by Olah, Jeff
Owen didn’t remember drifting off. He slowly opened his eyes and felt a twinge of pain in his lower back. One that he recognized. Not necessarily painful, but it told him that he’d been in the same hunched position for far too long. Rolling his shoulders from front to back and dipping his chin to his chest, he scanned the room and found that he was alone.
For a brief instant, alarm bells went off in his head. He sat still, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him, the darks thoughts attempting to force their way in. He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes.
“Kevin …” His voice came out in a whisper, a reminder to stay focused on the why rather than what-ifs. “Get up, go find the others.”
Owen brought his knees to his chest, slowly stretched his lower back, and pushed away from the cheap, economy grade carpeting. Turning to the windows at the far end of the room, there were voices. Some familiar, others only vaguely so.
He took a quick look back toward the door, then crossed the office. And as they came into view, he remembered. His wife, his daughter, and his son. They sat with the others in an oversized conference room—at a table that looked like it was built from a redwood the size of a small house. They were eating with their hands and laughing like they had forgotten where they were. Or when they were.
On the opposite side of the table, Cookie, Harper, and Lucas sat beside two boys whom Owen didn’t recognize. One looked to be the same age as Noah and the other maybe a few years older than Ava. They ate with their heads down and only looked up when spoken to directly.
From the corner of his periphery, a woman walked into the oversized conference room. Five-feet-four would have been his guess, just barely over one-hundred pounds. She wore a white long-sleeved t-shirt, black jeans, and carried a basket that was filled with plastic water bottles. Her face bore the same dead-eyed expression as the boys, avoiding eye contact as she moved around the massive table passing out the water.
When the woman finished, she set the basket at the end of the table and started toward an empty seat. When she looked across the room, she spotted Owen staring back and froze. There were a few seconds where neither blinked nor looked away, and then Natalie noticed the woman stopped between two chairs.
Owen began to smile. He didn't necessarily have a reason, it just happened. He looked into Natalie’s eyes, then at her face, her hair, her lips, and finally at her as a whole, as if he was seeing her through a high powered lens and had started to pull into a wide shot.
She smiled back, wider than he could ever recall, her entire face lighting up with emotion. The room seemed to fall away behind her, like everything else had been temporarily blurred. Like he needed to hold his breath and savor each second.
Owen placed his left hand on the window, and although the others had also turned and now noticed him, he continued to hold his wife’s gaze as he mouthed, “I love you.”
Natalie slipped out of her chair, stood, and as the woman in the white long-sleeved t-shirt finally took a seat, she waved him over.
He followed the sounds of laughter and muffled voices through the partially lit hall. Through the doorway and turning the corner, Noah stood beside Zeus waving his hands above his head. “Dad, over here.”
He lifted his son off his feet and hugged him. “Hey buddy, you okay?” At nine years old, it was probably the first time he’d done that in the last five years, and while a bit awkward, he didn’t care.
“Yeah,” Noah said as he wriggled free. “They even have chocolate chip cookies. I saved a bag for you.”
“You mean to tell me that you were able to keep them from your mother the whole time? I. Am. Impressed.”
Behind Noah, and just a few feet into the room, Ava stood side by side with Lucas. The image disturbed him on some level, although he was more delighted by the fact that they were still in one piece than whatever their friendship had morphed into.
Owen hugged his daughter with one arm and kissed her on the forehead, before patting Lucas on the shoulder. He moved by them, offered the others a quick nod, and wrapped Natalie in his arms. She pulled him in tight, squeezing so hard he could feel his ribs giving under the pressure.
Leaning in, Owen dropped his head next to hers. He kissed her cheek, lingering as he took in the sweet scent of her hair. “You smell like …”
Pausing a bit longer than he should have, Natalie pulled her head back, meeting his eyes. “I smell like what?”
He grinned, whispering only to her, “You smell like … like I remember.”
Natalie shook her head, returned his sappy smile, and turned back to the table. “Owen,” she motioned toward the woman seated near the two boys. “This is Arlene, Paul’s wife, and their two sons, Timothy and Cade.”
Owen didn’t know where to begin or how to properly convey his gratitude. The only way to do it is to just do it. “Nice to meet you all, and I don’t think I need to tell you how much my family here appreciates everything you’ve done.”
Before he could expand, the woman he now knew as Arlene raised her head, slid her chair back a few inches, and folded her hands in her lap. “We’re just happy to be able to help.”
He wondered if she knew about the deal her husband had made in exchange for that help. “We’re gonna make it up to you and your family, I promise you that.”
She turned to her older boy and then to his brother. Neither looked up from the table. “Our family’s been through a whole lot. We haven’t met many good people since everything changed. We’re just trying to do what’s right and keep each other safe.” She looked around the table. “Just like you and your friends.”
“Again,” Owen said, “I can’t thank you enough for everything. Once my friend is up and about, we’ll get out of your hair.”
Arlene nodded, slowly looking past him and out into the hall. A second later, there were hurried footsteps from somewhere outside the room. “Owen.”
Turning back, he started toward the door as Travis appeared. Out of breath and shrouded in blood from neck to waist, the man he’d known less than a day looked around the room and paused at Owen.
“It’s your friend.”
There was a hint of desperation in Travis’s tone that gave Owen hope. He wouldn’t have rushed in, wouldn’t have started that way if Kevin were beyond help. No, this was a plea.
“What is it?”
Travis glanced back into the hall. “He’s awake, but we’re going to need your help.”
69
Owen entered the room behind Travis. He wasn’t given any details, and his mind had already begun to draw the pictures he was trying to avoid imagining. Kevin lay in the same position as earlier, but now his legs were drawn up and he was clutching Paul’s right arm, just above the wrist.
“Good,” Paul said. “Your friend’s as strong as an ox. I’m gonna need you for this next part.”
Kevin continued to hold Paul’s arm, but turned toward Owen, his eyes as red as blood. “What the hell is this?” His voice came out thick, heavy. Sounded like needed to spit. “Who are they?”
Owen moved to the desk, offered Kevin his hand. His friend just looked at it, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, like it was a gesture he hadn’t seen before this very moment. And as he slowly released his grip and relaxed his legs, his face went white and his eyes drifted toward the top of his head.
Paul kept his hand over the wound on Kevin’s shoulder. “Good, I was hoping he’d go out again.”
Owen started around the desk, the images that were holding him back quickly fading. “What did you say?”
“This next part.” Paul motioned him over. “Is going to be a whole lot easier without him fighting us.”
Travis moved to Kevin’s legs, pulled them straight, and then pinning them to the desk, regarded Paul with a short nod. “Okay.”
“Wait, what is this? Why do you need—”
“No time,” Paul said. “We gotta get this done, right now.”
Owen looked to Travis, maybe he wanted a second opini
on. Or maybe he was just looking for some answers. He didn’t feel ready for whatever this was, but in turning back to his friend, he understood that it wasn’t about what he wanted. “What do you need me to do?”
“Like I said,” Paul reached for a plastic tray, setting it on the desk beside Kevin’s left leg. “Your friend is strong, too strong for me to hold down and suture the wound at the same time. You’re gonna hold down his upper body so I can get this done right.”
Owen moved in over Kevin’s head, placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, and turned to Paul. “Thank you.”
The older man took a half step back and pulled a thick mound of gauze away from the wound. It was clean, impressively so, only a thin red line ran from the grape-sized hole in to Kevin’s armpit.
“Don’t thank me just yet, this ain’t over.” Paul emptied the clear liquid from the plastic dish, gave a count of seven, and pulled out a pair of needle drivers. He used the stainless-steel instrument to grip a suture needle that had a length of tan absorbable suture running from the end. “Make sure his shoulders don’t come off the desk, not even an inch. And I prefer you look away. I’ll let you know when I’m done. Before that, you just focus on keeping your friend still.”
Owen was already turned away, his eyes peering down at Kevin’s face. “Okay.”
Six feet away, Travis locked down on Kevin’s ankles. “Let’s go.”
Then Owen’s whole world slowed to a crawl.
He watched the muscles of his friend’s face tighten and go limp. It appeared as if Kevin was on the brink of consciousness, rocking back and forth through the agonizing waves of pain. He started to arch his back, then pulled his hamstrings off the desk, a seizure-like tremor running the length of his body.
And then it got really bad.
Kevin opened his eyes, but it didn’t appear that he was able to bring the scene into focus. He started with a scream that shook the walls. There were a few seconds of nothing, his head craning side to side, and then came the big man’s strength.
It took everything Owen had. Kevin slammed his rear end back down on the desk and twisted violently to the left, his right shoulder torquing in the opposite direction as Owen nearly lost his grip.
Owen planted his right foot, braced it against the wall, and forced Kevin back to the desk. His friend shouted something incoherent, spat a mouthful of blood all over himself, and then turned his hands over, trying to push himself up.
Travis noticed it at the same time, their monumental mistake. “NOOOOO!”
Kevin was back, all the way back. He obviously didn’t know where he was or what was happening to him, but it appeared that he understood the pain. He understood that his friend was holding him down and that on some level the others were there to help. “Owen …”
“Wait, wait, wait buddy, we need you to hold still.”
Kevin was trying to pull his legs back, his arms into his side. Although with each second that passed, he fought less. The big man’s strength was beginning to fade. First his torso and then his lower body. Owen imagined him as a greyhound—unbelievable focus and power, but without the stamina to match.
Owen backed off by twenty percent. He still held tight to the tops of Kevin’s shoulders, but was no longer using everything he had to keep his friend down. There were a few minutes where he just breathed in and out, waiting for the second wave. However, when it never came, he slowly turned to Paul. “How long before we can—”
“I’m done.” The man with the grey beard moved the plastic tray aside and reached for a fresh gauze pad. His face was damp with sweat, the muscles of his forearms now engorged. He soaked the center of the pad in iodine, ran it gently over the sutures, and began dressing the wound.
Kevin’s eyes were open, but he seemed to be somewhere else. He licked his lips and took in a deep breath, filling his chest. And then slowly letting it out, he looked up at Owen. “What happened?” His voice was more normal now. His words came out slower, but closer to what it was before. “Where are we?”
Owen let up, moved around the opposite side of the desk. “We were attacked.” He didn’t feel the need to lie to his friend. He couldn’t really see the point, not anymore. “I think it was someone you knew from before.”
Paul had begun cleaning up and Travis cleared the room completely.
Kevin rolled his head to the right and looked toward the door. He blinked a few times and tightened his fists, the pain evident on his face. “Declan.”
It sounded more like a statement than a question, but as Owen started to respond, his attention was pulled back and to the right. Zeus sat just inside the door, looking first at Owen and then beginning to pant as he saw Kevin.
Paul finished wiping the top of the desk and the floor. He kept his eye on the massive German Shepherd as he scooped everything into a plastic bag, tossed in his gloves, and then tied it off at the top. “You said he’s friendly?”
Owen nodded, but then deferred to his friend.
Kevin carefully lowered his right arm over the side of the desk and snapped his fingers. Zeus trotted quickly to his side, again dropped to a sitting position, and licked his hand. “Where are we?”
Paul looked like he was going to respond, but Owen stepped forward. “There was another man, he helped us when we were out there. We would’ve never made it off that street. He brought us here.”
Kevin’s eyes were still only half open. He looked like he was on the verge of letting sleep take him, now resting his hand on Zeus’s head. “And?”
“And,” Owen said, “this is Paul. He just saved your life.”
70
Declan didn’t like this part of town. The streets were narrow, the buildings seem closer together, there were more coffee shops than in any other part of the city, and too many high-priced cafes with open patios that lined the sidewalks. He didn’t like it two weeks ago and now that the streets were filled with Feeders, he was on the verge of driving the BMW directly into the crowd.
But instead, he pulled to a stop alongside a mint-colored Volkswagen Beetle and cut the engine. With his hands still gripped tight to the steering wheel, he leaned forward and looked at himself in the rearview mirror, almost certain he could see his pulse beating against the left side of his neck.
“Not now, not here.”
When he felt that his heart rate had returned to normal, Declan pulled the keys from the ignition and sank into the driver’s seat. The closest of the horde were thirty yards away—more on the opposite side of the street—and had yet to notice him or his vehicle. They had their backs to him and seemed obsessed with whatever was beyond the brown delivery truck dead ahead.
Wait them out or go around?
He didn’t like either option. Although he liked spending the night in the cramped luxury SUV even less. It was definitely preferable to laying his head on the sidewalk or even a park bench; however, he made himself a promise after the first few nights he spent running from the crowds, and for now he wasn’t going back on that, no matter what he had to do.
Declan reached into the back seat, took a long pull of water from a discarded bottle, tossed it into the passenger’s seat, and reached for his weapon. Stepping out, he took care to close and lock the door without making any noise and then jogged to the sidewalk.
He calculated the crowd at somewhere close to fifty, but it was just a guess, as he couldn’t see past the first two or three rows. They continued to close in around the delivery truck, now moving in and around the driver’s compartment.
Before tucking the pistol into his waistband, Declan checked the load—twelve rounds. He had more fire power in the rear hatch, but for now he was secure in the fact that he’d at least make it into the building.
Fifty yards to the door. Without any unforeseen complications, he could cover that in seven or eight seconds. Less than he needed, but not by much. There was also the door, but from his vantage, it looked like it had been propped open.
Maybe his luck was about to change.
>
He took another minute to just watch the horde. They moved in smaller groups here. Twos and threes, less like the crowds that flooded the streets of the old garment district. But these moved at a quicker pace—it seemed as if these Feeders were different, newly turned maybe. He wasn’t sure and couldn’t be from this distance.
How to time his run? He could wait to see if they decided to move away from the delivery truck. Or maybe just pick a spot on the opposite sidewalk and give it his best. He was exhausted, pissed off and at present, wasn’t exactly in the mood for a confrontation. But it was less than an hour before sundown and it had started to rain.
“Alright.” He stepped out into the street. “Let’s do this.”
Ahead, the rear door of the delivery truck shot open. A short man wearing a yellow windbreaker and blue jeans stepped through the opening and looked side to side. He was followed closely by another who wore the same type of windbreaker, although in red.
The pair hurried to the street, kicking small cardboard packages out of their way and looking back into the truck. They carried identical green backpacks that couldn’t have been more than a few days old.
The first man moved quickly to the second, hunched forward and was speaking into his ear. They turned at almost the same time, were facing him, but not seeing him. They spoke quietly to one another and then looked back at Declan’s building.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
He pulled the nine millimeter from his waist and broke into a run. Before he was halfway there, the men again looked back down the block and now saw him. They began to wave, motioning him over. They hadn’t called out just yet; he figured they were still hoping to avoid the attention of the horde.
Declan increased his pace, now at nearly a hundred percent. He ran in a wide arc around the men and the delivery truck, stepping up on the opposite sidewalk, and was finally noticed by the more than one hundred Feeders.
Initial estimates aside, he would still make it to the door, although he needed at least another ten seconds. He didn’t have a ton of experience directly battling the dead. That was something—that up until now—he typically avoided, left for someone else to figure out. He had more important things to attend to.