by Jeff Olah
Lucas sat up a bit straighter. “Yes sir!”
Back to the Bronco, Owen slipped in behind the wheel, and turned in his seat. He waited for Natalie to finish with the children and then reached for her hand. “You sure about this?”
She nodded quickly. “If anyone knows where to find Gentry, it’s Major Daniels. This is what we have to do—it’s the only way.”
40
Declan had stayed behind the crowds and used the distraction Jacob created to make his way out to the street and back to the BMW. Desperately low on fuel and ready to make this part of town a distant memory, he took from the interior what he could carry and headed off around the opposite side of the building.
The alley smelled of death and what could only be described as rotting fruit. A sweet pungency to it. The aberrant stench felt like it was somehow penetrating not only his nose, but also his eyes, his ears, and even his skin. Like it was all around him, washing over him like a churning whitewater. Nowhere and everywhere all at once.
He stayed close to the wall of the building, slowing his pace as he moved by a city dumpster. There were a handful of motionless corpses, maybe ten, that were laid along the wall. But the situation didn’t seem to match the smell. He’d seen this before; however, it didn’t make any sense until he finally reached the end of the alley and looked out over the rear lot.
More bodies. Had to be at least a few hundred. Now lined up and stacked along the edge of the loading dock at the rear of the building. Most looked to have been infected, although some showed no sign of decomposition. Either way, this was good. The black Mustang was now less than a hundred yards away and the sea of bodies, although repulsive, would provide him cover from those still walking the lot.
Going wide, Declan jogged to a grouping of three medical supply vans. They sat side by side, each parked less than two feet from the other. He peered back through the windows, to the spot where Joshua had landed. He had, for the most part, forgotten about the twins, although there was something he couldn’t quite place.
It wasn’t sympathy, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t how he was built. But there was something, and he knew he didn’t like whatever it was. For some unknown reason, he felt relieved to see that Jacob had somehow managed to get to his brother and that they had both escaped. He didn’t hate them or have any reason to—it was just that they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Declan quickly scanned the remainder of the lot and the crowd below the window he threw Joshua from. They moved away, gaining followers from the loading dock, but also sent smaller groups out toward the Mustang and street beyond.
Time to go.
With the Smith & Wesson M&P 9 he’d retrieved from the BMW in his right hand, Declan slung his bag over his shoulder, cinched the strap, and stepped out from behind the last van. He stayed low and moved from one forgotten vehicle to the next, never more than twenty feet or so without looking back over the lot and checking the crowd’s progress.
At the last row, he moved in beside a blue sedan that had a rideshare sticker along the right corner of the rear window. For a moment, he tried to imagine that the world hadn’t imploded and that there was someone out there still offering rides, that he could simply pull out his phone and order a vehicle to come to him.
Amused, he laughed at the thought, before shuffling to the opposite end of the blue sedan and lining up his path from the lot to the black Mustang.
Over a four-foot retaining wall and moving quickly around another small group that had branched off from the main horde, Declan keyed the remote and opened the door. The Mustang was newer, had the scent of pine and granola. It was also clean, too clean. Like the twins had taken the time to wash and detail the outside as well as the inside, and not an ounce of trash anywhere, the carpeting beneath his feet clean enough to eat from.
He sat for a minute, watching the crowd and attempting to remember his options for a route back to the high-rise complex BXF Technologies called home. He didn’t like the idea of going back with his tail tucked between his legs, but maybe he didn’t have to, maybe there was another way.
Sliding the key into the ignition, he let the engine idle as he reached for his bag. The plastic shell of the satellite phone was cool in his hand as Declan stared at the display and thought about the details of the last conversation he’d had with the man at Headquarters. Things had changed, and until now it hadn’t dawned on him how to correct the mess that Goodwin had created.
Now all he needed to do was drive back into the city and let them know he would be taking over. Anton may have a problem with it, and possibly a few others, but he also had a plan for that.
Declan dropped the sat phone back into his bag, revved the engine, and shifted into drive. “It’ll be like taking candy …” He paused, his attention pulled away from the Mustang’s interior. “Oh yes.”
A few hundred yards away, on the overpass that connected Sixth Street to the highway, was the light-colored SUV from the day before, the one driven by Mercer’s husband. It was a longshot, but something inside him said that this was going to be an eventful day.
Declan reached into his bag once again, this time coming away with the nine millimeter he’d swiped from the BMW.
“Okay, change of plans.”
41
Gentry winced as he put pressure on the brake and rolled to a stop. He had taken to reclining the driver’s seat and unbuckled his lap belt. His lower back had begun to spasm, his head felt like it was being pushed from the inside out, and his ankle was warm and wet. He knew it was one of two things, and in a matter of hours it would be confirmed one way or the other.
There was a sign at the far side of the road. It was yellow and square, had some black text, but at the moment his vision was playing games with his mind. He remembered his way back to the city, but now doubted he’d even make it as far as the highway.
He took a deep breath and as a wave of nausea swept over him, Gentry closed his eyes and dipped his chin to his chest. Fighting back the thoughts of what this meant, he bit into the side of his tongue until he tasted blood. The pain was palpable, but it was working.
Once the world had stopped spinning and he was able to open his eyes, he sat forward and looked left. The road was less crowded, only a few vehicles sat frozen in the distance, but it would take him three miles out of his way. He also didn’t like the fact that it was a route he was unfamiliar with, and knew from the ride in that it was more trouble than it was worth.
Although, if his vision were to deteriorate any further, it wouldn’t matter either way.
One last glance into his rearview mirror and then Gentry slowly moved his foot from the brake to the gas. He drifted into the left lane, avoiding the first vehicle parked along the sidewalk and began to increase his speed. “Here goes.”
He nearly drove off the road when the sat phone rang from inside his pack. Coasting to an open spot along the right side of the road, he quickly dug out the phone and glanced at the display.
It was a number he was unfamiliar with, although from the area code and the prefix, he knew it was one that belonged to BXF. Now for the million-dollar question, one that he might not want the answer to, one that could get him killed or worse.
But one that he had to know the answer to all the same.
Gentry tapped the talk button and held the phone to his ear. He waited for a count of three, but just as he was about to speak a voice came through over his.
“Hello, Gentry?”
It was a woman’s voice, one he thought he remembered. She sounded young, maybe late twenties or early thirties. She paused after saying his name and all that followed were rapid breath sounds. Exertion or anxiety, he couldn’t tell which.
“Is this Dominic Gentry?”
“Who is this?”
“Madeline Fillmore, but I don’t have a lot of time. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He remembered the name but not much else. “Is there something—”
“I
t’s Goodwin, he’s not dead.”
He nodded as if she could see him. “Yeah, I figured.” Then thought about how to proceed, still unclear about the nature of the call. “But I’m assuming that’s not the whole reason you’ve called.”
“No.”
“Okay?”
“It’s Mrs. Mercer, we know where she is.”
His pulse shot up. “Where?”
There was an urgency to her voice, one that seemed to increase with each word. “One of our guys came back in, Tommy Jefferson. He was with Jerome Declan and there was an incident.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded or where this may go. “And?”
“Declan wounded one of them, maybe two.”
“One or two of them, he didn’t tell you who?”
“He didn’t know, but that’s not really the problem.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” she said. “We’ve been tracking Kevin Rodgers’ phone. We think he’s with Mrs. Mercer and her family, and they’re leaving the city.”
“That’s good, can you give a location, at least a—”
“They’re coming back, they’re in the next room.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You need to get to Mrs. Mercer, but don’t come back here. And whatever you do, stay away from Blackmore.”
“What?”
“Goodwin has that place on lockdown and is now hell bent on taking it back.”
“You got anything else for me?”
“The Foundry has been shut down from here. Doesn’t look like anyone is going back anytime soon.”
His head was spinning again, the nausea from minutes before returning with a vengeance. “You got a location for Mercer?”
There was a hesitation and what sounded like a sigh. “It looks like she just turned off Sixth Street and is heading east on Highway Ten.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice dropped again. “But …”
“But what?”
“Jerome Declan just turned off Sixth as well, looks like he’s following her.”
Gentry wanted to drive his fist into the steering wheel, but knew that wasn’t going to help. He turned to look back toward the highway and then again began to nod. “Okay.”
There were a few seconds of nothing and then a male voice. The words were muddled, but whoever it was sounded close. And when they stopped she was back. “I’ve got to go.”
“Again, thank you.”
The line was dead, Madeline Fillmore was gone.
Gentry powered off the satellite phone and tossed it into the back seat. He pulled his foot from the brake and through the blinding pain, pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
“Natalie … I’m on my way.”
42
Owen looked into his mirrors once again. It was subtle, just his eyes darting between the rearview and the driver’s door. He hadn’t wanted to alert the others, specifically Nat and the kids, but over the last several minutes, and as he guided the Bronco around a burned-out Prius, he was beginning to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
They were indeed being followed.
“Hey.” Travis had been quiet, almost too quiet. Now he spoke, but waited until Noah was in the middle of one of his stories, distracting Natalie and Ava. “You seeing this?”
Owen nodded and again checked the driver’s side mirror. “Yeah.” He also kept his voice low. “Noticed it when we were on the ramp, coming off Sixth, kinda hard to miss.”
“Whatta ya thinkin’?”
“Nothing yet. They could just be lost, maybe looking for help or something.”
Travis turned in his seat, now staring at the side of Owen’s head. “You don’t really believe that?”
“No.”
Noah had finished his current thought and was now looking from his sister to his mother, gauging their reaction, But Natalie had turned away, and now sat forward, pulling the seat belt away from her chest. She cocked her head to the left and looked at Owen through the mirror.
“What’s going on?”
He knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep it from her much longer and was already preparing himself for the questions. “There’s a car behind us, behind Lucas, maybe a few hundred yards.”
“Okay?”
He could see the thoughts running around in her head and decided to get out ahead of them. “And they’re getting closer, looks like they don’t care that we know.”
“What do we do?”
Owen had been asking himself that same question. “Get Kevin on the radio and ask him to pull alongside, I’m going to slow us down a bit, see what they do.”
“You’re going to slow down, won’t that—”
“Yes, it might bring them closer, but I need to see what they’re going to do with that.”
Natalie’s hand shook as she keyed the mic and put her face to the walkie. “Kevin, do you know that we’re being followed?”
“Yeah, we spotted them on the ramp. What are you guys thinking?”
Her voice wavered a bit. “Owen wants Lucas to pull beside us. He’s going to slow down and see what they do.”
“Ten four.”
Noah had slipped his legs back and was now kneeling on the seat. “Dad?”
“Yeah buddy?”
“Are they bad guys?”
He didn’t like lying to his son, and could no longer see the point. With everything Noah had experienced in the last two weeks, the truth was probably the best option. “I don’t know.”
The nine-year-old twisted in his seat, his hand on Ava’s shoulder for balance. “Why are they following us? Do you think they want to hurt us like the men with the guns, the ones who hurt Mr. Kevin?”
Something hit him. He’d considered it when he first noticed the black Mustang, but now it seemed so simple. Owen looked ahead and then reached his hand into the back seat. “I need the walkie.”
Natalie looked through the windshield and then back over her shoulder. She dropped the radio into Owen’s hand, squeezing it gently before he pulled away. To Noah and Ava, she offered a wide smile. “It’s going to be okay.”
Noah returned his mother’s gesture; however, Ava just stared at the floor, a tear running down her face and dropping into her lap.
Owen looked to his left, Lucas now pulling even with him. “Kevin?”
“Yeah buddy, how you wanna do this?”
“Ask Lucas if he sees that red Suburban up ahead, it’s pushed into the center divider?”
There were a few seconds where the Bronco sat in absolute silence. Owen dropped his speed to just below twenty and looked to his left once again.
“We see it.”
“Okay, that’s where we’re going. Stay on my window and when I stop, let’s not get out, see what they do.”
“If they keep coming?”
“I’ll deal with it, but no one else gets out. You all good with that?”
“For now.”
Owen slowed once again. He avoided looking back into the mirror and hoped that Nat wouldn’t call attention to his previous request. He had a plan, but that didn’t include risking the lives of his family and friends, not again.
He handed the radio to Travis and reached into the console for the Glock. “I may need you, are you—”
“Sure.” Without missing a beat, Travis lifted the SIG just enough that Owen could see. “Whatever this is, I’m ready.”
Within twenty yards of the red Suburban, Owen pulled to a stop and finally looked back into the mirror. He offered Natalie a half smile and then turned in his seat. His eyes were on the black Mustang, but he spoke to his family. “I’m going to wait to see what they do. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
Natalie shot back. “What if it isn’t?”
“I’ve got that figured out too.”
“Are you going to let the rest of us know what that is?”
“No, not yet.”
Natalie sat forward, unbuckled her belt. It looked like she was going to climb into the front seat
. “Excuse me Owen?”
He glanced again through the rear window. The black Mustang had also rolled to a stop, now one hundred feet back. “Nat, we don’t really have a choice here. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Look.” Owen pointed through the windshield. Travis had seen it as well. Fifty yards beyond the Suburban and partially obscured by the random vehicles left behind, a horde too large to count. Too massive to appreciate in a single glance. They stretched from one side of the five-lane highway to the other. Marching shoulder to shoulder, their numbers so great, they blotted anything and everything beyond.
There was a collective gasp from the back seat. Owen could see that his daughter had also lifted her head and now clung to Natalie’s arm.
“So,” Owen said, “we really don’t have a choice, but I also don’t think we should start—”
The Mustang flashed its lights and after a count of five, flashed them again.
Travis saw it and so did Natalie. She tilted her head, brought her eyes in line with Owen’s. “I don’t like this.”
“It’s gonna be fine.”
Now the Mustang laid on its horn and again flashed its lights.
Travis gripped the Sig in his right hand and reached across his body, going for the door handle.
“No,” Owen said. “Not yet.”
There was another flashing of the lights, and another horn, this time they sat on it, at least five seconds.
Static and then Kevin was back. “Owen.”
“I know.”
“What are we doing?”
As his friend’s voice trailed off, Owen glanced into the mirror. The driver’s door of the Mustang slowly swung open and a shadowed individual stepped out. It didn’t take but a second for Owen to place him as the man from the intersection. The man stayed behind the door, but appeared to be waving.
“Kevin, who is this guy? What’s he want?”
“His name is Jerome Declan. He worked for Goodwin and like I said before, he’s trying to get to Gentry.”