Existence [Book 1]

by Jeff Olah

  “Project Ares?”

  “Yes, that’s where I met Dr. Gentry. He let me see things I can’t ever forget and wish he hadn’t. Things went rapidly downhill from there.”

  “So, Project Ares … that’s what caused all of this?”

  Natalie paused. “Yes, but there’s no way I explain all the details. Not in a way that will make any kind of sense. I’m not even sure I completely understand it all myself.”

  Owen leaned away from her. “Why don’t you try?”

  “Okay,” she said, “seven years ago, Marcus Goodwin developed a program that was initially called Project Lockwood. I believe it was named after the scientist he was working with and then changed to Project Ares sometime later. They created an injectable that was going to turn the world upside down, and he used his billion-dollar tech business to fund the whole damn thing.”

  “So this outbreak, this infection, it was man-made?”

  “According to Gentry it was.”

  “Okay,” Owen said, “but why, what was he trying to accomplish, besides killing everyone on the planet?”

  “Goodwin was attempting to create the perfect soldier. Faster, more agile, and without the burden of guilt or thought. He was trying to get around some of the hardwiring of the mind, make it process information faster. And it worked, at least for a while. But then over the last few years, things started to go really bad.”

  Owen pulled off his coat, set it aside. “And somehow that became this?”

  “Gentry told me that there were anomalies, things that no one saw coming, but should have. The injectable became unstable, started affecting other parts of the mind. Parts that are necessary for impulse control and basic level human compassion. And then as it progressed, it ended up shutting down everything in the mind other than the most fundamental human needs—hunt and feed.”

  “Obviously not what Goodwin had initially intended.”

  “No, but at some point, he stopped caring. He was determined to push forward, to find a way to fix it without going back and starting over.”

  Natalie paused, took a beat to catch her breath. “And when the media got ahold of it, there wasn’t anyone there to answers the questions. No one that really knew what they were talking about anyway. They ended up labeling it Intermittent Explosive Disorder Syndrome.”

  “They weren’t wrong.”

  “No,” she said, “but they weren’t right either.”

  “And you, you got to see all of this?”

  “Just some of the video footage Gentry showed me, some of the stories he told. I begged him to go public, but he was terrified of Goodwin. I still can’t believe all of this is happening, none of it even seemed real until a few days ago.”

  “So,” Owen said, “the day that all this broke, the meeting you were supposed to have, it had nothing to do with signing contracts—you had already been working with them?”

  “Yes, for a while anyway. However, I couldn’t discuss any of it with anyone, and I think you understand why.”

  Owen’s head was swimming. He wasn’t sure he completely understood what all of it meant, although he really didn’t need to. He knew what he had to do to keep his family safe and for now that was enough. “So then, what’s next?”

  Natalie leaned into him again. “I’m not sure how much I trust Kevin, but he isn’t wrong about what we need to do to fix all of this. For now, I’m thinking we take it one step at a time. Get our strength back, give the kids a few days to adjust, and then go find Dr. Gentry.”

  Owen looked out over the city, wasn’t sure he wanted to bring it up. He had told himself to leave it alone, but knew there’d be no way he could. So instead, he’d just get it over with, rip the Band-Aid off in one stroke. “Is there anything else?”

  She didn’t need to see his face to know what he was really asking; it was in his voice. “You found my satchel?”

  “I just don’t understand.”

  “It’s not what you think it is.”

  He wasn’t sure how to say it, other than to just say it. “Divorce papers?”

  When her voice came out, it was higher than she intended, but still didn’t totally capture her disappointment. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Uh …”

  “You obviously didn’t open it, did you?”

  “I was gonna—”

  “You should have.”

  Now he regretted it, but was more confused than anything. “I uh …”

  “Things weren’t perfect between us, but they were never that bad, were they?”

  “I didn’t think so, but I thought maybe—”

  She stopped him. “I wrote you a letter about all of this, every single detail of the last year. I was going to give it to you weeks ago, but never felt like I could. Now I don’t feel like I have to. Owen, you have to believe that everything I’ve ever done was for you and the kids. That didn’t change six month ago, and it hasn’t changed today.”

  Owen leaned in and kissed her once again, feeling like he been given a gift. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. No more secrets.”

  Owen reached for her hand, interlaced their fingers. He’d heard enough, more than he needed. The details didn’t much matter—what did was right in front of him. “The kids, how are they?”

  “Better this morning. It’s weird with Noah, though; none of this seems to be fazing him, like he maybe doesn’t understand, I don’t know. And Ava, well she’s at least talking this morning. I think she kind of likes having someone her own age to talk to.”

  “Talk to? If you’re referring to that boy—”

  “Lucas.”

  “Whatever, just keep him at least ten feet from my daughter at all times.”

  Natalie gripped his hand, pulled him to her, and returned the kiss. “Don’t worry, he’s a good kid, and he’s afraid of you.” She pulled back. “But he’s more afraid of me.”

  “Good.”

  “Owen.” Her tone was again different, like it had been when she first sat down.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you back … the old you. Because as bad as it is now, I have a feeling it’s going to get worse, much worse. I need you, the kids need you, we’re all gonna need you. There’s a chance we can fix this, but it’s not going to be easy.”

  Owen took her other hand, folded both into his, and kissed them. “We’re going to get through this Nat, all of us. You, me, the kids. I promise you. I’m going to be who you need me to be. But if this is going to work, there’s one thing we all need to remember, one thing we need to keep with us every minute of every day, and that’s that we’re still here. No one can take that from us. As long as we do whatever it takes to keep going, keep surviving, we’ll get through this. And from now on, we stay together; we don’t take any more chances. That’s how we live … and nothing else matters.”

  42

  Jerome Declan sat in the passenger seat, clutching the satellite phone and growing impatient as he peered down at the backlit display. There were few things in this world he valued more than punctuality, although at the moment he couldn’t recall what they were.

  To the man seated beside him, he said, “Is it me? Am I the one who’s crazy?”

  The man in the driver’s seat didn’t respond or even acknowledge the question.

  Declan wasn’t used to this level of disrespect. He’d worked with others who were difficult in their own way; however, keeping your word was the one thing he demanded, no matter who he was dealing with.

  “I’ll give him another sixty seconds and then we’ll drive right up to his front door and ask him ourselves.”

  Again, the man seated in the driver’s seat said nothing.

  “Thirty seconds, and he doesn’t even deserve—”

  In his left hand, the satellite phone rang. He reached to hit the talk button, but then stopped. Without turning to the driver, he sucked in a slow breath. “Once we find the woman and the doctor, remind me to come back to this wretched city and kill Mitchell Blake.
”

  The man to his left turned and raised an eyebrow, but again held his tongue.

  Declan waited for the fourth ring, hit the talk button, and placed the phone to his ear. “Mitchell, you’re eleven minutes late, do I need to even ask?”

  There was a sigh and then a brief pause. “It’s Blake.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve asked that you call me Blake.”

  Declan chuckled. “Yeah well, I like Mitchell. It just fits you better.”

  There was no response.

  “You still there?”

  “Do you want the information or not? These games are growing old, even for you.”

  “The woman, have you or your degenerate brother been able to do what I’ve asked?”

  “We found her earlier today. She’s traveling with a kid and a man that we were unable to identify.”

  “I’ll need a description,” Declan said. “And where I can find them.”

  There were a few seconds of dead air and then the sound of paper rustling. “Uh, she’s a redhead, mid to late thirties. The boy looks like he could be ten, maybe a little older—”

  Declan’s hand began to shake, he could feel his pulse beating in his neck. “Bloodstained sweatshirt, left shoulder wrapped in a bandage?”

  The man on the other end of the line was quiet.

  “Mitchell …”

  Nothing.

  “Blake, am I describing who you tracked?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was told she was much younger, brunette.”

  “Hey, I’m just relaying the information I was given. You don’t like it, go talk to Goodwin yourself. But if you do, please let me know, I’d pay money to watch.”

  “I’ll need an address.”

  More rustling paper and then, “One-ninety-eight South Fourteenth Street. They’re with another group, since late last night.”

  Declan turned to the driver. “You know where that is?”

  The driver nodded, finally spoke. “The old garment building, we can get there in an hour.”

  Jerome Declan ended the call and dropped the phone into the center console. “We had her yesterday and let her go. That’s not going to happen again.” He rubbed at the three-day growth along his chiseled jawline, and looked out over the city. “We go in and we get her—anyone who gets in our way, we kill them.”

  What’s Next?

  Book Two - RESISTANCE

  COMING SOON!

  To be notified the moment it becomes available, be sure to join the “New Releases” mailing list at: www.JeffOlah.com

  Also, if you’d like a sneak peek of the two best-selling post-apocalyptic series The Last Outbreak and The Dead Years simply turn the page

  Enjoy!

  Sneak peek of The Last Outbreak

  PROLOGUE

  Exactly ten minutes early, Emma Runner strode into the twenty-thousand square foot privately owned hanger of BXF Technologies. Sitting in silence, a pair of Gulfstream G280s waited to usher her away from the city. Moving quickly across the red and white polished concrete floor, she avoided eye contact with the pilot, now staring down at her from the cabin door. She instead moved toward the black, Italian leather sofa situated along the rear wall, dropped her bags, and reached for her phone.

  Entering her pass code, she glanced back at the pilot and held up an index finger. He nodded and disappeared back into the jet. Returning to the backlit screen, she stared at the message icon and shook her head. And because her OCD would eat her alive if she dropped her phone back into her bag, she opened the app to confirm there were no new messages. “Come on Ethan.”

  Before closing out her messages, she re-read the most recent and swallowed hard. Why would we need to leave tonight? Why at four in the morning, and why back to the West Coast? They’d only arrived a week earlier, and she’d just gotten used to the new time zone. However, these were questions she’d have to keep to herself. After hearing the story about the last person to interrogate the man running this company, she didn’t need another reason to continue down that path.

  Running on less than two hours of sleep, she was exhausted. Even the four cups of superheated caffeine were making little headway in reviving her from last night’s client dinner. She was initially nervous to meet the businessmen from the other side of the continent, and for the first few hours, she only spoke when absolutely necessary.

  . . .

  The men were introduced as Maxwell Amador and Gerald Fienberg. All she was told was that they helped fund the new project she’d be assigned to, and that they were given only base-level information, and promised a five-hundred percent return once the end product hit the battlefield.

  As the lead chemist, the investors from the East Coast demanded that she attend. And although she hadn’t completely familiarized herself with the project, the science behind the injectable was something that she believed to be at least ten years off. The men who were to invest nearly a billion dollars would be looking for specifics, although she was instructed to keep it simple—and under no circumstances was she to reveal what the true capabilities of the program were.

  Coming in near the unofficial launch of Project Ares, she understood that she’d been the fourth to take on the position. However, the fate of the first three chemists, along with any indication as to who they were, was kept private. She didn’t care. This was her break, and she didn’t see fit to question the company willing to pay her twice what she was asking.

  An hour prior to last night’s dinner meeting, seated in the backseat of the jet-black Rolls-Royce Phantom, she sank into the buttery, crème-colored leather. And as the man who signed her checks scrolled quickly through his phone, she awaited his instruction.

  Standing nearly six feet tall, his thick salt and pepper hair, chiseled features, and lean frame lent credence to the H. Huntsman suit he’d decided on for the evening. The man seated to her left finished with the details of his message, checked the time, and then turned to her with a grin that only slightly put her at ease. “Emma Runner… do you think you’re ready for this?”

  “Mr. Goodwin, I would first like to express to you my gratitude for the opportunity to—”

  His slight smile began to morph into something resembling confusion. And Emma’s short sermon fell off abruptly as he shook his head. “Listen, I’m a man who has little time for anything other than forward movement. You’ve already proven worthy of this job, and this trip. There was no need to thank me or anyone else when you were initially hired and there isn’t one now.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “My name is Marcus Goodwin. Formalities can wait until we are back in that other time zone. For now, let’s focus on making sure the men who are handing over the check are satisfied with the explanation we have to offer.”

  “Sure, but how exactly are we going to explain what this program is all about—I mean the physical details can be a bit complicated?”

  “We aren’t.”

  “No?”

  “Not tonight,” Goodwin said. “Tonight we make sure they’re comfortable accepting that what we are doing is going to change the world. Make them believe it, make them beg me to let them invest.”

  Smiling apprehensively as the car slowed, Emma turned and peered out her window, still unclear about exactly what he wanted and why she was flown across the country. “It looks like we’re here.”

  Before responding, he leaned in, laid his hand on her left knee, and let it drift up her thigh. “Once this investor is secured, we’ll be completely self-regulating. No agencies to dictate the how’s and why’s. Those other contracts will be burned. And if another politician ever steps foot in our building, it’ll be for an interview. Tonight I need you to—”

  His phone’s ringing sliced through the tension, and Emma drew her left leg back. Straightening in his seat, he looked at the screen and shook his head. “Daniels,” he said under his breath. “What the hell does he want?”

  As the car rolled to a stop, he stayed seated
, as Emma’s door was opened from the outside and she exited. Placing the phone to his ear, his door was also opened. “Daniels,” he said, “what are you still doing—”

  “Yes, I’m meeting with them tonight.”

  Looking down at his watch and then back through the open door, he stepped out and started for the entrance. He marched across the busy sidewalk and paused before the entrance as Emma moved inside. “No, that couldn’t be us. Trust me, there’s nothing to worry about. I don’t care what you’re hearing. And yes, they’ve been trying to reach me all afternoon. However, I have a few things to take care of. I’ll call them when I get back to the room tonight. You just head home and take care of—”

  Holding the phone out away from his ear, he again checked his watch. “Yes, I’m well aware of your title. You’ve made sure of that over the last few years,” his voice intensifying, “but you need to remember that I don’t answer to you… any of you.”

  Looking over his shoulder, he could see through the crowded restaurant and into the bar. The deep pockets he was there to meet had already spotted Emma and were quickly approaching. “No, I haven’t been watching the news, I’ve been out here on the other side of the country attempting to keep this thing afloat. When I get back in town at the end of next week, I’m coming up there to throw you and everyone else out of my facility.”

  Staring through the floor-to-ceiling, plate-glass window as it gathered arcs of frost in each of its four corners, Goodwin could feel his heart beating in his ears. “Do what you have to, although you know who I am, and what I’m capable of. Just make sure that you and your people are gone by the time I arrive.”

  Ending the call, he slid his phone into his pocket, straightened his tie, and walked into the crowded bar.

  . . .

  Having scrolled through each message twice, she paused on the final text from her mother and read it once again. Sweetheart, your father is ill, and at the moment I just want him to rest. I’m shutting off the phones and will call you in the morning. Have a safe trip, we love you. Mom and Dad.