by Jeff Olah
“Okay,” he said, motioning toward a Black Lincoln Navigator over his left shoulder. “I need you to stay here. Take the keys and when I tell you, run for the car.”
Natalie grabbed his waist, pulled him backward, whispered into his ear. “No Owen, we can’t”
Owen took her hands, placed the keys in one, and the Glock in the other. He pulled her in close, kissed her hard, and then pushed her in behind the massive black SUV. “I’ll get them out away from the car, into the street. They’ll follow, but they won’t catch me.”
He looked back to the end of the lot. The young female, now less than thirty feet away, began to increase her speed. She spat blood, and swung wildly at the air.
“Back out into the street and pick me up on Hope; we’re getting out of here.”
“No Owen, I’m not leaving you.”
He shook his head and stepped away from the Navigator. “You have to, we won’t make it if we stay together. I have to draw them out, it’s the only way.”
Natalie looked over her shoulder and then back at Owen. “Promise me …”
She couldn’t finish, but Owen knew what she wanted from him. “Just go. Get to the front of the lot and swing back when you get to the fence. They’ll be focused on me, won’t even know you’re there. I’ll meet you out on Hope.”
And before she could counter, Owen stepped forward, kissed her cheek and ran out into the street. He stopped near the center, again looked to both ends of 12th, and began to wave his arms. “Hey, over here. Let’s go, I’m right here.”
Natalie watched for a moment and then ran off. She shoved the keys into her pocket and held the weapon out in front at arm’s length. She stopped at the first row of vehicles, turned right and disappeared from view.
The lone male fast food worker, maybe all of seventeen years old, but well over six feet tall, was the first to step out into the street. His long strides and awkward gait put him two paces ahead of the others, although it did appear that all four had all fallen for Owen’s plan.
He continued along the opposite sidewalk, and assuring the small group didn’t lose interest, he began to shout and jump up and down. “COME ON, LET’S GO. I’M STILL HERE!”
Shuffling sideways, his head darting from left to right, Owen watched as Natalie again appeared. She ran from the fence to the driver’s door of the white SUV, keyed the auto-locks, and jumped in behind the wheel.
As the group of former fast food workers turned at the sound, Natalie started the engine, shifted into reverse, and mashed the pedal to the floor. She dipped out through the open gate, bounced into the street, and cut the wheel hard to the left.
Owen jogged back toward the four who’d grown curious about the movement in the lot. He again shouted and waved. “HEY, LET’S GO! OVER HERE!”
When they didn’t react—and started back toward the SUV—Owen quickly scanned the street and then the sidewalk. Nothing he could use as a deterrent or as a weapon. He waited as Natalie turned back toward Hope and finally got her attention.
Natalie was now shouting from the behind the wheel and pointing at him. Spitting her words, although her voice was lost to the Mercedes’ interior. And as the four continued toward the driver’s door, she revved the engine and pounded the steering wheel, but hesitated.
Thirty feet to the four fast food workers and another ten to his wife, there was no way he’d make it. “NAT, JUST DRIVE!”
Owen stepped off the sidewalk and as he raised his left arm, pointing toward the intersection, her eyes went wide and she began to scream.
He was hit from behind and thrown to the ground, his head skipping off the unforgiving asphalt. Owen slid to the center of the street, and rolled onto his back, reacting out of self-preservation more than fear.
As he grabbed for his head, his attacker, a large man with black hair and a dirty face, lunged at him. Dressed in a dusty flannel and well-worn denim, the man dropped to one knee and took a handful of Owen’s shoulder.
Owen dug in his heels, pushed back, and swung wildly at the man. From his position, the glancing blow only temporarily forced the man off balance, but also appeared to anger him.
Back dropped against the greying sky and the glass and metal structures of downtown, the man with the thick head of greasy black hair wasn’t like the others. Although his flannel and jeans were speckled in what looked like fresh blood, his face and neck were clear, his eyes only slightly cloudy.
But then the large man opened his mouth and spoke. “My man, would you relax? I’m trying to help.”
Wait, they don’t talk.
As the horn from the Mercedes blasted and the man looked up, Owen swung hard and knocked the man’s arm away. He rolled to his stomach as the man tipped back and then quickly got to his feet.
“Hey,” Owen said, massaging his head. “Are you, I’m mean, uh have you, uh—”
“No, I’m not. But you’d better move. And I mean like right now, this whole area is about to be overrun.”
The horn blared again and the Mercedes lurched forward. Two of the four fast food workers were thrown out into the street as the others cartwheeled into the chain-link fence surrounding the day lot.
Owen stepped out of the way as Natalie pulled between him and the man who’d taken him to the ground. She looked to her right, back to her left, and lowered her window. “Owen, we have to go.”
“Wait, what the hell just—”
Natalie again pointed back toward Flower Street, beyond the man in the dusty flannel. “Look.”
The man turned and began to run. Not thirty feet from the front doors of Natalie’s building and now eliminating any chance of going back, hundreds of infected turned onto 12th. But that was okay, they weren’t going back.
Owen hurried to the driver’s door, swung it open, and nodded to the passenger side. He grinned and then kissed Natalie on the cheek. “Good job, now let’s go home.”
Natalie’s hands continued to shake as she struggled to get over the center console. She looked in the rearview mirror and then out the passenger window, her face flushed and sweaty. “That man, we can’t let him go. He won’t make it. We have to help.”
Owen shifted into drive and tracked the man as he turned up Hope Street. “No, we need to get the hell out of this city, that’s what we need to do.”
“Owen are you kidding? He was trying to save you, we have to help him.”
He looked to Natalie, then past her. The crowd was coming, ten seconds maybe. There wasn’t time for a discussion, wasn’t time to convince her otherwise. And he knew she’d never give in, she never did. Owen shook his head, let off the brake, and made a wide turn out onto Hope Street.
11
The pounding on the garage door had stopped. Phil Tompkins, the tall thin man with the bushy grey beard from across the street had been out there for over an hour. But now he was gone. She’d never actually spoken to the older man, but he did seem nice and would always offer a friendly smile and wave anytime he saw her or her family.
Ava Mercer sat crouched in the living room alongside the large bay window. She hushed her younger brother and slowly parted the shutters. Her eyes were first drawn to the street. Neighbors in their cars, backing out of driveways and piling in behind one another. They were frantic, laying on horns and shouting at one another.
It was a massive change from only an hour before.
Noah slid in beside her and held tight to her arm. “Are they home?”
Ava pulled her phone from her pocket, keyed the home button. “No.”
“When?”
She glanced to the left corner of the screen and then out through the window again. “I don’t have a signal.”
“Are they gonna be home soon?” Noah turned and moved to the couch, flopped down. “I’m hungry.”
Ava didn’t respond. She instead put her phone aside and moved to the center of the window. Looking beyond the street to Mr. Tompkins’ house, his front door was open. The curtains were pulled back and two matching suitcase
s lay on their side near the driveway.
Weird.
Turning back to Noah, she bit at the side of her lip. “Hey, where’s your laptop?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Can you see if you can get online?”
“Why?”
“Just go get your … oh never mind.” Ava stood and moved through the living room and into the kitchen. When she returned, her brother had taken her spot near the window. “What are you doing?”
Noah sat with his legs folded, pulling open the shutters a bit more. “Nothing, just wanted to see.”
Ava dropped to the sofa, opened the laptop, and waited for it to power up. “Hey, get away from there. If Mom and Dad drive up, they’re gonna …” her words trailed off as she checked the lower right corner of the screen.
Noah turned from the window. “Yeah, but they’ll be more mad at you, I just followed you over here.”
Ava set the laptop aside, staring off at nothing in particular. “Isn’t the WiFi usually pretty good out here?”
Noah was back at the window, now craning his neck and leaning to the right. “Uh, I think he’s coming back.”
Ava was lost to her thoughts. She felt like she should let her parents know what was happening, but without the use of her phone and the WiFi now intermittently dropping out, she needed another way.
Off the couch and across the room, she started toward the kitchen. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. Spending so much time in the world of text messages and social media, she’d nearly forgotten the most basic communication device in the home.
Around the dining room table and passing the sliding glass door, she noticed Noah’s reflection. He was close behind, eyes wide and breathing fast as he looked back toward the living room.
“Noah, what are you—”
“Mr. Tompkins, he’s coming back, he looks mad.”
She moved by the marble slab that topped the massive island at the center of the kitchen and then to the wall at the far end. “Okay?” Ava didn’t know what else to say. The crazy old man she’d known for most of her life was probably on the way over to bang on the garage again, nothing she could do about it.
Noah looked up at her, narrowed his eyes, and started toward the hall. “I’m going to Dad’s office.”
Ava watched as he disappeared behind the refrigerator, didn’t try to stop him. But then as the sound of his feet against the cool tile floor began to fade, she remembered why she had originally left the living room. “Hey, I’m gonna need Dad’s computer, so don’t get on it.”
“Whatever.”
Ava leaned into the counter, turned on the lights and as she reached for the phone, it began to ring. She pulled it from its charger and peered at the caller ID.
Unavailable.
Fully expecting it to be her parents, she rationalized that they were also having a problem with their phones and had decided to call from a land line, maybe from her mother’s office. The number usually came through, although with everything else happening today, nothing would surprise her.
Holding the phone in her left hand, Ava pressed talk and then quickly tapped the speaker button. “Hello … mom?”
“Ava?”
The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Who is this?”
“Sweetie, it’s April. Is your mom there?” Her mother’s best friend from high school, it had been at least a year since Ava had seen or talked to her.
“Oh, hi … no my mom was at work, but Dad went to get her. They should be home soon.”
“Uh, are you guys okay?” Her mother’s friend was speaking much faster than normal, sounding as though she was trying to get all her words out at the same time.
Ava hesitated. “Yeah we’re okay.”
For a moment her mother’s friend was quiet. And then it sounded as though she put her hand over the phone, was talking to someone else. The sound was muffled, but she was sure she heard the words “This thing is everywhere.”
“Ava?” Now back, her mother’s friend continued. “I’m sorry, but have you been able to get in touch with your mom?”
“No, my cell isn’t getting a signal. I was gonna try the home phone.”
“Yeah,” April said, “me too, but I do need to get a message to your mom. Can you tell her something for me?”
“Sure.”
April’s voice again came through the receiver with an increased sense of urgency “Okay, let her know that we’re going to head to my dad’s beach house and that you guys are welcome to come.”
“The one we all went to last summer?”
“Yes.”
“Okay …”
“Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve seen what’s been happening out there?”
Ava nodded before answering. “Yeah.”
April paused, her deep breaths against the phone the only sound for a moment. “Just be safe sweetheart, we love you—”
And then she was gone.
Ava pulled the phone away from her ear, again checked the caller ID.
Nothing.
The screen was now blank and static filled the line.
12
The sun sat low on the horizon, gray skies pushing into purple. Owen drove south on Hope Street, checked the time and breathed out heavily. Maybe an hour, probably less. The city would be dark, impossible to navigate. And although his wife made him promise that they’d find the man who had run off, he was now starting to believe he’d made a mistake. The man was probably already dead, or worse.
Crossing West Pico Avenue for the third time in the last ten minutes, he pointed out yet another, much larger group of infected. “Nat, we need to go, we can’t—”
“We’re going to find him, he couldn’t have gone more than a few blocks.”
Owen ran his hand along the side of his head, massaging the lump growing behind his ear. He slowed as they approached the coming intersection and looked south. “He’s not our responsibility.”
Natalie stared into her lap, only half her attention on what he’d said. “Uh huh, but you realize he’ll die out here.”
“Yeah,” Owen stopped the Mercedes, straightened in his seat. “But we also have a responsibility to ourselves and to our children. We don’t know what this thing is or why this is happening, but we do know that people are dying, and not just a few.”
Now she looked up, stared into his eyes, tears beginning to form. “You think I don’t know that? I had to see people that I’ve known for years ripped apart by whatever this is. I thought I wasn’t going to make it out of there, actually believed I’d never get to see you or the kids again. That’s all I’ve had to think about for the last two hours. Trust me when I say that I know what you’re thinking, but that’s also why we can’t leave him out here to die. Maybe he has a wife, a son, a daughter, we have to do this for …”
Owen saw him at nearly the same time as his wife. “Is that him?”
A smile grew from the corners of her mouth as she began to point. “Yes, go. Go, go, go, go, go!”
The large man in the dusty flannel and the faded denim jeans jogged off the sidewalk and into the street. He was followed by a group of at least ten and now appeared to be limping. For every three strides, his pursuers gained one. They’d be on him in seconds.
Owen released the brake and pushed the gas pedal to the floorboard. He drove up onto the sidewalk and as they came in behind the crowd, he blasted the horn. A few turned, but most continued forward. He angled away from a row of parking meters and bounced back into the street.
As they came to within ten feet, Owen cut the wheel hard to the left and unlocked his door. “Nat, I’m gonna have to get out, he won’t make it.”
“Wait,” she said, “he doesn’t need—”
“You’re gonna have to drive.”
Pulling alongside the crowd, Owen stopped the Mercedes, shifted into park, and in one motion, opened his door, and jumped out. “Stay ahead of them and leave the
doors unlocked, we’ll catch you.”
Without waiting for her to confirm, Owen rounded the rear of the Mercedes and came at the crowd from behind. The element of surprise, at the moment, was all he had. Get to the large, apparently injured man and hope to get back to Natalie before they did.
Owen went wide. The crowd was less running now than they were stumbling forward. Most looked to have sustained lower body injuries that evenly matched the grotesque features of their faces, heads, and torsos.
He easily moved by those at the rear and was able to come even with the man being chased without too much trouble. He never appreciated all those early morning runs more than this very minute. Alone, cold and sweaty, he always saw his time pounding the pavement as some misguided form of meditation. Never once did he imagine it may actually save his life.
Natalie pulled ahead and stayed along the left-hand side of the street. And just as the large man with the dark greasy hair became aware that help had arrived, he was caught from behind. A woman in a long dress and bare feet had gotten her hands on the back of his flannel. He struggled to pull away as a second attacker—a man wearing a tattered city sanitation uniform—slammed into them from the right. All three crashed to the street, a mess of snapping jaws and clutching hands and odd guttural moans.
Owen reacted before he had a chance to process what had happened. He came in from the left, hard and fast. Acting on instinct, he kicked the woman in the stomach, feeling a twinge of guilt. Never lay a hand on a woman maybe didn’t apply in this situation.
As she rolled onto her side, Owen looked for another opening. He turned to see the man in the flannel sliding on his back and the former sanitation worker clawing his way on top. Another well-placed strike could end this, but from his position that wasn’t going to be possible.
With only one option, and against the voice in his head screaming otherwise, Owen stepped in behind the former sanitation worker and grabbed a handful of his collar. He planted his left foot and leaning back, used everything he had to toss the average sized man into the four or five that followed.