by Jeff Olah
The Next World
RESISTANCE
Jeff Olah
Copyright © 2018 by Jeff Olah
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is merely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com
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Contents
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What’s Next?
Excerpt from INTENT
About the Author
1
Six Months before the Outbreak …
Dr. Dominic Gentry paused the video at the thirty second mark. He hadn’t been able to watch past that point in the eight times he’d tried. With his hand still shaking and the pain behind his eye beginning to return, he closed out his secure connection, ripped the CPU from his desk, and smashed it on the cool concrete floor.
From over his right shoulder, he could feel the camera tracking his every movement. Marcus Goodwin watching from his ivory tower. Not a single moment missed and especially not now, and not for the last several weeks. Whatever this was, whatever had gone wrong, however it came to be, no longer mattered to him. He had seen more than enough.
Now he was going to stop it before one more person lost their life.
Gentry—as he’d become known around the ten-thousand square-foot underground facility—removed his glasses and paused a moment. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peered out through the glass-walled office and shook his head. A handful of lab technicians who were now frozen at their work stations stared back.
To no one in particular he said, “So much for doing this under the radar.”
Without completely thinking through what he was going to say, but before once again losing his nerve, Gentry moved to the door. Swinging it open and stepping out into the wide-open communal space, nearly two-thirds of his staff turned back to their workstations. Of those who didn’t, only one maintained eye contact.
Emma Runner.
The one person he had hoped would call in sick today.
But she didn’t.
She never did.
She was a model employee when no one else was. She asked questions that he could never answer, but had wanted to from the very first day. To have someone with her talent on his side, someone with an eye for identifying the problem he’d always known was there. Goodwin had asked—no demanded—that he only give her what she needed to do her job, and nothing more. Not a single detail that would expose the project for what it was becoming. Nothing that would lead to the questions she was sure to ask. Nothing about the eighty-six deaths. Nothing at all that really mattered.
But here she was, now moving toward him much more quickly than he was comfortable with.
“What?” Her voice was loud. The single word coming out more like a command than a question.
Gentry stretched his lower back and ran his hand over his face. He attempted to continue forward, moving to her left. “Emma, this isn’t a good time.”
Emma stepped to the side, blocking his path. Two of the men at the desk over her right shoulder moved quickly away. “Yeah, I’m getting that. But—” She quickly looked past him, at the camera in the corner of his office. “I think it’s time we had a chat, maybe away from here.”
He smiled, his lip quivering as he spoke. “There isn’t anywhere we can talk.” He followed the path of her eyes to the camera. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”
The petite woman with the shoulder-length brown hair and steely blue eyes shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, it’s just—”
“No Emma, it’s over.”
She cut her eyes at him. “What’s over?”
“It’s time to kill Project Ares.”
“What are you talking about, why?”
He reached for her hand, and guided her to his left. “All of it … it ends today, right now.”
“Wait, are you—”
Gentry stepped past her and started toward the elevator. He took one last glance back at the camera before increasing his pace and taking in a deep breath. “Here we go.”
Ten seconds later, the doors parted, and although the man standing six feet away wasn’t his intended target, it was exactly what he’d expected. The man in the penthouse suite wasn’t usually predictable, but having run this gauntlet more than a few times, Gentry knew the initial minefield well enough. It wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing with this company was ever easy.
He paused a moment, stepped into the massive elevator, and quickly turned on his heels. Now facing the doors and the floor-to-ceiling mirror, Dr. Dominic Gentry avoided looking at the man he stood beside. “Dalton …”
James Dalton, head of technology for BXF and Marcus Goodwin’s longtime confidant, held tight to the tablet in his left hand, typing furiously with his right. “Are we really doing this again?”
Gentry had the young man in the three-thousand dollar suit by at least four inches, but at the moment, he had no intention of trying to intimidate the often awkward twenty-something. No, today he was going to play this another way.
Finally turning toward the man he’d worked with for better part of three years, Gentry smiled and waited for Dalton to look up from his device. “How about you come with me today, maybe witness the fireworks first hand this time. I promise it’ll be worth your—”
It looked like Dalton held back a laugh, but then quickly straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know how it’s going to end. It always does.”
Gentry shook his head. He then looked up at the readout above the door and felt his pulse quicken. “Not this time, trust me.”
James Dalton didn’t respond. Instead, he simply took a half-step back and offered a quick nod. As the doors slowly parted and a rush of cool air pushed into the elevator, he turned his attention back to the tablet in his left hand. “Good luck.”
Gentry moved to the door, but paused in the threshold. “Not necessary.”
The doors closed behind him and for the first time since slamming his CPU to the ground, he felt ready for what was to come. He knew exactly what he was going to do and was confident in the reaction it would bring. There was nothing left to discuss, nothing more to examine. No more questions of ethics,
no finger pointing. The wheels were already in motion; now he just needed to stand clear and watch the train finally derail.
Through the massive glass doors and into the outer hall leading to Marcus Goodwin’s private office, he let out a slow breath. The smell of lavender and the slightly warmer temperature brought an unexpected sense of calm as he continued toward the massive desk at the center of the room and the high-backed Italian leather chair that was now turned toward the windows at the opposite side of the office.
“Dr. Gentry …”
He stopped ten feet from the desk. That was close enough for what he needed to say. “Marcus.”
The black leather chair began to turn. Goodwin hated being called by his first name—he felt as though it was a sign of disrespect. He liked Mr. Goodwin and would accept simply being referred to by only his last name, but despised anything else.
Completing his turn and standing from his chair, Goodwin leaned into his desk and regarded Gentry with a restrained grin. “What can I do for you, other than have Dalton get that mess downstairs cleaned up?”
“I’m done.”
“Again?”
Gentry counted in his head. He wanted to give the moment an exclamation, figuring ten seconds would suffice, but only made it to five. “I can’t help you anymore…this whole thing is an abomination.”
Goodwin didn’t blink. And now Gentry was beginning to think he may have taken things a half-step too far. He only needed to state the facts and be on his way, his personal opinion maybe should have stayed buried, but it was officially too late to go back. He needed to stay the course. If Goodwin sensed that he was wavering, things might just turn ugly.
“Dr. Gentry, I need to get on a flight. I don’t have the time or the inclination to play psychotherapist to whatever this is, can’t you just go back to work and ask for a raise like everyone else?”
Okay, he obviously isn’t getting this. “I’m leaving Marcus. There isn’t any reason for me to stay. The tests are getting worse and you’ve killed more men than I’ll ever be comfortable with.”
“You mean we, we’ve killed more men than you’re comfortable with.”
He again shook his head. “You don’t need me here anymore. You only need someone to record the data and look the other way. I can’t help you fix this unless you’re willing to go back to the beginning, and I already know the answer to that.”
Goodwin curled up his lip and took in a deep breath through his nose. After a beat, he looked up at Gentry. “Fix it.”
“I can’t, and I think you know that, so why—”
Goodwin pushed away from the desk. He rubbed his hands together looking toward the ceiling, and finally back to Gentry. “Okay,” he said motioning toward the hall. “Then you’re free to go.”
He knew he would never be free and that Goodwin only expected him to return to the lab and continue working on the failed project. But for once he was going to do what was right and not what was expected. As he turned and started toward the massive doors at the entrance to the suite, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Mr. Goodwin … respectfully, I have to say that I don’t think you’ve thought this all the way through. This thing is heading in the wrong direction and has the potential to change the course of history, but not in the way you had initially intended. Things could get really bad, really fast.”
Before Goodwin could respond, Dr. Dominic Gentry continued through the doors and into the elevator outside the penthouse suite for the very last time. He pressed the button for the lobby, dropped his head, and closed his eyes.
“I wonder if he’ll let me live long enough to make it to my car.”
2
Present day …
Owen Mercer sat with his back against the door watching his son run from one end of the parking lot to the other. The rain had finally ended, they had a two-week supply of food, the building was mostly secure, and although it appeared as though they may get their first full day of sun since arriving at Cecil’s, he had a feeling that this day wasn’t going to end well.
Across the street and two buildings over, Owen’s attention was briefly pulled away from his son. He put his hands above his eyes and focused on the windows along the second floor.
He had sixty seconds, maybe less. The silhouetted figure from the previous three days had come back … and it was finally time to do something about it.
“Noah,” Owen said, attempting to keep his voice at an even level. “Why don’t you grab the ball and go find Lucas.”
Without turning, his son continued toward the eight-foot chain-link fence at the northern edge of the parking lot. He scooped up a tattered football, paused to look it over, and then started back toward Owen. “Lucas and Ava are with Mom inside.”
“How about we go find out what they’re—”
Before he could finish, a burst of static shot from his left hip, quickly followed by Kevin’s voice. “You seeing this?”
Owen reached for the two-way radio and keyed the mic. “They’re back, whoever they are.”
Kevin sounded calm, his words coming out slow and deliberate. “Where are the others?”
Owen pushed away from the door, tucked a nine millimeter into his waistband, and started to stand. He held the two-way radio to his mouth and responded to Kevin while waving his son over. “They’re inside, I’m heading in with Noah right now. Be up in a few.”
There was a long pause as Owen followed Noah in through the entry and secured the massive double doors. Then another squawk pulled his attention back to his left hand. “Take your time, they’re moving a bit slower today … something’s different.”
As Noah ran off into the dining area, Owen came to a stop. “You able to get eyes on them?”
“Yeah, visuals are better today. Without that cloud cover, you can see clear through to the other side of the building.”
Owen again keyed the mic, but was a half second too late as Kevin’s voice interrupted. “And they’ve managed to pull that group from the street away, so maybe this is a good thing.”
Yeah sure. “I’ll be up in a minute, let me just give Nat a heads-up.”
Turning back toward the kitchen, Owen scanned the room. First the tables near the bar, then where he’d left his wife and his daughter, and finally to the sound of voices coming from the main hall over his right shoulder.
Noah giggled as Owen entered the room. The nine-year-old looked quickly from Lucas—now seated in a chair—to Natalie, and then back to Owen. He didn’t say anything, just held his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide, and his head on a swivel.
Owen came in behind his wife, waited for her to turn, and then playfully shook his head. “So the whole world goes to hell and you decide it’s time to become a hair stylist?”
Natalie stepped away from Lucas and held out her hands. “I’d say I did a pretty good job, maybe I missed my calling.”
“What are you—”
She moved toward Owen, continuing as she motioned back toward Lucas. “He fixed the solar charger, we made a trade.”
Owen was only half-listening. His attention was already beyond the conversation and with his friend on the roof. He fought the urge to let his imagination run away, and instead tried to focus on only the facts.
Someone had found their way to the building across the street. This person seemed to know exactly how to stay hidden in the shadows, but was also keen enough to let their presence be known. And for three days, at exactly nine-fifteen, the small, slow-moving individual had made their way from the alley to the top floor, without giving away their identity.
Owen was a little more than curious.
Kissing Natalie on the cheek, he leaned around her and eyed Lucas. The boy looked younger now. His shoulder-length hair having been cut to just below his ears, he could have easily been mistaken for fifteen or sixteen.
Lucas looked away, toward where the small, hand-held solar charger sat near the window. Turning back to Owen, he smiled, his cheeks a bright shade of pink.
“Now we can keep the phones charged, maybe once every other day.”
The boy had mostly kept his distance from Owen. There was never an actual conversation, although he understood how Owen felt about the time he was spending with his daughter and his place within the group. It was evident in every action and every gesture. He was trying to earn respect as well as show his character.
“Why would we do that?” Owen asked, his words sounding a bit more abrasive than he intended. “We haven’t had a signal in days and I seriously doubt that’s going to change.”
Lucas continued to smile as he stood from the chair, and moved toward the window. He quickly disconnected the phone that was attached to the charger, powered it on, and held up his right index finger. “These aren’t just phones.”
Owen cut his eyes at the boy. “Yeah?”
With the phone in his left hand, Lucas swiped up from the bottom of the screen and tapped once with his thumb. From the back side of the phone a flood of illumination washed over the lower half of his body and his feet. “Yeah, now we have four flashlights that don’t need batteries.”
Owen looked to his wife and then then back to Lucas, offering the boy a half grin. He wanted to let him know that he trusted him, that he was impressed, and that he knew how valuable he’d be to the group. He just didn’t feel the time was right for all the warm, fuzzy stuff. Not yet anyway.
“Nice,” Owen said, “just make sure we’re smart about when and where we’re turning them on. So far we’ve managed to not draw any attention to ourselves … and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Lucas nodded, his smile fading and his cheeks growing a deeper shade of red. “Yes sir, I understand.”
Owen quickly turned away, intentionally not making eye contact with the others. “I’ll be on the roof.”
He’d almost made it to the door when Natalie’s voice came from behind. “Are they back?”
He kept walking, but didn’t turn. “Yep.”
She sounded tired. “Who do you think it is?”