his leg wrapped soon, and Harper’s got the bag with the supplies.”

  “I can help.” The young man lowered his hands and motioned back beyond the truck. “I can take you to your friends, get you the help you’re gonna need.”

  Travis turned to Kevin. “We trusting this guy, I mean really?”

  Kevin started toward the driver’s door. “I think we let him prove what he’s saying. If he’s lying, we just let him go. Either way, he’s right; we do need to get the hell out of here.”

  “How do we know he’s not one of them?” Travis looked back toward the cab of the truck. “Or the one who shot—”

  “He’s not.” Kevin stood at the door to the cab and ran his hand over his best friend’s back. “I saw him on the roof, and he’s right. He’s the reason we’re all still here.”

  Owen felt his stomach begin to tighten, like he was going to be sick. He was okay with the thought of the young man helping, although he was still stuck on the details. “My family … what do you … how …” Owen paused, breathing in through his nose, certain that he was only seconds from losing consciousness. “Who are you?”

  The young man didn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Devin Fletcher and I’m here to help, probably more than you can understand.”

  Travis looked from Devin, to Owen, and then finally back to Kevin. “Your call, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “We don’t really have time for anything else.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Kevin turned to make eye contact with Thomas and then back to Travis, said, “Let’s get Owen in the truck and go find our friends.”

  Travis blew out, shaking his head and motioning toward the man who walked out of the shadows only minutes before. “And him?”

  “He rides in the bed with you. We’re gonna give him the chance to do what he says. If he steps out of line even an inch, or for whatever reason doesn’t come through with what he promised, you have my blessing to shoot him in the face and throw him out.” And then to Owen he said, “You ready old man?”

  Owen held the side of his head and started toward the rear door on the passenger side. “Let’s just get the hell—”

  The radio on his belt squawked. There was a short burst of muffled static and then the sound of heavy breaths and a hurried voice. “Owen, we couldn’t get there. We had to—” More static and then nothing.

  He pulled the radio from his belt and waited. “Lucas, you there?”

  Another five seconds of nothing but the light rain and the plodding footfalls of the horde as they filtered out of the garage and onto the street fifty yards away.

  Owen looked to Kevin as he climbed into the rear of the truck behind Thomas. “Let’s go get Zeus some help.”

  19

  The trip out to the street to retrieve the walkie proved to be less eventful than he had originally envisioned, although now Lucas felt a cramp beginning to form in his left calf.

  He hadn’t had enough water today, also yesterday and the day before that. Natalie and Ava had reminded him more times than he could count, but he was never one to take those kinds of things too seriously. Although with a running count of at least two dozen Feeders on the opposite side of the door, and more flooding in with each second that passed, he was starting to think he should have listened.

  Okay, go in three. You’re faster than those rotting corpses, even with only one good leg. You got this, Lucas.

  “Harper?” His voice echoed through the darkened space, pinging out of the main room as the door at his back felt like it was ready to fold in half.

  Just as quickly Harper’s reply came back. “We’re ready.”

  Lucas shifted his weight and repositioned his back against the door. He had another ten seconds, maybe twenty. “Okay, check the alley.”

  After a brief moment of silence that seemed to go on forever. “Still clear.”

  “Good, get ready to run.” With a deep breath in, he pictured his route one last time. Three tables, dodge left and then a straight shot through to the back. Maybe tip a chair or two on his way out, give them something to work for, a bit of a challenge.

  Why not?

  Lucas slid right, now only the left half of his body against the door as it inched open and the growls from beyond intensified.

  “Three …”

  He felt a hand as it pushed through the opening, its fingers grazing the back of his neck, the hair standing straight, causing him to involuntarily flinch.

  “Two …”

  He released the handle in his left hand, and planted his right foot against the wall beside the door.

  “One …”

&n
bsp; Like a sprinter coming out of the blocks, Lucas pushed off the wall, using the initial burst of restrained energy to force the door momentarily back against the frame. He moved in a straight line as he passed the tables on his right and then dug in as he cut hard in the opposite direction.

  “GO HARPER, NOW!”

  Out of the aggressive pivot, his calf flexed and threatened to lock. It was all he could do to keep himself centered and his thoughts on what was next. He heard the shuffling of feet and the hushed voices from the room ahead and finally turning the corner, a burst of cool late afternoon air.

  Harper stood just outside the threshold, waving him forward and intermittently looking back over her shoulder. She held the door partially open for him with her left hand and clutched a nine millimeter pistol in her right. “Hurry, we have to …”

  Her voice trailed off as her mouth slowly dropped open. She looked past him, just over his right shoulder, her eyes telling him that something had changed.

  “Lucas, behind you.”

  He knew better than to turn, but was also a bit confused. He’d given himself at least a five second lead, and although he could hear the wet throaty growl coming from behind, he didn’t quite understand how they’d reached him so soon.

  Turn and fire on the crowd, or continue forward?

  Ten feet from the door and at the moment he was still far enough ahead that—

  Out of nowhere, a hand on his left shoulder and another on his waist. It couldn’t be the crowd from the front, they were back and to the right, coming from the opposite direction. And out of the corner of his eye he saw what he had originally missed.

  Lucas torqued violently to the side, twisting away from the hand tearing into his hoodie. The thick cotton fabric stretched and then retracted as a large male Feeder stumbled into a stand of cardboard boxes.

  The man, well over six feet and approaching three hundred pounds, wore a server’s uniform and had his right sleeve burned into his bicep and forearm. The skin oozed from his elbow and wrist, like warm cheese dropping from a plate of nachos. Same consistency and through the darkened interior, nearly the same color.