by Jeff Olah
He had heard enough. This conversation wasn’t moving forward and it definitely wasn’t heading down a productive path. She was attempting to paint a picture that simply wasn’t accurate. “Where are all the men?”
“First off, we helped you. We brought you off that mountain, beaten and bruised. We offered you a safe place to rest, somewhere to catch your breath. You have no right to question a single thing about what goes on behind these fences.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Horatio now stood alone in between the two groups. “Josie, why don’t we just let them go, they haven’t—”
“So, now you’re taking responsibility for these people? You feel as though we should allow anyone to just come and go from here as they please?”
He didn’t respond.
Turning to Griffin, Josie grinned. “You and your friends are free to go. I only have one stipulation.”
She turned back to Horatio, leveled her weapon at his chest, and fired three rounds.
Anticipating her next move, Griffin turned his weapon on Josie and stepped out in front of his friends. “Put it down.”
She laughed and returned his gesture. “He deserved that. He chose to stand with strangers and now he’s going to die with all of you watching.” She raised her other hand and motioned to the man in black. “But he also may have saved your life.”
Cora and Shannon turned away as Helen fell into Carly. The four women shook as they cried into their hands and looked to Griffin for an answer.
With two weapons trained on him, Griffin’s eyes moved to Horatio. Three points of entry, two high up on his chest, and one near his armpit. Unable to voice his words and gurgling a mouthful of blood, the young man rolled onto his left side and began to spasm. Ten seconds later, he was gone.
With Griffin’s attention quickly swinging back to Josie, he said “You’re insane, he was one of your own. What you’ve done makes no sense.”
“Listen, I’ve already told you that you and your friends are free to leave. Horatio just paid for your one-way ticket away from here. And it makes perfect sense—he turned his back on the one person he owed the most to, so how on earth could I ever trust him again?”
“You people are—”
“I’ll tell you what, I was originally just going to teach you a lesson and then let you go, let you go out there into that hell and find out just how wrong you really are, but I think I’ve changed my mind. You are still free to go, but I’m only giving you thirty minutes. Then I’m sending my men out to look for you. And for your sake, I hope they come back empty handed.”
Pausing for a moment, she looked down at Horatio, then to the women, and finally back to Griffin. “You’d better get a move on. It isn’t going to be as easy as you may think.”
He figured he knew what the answer would be, but as the women hesitantly turned and began to walk toward the fences, Griffin looked back toward the parking lot. “Our vehicle?”
“I’ll make you a deal. You can keep the two bags of weapons you brought here—you’ll need them out there—and in exchange for me being so generous, you agree that the armored truck now belongs to me. Does that work?”
Griffin paused a moment and then before turning and following the women, he said, “I hope I get the chance to kill you some day.”
“The feeling is mutual, but for now, you’d better go.”
. . .
Finding their way to the gate that Ethan and Ben had exited through less than an hour before, Griffin removed the latch and pushed it open. He and Cora helped guide the others through the thick underbrush and out onto the sidewalk. Shannon was the first, followed by Carly, Helen, and finally Frank.
The group huddled under a large spruce and waited as Griffin scanned the long boulevard from one end to the other. “Looks like it’s clear, at least up to the next intersection. We should probably go.”
“One second,” Frank said turning to Helen. And then reaching into his coat, he pulled out a cell phone and smiled. “It’s Ethan’s, I’ve had it since we got out of the truck earlier tonight. I didn’t want to give it to him in front of those people, but I knew it was pretty important to him.”
Helen looked confused. “Why don’t you give it to him yourself?”
Looking around at the others and then back to Helen, he said, “He received a message just a few minutes ago, and I think you should be the one to read it.”
Depressing the home button, she swiped to open the phone and moved to the messages app.
One new text…
Ethan, I’m still alive, in the city, about ten miles from my house. It’s the Stern Building on Sixth Street. I hope you get this. I love you. Emma.
46
His father lay face down in a growing pool of his own blood and there wasn’t anything he could do to change that fact.
Time slowed and Ethan was able to see everything taking place simultaneously. It was as if he were three separate entities, each experiencing the events independent of one another. His initial response was to fight the unusual sensation, to just give up. However, something else took control, something deep inside that told him he needed to let it in, to let it take control. Somehow he knew this was his only option.
Directly ahead, Maddox stared into his eyes as the muzzle flash that ignited every corner of the three car garage began to fade. A half second later, the thunderous explosion rattled the door on its rails. And as the weapon he gripped sent a thin trail of grey smoke into the cool night air, the giant man raised his weapon, turned it to Ethan, and fired one round.
Reacting on instinct alone, Ethan jerked right as the bullet grazed his left ear and then tore off into the night beyond. Back to center, he covered the door to the house with the weapon in his right hand as another silhouetted figure appeared from just inside the darkened threshold. As the man stepped out of the home, but before his foot touched down on the blood-saturated concrete, Ethan fired one shot.
He wasn't looking to injure the man coming through the door, nor was he hoping to graze or nick the individual. Ethan's intention was to stop the man dead in his tracks, to eliminate the potential threat. He wanted nothing less than to extinguish the man’s life before he was afforded one more breath. And with one pull of the trigger, he accomplished his objective.
The projectile left the barrel of Ethan's weapon and embedded itself less than a second later in the now stained drywall of the laundry room. In its path, the man’s head, which now sported an exit wound the size of a softball as it lay awkwardly atop the flowered Welcome mat just below the door.
Twisting back to the left, he sighted his next two targets and squeezed the trigger of each weapon once, watching for the imminent devastation. Dipping his chin to the right, Ethan squinted through the muzzle flash as the garage’s interior was once again immersed in a brilliant silver glow.
Maddox howled as he was thrown back and to the left, his right hand exploding in a bright pink mist. Spitting a string of obscenities, he watched as his weapon hit the ground and slid into the corner more than ten feet away. And slowly letting his eyes run down his torso and onto his left leg, he appeared confused as the lower half—from just below the knee, down to his foot—sat at an awkward angle, nearly detached at the knee.
Back to the door, Ethan took two steps forward, extended both weapons and waited for the next individual to darken the doorway. The stench of spent gunpowder and the raw acrid smell of copper hung in the air as he counted to five and then turned back to the large man down on one knee.
A thick trail of blood ran from the corner of Maddox’s mouth. “You think you’ve won?”
Ethan lowered his weapons and turned away.
The behemoth coughed heavily and pulled what was left of his right hand into his chest. “Do you really believe that you or any of your friends will live even one more day?”
Ethan didn’t respond and he didn’t look back.
“We own this city. It’s ours. You and your friends are already dead. No matter where you
go, we will find you.”
He ignored Maddox and continued to the work bench that ran the length of the rear wall. He didn’t look back at his father. He couldn’t. His father was gone now and Ethan had absolutely no intention of remembering him this way. He also had no intention of letting the man who killed his father see him grieve. There would be time for that, but that time was later. For now, he had two things that he needed to do.
He needed to get back to his friends and more importantly, back to his mother. He had no idea of what to expect heading back to the university, and he didn’t care. He was going back to get them and to take them away from the city, but first there was something he had to finish.
Reaching above the top shelf, Ethan pulled free the thirty-ounce aluminum bat he last used in his final high school baseball game. He slowly brought it down and turned back to the large man now crawling out of the garage.
Maddox hadn’t moved more than a few feet before Ethan strode quickly away from the bench and stood over him. The large man was missing half of his right hand and the lower portion of his left leg—now only hanging by thin shards—was being dragged. He was also seconds away from losing consciousness, but continued to shout words that now had no meaning. Ethan wasn’t listening and was only focused on destroying the man who killed his father.
Ethan didn’t think. If he had, the viciousness of what he was about to do might have deterred him, may have put him off. So he simply raised the aluminum bat up over his head, tightened his grip, and swung it at the back of the larger man’s head.
The impact pushed in the back of the larger man’s head, sending him forward. Attempting to right himself and turn his awkwardly misshapen skull toward Ethan, small fragments of skin, bone, and hair fell from just above his neckline.
Coughing out a mouthful of blood mixed with some sort of clear fluid, Maddox lifted his chin toward Ethan. He tried to laugh, or maybe he was trying to cry—the sound wasn’t nearly human—but Ethan didn’t care which it was. In the next few seconds, the giant would be silenced either way.
Stepping around in front, Ethan looked down as Maddox continued to track him. One eye followed as the other hung loosely in its socket, no longer being controlled by the body. They stared intently at one another, both foregoing any form of communication and knowing what was next.
Ethan breathed deep. The world went quiet as he again brought the bat up over his right shoulder and stared expressionlessly at the man who was nearing his end. Before tonight, he knew exactly who he was, what he stood for, and why. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He didn’t like the idea of having to end the life of another human being, even having to consider it felt foreign. But in less than ten seconds, he would have done it twice. He knew that within this new world, he would have to change, he would have to adapt. He didn’t have to like it, but he knew he would have to accept it all the same.
Under his breath, Ethan whispered, “Goodbye.” He wasn’t speaking to his father; that would have to come later. He also wasn’t speaking to the man bleeding out. He was acknowledging that he had to leave behind the man he was. He’d have to become someone else in order to do what was necessary to survive in this new world, to protect his family, and to get back to Emma. He had no choice.
The second strike drove the behemoth to the ground. His head split in two, and the right eye of the large man extended out, still attached by the optic nerve. Ethan pulled the bat away and swung again, spraying himself with a healthy swatch of his victim’s blood. His fourth, fifth, and sixth swings struck more pavement than flesh, sending short vibrating pulses back up into his hands.
Tossing the bat aside, he dropped to his knees and began to sob. His shoulders rounded and his chest heaved as he knelt in a river of the dead man’s blood. Closing his eyes, he tried to leave this place, to move beyond what he’d done, at least for the moment.
His mind drifted slowly back to Summer Mill, to a time when he and his family were under one roof. When they shared late night dinners and stories of their day. When he and his sister fought over the last piece of pizza, when he knew the world was a good place.
He wanted to stay there, to find a way back, to just stay in the silence and remember. But as the memories moved away and the new world began to push in around him, a quiet voice came from beyond.
“Ethan…”
He knew who it was before he turned. But as he did, his voice caught in his throat. Only one word made it through.
“Ben!”
He found himself running, and then there was Ben, flat on his back in the center of the street. Ethan moved quickly. He slid in beside his young friend and looked him up and down. The full moon—now high in its arch—reflected off the wide pool of blood slowly widening around the two men.
Ethan pushed his hand under the kid’s head and looked into his eyes. “I told you to say put, damn it. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wanted to help.”
Studying Ben’s injury, it appeared that the projectile that had grazed his own ear must have continued on and ripped into the underside of Ben’s right arm, tearing free a large chunk and possibly obliterating a small portion of the kid’s brachial artery. Nothing else could explain the massive blood loss.
Ben began to blink and his mouth moved, but only short incoherent syllables were produced. “Hep… Carp… Sen…” He then stared up at Ethan and slowly began to close his eyes.
Ethan quickly leaned over, pulled Ben into him, and shouted, “BEN, STAY WITH ME!”
The kid’s eyes snapped open as he forced a crooked smile.
“Hey,” Ethan said, “do you remember when I told you not to be a hero?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I am going to need you to be a hero… right now.”
What’s Next?
DESPERATION
Turn the page for a look inside Book Three or Click the cover below to get your copy NOW!
Also by Jeff Olah
The Dead Years
RATH
INTENT
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Excerpt from Book Three
DESPERATION
1
Six Months before the Outbreak...
This was no doubt going to be the worst day he had ever lived. Ethan Runner was hungover yet again, couldn’t find half of the items he was supposed to bring, and worst of all, Emma was still here. She’d probably be at the door or even out in the street by now, tapping her foot, looking at her watch, and most definitely cursing his name. But as far as he was concerned, this was her fault. She knew who he was and still pushed him to take the job.
His sister had been back in town for nearly a month and although he dreaded what came with her leaving, he didn’t know if he could stand one more day with her this close. He’d chosen to keep his distance for most of the last thirty days and that seemed to be okay with her. She was busy with the building department, the planning commission, the bank manager, but mostly attached to that cell phone and whoever was on the other end.
Late again, he wasn’t much ready to face the world beyond his own front door. He’d found his utility belt and weapon right where he’d dropped them two days before—alongside the “Welcome to BXF Technologies” handbook—resting inconspicuously in the armchair ten feet from the television.
Into the living room, Ethan stopped at the door to his bedroom and leaned in. His new friend from the evening before was still in the midst of waking. “I’ll be back later. There’s food in the fridge, so make yourself at home.”
He didn’t know if that was true and couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the market. Although as he grabbed his keys, moved through the door, and out into the hall, he figured it wouldn’t matter. She’d probably be long gone by the time he returned home. Her name was Tara or Sara or Susan… maybe Susie. She wasn’t from Summ
er Mill and more than likely wouldn’t be returning; those from the neighboring towns never did.
Out of the stairwell, Ethan moved quickly through the building and out into the street, buttoning his shirt and adjusting his belt as he made progress toward the office at the corner of Bridge and Second. Stop for coffee now or wait and hope Emma came through?
He decided to wait and spare himself the lecture. The difference between being twenty minutes late and twenty-five minutes late wasn’t all that much, but arriving with a cup in hand may just send Emma over the edge. He’d let her know he was only thinking of her when he made the decision. And crossing over through the intersection at Third, he was about to get his chance.
She shouted from a block away. “Ethan, upstairs. I’ll be in the office.”
Turn and run, give up all my possessions, and maybe start a new life somewhere far away? Maybe in another city, another state? Or do I go sit in front of my sister and listen to her detail why I’ve never lived up to my potential?
It was a toss-up for Ethan, but he’d actually agreed to do this. To take the job he was already regretting, to sell out for something he had no passion for, but mostly to help his sister. And for all his shortcomings over the last few years, he still held on to the one thing he figured kept him from falling into the category of being a total loss… he always kept his word, at least to her.
Up the stairs and across the minimally furnished second floor, Ethan nodded to receptionist Shannon and kept moving. He stopped at the door, his sister again on her cell. Staring intently into her eyes, she finally looked up and pointed to the chair directly across from her in a manner that told him he also needed to close the door behind him.