The Dead Years (Volume 8)

by Jeff Olah

  Waiting as the women sat along the back wall of the Command Center, Mason spoke first. “I want you all to stay put. You should be safe in this room.” Looking through the window along both halls, he continued. “Haven’t seen many of those things running loose here since we made it through the door. I’m going after Justin and Randy.”

  Knowing her reaction, Mason avoided eye contact.

  Her grief rapidly deteriorated into anger. Springing from the chair, April pulled away from her mother to address Mason as he moved to the door. “He’s dead Mason, don’t you get it? You were not here to help and your son is gone. Wake up… we are all that’s left.”

  Hand on the door, Mason didn’t turn to face her. He quickly reached for the gun sitting on the desk, checked the magazine and slid it into his waistband. Pausing for a brief moment, he wiped his brow and said, “I’m going to get him.”

  April started toward him. “Mason… he was taken down by a group of those things out in the hall. We went right by him on the way back in here. Over the last few hours, he was able to stand and walk. He knew who we were, although he never spoke. Justin saved us. When all the doors opened up, he led them away from us and they took him apart… Mason, you’re not going to want to find what’s left of him.” Her eyes to the floor, she moved to him and grabbed his hand. Squeezing so hard his knuckles popped. “I know what you’re doing and I know why. I’m telling you, it’s not the right thing.”

  “I’m not leaving him out there; I don’t care what’s happened.” Through the door and into the hall he trotted to the rear entrance, stepping around the many fallen Feeders. Peering out into the night, Mason surveyed the yard… nothing new headed his way. He took the next few minutes to turn back into the hall and search the tangled web of downed mutants for his son. Dragging them one by one to the exit, he winced with each new layer of deteriorating flesh he slid from the floor. Many of these things hadn’t been shot or stabbed through the cranium. One after another had their skulls crushed or pulled in half. But how… and by what? No human was capable of this level of strength.

  Reaching the end of the pile and with the halls in either direction now clear, Mason realized that his son had somehow made his way out of the building. Even though April had seen things that very well could have altered her perception of reality, he believed what she detailed was the truth. There was no accounting for the level of destruction this group had seen over the last few hours and Mason simply hoped that his son didn’t have to live this life another day. He silently prayed that this battle had taken him home.

  The night air ran cool over his tattered clothing and blood drenched arms. Near the end of the building, Mason leaned into the wall and looked back toward the front gate. No less than thirty downed Feeders peppered the yard, an obvious sign of Randy’s fruitless attempt to go after Tessa and Parker. The chopper, now just a bent and broken skeleton, sat not only as a reminder of the group’s journey to this hell, but also as the final resting place for the two women. Seeing no movement from the entrance, Mason got low and stayed in between the buildings, just within the shadows created by the intrinsic glow emanating from beyond the facility’s rear walls.

  Sweeping past Building Four, he ran up on two Feeders searching for their next victim and accelerating at just the right instant, he managed to avoid being sighted. Mason tucked himself between a large metal dumpster and Building Five as the echo of the chopper’s spinning rotors from less than fifty yards away became increasingly vexing. Echoing through his head like a drum solo after too much alcohol, he knew that reprieve wasn’t going to be possible any time soon. Scanning the area, he pressed on toward Building Six.

  With the massive structure over his right shoulder, Mason raced to the rear wall and the haphazardly placed forklift. The rear entrance to his right and Goodwin’s idling helicopter in the distance, he hesitantly peered over the wall. Through the onslaught of radiance originating from the chopper, he squinted and was just able to make out the pilot as he sat watching the events taking place over his left shoulder.

  With the pilot not appearing to be armed, Mason moved his focus in the opposite direction. He had to stretch from the seat of the forklift to bring into view his friend, ten yards past the man who murdered Major Daniels. Marcus Goodwin held Randy at gunpoint as he barked orders at two other men, both struggling to get to their feet and severely beaten. Mason could fire a shot from here and had a moderate chance of finding his target, although the numbers didn’t justify taking the risk. Mason may be able to take out Goodwin and then hope the other two weren’t armed, although he figured the chances were much better the closer he got to the scene.

  Mason had less than five seconds before the pilot would somehow signal his approach and as Goodwin moved in toward Randy, time was up. Both hands on the wall, Mason pulled himself up and over in one motion and after stumbling to his feet was in a dead sprint. His lungs were on fire and his thighs ready to explode. He pushed his body for more, although it wouldn’t respond. He felt as though he was running in slow motion with weights strapped to each of his ankles. He wasn’t going to get there fast enough.

  Watching Goodwin smash Randy to the ground over and over, caused Mason to flash back to his father-in-law being taken apart by the same man less than an hour before. This man blew the back of Major Daniels head off while his family watched from only feet away. His friend was about to suffer the same fate at the hands of this lunatic.

  . . .

  Four men out in the open field beyond the rear gate, one of which was being pounded repeatedly. Two others hunched over, hands on their knees stood by watching the brutality. No details as to who they were or what was transpiring. Adjusting the scope was useless; the black silhouettes only told half the story. His family had landed here, and that was the only thing he needed to know. William blinked through the blinding light originating from the opposite end of the facility, once again attempting to bring the figures into focus. Taking in another slow deep breath and closing his left eye, the world beyond his scope instantly sharpened. “Randy…”

  11

  With less than twenty yards to his target, Mason slowed his pace, withdrew the pistol from his waistband and came to a stop. Now able to see past Goodwin and Randy on all fours, he noticed the other two men had both been severely injured. The first, an unassuming shrunken down version of Goodwin himself, at no more than five foot five, stood in a river of his own blood. His eyes to the grass below and hands over his ears, he backed away from the scene. The other appeared to be Goodwin’s remaining sharpshooter, in as bad a condition as the first and unable to push himself to his feet.

  The soldier struggled to right himself and from his kneeling position pulled a handgun from under his left arm and leveled it at Randy. The commands shouted by Goodwin were still unclear even at this distance, although the order for his man to stand down seemed appropriate. Mason didn’t have a clear shot from his position and the chances of taking out all three men without ending his friend’s life as well were non-existent. He could circle back to get a better vantage, although time was working against him at this point.

  Out of options and assuming the next few minutes may be his last, Mason chambered a round and moved forward, his weapon trained squarely between Goodwin’s shoulder blades. He didn’t need a kill shot at this point; he just wanted a chance to draw the attention away from his friend for a moment. The rest he would have to figure out as the world came down around him.

  As he advanced, the sharpshooter was the first to catch wind of his presence. Signaling Goodwin of his approach, he pointed a finger in Mason’s direction, shouting something inaudible. The soldier kept his right arm locked in position with his weapon to Randy’s head.

  Goodwin turned to face Mason and the two locked eyes, their weapons sighted on one another. As the disbelief washed over the man who brought hell to Blackmore, everything went black save the moon and stars. The pilot’s plan for signaling Goodwin of Mason’s approach was to kill the helicop
ter’s exterior lighting.

  . . .

  Anguish, resentment, and fear. They all battled one another, each attempting to rise to the surface, although he needed to be present. He needed to shelve those emotions. They were there for a reason and he’d return to them in time. Just not now.

  William’s vision cleared and through the night vision scope the picture was brilliantly clear. He could make out the four individual’s and although they were temporarily blinded, William instantly read the situation. The soldier held Randy and two others at gunpoint as the world went dark. Placing his right index finger atop the trigger, William held center, exhaled slowly and pulled back once. The round disappeared into the darkness and a fraction of a second later he watched as the soldier twisted to the left, obviously only a glancing shot. Another round already chambered, he adjusted for distance, pushed his right eye further into the cup and fingered the trigger once again. William froze in place as the projectile raced into the night. An instant after the crack of the barrel, his target was down.

  Two quick muzzle flashes in the distance and his vision was once again limited to three hollow silhouettes and a fourth figure advancing from the left. The rear gates to the facility, each pushed to their prospective sides in the open position, left William guessing whether or not additional men lay beyond the walls. Re-sighting the scope, the initial target lay in a heap on his side, the contents of his head blown backward and into the trees. Focusing on the others, Randy was being helped to his feet by the man who’d entered the scene from the left with his back to Randy; the larger man now out of frame had disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

  William shouldered the rifle, moved to the hood of the SUV and in one motion scaled the gate into Blackmore.

  . . .

  His weapon and line of sight set on Dalton, Mason extended his left hand, pulling Randy to his feet. His friend’s mind now locked in a battle between unconsciousness and the rush of endorphins from the previous beating feigned acknowledging Mason’s help. With Randy struggling to stay upright, Mason squinted against the obscure darkness. Goodwin was gone.

  Pushing the barrel into the smaller man’s temple, Mason burned with rage. “WHERE IS HE?”

  No response.

  “I SAID…”

  Dalton, raised his blood soaked face, the contusions already pronounced along each cheekbone as he spoke. “I heard you.”

  “WHERE’D YOUR BOSS GO?”

  Spitting a mouthful of red velvety liquid to the field below, Dalton said, “Your friend here just attempted to end my life and you want answers? You think that MY BOSS has any interest in anyone but himself? I’m sure he’s long gone. Good luck trying to catch him.”

  Mason pulled Dalton up by the collar and spoke directly into his ear so no words would be missed. “I’m going to find Mr. Goodwin and I’m going to kill him… with your help or without. Just thought you’d like to save yourself in the process.”

  “Save myself? You must be kidding. The things he’ll do to me when he comes back make your threats laughable. Why don’t you just paint a target on my back?”

  Scanning the area, Mason pulled Dalton in close and dragged him forward as Goodwin hurried out of the trees at the end of the clearing and into the waiting chopper. “Still think he’s coming back for you? I’d have to say it looks like you are on your own.”

  . . .

  The gunfire of the last few minutes had the three women on the edge of their seats. Pacing the length of the room, Savannah was about to come out of her skin. “I’m going. Randy is still out there and he may need some help.” She sat listening to April and her mother debate the worth of a human life for the last few minutes and what that meant to their group. She somehow managed to block the images of Tessa and Parker’s grizzly attack from her thoughts for the moment, as there were remaining members of their group that still ran in the face of harm. Randy and Mason had yet to return and her complete focus needed to be on the living, at least for now.

  Moving away from her mother and much to Savannah’s disbelief, April said, “I’m going too. Mother, please stay here. We won’t go far.”

  Eleanor didn’t respond. She sat staring at the monitors hoping for some sort of reprieve, although the images splashed across the screen were simply too grainy and distant to make any real sense of. Although the world took her life away two weeks ago, it wasn’t until today that she stepped foot inside the gates of hell. She was now alone. Her husband wasn’t coming back and she would never make peace with that.

  12

  With less than fifty yards between them, William raced around and over the fallen Feeders that littered the courtyard. The grass slick and damaged underfoot as his carefully placed steps pushed him toward a reunion with the only family he had left. Closer still, he moved by the open doorway to Building One, startling April and Savannah as he continued toward the men. Noticing Mason with a gun held to the smaller man’s head and three lifeless bodies nearby, he called out. “Mason… Mason.”

  Turning to April, Savannah shouted above the sound of the helicopter reverberating between the buildings. “Was that…”

  Just as astonished, April moved from the doorway and into the yard with Savannah biting at her heels. “It was… yes… William. But how, how did he find us?”

  Neither spoke as they hurried to catch William sprinting toward the rear entrance to Blackmore. They reached the gate just seconds after he did and nearly ran him down. The look on his face as he turned mirrored that of their own. April grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a giant bear hug as he scanned the vast landscape, trying to make sense of it all. “William… how’d you… how did you get here? Where did you come from?”

  Savannah moved past the pair to her cousin who was finally working his way back to this reality. She pulled him close, allowing him to lean into her and through the chaos, attempted to guide him back to the facility. Randy realized what she was doing and pulled away. Shouting over the confusion, he pointed back toward Blackmore. “Go back Savannah and take April.”

  Mason nodded to William and shouted over the helicopter beginning to lift off. “Glad to see you brother. Now please tell me that rifle has some life left in it.”

  The group moved to the wall for cover as Mason kept pace with Randy, acting as cover for his injured friend. Assuring everyone had made their way behind the gate, he barked instructions. “William, no time to explain, but that chopper needs to be destroyed.”

  Pulling Dalton along, he continued. “April, take Savannah and get inside. Make sure this guy doesn’t even look at you cross-eyed. If he does, shoot him in the face… got it?”

  “Give me a gun,” April shouted back.

  Reaching into his belt, Randy handed April his handgun as he winced through the pain and fought to maintain his upright position. His head pounded with each beat of his heart and nausea threatened to vacate the contents of his stomach every time he turned too quickly. Get it together, he told himself.

  Mason and William watched the women drag Dalton along as they hurried back to Building One, before turning their attention to the chopper nearing the treeline. As Randy readied the TEC-9 he pulled from the last sharpshooter to fall, the three men moved from the cover of the wall and into the open to gain a better sight on their target as it attempted escape. Mason was the first into position and through the darkened night sky only the dim glow of the cockpit light offered a hint of where to focus their destruction.

  . . .

  “Sir, we have maybe five minutes of fuel. Not even enough to reach the lower altitudes of the mountain. We need to get to another clearing and quick.” The pilot lifted out of the tall spruce and had a visual on a clearing a few miles away. “We can avoid any further contact with these people and be there in just a few minutes.”

  Goodwin watched as the men stepped out into the field beyond Blackmore, weapons trained on his chopper and intent on not allowing him to leave this mountain alive. He imagined it a threat and would tr
eat it as such. This was his world and he’d live in it on his terms. “Turn around and fly right over them.”

  The pilot shook his head and as Goodwin made his way into the rear cabin removing his headset, he said under his breath, “I guess now is as good a time as any to die.”

  Randy fought through the pain as he sidled up next to William, dropped to one knee and blinked through the turbulent vortex created by the spinning blades thirty feet above. The pilot pointed the nose down and headed toward them as Goodwin tethered himself to the interior and cracked open the side door.

  “Get in tight,” Goodwin screamed above the rotors. “No one on the ground survives another minute! I want them all!”

  Dropping the altitude by a third, the pilot exploded out into the clearing, headed for Mason and the others. Goodwin slammed a new one hundred round drum into his semi-automatic AR-15 and pushed it out the opening. His eyes focused on the three men backlit by the crescent shaped moon overhead. He opened fire even before the chopper leveled off, plastering the grounds with baseball sized divots.