The Next World Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Olah, Jeff

  The sound of a distant gunshot and the shattering of glass pulled them apart. Owen backed toward the wall and then sliding her in behind him, started for the main room.

  51

  Owen was first through the door with Natalie right on his heels. He was a bit disoriented as he moved through the darkened dining room. He looked toward the table where he’d left his children only to find four empty plates and an overturned Styrofoam cup.

  “Owen.” Kevin’s voice came from behind the table. His friend was there, but crouched on the ground with Ava, Noah, and Lucas. “Get down.”

  He reached back for Natalie’s hand and pulled her toward him, now staying low and moving quickly from one table to the next. “I think we’re fine, same as two nights ago.”

  “I don’t think so Owen, that one hit us.”

  She was probably right to be worried, but keeping with his new motto—assess first and don’t overreact—he needed a few more details. And so far, there hadn’t been a second shot.

  As he rounded the last table, his attention was pulled to the right. Zeus sat just inside the doors, now low to the floor, his eyes locked on the windows along the third floor.

  Now on his hands and knees, Owen crawled the last several feet, slid in between his son and Kevin, and pulled Natalie into his left side. To Kevin, he motioned toward the shattered window thirty feet above. “Accident?”

  Kevin rustled Noah’s hair, offered him a slight grin, and then turned back to Owen. “It’s possible, but I need to get up there, have a look.”

  “I agree,” Owen said, “let’s go.” And turning to Natalie, he motioned toward his children. “Take them back to the kitchen.”

  Even as Owen’s voice was fading through the darkened interior, Kevin was already moving away from the table. He crawled quickly to the stairs, retrieved his rifle, and offered Owen a pair of night vision binoculars. “These should do.”

  Out from the third floor and onto the roof, Owen sat behind the hatch and focused the binoculars. It took a few seconds to reacquaint himself with the muted tones beyond the lens, but when he did, the city quickly came into view. A few spot fires dotted the horizon, but there didn’t seem to be much of anything else.

  “You getting anything?”

  Kevin had the rifle’s scope pulled into his right eye, but looked odd holding the weapon. It didn’t seem to fit. And although it wasn’t the first time Owen had seen his friend shoulder this specific fireman, it had yet to be fired. Not a single round.

  “No,” Kevin said, “you?”

  Owen scanned the roofline across the street and then started to move back to the next block. “Not a damn thing, I think it might have just been another stray.”

  “Yeah, probably. But …”

  “But what?”

  “You ever have that feeling, you know, like something is just off. Like there’s something you should see, but you don’t?”

  Owen smiled, had to hold back a laugh. “You’re kidding right? You do remember who you’re talking to. That’s my normal. If I wasn’t feeling that way every single second of every day, then I would think that something was really wrong.”

  Kevin pulled his eye from the scope, dropped his chin, and let out a stilted chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sorry. That must suck.”

  Owen moved his line of sight to the south, toward the high-rises along Sixth Street. Focusing again on the rooftops, he took in a slow breath. “More than you know, but hey, it isn’t all bad … wait … wait, wait, wait, wait.”

  “What, you got something?”

  “I don’t know, check the west end of Sixth, two blocks from the freeway. The big building.”

  Kevin pushed the night vision scope back into his eye. “Yeah?”

  “The left side of the roof. I think we got someone. I know it’s far off, but with the right weapon …”

  “Uh …”

  “You see it?”

  “Give me a second.”

  “Yeah, near the corner.”

  “Yep, we got someone.” Kevin’s voice was lower, but his words were quicker. “It looks like more than one, maybe three, maybe four. Owen, you getting this?”

  He was trying to push down the thoughts of what this meant, but also tried to remind himself to stay in the moment. To not overthink the situation or let his mind wander beyond the next decision. “It’s a bit hazy, but yeah, it looks like more than a couple.”

  Kevin dropped to his stomach and began to low-crawl toward the northern edge of the roof. “I want a better look.”

  Owen followed, gripping the binoculars and staying low. “You think from that far away we were really their target?”

  Still on his stomach and with the scope again backed into his right eye, Kevin paused a moment before responding. “Hard to say from this distance, but they don’t seem to be focused on this part of town. It could have been them or it could have been anyone. No real way to know for sure.”

  Owen steadied the binoculars, felt the need to squint. “You seeing the two on the right? It looks like they’re watching the street.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s hard to tell from here, but have they glanced this way, even once?”

  “Doesn’t look like it, maybe we’ve got the wrong guys?”

  He liked being able to check off that box, eliminate the possibility that there were three or more men taking pot shots at the building he and his family had called home for the last several days. He also liked the idea that he wasn’t staring across the city toward a potential threat. But with that revelation—with that box being checked—came an entirely new set of questions.

  Questions he figured he wasn’t ready to ask or find the answers to.

  Owen held the binoculars out away from his face. “Yeah, it was probably someone else.” He didn’t like lying to his friend, but couldn’t see the point in telling him about what else he’d seen … or hadn’t seen, he still wasn’t completely sure.

  Kevin rolled to his side and got back to his knees. “Okay then, now what?”

  “Now we wait, maybe get a better look at this in the morning. Give it some perspective.” Owen started back toward the hatch, the dark images in his mind threatening to pull him down. “For now I’ll let Nat know what’s going on, then take another quick lap around the perimeter.”

  52

  Jerome Declan stood at the door and although he wasn’t particularly happy about being awake at this time of night, he smiled. The four men on the roof we’re probably no closer to accomplishing what he’d asked; however, it now appeared as though they weren’t going to run like all the others, and that at least for now, they were attempting to do what he’d asked.

  Hopefully.

  Through the door and out onto the roof, Declan straightened his jacket and folded his arms across his chest. He’d always hated the chill that winter brought, and imagined it had to be at least twenty degrees cooler than the previous night.

  He increased his pace, blew into his hands, and moved quickly toward the southwest corner. As he approached, the four men dressed in black fatigues, turned to face him. “Please tell me there’s a reason why one of you decided to discharge your weapon.”

  A tall man standing behind the others looked like he was about to speak, but then didn’t. He’d been with BXF for less than a month when the world went all to hell, and if Declan remembered correctly, the twenty-two-year-old was a former college basketball star. The others had called him Tommy, but Declan always preferred to use the boy’s given name.

  “Thomas Jefferson, is there something you wanted to say?”

  The others turned to look back as their much taller friend now blinked nervously, a twitch appearing below his right eye. He swallowed hard and paused for a moment, now shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Uh … we were trying … uh … we think the woman might be … uh.”

  Declan ran his hand over his face. While it was semi-amusing to watch, he was much too cold and much too tired to play this game. “Thomas,
get yourself together.”

  The tall young man nodded. “I’m sorry, but I know Goodwin—”

  “Yes, Marcus Goodwin is coming back two days from now and he’ll be expecting to see Dr. Gentry sitting in that suite downstairs.” Declan now turned and looked out over the city. “It’s really simple … if we don’t get this done, we’re on our own. He flies off in that hideous looking helicopter and we get thrown out into the streets.”

  Kirk stepped forward and handed Declan the rifle. “Have a look.”

  Declan stepped forward, got just close enough where it was uncomfortable. “At what exactly?”

  “You’ll be able to see that building, where Mercer and her family are staying. You’ll also be able to see the giant horde moving in that direction.”

  Declan grabbed the weapon and started for the roofline. “Yes?”

  Kirk moved with him, pointed toward the south end of the city. “You asked me to find a way around the crowds, you asked me to find a way to get to that woman and her family. Well, now you’re going to see exactly why that would be impossible.”

  Declan moved the scope to his eye, but then quickly pulled it away and turned to the others. “Impossible?”

  Kirk began to nod. “Mostly.”

  He leaned into the parapet, pulled the scope into his eye, and within a few seconds, found the building and the crowds Kirk was referencing to. He fought the urge to curse, and instead focused his attention on the movement near the end of Sixth Street. “There must be something else?”

  Before they could answer, Declan turned back toward the four men and handed the rifle to Kirk. “Tell me.”

  “I put a round through the third-floor window,” Kirk said, “wanted to find out how many are staying there. Maybe get them out of the building, get a quick head count.”

  There must be something he wasn’t seeing. He was tired and so were his men, but none of it made any sense. “That doesn’t get us any closer to what we’re trying to do. What did you plan to do with that information?”

  “We need to find out who we’ll be fighting, if it comes to that.”

  Declan shook his head. “Fighting? You can’t even seem to figure out how to get to them. And even if you do, you’d better hope there isn’t a fight. That woman needs to be delivered in one piece. I don’t care what happens to the others, but that woman and the information she has is why we’re here.”

  Kirk set the rifle against the parapet, turned away from Declan, and started back toward the door to the stairs. “Do it yourself.”

  He let the younger man get about halfway before pulling back his jacket, sliding a matte-black .45 caliber pistol from his waist, and firing off a shot. As planned, it went high and to the right. The three men to his left flinched in unison, as if they weren’t expecting him to actually pull back on the trigger.

  Tommy started to speak, but then just stared at the floor when Declan turned to face him.

  Declan waited for Kirk to turn back. “You going somewhere?”

  Kirk balled his hands into fists and seemed to be shaking. Maybe from fear, maybe from rage. Declan figured it was probably a bit of both, thought about firing a second round, but quickly decided on something else.

  “Why don’t you come back and join us. I haven’t rung the dismissal bell just yet.”

  Kirk avoided looking in Declan’s direction and instead stared off into the city as he began walking back. “You know he’s not actually coming back, don’t you?”

  Declan smiled. “Who Goodwin?”

  With a quick glance toward the others and then back to Declan, Kirk folded his arms into his chest. “How many teams does he have out here? You actually think Goodwin’s just going to drive up to the front doors, take the elevator to your suite and give you the keys to the city?”

  Declan peered down at the weapon in his right hand, slowly raising it to Kirk’s head. “Go to the corner and jump.”

  Kirk turned toward the others once again, this time like he was looking for an ally. He unfolded his arms, dropped them to his side, and held out his hands. “Or what?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Declan said. “Maybe I’ll just shoot you in the leg and then throw you over, or maybe I’ll shoot you in the stomach and let the boys throw you over.”

  “I don’t think you’ll—”

  Before Kirk could finish, Declan moved to him, grabbed the back of his head, and slammed the pistol into the side of his face. “You don’t think I’ll do what?”

  Kirk was quiet. He was breathing more quickly than before, but other than that, didn’t appear appropriately shaken.

  “I realize you have some feelings about what’s going on here and that you’ve thought most of this through to the end. But what you don’t understand is that there really isn’t any other option for us, for any of us. This thing, this mess, it isn’t going away. And even if Goodwin never comes back, we still have a job to do.”

  As Kirk attempted to pull back, Declan released his grip, and pushed him away. The younger man with the short-cropped hair was taken from his feet and cartwheeled backward onto the gravel rooftop. Quickly scrambling to his hands and knees, he stared up at Declan, but still refused to speak.

  “So,” Declan said, “tomorrow. We’ll go around, take the highway all the way to the shore if we have to. No more delays.”

  “Declan …” Tommy stepped forward, his voice low and uncommitted. “The woman, what if she refuses?”

  Declan motioned toward Kirk, who had now started to stand. “She’s got her kids with her, right?”

  Kirk flared his nostrils, breathed out heavily, before finally nodding.

  Back to Tommy, Declan grinned. “Okay then, now we know where to push.” And eyeing the others, moving slowly from one to the next, he said, “Get some rest boys, we leave at dawn.”

  53

  The steady breath against his face was sour. Short rapid breaths that could only be from one of two people. Owen fought back the urge to laugh and wondered how long he could hold out. It was a game he’d played with his son more times than he could recall; however, the first in the last few years. He wanted to open his eyes, to let Noah off the hook, to see his wide smile and his deep-set dimples. But he also didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance to share this with his son.

  He simply didn’t want the moment to end.

  Noah’s face was coming closer. His nose just beside Owen’s right ear. The breath sounds growing louder with each pulse. Owen finally counted to three and then quickly snapped open his eyes and turned to his son. “You sir, are violating my personal space, and you know what that means.”

  Noah jumped back, sat in the chair he was kneeling on. “Dad, come on, let’s go outside.”

  Owen almost forgot where he was, wished he would have. Sitting up in the long booth he’d used for a bed, he ran his hand through his hair and yawned so hard his jaw felt as though it might unhinge.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  Noah pointed toward the open front doors. “Mom’s outside with Zeus and Ava.”

  “What about Kevin?”

  Noah looked toward the stairs, rounded his shoulders, and leaned in toward Owen. “I think he’s up there with Lucas, they took the guns.”

  The ache in his stomach told him that he needed to eat, but there was something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was the first time in the last six days that he’d risen after the sun. He needed to rest, but now felt a step behind on the day.

  “They say what they were doing?”

  “Kevin was talking to Mom, but I don’t know. Something about Lucas shooting the rifle.”

  His mind began to put together the pieces of his son’s brief explanation, and then attempted to start filling in the parts that didn’t seem to fit, although he figured—just like everything else—that the truth was much less devious than his imagination.

  Leave it alone Owen, you know it’s nothing.

  Reaching for Noah’s face, he looked the nine-y
ear-old over. “You get anything to eat this morning?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you didn’t save anything for me?”

  Noah rocked back in the chair. “Nope, Mom said to tell you that you’re on your own.”

  Owen hardened his look, stared over Noah’s shoulder toward the front doors. “She did, did she?”

  Noah smiled wide and placed his hand over his mouth. He began to laugh, but then choked back a mouth full of air and began to cough.

  “Excuse me sir, are you in need of medical attention?”

  Noah let out a hiccup, his eyes going wide as he nearly toppled out of the chair.

  Owen leaned forward, reached for Noah’s arm, and noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He slid his son off the chair and into the booth, turning quickly to his left.

  “Owen.”

  Lucas stood just inside the door to the exterior stairs. He was breathing hard and motioning toward the street. “She’s back.”

  Owen began to ask, but then it hit him. He pushed out of the booth, slipped on his shoes, and started toward the stairs. “Lucas, get Natalie and Ava inside. Tell them to stay put until I come back.”

  “What about—”

  “Get them inside and stay here with Noah. No one goes outside or leaves this room.”

  Lucas was still contemplating a response, the look on his face reading as confusion.

  As Owen approached the stairs and grabbed his weapon, Lucas stepped aside. “Lucas, you getting this?”

  The teen only managed a single word. “Yeah.”

  Owen didn’t have the time to explain what he’d seen the previous night. For now, he needed to deal with the problem right in front of his face. The other fires would have to wait. No matter how big they were, or how monumental they might become.

  Owen stepped out of the hatch and onto the roof, jogging toward his friend in a crouched position. “It’s her?”

  Kevin motioned him over, now standing at the northeast corner of the roof and looking oddly relaxed. “Yeah, check it out.”