The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]
Page 12
In the opposite corner, near the door, Ava sat with her knees pulled into her chest and continued to cry. She hadn’t wanted to talk much today, although over the last few hours, he could sense that something was coming. She slowly sucked in a breath, paused like she was going to speak, but then didn’t.
Owen curled his hands into fists and bit into the side of his mouth. He couldn’t see her face, and didn’t need to. The pain was evident, and now he was starting to come to terms with the fact that he may not be able to help her.
“Ava, are you—”
“Dad?” Her voice shot from the corner at nearly the same time, hoarse and dry.
He strained to see her through the fading light inside the tiny apartment. “I’m here.”
“That man.” She sucked in through her nose. “The one in the driveway, the one who tried to get into our house …”
“Yeah?”
“That wasn’t … uh … that wasn’t Mr. Tompkins … was it?”
Owen wanted to spring from the floor, run to the opposite side of the room, take her in his arms and hug her. He knew what she was doing, why she was asking, and after all that she’d seen, all that she’d been through, what she needed from his answer.
“No sweetheart, I think Phil, uh Mr. Tompkins, he and his family left the city. By the time your mother and I got home, both of their cars were gone and the garage was pretty much empty.”
She was quiet for a moment. Appeared to be thinking it through.
“Ava?”
“Did you know him?”
He didn’t like the change in her voice. It was slower than before, and now held a hint of cynicism. Owen knew what she was asking, and why. However, he also knew what she needed him to say, even if he wasn’t being completely honest. “Did I know who?”
“That man, the one you shot in the driveway.”
He figured that if he couldn’t see her, then she’d have the same disadvantage. Owen then dropped his head back against the wall, peered up at the ceiling, and breathed out slowly. “I didn’t. He was just a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Ava sat forward, moved something from her lap, and placed it on the cool linoleum floor. “Wrong place, wrong time? Dad, I think it was a little more than—”
“What is it you want to hear, Ava? That I killed a man in cold-blood, or are you looking for me to confirm what you think you already know?”
She didn’t answer, only ran her sleeve over her face and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
He was slipping, the black hole that was his anxiety began to pull at him. Up until now, he had been able to avoid the quiet moments, the long stretches within his own head, but now and for the last several hours, the voices had started to return. “You want to know what I did, Ava? Do you really want to know?”
“Dad, stop it. That wasn’t what I was saying.”
He closed his eyes, began to count backward from ten in his head. This was his problem, his daughter shouldn’t have to see this side of him, and at any other time, she wouldn’t have to. As he reached three, he stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”
Ava moved from the corner. He could see her silhouette stretching, her long spindly arms over her head, and then back down. She started to say something, but then just sighed heavily.
“Ava, what is it?”
“Uh, do you think Mom and Noah are …” Her voice trailed off, broke at the last word.
Owen was quick to respond, wanting to guide the conversation. He sat forward, into the fading light filtering in through the broken window. He wanted her to see his face. “Your mom and your brother are fine, I promise you.”
Ava also pushed herself away from the wall. She leaned into the same light, her delicate features and red-lined eyes now visible. She thought for a moment and then cocked her head, couldn’t have looked more like her mother. “How do you know? I mean how do you know for sure? There’s no way.”
“I just know, it’s a feeling.” He wasn’t lying, although his response seemed weak.
“Is it just because you hope that they’re still alive, or something else?”
His fourteen-year-old was smart, much more in tune with the ebbs and flows of human psychology than anyone he’d come across. He should have known that she’d question his reasoning even before he answered.
“You know how sometimes when you wake up in the morning and get the feeling that it’s going to be a bad day? Or when you see one of your friends at school and can tell that something is wrong?”
“Sort of.”
Owen nodded. “It’s kind of like that. I’ve been with your mom nearly every single day for over twenty years and there’s a weird kind of bond that we’ve formed. Like we are two halves of a whole, and at times it seems like we share the same brain.”
Ava let out a stilted giggle.
“So, I’m not sure I really know how to describe the feeling, but it’s definitely there. I’m not saying that this isn’t tearing me apart or that I’m not absolutely terrified about your mother and your brother, but I just know in my heart that they’re out there somewhere, and that they’re still alive.”
Ava pulled her legs up under her, pushed away from the floor and moved to him. She waited as he also stood and then hugged him. “Dad, I think I feel it too … but also—”
There were footsteps out in the hall. Not Feeders, they were too quick and with an even cadence. Before Owen could turn and retrieve the Glock that sat in the shadows below the window, there was someone at the door.
Four sharp strikes against the back of the door echoed through the cramped apartment, didn’t sound like hands. Owen took Ava’s arm and guided her to the corner. He whispered, “Stay here and don’t say a word, no matter what.”
Owen readied the Glock, hurried across the floor, and stood between a small dining room table and an old leather recliner. He took two slow steps forward and stared at the peephole, noticing the light from the hall quickly fading away.
Another three steps and he was standing beside the door, his heart thundering in his chest. He fought to steady his hands, tried to push down all the thoughts of what it could be as he reached for the handle.
Two more raps against the door and then an audible sigh. Owen pulled back, gripped the pistol with both hands, and took a cautious step toward the center of the room. He didn’t like what he was about to do, but at the moment couldn’t see a way around it.
With his voice low—just above a whisper—Owen leaned in toward the door. “We don’t want any trouble, but I do have a gun.” He waited a beat and then continued. “Please just leave us, we don’t have anything you want, but if you don’t—”
From beyond the door, the voice came through deep and fast. “Mr. Mercer, you should let me in. There are a few things you’re gonna want to hear.”
25
They had been running for what felt like hours. With the sun now hidden behind the western edge of the city, the temperature must have fallen a good twenty degrees. Her knees felt like glass, her head pounded, and the pain in her shoulder had her seeing spots. Natalie sensed herself again slipping, but knew that wasn’t an option. She held tight to her son’s hand and stayed three strides behind Chuck.
Thirty yards ahead, six Highway Patrol vehicles had been placed end-to-end. They spanned the width of the street and appeared to have been used as some sort of makeshift barricade. Chuck stayed near the far end of the sidewalk, but held up his hand and started to slow.
“Hold up.” Chuck turned, looked back the way they’d come, and then motioned toward the building to his right. “Let me check it out, maybe see if we can drive one of these out of here.”
Noah was panting, his nose and cheeks sweaty, and his hair a disheveled mess. He looked from Chuck to Natalie, his expression quickly changing. “Can we go in a police car?”
With the nine millimeter extended from her right hand, she pulled him in close, brushed his hair away from his face, and dropped into a squat. She rolled her sho
ulders, bit through the pain, and stretched away the stiffness building in her lower back. “We’ll have to see.”
“But … but won’t we get in trouble?”
“Well, I don’t think the usual rules apply anymore. And I think the police would want us to be safe.”
Chuck gave Natalie a thumb’s up and then trotted off toward the line of patrol cars. He scanned the streets, the abandoned storefronts, and the intersection another twenty yards beyond the line of Highway Patrol cars.
Noah put his back against the brick wall, watched as Chuck moved away, and rubbed at his right eye. “Mom, what’s gonna happen?”
Natalie placed her hand on his shoulder, mostly for balance. “What do you mean, what’s going to happen?”
“What’s gonna happen to us? We don’t have anywhere to go and we can’t find Dad and Ava.”
She kissed him on the cheek and looked out over the street, noticing a small grouping of Feeders who appeared to be locked inside an art supply store across the street. She watched Chuck to make sure he’d seen them and then turned back to Noah. “We’re going to be fine. We’re still looking for a place to stay. It just has to be the right one.”
Noah didn’t speak right away; he too watched as Chuck made his way from one patrol car to the next. He seemed to be considering her answer, and then finally turned back. “Okay, but you said we were going to find Dad and Ava.”
There wasn’t really anything she could say and even attempting to redirect the conversation would tip him off. In many ways, Noah was different from other nine-year-olds, but in all the ways that mattered, he was exactly the same. She’d have to deal with it the way she always did, with the truth.
“I believe we will find them, but this is a big city and your dad is also trying to keep your sister safe. They are out there somewhere, but they are probably hiding and that will make finding them a bit harder.” She felt like she was talking to an adult, like she was selling herself to a client. She didn’t like it, but also didn’t have a ton of experience persuading fourth graders.
Noah peered past her and into the street. He looked like he’d lost interest, but after a few seconds said, “Then how are we going to find them?”
Natalie was coming up with a response when Noah turned to her. He quickly looked back toward the line of black and whites and pointed. Chuck stood at the passenger door of the last patrol car and waved them forward.
They met further down the sidewalk, Chuck digging through the front seat of the last car. “Not much here.” He looked through the driver’s window into the intersection. “But I don’t like this, it doesn’t make any sense.”
Natalie squinted as she looked past him into the front seat, then to the next car. “Looks like they were picked clean, like someone’s already been through here.”
“Yeah, this is a waste of time.” Chuck stepped out, stood, and also stretched his back. “We’ve got to move, find somewhere to put down for a bit.”
“Put down?”
“You need some rest, and so do I, even if it’s just for a few minutes.”
Noah started to turn, he’d heard it first. Then Natalie and finally Chuck. The throaty rumble of a twin-turbo V8 came from beyond the darkened intersection just a second before a white BMW X6 flashed on its headlights.
In a temporary moment of blindness, Natalie instinctively pulled her son away from the street. She pushed him back toward the brick wall and raised the nine millimeter.
Chuck stepped away from the rear passenger door, pulled the Mossberg into his shoulder, and looked back at Natalie. “Stay back, okay?”
The BMW accelerated quickly from the opposite corner and braked hard twenty feet from the makeshift barricade, flooding the street in artificial light. The rear doors opened, two men stepped out, both armed with semi-automatic rifles.
Chuck again spoke to Natalie under his breath. “Put your gun away.” He dipped his chin, but kept his eyes on the men roving from one to the other.
The driver’s door opened next. A small man stepped out holding a shotgun similar to Chuck’s, but let it hang from his left arm. He wore a white long-sleeve t-shirt, a black tactical vest that looked two sizes too big, and dark blue denim.
Chuck swung his weapon toward the small man in the tactical vest and shook his head. “Listen, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just out here trying to find our way, same as you.”
The small man took a moment to look over the area. He leaned to the side, balancing on one leg, and offered Noah a toothy grin. He then turned back to the BMW, stared through the windshield and nodded. “Just the three of them, and we’ve got a kid out here.”
A full five seconds of nothing and then the passenger door slowly opened. A tall man with an athletic build—couldn’t have been more than thirty years old—stepped into the street and held out both of his hands.
The man walked in between the others and took an extra two strides. Now out in front, he glanced at his hands and then up at Chuck. “How about you lower that thing, maybe we start things off the right way?”
Chuck squinted as he attempted to bring the tall man into focus, the light coming from the BMW’s headlights blurring the edges of his world. “What do you want?”
“So, you want to do this the hard—”
“I don’t want to do this at all. I’ve already explained that we don’t want any trouble.”
The tall man furrowed his brow, obviously displeased with being interrupted. He rubbed his temples, turned to the short man, and then back to Chuck. “I see you’re traveling with a child, so I’m going to make you an offer that doesn’t get him killed. You open to listening or you want to take this another way?”
Chuck thought he heard Natalie let out a whimper. He tucked the Mossberg tighter into his shoulder and looked between the four men. “What do you want?”
“You already asked that, and it seems like it might be a sticking point for you, so I’ll answer, but you have to do something for me.”
Chuck just continued to stare back at the tall man with the perfectly coiffed jet-black hair and deep blue eyes. The man’s pressed jeans and fitted Henley seemed like they’d be more at home on a modeling runway than in the apocalyptic hell that they were currently living.
“Okay,” the man said, “straight to the point, I like that.” He paused a moment, looked around at the others. “What I want … what we want, is to help you out, but first I’m going to have to ask you once again to lower your weapon.”
“And?”
The man nodded. “At that point I’ll have to ask you to hand it over.” The man turned his head down and winced. “Now I know that’s not going to be something you’re going to want to do, and I can’t say I blame you, but it’s going to need to happen.”
Chuck could feel Natalie starting to slide forward. He shifted his weight onto his left foot, now completely blocking her view as he responded. “How about I just shoot the four of you where you stand?”
The tall man chuckled. “My guess is that if that was your plan, you would have already pulled the trigger. So since we’re out here just beating our chests, how about I give you one last chance to save that very attractive woman standing behind you and that little boy? What do you say?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t believe you.”
The tall man turned to the man who’d stepped out of the rear passenger door and motioned him forward. “Shoot the kid in the leg, and if the woman gives you any trouble, kill her.”
The man with the semi-automatic rifle let it hang from its strap, pulled a pistol from his hip, and started forward. Chuck also moved off the sidewalk in a straight line toward the men, the shotgun still held close to his shoulder.
“Step back,” Chuck said, “I will kill you, I don’t want to but—”
Next, the small man in the tactical vest stepped away from the others and pointed his own shotgun at Chuck, his voice ratcheting with each step. “What are we doing here?”
“STOP!” Natalie had moved away from the building, left Noah huddled on the sidewalk. She lunged forward, eyeing the man with the pistol, but moved in the opposite direction. Another six feet and she pulled the nine millimeter from her waist, placing it against the back of Chuck’s head. “Give it to him.”
Before Chuck could react, the tall man stepped forward and began to clap. “Wow, I did not expect that.” He turned to the man with the pistol and called him off. “Little lady, you are super impressive. And now if your friend here actually listens, you and the boy may just live to see tomorrow.”
Chuck only moved his head, craned his neck to the left. “Natalie, you sure about this? You realize what you’re doing here?”
She was shaking, not sure of anything. She looked from the man with the pistol, to the tall man, and then back to Chuck. “Just give it to them; I can’t do this with my son.”
Shaking his head, Chuck breathed out through his nose, lowered the Mossberg, and laid it on the hood of the patrol car. “This is a mistake.”
“Good.” The tall man slid the weapon off the other side of the hood and without turning, handed it to the man in the tactical vest. “Natalie, is it?”
She moved the nine millimeter away from Chuck’s head and stepped back toward the sidewalk, but didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you what,” the tall man said, “as a sign of good faith, and as a thank you for doing the right thing, I’m going to allow you to keep the pistol. I’m also going to allow the three of you to walk away, no questions asked.”
Chuck stared at the tall man. “You’re lying.”
“I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Chuck leaned forward, placing his hands on the hood. “Whatta ya doing here?”
“Well that’s a bit complicated. I could give you the short answer, although my guess would be that you wouldn’t completely understand, and the long answer might just get us back to a place where things turn real ugly.”