by Olah, Jeff
And these two didn’t seem like the lucky type.
“So,” he said, “what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing.” Jacob turned and nodded to his brother. “But we’re getting out of here, once and for all.”
“That’s good. Are you planning to just walk out those doors or did you happen to find another exit—one that doesn’t lead you straight back into the horde?”
Joshua stared at his brother, his mind racing at the question. “Jake?”
Jacob held tight to the railing. He tilted his head and looked through the broken doors and out into the street. “It’s not that bad, we can make it.”
“Make it … make it to where?”
Jacob looked at Joshua, shook his head, but then didn’t respond.
“Your vehicle, it’s how you got this far into the city. So, where is it?”
There was a second where the look on Jacob’s face changed. Like he was finally letting his guard down, or maybe he had just stopped caring. “Not close.”
“Well, I’m guessing that since you were on foot yesterday, either your ride had broken down or you were out of gas. And I’m betting it was the fuel. Happens to the best of us, especially now.”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Just a dumb mistake.”
“You don’t say?”
“I drove us right into that crowd. They got behind us before I could pull away and we had to run for it.”
“You out on Tenth Street or further out?”
Jacob looked at his brother once again, and then at the infected walking near the doors. He was considering the consequences of continuing with the current direction of their conversation, it was in his eyes. He paused for a beat and then nodded. “Tenth, but we’re two blocks back.”
“I’m in the opposite direction, maybe fifty yards from the doors. I could give you boys a lift, but I’m not sure we’d even make it past the reception desk.”
“It won’t be a problem, we know what we’re doing.”
Red windbreaker was nearly there. Declan just needed to back it down a bit and then offer a slight nudge at the right time. It wasn’t as easy as he originally thought it would be, but then again reading people wasn’t necessarily an exact science. And with the way things had started out, he was almost surprised he’d gotten the twins this far.
“There’s a whole lot more of them out there this morning. You boys wouldn’t make it past the sidewalk, but I think I may be able to get you where you need to go, plus I owe you one.”
Jacob just stared for a second and then turned to his brother.
Joshua looked like he hadn’t been keeping up with the conversation, as his eyes moved quickly between Declan, the crowd, and then back to Jacob.
“Alright,” Jacob said, “how do we do this?”
Twenty minutes later, Declan stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of Suite 214. He looked out beyond the rear parking lot as Jacob pointed him toward a black Ford Mustang just under a quarter mile away. “It looks like more of them followed the crowds to the front. We should be able to get around them if we can get to a rear exit, maybe—”
Declan stepped back from the window and pulled the pistol from his lower back. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Jacob looked like he trusted him, like he honestly didn’t understand.
“This is where we part ways.”
A scowl started across Jacob’s face. “What?”
“Give me the keys.” Declan raised the weapon and fired a single round through the window behind Joshua.
As Jacob took a half step back and threw his arms up to shield his face from the exploding glass, Declan stepped by him and shoved Joshua through the opening.
There were a few seconds where everything happened all at once, but then time slowed to a crawl. Declan knew what was coming and had put himself in the proper position, although he had no way to account for how Jacob would respond.
The smaller man reacted with a right hook. It appeared to be more instinct than aggression. Although fast, it was too low and from too close to do any real damage. If Declan hadn’t been ready and shifted his weight when he did, the strike would have landed somewhere between his left shoulder and his neck.
But he stepped in, deflected the blow with his left forearm, and grabbed Jacob by the collar. Twisting back to his right, he forced the smaller man to the edge of the shattered window and quickly brought the pistol back around.
Declan pressed the barrel into Jacob’s temple and let his eyes drift out to the concrete walkway, eighteen feet below. He waited for Jacob to turn his head and look down to where his brother lay flat on his back, moaning incoherently.
“Listen to me very carefully.” Declan’s spoke quickly, each word very precise in diction and tone. “Your brother has probably two minutes. If you waste even a single second getting to him, he’s going to die. He’s most likely got a broken ankle, but if you do what you need to do, both of you will live.”
Jacob was breathing rapidly in through his nose, and out through his mouth, his face twitching and his hands gripped tight to the back of Declan’s shoulders. He appeared to be trying to speak, attempting to make sense of what had just happened. “Why?”
“I’m going to let go and step back, and when I do, you’re going to take the keys out of your pocket and toss them on the ground. If you try anything, I’m going to shoot you in the face and watch you die. And then I’m going to stand right here and watch that crowd tear your brother apart. You still have a chance, so don’t do anything stupid.”
Jacob dug his hands into Declan’s back. He was teetering on the edge, his heels at the lip of the window, and his soles grinding on the shards of glass scattered across the floor. “I’m going to find you,” he was spitting as he spoke, his voice horse and wet, right on the edge of hyperventilating. “And I’m going to kill you.”
Declan released his grip on Jacob’s collar, stepped back, and motioned toward the window with the pistol. “Joshua’s got maybe a minute thirty, maybe. So, you may want to change your focus.”
Jacob just stared back, like he was still contemplating his next move. Like there was even the most remote possibility that he could save his brother and somehow release the fury he was feeling on the stranger three feet away.
There wasn’t.
Declan saw it in his eyes and shook his head. “Just drop the keys and go for your brother. He’s a good man and I’m actually sorry I had to do that to him, but it isn’t about what I want anymore or about what you want. It’s about what must be, and today, this morning, he drew the short straw, so just drop the keys and go.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He jammed his right hand into his pant pocket and pulled out a chain that held two keys. Snapping his arm back, he threw the keys overhand at Declan. And as they dropped to the ground and came to rest between Declan’s legs, he took a half-step forward. “I’m going to find you and I’m going to kill you. And I don’t care about what all of this was about, you deserve to die.”
Before Declan could respond, Jacob quickly turned on his heels and ran. He disappeared through the door of Suite 214, his shallow footfalls increasing in speed as they faded toward the lobby.
Now Declan just needed to follow him out into the street.
80
Gentry was okay with Margaret making the decision to go out on her own, if in fact that was what she had done. It was her choice. However, there was no way he could leave without at least confirming that was the case. Her home was less than sixty feet from the front door, and he couldn’t live with himself or continue to do what he needed to do if he abandoned who he was when it mattered most.
Checking the rear deck and the beach further on, he wasn’t thrilled to see that the crowds had grown, but knew they were too far away to cause any real problem. He made his way to the upstairs den, took in the streets leading into the once exclusive gated community, and began to feel good about his chance
s.
There were fifty, maybe more. But not grouped together. They roamed the neighborhood alone, seemingly unaware of one another. If he squinted, he imagined they could pass for neighbors out gathering the morning paper or cutting lawns or simply out for a walk. Although the sidewalks were empty and most walked the streets with no apparent destination. It would have been semi-amusing, had they not been directly in the path he needed to travel.
This should be interesting.
Downstairs, he gathered his pack and made his way to the front door. It reminded him of the morning nearly a week ago as he bolted from his apartment and decided to take a chance at finding Natalie Mercer. Two quick breaths in through his nose—mentally running through the next few minutes—then he opened the door and ran the thirty feet to the driveway.
Three Feeders between the shrub and Margaret’s front door. They looked to be heading in the opposite direction, so giving them the opportunity to clear the area, he turned to his right and walked quickly to the end of the driveway.
His vehicle—a two-year-old Jeep—sat exactly where he’d left it, near the mailbox fifty feet away. At the moment, there wouldn’t be a problem getting there, but as he waited for the group in Margaret’s front yard to move away, those in the street appeared to have heard him coming from the home.
He had to go now.
Sliding between the block wall and the four-foot boxwood shrub, his pack caught the leaves, pulling the straps tight to his chest. He quickly stepped out onto the driveway and crouched as he slipped in behind a black Lincoln Navigator. He peered through the window toward the house and was given the answer he had come for. The silver Range Rover on the opposite side was now missing.
Margaret had done exactly what she’d said she was going to do, and although he still had that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, something told him it was better this way. He didn’t like the thought of her out there by herself, and liked it even less that he now felt a sense of relief. Traveling light, only responsible for himself and for what he needed to do, it was selfish, but right now he had to remind himself of what was at stake, of what the world stood to lose if he were to make even the slightest mistake.
Gentry turned once again and checked his car. Thirty seconds without any trouble, maybe a bit less. He knew she was gone, but also wanted a clear head as he pulled away from the neighborhood. Ten seconds to her door and then another fifteen to the street.
Now or never.
He stayed close to the garage and peeled off around the front of the Navigator as he neared the walk that led to her front porch. He checked the trio that moved down the front lawn and then as quietly as possible sprinted to the door. On the porch, he gave the doorbell three quick rings and started backing away.
Before exiting the alcove, he reached into the side pouch of his pack and retrieved his weapon. There were a few seconds—just as he reached the turn in the walkway—where he thought he heard the door opening behind him, but as he quickly glanced over his shoulder, he realized it was only the sounds of his footfalls against the concrete.
To his left, the three Feeders—two elderly women and a heavyset man dragging a leaf blower—made it to the sidewalk, but had turned back, and were heading in a straight line toward the driveway.
In the other direction there were only two, but they were closer to his Jeep, and looked to be recently infected. They had little damage and walked at an increased pace, almost a slow jog. It was going to be closer than he had calculated, and although he didn’t like his odds, he liked it even less that he had been wrong.
The passenger door. It would be clumsy and not at all what he was used to, but for now he couldn’t see any other way. The path along the sidewalk instead of the street also eliminated the problem of those coming from behind.
Two birds, one really lucky stone.
Gentry sprinted the last thirty feet and was at the rear passenger door as the pair in the street reached the other side. He dipped his left hand into his pocket, and with his heart pounding in his chest, his hands a sweaty mess, he fumbled for the key.
It scraped against the door, rebounded off the edge of the curb, and skidded to a stop somewhere behind the rear wheel. He instantly felt the blood beginning to drain from his face and his eyes start to lose focus. There was white noise now starting to ring in his ears and from experience he knew what was coming.
Gentry held tight to the pistol, leaned back into the door, and took two exaggerated breaths in through his nose.
Just grab the keys and get in the car, just grab the keys and …
Unable to see any real alternatives, he dropped to his knees and then to his stomach. He was face to face with the gutter, now forcing his left arm into an impossible position. His shoulder fought against the scorching pain, beginning to convulse as he clawed at the asphalt along the backside of the tire.
It was there, it had to be.
Two seconds, and then three, and then five. He turned his head, tried tucking his chin into his arm, but his eyes were drawn to the rear of the vehicle. The two from the street had made their way around and were now cornering the rear of the Jeep.
With one last surge of adrenaline he pushed his arm another few inches and clamped his hand around the key. Gentry tucked in his feet, pushed off the uneven concrete and pulled his arm out from behind the rear wheel.
His left arm was numb from elbow to shoulder and the side of his face speckled with gravel. He flipped onto his back and still gripping tight to the weapon, began to push away from the sidewalk.
As Gentry got his legs pulled back and started to stand, the two from the rear of the vehicle were met by the trio from Margaret’s front yard. And in the time it took to cover the fifty feet, they appeared to have gathered another six or seven.
But their numbers didn’t matter. The fact that he had the keys in his left hand also didn’t matter. And the weapon, although it had a full clip, probably didn’t matter either.
The first of the growing crowd—a man wearing a dark blue track jacket and faded jeans—was shoved forward by the others. The man’s body seemed to hover in the air, momentarily frozen as Gentry pictured how he was going to die.
He wanted to look away, wanted to avoid having to watch as the crowd took his life. There were other times, especially in the last year, he’d wished that his life had taken a different direction. That he’d never met Marcus Goodwin and that he could erase every single memory of his time at BFX Technologies.
But none of that mattered, not anymore.
On instinct, Gentry dug in his heels and slid back along the curb. He held the keys in his mouth and brought his left hand to meet his right, squeezing off three quick shots. The first two took off the left side of the man’s head and snapped his neck back. The third round tore into the woman’s face that was directly behind, also causing her body to go instantly limp.
The two bodies fell against the side of the Jeep and then down onto his legs. He pushed away once again, slowly sliding back as another female—who was missing her right arm—stepped on the leg of the first man. She lost her footing and came down on the sidewalk only inches from his left arm.
Not making any progress, and with another three already coming in from behind the downed woman, Gentry switched the pistol into his left hand, and reached back and up with his right.
He was able to get a hold of the axel, and with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, Gentry pulled himself out from under the two bodies, just as the third woman began clawing her way down into the gutter.
His hand was moist with sweat, and combined with the thin layer of the oil on the axel, he wasn’t going to be able to continue using only one hand. And as the woman from the sidewalk used her left hand to pull herself toward him, he laid the pistol on his stomach and bent his already tortured left arm up and back.
Now with both hands on the axel, Gentry quickly pulled himself away from the woman, and out from under the driver’s side of the vehicle. He rolled onto his ri
ght side, scooped up the keys and his weapon, and slipped in through the driver’s door.
There were hands scratching at the rear of the Jeep and a low monotonous growl that seemed to be coming from all around him. It bled in through the windows and filled the space with a sound that brought back memories he’d fought hard to forget. Dropping his head back, he took a quick look into the rearview mirror and slid the key into the ignition.
The road was mostly clear as he drove away from his friend’s home and exited the high-priced beach community. There were a few glancing blows and a handful of near misses, but nothing to get excited about. However, as he coasted to a stop at Highway One, gently resting his foot atop the brake, there was a shooting pain that radiated from his right calf, and a warm sensation that ran down his ankle, and into his sock.
Okay, so now what?
81
Owen stood at the door, a two-way radio in one hand and the handle in the other. He stared at the radio for a few seconds and then turned back to Travis. They hadn’t spoken to one another in the last several minutes, and now the awkwardness of their previous conversation began to fill the cramped corridor.
“They’ll get there.” Travis’s voice sounded rehearsed, not an ounce of emotion. “It’s not a problem.”
Owen turned back to the walkie, keying and then releasing the mic button. “But it isn’t your family, not your friends, is it?”
No response.
Owen was only able to see the edges of Travis’s face, but could sense the disappointment in his delayed silence. He thought about a proper retraction, but knew it wasn’t necessary. Travis wasn’t that kind of man, and until he got back to Natalie, Ava, and Noah, neither was he.
“Again,” Owen said, “run it back for me one more time.”
“Listen.” Travis sounded more normal now. Like being hidden in the shadows somehow helped with dropping the guard he’d had for the last two days. “I know this garage like the back of my hand. I wouldn’t have asked that the others go out ahead if I wasn’t sure.”