Damn, he’s actually going to make it, Cole thought, watching Hoodie as the man ran up the sidewalk toward a store called Junior’s. Like the antique shop, Junior’s had burglar bars over its front windows and a gate over its front door.
Hoodie grabbed the gate and pulled it, but it wouldn’t budge.
Locked!
“Oh no,” Zoe said.
“Oh no is right,” the Voice said.
He’ll make it, Cole thought.
“What makes you so sure?”
He’ll make it…
“Wishful thinking?”
Cole didn’t answer. Instead, he watched as two more figures appeared down the street—one slightly ahead of the other. Both were racing toward Junior’s, though Cole wasn’t sure if the one in the back was chasing the crazy in front of him or not. But he had to be, didn’t he? Because the crazies didn’t cooperate. They simply killed, even if it was each other.
The one in front was a bald man in his late fifties, holding some kind of metal object, while the one behind him, ironically enough, had long hair that streamed wildly behind him. Cole couldn’t quite make out what Long Hair, wearing some kind of cargo shorts, was armed with.
Hoodie saw them coming and lifted his shotgun to fire, but before he could, Long Hair dove forward and caught Baldy’s legs with his hands. The two of them went flying, then crashing into a garbage can on the sidewalk. Both men went rolling on the concrete pavement not more than ten feet from Hoodie, their limbs tangled and flashing metal glinting in the sunlight.
Hoodie, showing amazing composure, ignored the two fighting crazies within a stone’s throw from him. The man took a quick step back from Junior’s front gate and fired a blast from the shotgun. The gate swung open.
Boom! as Hoodie “opened” the door with another shot, before lunging inside.
On the sidewalk, Long Hair was plunging a pair of scissors into Baldy’s face. The older crazy attempted to fight back, but to no avail. It was very much a one-sided battle. After another half-dozen stabs, Baldy finally went still, fresh blood pooling underneath him.
Long Hair stood up, chest heaving, fresh blood covering the front of his clothes and dripping from his face. He spun around like some animal in heat, before remembering where Hoodie had gone. He ran to Junior’s and pushed at the door, but nothing happened.
“How did he lock the door?” Zoe asked.
“He probably has something against it on the other side,” Cole said.
They watched Long Hair ramming his shoulder into the door, not that it did any good. Which meant Hoodie had found something to block the door with. Cole just hoped for the man’s sake that that “something” was big and strong enough, because—
A large, lumbering figure in well-worn gray work coveralls appeared, wielding something in one hand that was so large it could probably take a man’s head off with one swing. He had come out of nowhere like the others, but was making plenty of noise as he rumbled up the street toward Junior’s. Cole caught the glimpse of the letter G on the man’s left breast—some kind of name tag or maybe a company, but he was moving too fast for Cole to read the rest of the letters.
“Jesus Christ, look at the size of him!” the Voice said.
Yeah, it was a big one, all right. Gargantuan, even.
Long Hair saw how big the crazy was, too, and gave up on breaking down Junior’s door and fled up the sidewalk.
“Crazy, but definitely not stupid,” the Voice said.
Definitely not stupid, Cole thought.
Cole watched Long Hair for as long as he could before the man vanished out of his line of vision. The large man in coveralls followed, disappearing in the same manner.
Then, just like that, the city went dead silent around him.
“He made it,” Zoe said. “I can’t believe he made it.”
“Me, too,” Cole said, staring at Junior’s and wondering if Hoodie was very, very brave or very, very stupid.
There was a huge distinction between the two. Cole could use someone who was very, very brave, but he didn’t have much use for someone who was very, very stupid.
Now all he had to do was find out which one Hoodie was.
Chapter 24
A pained and eerily extended anguished scream, followed by the familiar pop of a single gunshot, came from somewhere down the street. The gunshot echoed for a bit before fading, fading…then gone.
And just like that, the city was dead again.
Cole had never hated silence as much as he did now, crouched on the first floor of the antique shop, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a plan to form that would save everyone, but most of all, himself. Because he had to go home. He had to get to Emily. That was all that mattered.
Emily and the baby.
“Leave them,” the Voice said. “Leave the girls and cripple and go home. You can do it. Alone, you can do it.”
I can’t.
“Stop saying that.”
It’s true.
“It’s not. You don’t owe them anything.”
I do.
“What? What do you owe them?”
Humanity.
“What happened? Did you suddenly get stupid all of a sudden?”
No.
“Then what?”
I’m not the man I once was.
“Bullshit.”
It’s true.
“Is it?”
Yes.
“Are you sure?”
Yes.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t answer quite as quickly the second time.
Yes, he finally thought.
The Voice laughed because it didn’t believe him.
Cole pushed the Voice’s laughter into the background where it belonged. Where it’d been living since he retired to a life of suits and drivers and offices and home renovations. This was his life now. It was a life that the Voice didn’t belong in. The Voice was a product of war. Of violence. Of death.
“I’m what you need me to be,” it said.
You’re my past.
“I’m your present.”
No.
“You can lie to others, but not to me. Not to yourself.”
Maybe the Voice was right.
And maybe it was wrong.
Maybe.
So many maybes.
Cole took out his cell phone and stared at it. He’d lost count how many times he’d looked at it, hoping for some kind of reception. One bar. Two bars. Anything.
But there was nothing.
There was not a goddamn thing.
He didn’t know what was worse—the not knowing what was happening with Emily or the wanting to believe she was fine and had to deal with this all alone. Because he wasn’t there.
No, that wasn’t true. She wasn’t all alone. She was carrying their child.
His child.
“Leave them,” the Voice said.
What?
“The others.”
We already went over this. I can’t.
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
There’s no difference.
“Yes, there is. Emily needs you. Go to her.”
That’s what I’m doing.
“They’re slowing you down. The woman and her kid, and the cripple. Even the girl. They’re only going to slow you down further. Emily needs you. Now. She doesn’t need you playing protector to a bunch of civvies. You know I’m right.”
You’re wrong.
“I’m right.”
No.
“Do you deny that they’re slowing you down?”
They haven’t so far.
“Are you sure about that?”
Yes.
“Are you sure about that?”
It took him a few seconds to answer.
Finally, he thought, Yes. I’m sure about that.
“You don’t sound very convinced,” the Voice said.
I am.
“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
&nb
sp; You are me.
“And I know the truth. I know what you’re really thinking.”
No, you don’t. You never did. You only knew what you needed to know, to keep me alive. That’s your job. That’s always only been your job.
“Hmm, sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself again.”
Yeah, well, you can shut the fuck—
He took a quick, almost reflexive step away from the window.
Some kind of light flashing from across the street, striking him in the eye. A blinding brightness, almost as if it was directed at him and not something incidental, such as the sun reflecting off one of the many seas of chrome in the streets.
He took refuge behind the shop’s front wall and peered out one of the second-floor windows, hunting for the source but unable to locate it.
Dead cars.
A dead street.
Everything dead—
There.
It looked like a flashlight, and while not amazingly bright, had just enough juice to pierce through the morning sun and catch his attention. It probably helped that it was being purposefully pointed at him.
…pointed at him…
Junior’s. The light was coming from Junior’s, the same store that Hoodie had vanished into not more than an hour ago. And it was definitely a flashlight, which was the only reason it could blink on and off, on and off.
Cole moved back to the window, to let Hoodie know that he’d gotten the “message.” The man could clearly see him, which was why he’d started the blinking signal in the first place—to get Cole’s attention.
“Hello, Mr. Hoodie,” the Voice said. “This guy must have a death wish. Reminds me of someone…”
Oh, shut up.
The Voice laughed just as the flashlight turned off for about five seconds.
Then it started up again.
At first Cole thought he was looking at an attempt at Morse code communications, but no, it was just random. Hoodie was just trying to get his attention.
“Well, he’s got it now,” the Voice said. “Now what?”
Good question.
“Ask him.”
Cole was wondering how to do just that when he caught a glimpse of a figure in a black T-shirt leaning out from an alley farther up the street, about two buildings from Junior’s. Cole could barely make out a dark face as the man looked up, then down the street. He turned and stared at the antique shop’s windows, likely trying to track the direction of the flashlight.
Cole and the crazy locked eyes, and Cole thought the man might have grinned at him.
“He’s waiting for you,” the Voice said. “Say hi.”
Fuck him.
“Now that’s just rude.”
Fuck you, too.
The crazy stared at Cole for a few seconds before he backtracked…and disappeared into the alley. He took with him something that looked like a machete, clutching it in one hand.
Cole stared at the mouth of the alley, trying to guess how many more were hiding around him right now, waiting for him to show himself so they could pounce. Maybe they were even in the next building over, like the teen had been. How many were all over the minivan in the alley at this very second?
He looked back toward Junior’s, but Mr. Hoodie had gone dark in the meantime. The flashlight had disappeared from the window, and there were no signs of anyone on the other side of the furniture store.
Movement, as a large figure rumbled across the street, appearing from somewhere underneath Cole’s window and making a beeline for a very specific alley on the other side.
“Now where did he come from?” the Voice asked.
Good question.
“I know. That’s my job.”
Better question: Where is he going?
“Dark Face.”
Ah.
“Let them kill each other. One less crazy for us to deal with. And we’re going to need all the advantage we can get, since you won’t do the obvious thing.”
What obvious thing?
“You know damn well what obvious thing.”
Cole didn’t respond.
“Ditch them,” the Voice said. “You know it’s the right call. It’s the only call.”
Cole kept quiet.
“Hoodie is a better option than the cripple and the women.”
Shut up.
“Why?”
Just shut up.
“This is what I’m here for.”
Shut up. I’m concentrating.
Cole focused on what was happening outside the shop. Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one who’d spied the man with the dark face. This crazy had, too. It was, Cole realized, the same large man from earlier. The one that had bashed in the crazy with the white shirt, who still lay underneath the sun now, his face pulverized into putty.
Cole watched the massive figure weave his way around the stalled cars, incredibly agile—not to mention fast—for someone of his generous girth. He hopped up the sidewalk, then disappeared into the same alley that Dark Face had gone earlier.
He waited to hear sounds of fighting, but there were none. Dark Face must have seen the big man coming and taken off. Not that it would have been hard to spot Gargantuan’s approach—
The flashlight had reappeared inside Junior’s, and this time it was accompanied by something else:
Seven pieces of white paper, each one with a giant, bolded capital letter written on them, had been taped to the window.
Cole grinned.
The letters, flattened against the storefront window, spelled out rooftop.
Chapter 25
Hoodie was standing near the edge of Junior’s rooftop, looking slightly down and across the street toward the antique shop. Because both buildings were two stories, they had an almost equal line of sight, and it was easy for Cole to spot the man when he appeared out of the rooftop shack and, he assumed, vice versa.
There was enough of a distance between them that Cole couldn’t make out the man’s face clearly. It didn’t help that the guy was still wearing his hoodie, like he was afraid Cole might be able to see all of him. Cole mirrored the man’s position at the edge of his own rooftop when he lifted his hand in a Hey gesture.
Hoodie responded with his own “Hey.”
They weren’t the only two people on alert in the area. Gargantuan—Cole’s nickname for the big man with the metal pole—was across the street, standing on the sidewalk as if he owned the place and didn’t give a damn who knew it. The man was focused on Cole, almost as if he wanted Cole to know he’d been spotted.
Oh, who was he kidding? That was exactly what Gargantuan was trying to do.
He wasn’t the only crazy out there, either.
A second man leaned out from the mouth of an alley six buildings up the street, while a third figure in a black baseball cap poked his head occasionally out of a Wendy’s. Both crazies could see Gargantuan—it was impossible not to—but neither man attacked. They were either cautious—
No, that was exactly it. The two crazies—and however many others were out there right now—recognized an alpha predator when they saw one. Gargantuan was just that. The man had to be well over six-five, with a neck that was bigger than both of Cole’s thighs put together. He gripped the bloodied metal pole—it had, Cole saw, a fresh coat of red on it that hadn’t been there earlier—as if it were a lollipop. He could have been holding two of them in the same fist and still fit in a third and possibly fourth.
Cole stared down at the man’s hardened, tanned face. Gargantuan sported a salt and pepper mustache, his one-piece work outfit splattered with blood and dirt and God only knew what else. (“Brains, maybe,” the Voice said.) Cole still couldn’t make out the name tag, but he was sure the first letter was a G, which was probably why Cole ended up calling him Gargantuan. It was apropos.
After about ten seconds of locking eyes, Gargantuan turned and walked slowly—almost leisurely—into the mouth of a waiting alley.
“See you next time, asshole,” Cole
said softly, mostly to himself.
“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” the Voice said. “He might take you up on that.”
Cole ignored the Voice’s mocking tone and looked for the other visible crazies—the one six buildings down and Mr. Wendy’s—but they’d also vanished.
“Hey!” Hoodie shouted at him from across the street. “Can you hear me?”
Cole focused on the man. “Yeah!” he shouted back. “You took a big risk earlier!”
“It was worth it!”
“You sure about that?”
Hoodie bent down and picked up the pump-action shotgun from the rooftop floor. “Yes, sir!”
“Can’t exactly disagree with that,” the Voice said. “What wouldn’t we do for a shotgun?”
“You safe over there?” Hoodie shouted.
“Safe enough, I guess! You got a name?”
“Barry! You?”
“Cole!”
“You don’t happen to have any food over there, do you, Cole?”
“I got Lunchables!”
Barry might have laughed, though it was hard to tell with the distance. “How far can you throw?”
Cole grinned. “Not very far! Sorry!”
“Yeah, me too!”
“You have water?”
“Kind of!”
“How’s that?”
“Toilet water!”
Click as the rooftop access door opened behind Cole and he glanced back at Zoe as she leaned out and looked around.
“I heard shouting,” she said.
“Hoodie,” Cole said.
“‘Hoodie?’”
“The man from this morning.” Cole pointed. “His name’s Barry. He’s got water—well, sort of—but no food.”
“And a shotgun.”
“And that, too.”
She walked over to where Cole stood and waved with her one good hand.
Barry, aka Hoodie, returned it.
Zoe looked over at Cole and grinned. “You want that shotgun, don’t you?”
Cole smiled. “I won’t lie. I’d like to have it, yeah.”
“Maybe if you ask nicely, he might trade it for your handgun.”
“I’d rather have him with us instead. Two guns are better than one.”
Zoe stepped closer to the edge and glanced down, then around. “They’re down there, aren’t they?”
Fall of Man (Book 1): The Break Page 19