The Last Outbreak (Book 3): Desperation

by Jeff Olah

  He didn’t particularly like either of those options, especially if it were just another innocent victim brought here by Maddox and his men. But he also wasn’t about to leave another moment of his life to chance. He’d already killed two men without blinking an eye and even though it was the right thing to do, he didn’t like the path he was now traveling.

  Ethan backed toward the front door, and as the horde found its way into the adjoining hall, he looked to his right and found the bowl Emma had made all those years ago. Reaching in, he pulled out two sets of keys, shoved them into his pocket, and without turning, reached back and opened the front door.

  “Whoever you are, you have less than five seconds to get out from behind that couch and get through the sliding glass door. I won’t harm you, but there is a large crowd coming your way that will. If you don’t go now, you won’t have a chance.”

  The first few Feeders stomped heavily out of the hallway and into the living room. The next few turned away from the others and started for Ethan. They broke off in twos and threes, heading in opposite directions—half toward the person hidden behind the couch, and half headed toward Ethan.

  Sliding behind the door, Ethan watched as the man behind the sofa leapt to his feet and took a step forward, reaching for his right hip. At this distance, he was only a vague silhouette; however, he wore the same black fatigues as the others, telling Ethan everything he needed to know.

  As the horde continued to spill out of the hall—partially obstructing Ethan’s line of sight—the man thirty feet away again stepped forward.

  Ethan trained his pistol on the man’s head and spoke only to himself.

  Don’t kill him. You don’t have to. Get back to Ben.

  With the crowds only a few seconds from reaching both men, Ethan wrapped his index finger around the trigger, waiting for the man to make a move. From across the room, the man locked eyes with Ethan and nodded, before turning and moving to the slider.

  As Ethan lowered his weapon, the man slipped through the glass door, into the backyard, and disappeared into the night.

  His heart pounding like a jackhammer against the inside of his chest, Ethan stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door just slightly ahead of the approaching crowd. They slammed into the opposite side with enough force to push Ethan out onto the porch, as he turned to check the front yard and the path leading back to the driveway.

  Mostly clear.

  The last half dozen or so Feeders from the street continued into the driveway, following the others into the garage, slowly finding their way into his parents’ home. Ethan quickly moved to the end of the walkway and checked the SUV. Only three remained at Ben’s window.

  His friend needed help. He needed to get Ben back to the university and more importantly, back to Carly. Although Ethan also had one last thing to do before he hopped into the SUV and drove away from the area.

  As the last few Feeders moved up into the home, Ethan turned and started for the garage. He needed to finish this tonight.

  3

  Cruising at an altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet, the Gulfstream G280 sliced through the night sky like a hot knife through butter. The flight had been quiet since leaving the West Coast, with the pilot only once appearing from the forward cabin. He sat in silence, peering out through the window and contemplating this unplanned trip.

  Taking in a long slow breath, Marcus Goodwin turned in his chair and folded his hands into his lap. He glanced toward the front of the jet and then let his eyes drift back to the man seated five feet away.

  “This shouldn’t take much more than a few hours. But this is something that is absolutely necessary.”

  The small man with sandy brown hair and a wide nervous smile sat motionless, just staring back. He wanted to speak—simply offer up his opinion, his solution—but he knew Mr. Goodwin wasn’t yet finished. So instead, he sat up high in his seat and gripped the oversized tablet like his life depended on him never letting go.

  Goodwin began to nod as he continued, “I realize you probably have many concerns about this little trip, but I promise you, we need these guys.”

  Marcus Goodwin paused and now waited for a response from the man half his age.

  The small man only offered a slight grin, not completely ready to put his thoughts into words. They’d come out rushed and most likely offensive. His well-mannered demeanor was beginning to crack.

  Leaning forward, Goodwin studied the man’s face, practically assured of what he was thinking. “James Dalton… let me ask you a question, as it’s obvious that you’re second-guessing our plan.”

  “Our plan sir?” As the words crested his tongue and left his mouth, Dalton was already regretting his decision to speak. He crossed his legs and then uncrossed them just as quickly. He sat back in his chair, placed the tablet in his lap, and attempted to slow his racing pulse.

  Rubbing his hands together, Goodwin smiled hard and shook his head. “Yes, that’s what I was looking for. I didn’t bring you along just because of the way you dress. While I feel that your decision to continue wearing three-piece suits even now is a bit odd, I do like your enthusiasm. It may just be what gets us through this—”

  Goodwin stopped mid-sentence. He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the cockpit. Then back to Dalton, he rubbed at the two-day scruff along his face and neck. “Are we descending? There’s no way we’ve already arrived.”

  Looking down at his wrist and pulling back his sleeve, Goodwin continued, “I’m calculating another twenty minutes, isn’t that right?”

  Dalton nodded. “Yes, usually. But given the fact that we’re most likely the only ones in the sky, I assume that the pilots have taken some liberties with our scheduled route, which may have saved on fuel, as well as time.”

  “Sounds logical, although maybe you should head up front and confirm. Also reiterate the importance of them staying with the plane while we are gone. I don’t want any excuses for us not hitting our target window tomorrow.”

  Dalton pulled the tablet from his lap, powered it on, and closed the two windows he was working in. Before heading to the forward cabin, he placed the tablet back in his seat and turned to Goodwin. “I’ll make sure.”

  “Before you go,” Goodwin said, “I want you to understand that this is our plan. Without you, there is no getting into that facility, not now, not next week, maybe not ever.”

  “Thank you Mr. Goodwin, I appreciate everything you have done for me, including and most importantly, allowing me to stay at your side this past week. You didn’t have to keep me around, but I’m forever grateful that you did.”

  He knew what Dalton was doing, but it wasn’t going to work. Marcus Goodwin didn’t have another side. There was not a single part of him that could be manipulated, and although Dalton was smart and quick on his feet, Goodwin was smarter.

  “You’ve earned your rightful place here, so do yourself a favor and don’t try to patronize me. It won’t work. You know that I need your services, but I also need the men that we are here for. Without you and without them, this won’t work. Blackmore would be as good as lost.”

  Attempting to come up with a proper response—one that would satisfy Goodwin, as well as put an end to this conversation—Dalton paused and looked back toward the front of the jet. He knew that no matter what he said next, it would somehow be the wrong thing.

  As the uncomfortable silence continued, Dalton simply nodded his head and motioned toward the cockpit. “Yes, I understand. I will make sure they do as well.”

  Goodwin didn’t respond, adding to the already awkward moment. He instead waited for Dalton to turn and walk away. He then reached for the glass bottle of artesian spring water that sat atop the small square table to his right. Tilting it back and taking a long pull, he again peered out the window.

  Intently studying the devastated topography below, he spoke quietly and only to himself.

  This world, not much different than the last… the only change, less weakness to deal
with. Maybe this won’t be so bad?

  A smile began to form at the corners of his mouth as Marcus Goodwin contemplated what the new world would look like. He pictured an existence where one day every man, woman, and child would know his name. Some would think him a visionary, while others would initially despise what he stood for and what he had created… but they would learn to respect him. They would one day see what he saw. But ultimately they would realize that this world—good or bad—was his. It would belong only to him.

  This wasn’t exactly the outcome he’d originally envisioned; however, it was his all the same. The turn was unfortunate, but now he believed it was necessary and embraced his creation. The ends would one day justify the means. And he no longer cared about the whys or the hows, only that his legacy lived on—for however long that would be.

  A backlit figure stepped out of the cockpit. Goodwin expected to see a reluctant James Dalton striding back to his seat, but was surprised as the co-pilot, a tall slender sixty-something man, walked quickly through the rear cabin.

  Goodwin turned away from the window as the uniformed man approached. “Yes, Mr. Osborne, what can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Goodwin, we have a problem”

  “Add it to the list.”

  “We can’t land, not at our assigned airfield anyway, we are looking into—”

  “I don’t care what the problem is, land this thing or I’ll do it myself.”

  The co-pilot looked out the window at Goodwin’s right side. “I understand your concern; we both do. However, we are running into the same problem as we did at take-off. There just isn’t enough asphalt to put down.”

  Peering around the tall slender man, Goodwin focused on the cockpit. “I’d rather not have to come up there myself. You were hired to do a job, so just—”

  Even as the co-pilot began to interject, he could feel the tension in air beginning to solidify. “Sir… that isn’t our only concern. There is one other issue that needs to be addressed before making any other decisions.”

  Goodwin’s eyes narrowed as he sat forward. “I won’t tell you again. Land. This. Plane. There isn’t anything else that needs to be discussed. I have men on the ground just waiting for us to arrive. They are the reason we’ve made this trip.”

  “Yes Mr. Goodwin, that’s the other problem.”

  “What is the other problem?”

  “The men we’ve come here for, they aren’t at the airfield and we’ve lost all communication with them… we have no idea where they are.”

  4

  Huddled under the treeline at the corner of University Avenue and Eleventh Street, Griffin asked the others to stay back against the wall at the far end of the sidewalk. With the moon now high in the sky and nearly full, a row of densely spaced pine trees offered just enough cover from the intersecting streets. Griffin felt this would be a safe place to collect his thoughts, at least for the moment.

  “I’m going after Ethan and Ben, there’s no reason that all of us—”

  With one arm wrapped tightly around Helen, Carly quickly shook her head. “You have no idea where you’re going.”

  Pulling her shoulder-length brown hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, Cora said, “She’s right; we should all go.”

  Carly peered down at Ethan’s mother and continued Cora’s thought. “We have to her take with us. She’s the only one who knows how to get to the house.”

  Wincing as he squatted, Griffin pulled one of the black duffel bags in between his legs. Unzipping it, he began digging through as he cursed under his breath. He wasn’t used to this. He had five other people now looking to him for guidance, and at present, he wasn’t even sure he could manage taking care of himself. Debating the group’s plan would only waste time. Time they didn’t have.

  Leaning back, he pulled out a SIG Sauer P320 and set it on the sidewalk alongside two fully loaded magazines. His head pounded and for some reason, his right eye had begun to twitch. Dropping his face into his hands, Griffin momentarily pushed their current situation to the back of his mind, dug his middle fingers into his temples, and pushed down. His previous injury, whatever it was, had finally decided to take a stand.

  Taking a deep breath, Griffin gripped the pistol, placed his left hand on his knee, and slowly pushed to stand. His head had begun to spin, but not like the spinning that would come after a long night with far too many drinks. This was slower and more annoying. He’d be able to function for the time being; however, the persistent nausea sitting in the pit of his stomach reminded him that he was nowhere near ready for what was to come.

  Turning to face the others, he looked to Frank and pointed the weapon up the next block. “I’ll take the lead. Carly and Helen can guide us. You and Shannon watch our rear, but let’s stay away from the street. I have a feeling that woman has no intention of letting us just walk away.”

  Frank nodded. Grabbing one of the two black duffels, he pulled out a pistol of his own and looked back toward the university. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Stepping between the two men, Cora reached for the second duffel at the same time as Griffin. She pulled it to her feet, withdrew a Glock 17 nine millimeter pistol, quickly slipped the bag over her shoulder, and readied the weapon. “Just in case?”

  Griffin narrowed his eyes. “In case what?”

  She looked from Griffin to Frank and then back. “I don’t see a downside to us being a little more prepared. Like you said, Josie’s not just going to let us leave. Also, you know that I’m more than capable of handling one of these.”

  Griffin didn’t respond.

  “And,” Cora continued, “those shots we heard a few minutes ago, we also need to be prepared for whatever or whoever that was.”

  Before the last word left her mouth, she’d instinctively turned to face Ethan’s mother. The pain of the unknown was clearly written across the older woman’s face and although Cora knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, she quickly apologized. “Helen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Still wrapped tightly under Carly’s right arm, Helen’s words came out slow and cracked. “I’m okay, I just want to get back to my family.”

  Griffin turned away from the street and faced the others. There would be time to reflect once they’d gotten to their friends and away from this hell. Right now, he needed them to set aside the current situation and focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. He needed to get them moving. He had to somehow keep them alive.

  “Okay, stay close. We’ll get to Ethan and your husband and then get the hell out of here. We’ll put this city in our rearview mirror and never look back.” Now gazing only at Helen, he leaned in and said, “I promise you.”

  Fighting back tears, Helen attempted to stand up straight against Carly. She nodded and pushed through a half smile. “Thank you.”

  Returning the gesture, Griffin motioned toward the end of the long city block, looking at Helen for confirmation. “That way?”

  “Yes, the next street leads straight into our development. We’ll be able to see it once we turn the corner.”

  “Okay,” Griffin said, “let’s go.”

  Starting cautiously, the group of six stepped out away from the thick row of pines and into the moonlit night. They moved as a single unit, with Griffin keeping one eye on the intersection not more than a hundred yards away. And with every ten seconds that passed, he’d step out into the street, turn, and check the university as it faded into the distance.

  Falling back in ahead of the others, Griffin slid in close beside Cora. He placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear. “This may just work after all.”

  Grinning nervously and narrowing her eyes, Cora looked up at him. She chose not to respond right then, and instead gradually increased her speed, sliding her hand onto his upper arm. She pulled Griffin out ahead of the others, and attempting to contain her voice to only the two of them, rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Don’t you hear that?”r />
  “Hear what? What are you talking—”

  His voice trailed off as he became aware. He didn’t know why he hadn’t heard it before, and was confused as to why the others hadn’t either. Could it have been his increased heart rate beating inside his ears, or maybe the fact that his sole focus was the fifty-yard radius he had been monitoring for the last thirty minutes?

  He wasn’t sure, although now he was unable to focus on anything else. And looking back at the others, they’d obviously heard it too.

  Frank had stopped walking first. He’d set the duffel bag on the sidewalk and stared back in the direction of the university. It was too dark and too far away to see at this distance; however, with his right hand gripped tightly around the weapon hanging at his side, he began to nod.

  “You were right, they’re coming. What are we going to—”

  “Wait!” Stepping away from Carly, Helen turned to the others. Nearly unable to contain her excitement, she spoke quickly and at an increased volume. “That’s not coming from down there. That sound is my husband’s SUV. I’d know it anywhere.”

  Turning back toward the intersection and quieting his breathing, Frank stared silently into the night. “I don’t know. It seems to me that it’s coming from back there.”

  The others began to debate the origin of what was now obviously some type of large vehicle as Griffin held his left hand up over his head, calling for attention. “Listen, either way, we need to keep moving. Whoever’s coming is going to be on top of us in a matter of minutes, and this time, we’re gonna be prepared.”

  5

  He was impressed with himself for the first time in months, maybe even years. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to and although the victory was a small one, at this point, it was something he could use to get himself through to the next crisis. His plan had worked, and other than a handful of lost souls roaming the street, every last Feeder in the area was now locked inside his parents’ home.