The Last Outbreak (Book 3): Desperation (14 page)

The neglected building smelled of oily rags and burnt rubber. It must have been over one-hundred-twenty degrees inside the rectangular structure even with the doors open. Sweat rolled from his nose and dropped onto the table as Dalton fought with the brain-piercing heat to actually listen to Marcus Goodwin’s plan.

Walter and Nicholas hadn’t spoken a word since essentially falling off the wrecked G280, and didn’t appear to be following what Goodwin was laying out. How they were going to make it nearly six miles in the blistering heat with only a shotgun and two pistols had everyone but Goodwin confused.

“Anton and the others are already on their way. We’re ten minutes behind them as it is, so we need to get moving.”

Dalton looked at the others and then down at his shoeless feet. His socks were now a dusty shade of black and peppered with small holes. The bottoms of his feet still throbbed from the long run across the dirt and gravel covered asphalt, and his left knee ached from the awkward position he was forced to keep while carrying the weapons.

“Yes Mr. Dalton, you are going to have to run today. Once we leave here, you’ll be able to stay along the sidewalk. Just be sure to keep pace; we aren’t going to slow the group for you.”

“I understand.”

“Alright,” Goodwin said, tossing the bag aside, “let’s move.”

Walter stepped out into the sun first, gripping a Glock 22, and handed the other pistol, a Beretta 92, to Dalton. They moved around the door and waited as Goodwin stepped out with the Mossberg 500. Nicholas followed close behind, carrying a map and a tire iron.

Pointing toward the fence at the east end of the massive airfield, Nicholas said, “There, just past the fence. We can take Blue Diamond Road to the Strip. Anton will be waiting there.”

Surprising to even him, Goodwin moved in next to Dalton and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry, kid; we’ll get you back to Los Angeles in one piece. Just don’t slow us down.”

Was Goodwin being sincere or was the motivational gesture serving some other purpose? The billionaire with more money than compassion typically didn’t have to resort to lying to get you to do what he wanted. Usually, he’d just order it done and move on to the next thing.

Maybe this was Goodwin’s way of extending an olive branch, but probably not. Dalton would stay guarded and keep his eyes open. In this new world, it was something that was nearly a prerequisite anyway.

Darting out onto the runway much faster than the others imagined he could, Walter led the way. Close on his heels, Goodwin and Nicholas kicked up a small dust trail that forced Dalton to run blind across the rock and gravel. By the time they reached the fence, two hundred yards away, the bottoms of his feet were numb. The socks that had only marginally protected his feet up to this point no longer mattered.

Quickly locating a void only a few feet away, Nicholas held back the chain link and let the others through. Stepping through himself, his white button down snagged on an errant barb, pulling him to the right. Ripping free a large swatch of neatly pressed cotton, he noticed a grouping of eight Feeders on the opposite side of Blue Diamond Road.

“On your six.”

Walter and Goodwin turned, however, unfamiliar with military speak, Dalton continued running toward the opposite sidewalk. He was moving in the right direction, so instead of stopping him, Walter continued on.

The first two were the only real threats, as the remaining half dozen were either missing part of a limb or just too damn slow to ever have to worry about. Walter drifted right and from a safe ten feet, he fired two head shots, quickly ending the potential threat.

Breathing hard, Dalton nearly dropped the Beretta as the shots exploded from behind. He turned in the direction of the chaos only to be pushed forward by Goodwin.

“Keep moving, kid.”

Just over forty minutes had passed and as the next cross street approached, Dalton looked left and then right. Decatur Boulevard to the south was clear as far as the eye could see, but as he turned and looked to the north, he was almost brought to his knees.

Bodies, three and four high in some places, were stacked side by side, and from one side of the street to the other. An inch-thick river of blood spanning nearly ten feet ran from the grotesque dam of human corpses. And as Dalton began to slow, the man who promised to get him out of the city grabbed him by the collar.

“Don’t look,” Goodwin advised. “Just keep going.”

Fear was already pushing him forward, so Goodwin’s words weren’t completely lost. Although there was something about what he’d seen, about the mass grave in the middle of a residential neighborhood, that indicated he and the others may have more than just the snapping jaws and tearing hands of the Feeders to worry about.

Beginning to fatigue, the group of four crossed over the nine-lane freeway. They continued running, but at a much slower pace as they approached the intersection of Blue Diamond and Las Vegas Boulevard. Dalton had dropped back yet again and as the feeling in his feet started to return, he was now leaving a bloody footprint with every other step he took.

Sidestepping a random body that lay face down in the gutter, Goodwin paused at the corner, rested the shotgun on his shoulder, and waited for the others. Walter made the intersection next, closely followed by Nicholas, and then another ten paces back, Dalton limped toward the group.

“What are you guys waiting for? I’m just about to get my second wind.” Dalton rarely used humor as a way to divert attention; instead, he usually just avoided situations where he felt uncomfortable, but today with the sun baking the top of his head, and his left foot ready to implode, he had stop caring.

Giving Dalton a quick nod, Goodwin checked his watch and pointed north up Las Vegas Boulevard. “Two hours, not bad… but we have another two or three miles; Anton and the others should be waiting. Stay close.”

Peering down at his left foot and peeling it away from the concrete, a perfect sketch of his sole stayed behind. It wasn’t the usual bright red color that he expected to see, this was more of a deep crimson, almost black. His stomach turned at the sight and looking away, he felt his head begin to buzz.

Move or die
. The words rattled around in his head, but this time they weren’t coming as a command from Goodwin. No, now the words were his—he was in control. Slipping the pistol into his waistband, Dalton removed his socks to reveal his badly damaged feet, and tossed them onto the sidewalk. “I’m ready.”

Taking the lead from Goodwin, Dalton ran out ahead, and moving out of the shadows of the overpass, scanned the area to the north. The group of four started out in a slow jog, but quickly relented to the brutal mid-afternoon sun. They walked for another grueling forty minutes, and finally within a hundred yards of their destination, stopped.

Peering out toward the downtown skyline, Dalton could see three figures along the opposite side of the street. They were back-dropped by a massive fire. One of the buildings in the distance was engulfed in flames from top to bottom and if he had his landmarks correct, the structure he was staring at was the same one they were running toward.

Sitting under the covered patio at the rear of the hotel, Ethan and his mother hadn’t said a word. They cried separately and then together, exchanging sorrowed glances as they watched the low hanging cloud cover sweep in below the afternoon sun. It had been more than thirty minutes, and as he held her in his arms, he ran through how he might begin the conversation.

As he turned to her, his eyes still red and wet, she offered a slight smile. “Ethan… I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know, although I think I do. The details of what that monster did to your father aren’t important. What is important is that you and I, and your sister are still here.”

He didn’t know where to begin, what to say to make things better. Ethan was out of his element, as he had been so many times over the past eight days. He simply didn’t know how to be the person his mother needed.

“He was my best friend,” Ethan said. “My hero. He taught me how to be a man, what it meant to care for others more than you care about yourself. He showed me how to be the person I always should have been, but never was.”

“He loved you, Ethan; more than he ever showed. He was also proud of you and knew who you really were, even when you didn’t. There was nothing you could have done differently that would have changed the outcome.”

Ethan didn’t respond. He only offered the same half smile she did, and then hugged her.

Pulling away, his mother looked into his eyes, slid back on the wooden bench, and held his hands in hers. Her face was changed now—she looked angry. It was something Ethan had only experienced maybe one other time in his entire life. It scared him. This wasn’t her, and he didn’t think he was going to like what came next.

“Ethan… there is one thing that I’d like to know.”

He hesitated. “Yes?”

“That man, the one from the university. The one who did all those terrible things, is he gone too?”

Ethan nodded. “Yes, he’s gone.”

She didn’t want to ask her next question, but felt that he may want her to know. That it may be the only thing still left unsaid. “Was it you?”

His mother had opened a door he’d thought was already closed. She had surely seen him and Griffin defend themselves against Josie and her men, but that was different. In the heat of the moment and with a dozen different things all happening at once, the brutality of his actions had been whitewashed. But now she was asking him point blank if he had committed the most heinous sin of all. He wasn’t exactly sure why she was asking, but he did feel the need to tell her the truth.

“Yes… I took care of that man myself.”

His mother only offered two words. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t the response he was expecting and given the circumstances, he was a bit confused. “Mother, I killed that man.”

“Yes, I know.”

His face turned a bright shade of pink and sweat began to form along his hairline. “I ended another person’s life. I can’t ever go back. It’s not something I wanted to do, but now it’s who I am. I’m a murderer, and nothing will ever change that.”

Her mouth formed a straight line and her nostrils flared. If it were possible, she now looked even angrier. “No Ethan, you’re not. You did what you had to do to survive, and you did what you had to do to help all of those people in that lobby survive. You’re not a murderer, you’re a survivor.”

“Yes, I did it because of what that man did to dad. But I didn’t like what it made me do.”

“I understand.”

“No,” Ethan said, “I didn’t like it because it felt good. Part of me enjoyed taking that man’s life. I don’t know why, and that scares the hell out of me.”

His mother shook her head. “It’s not you. That person you’re thinking of is not who you are. A person doesn’t change in the blink of an eye. In time, you’ll understand why you did what you did… I do.”

“I hope so.”

Again, his mother began to tear up. “I don’t know what has happened out there, how this infection has taken over our world so completely, but we have to start accepting that things aren’t probably going to be back to normal for some time. We’re going to change. I don’t like it, but I only have you and your sister now, and I’m willing to do whatever it is we need to do to get to her.”

He was beginning to see what she saw. What he would need to believe if he were to have even the slightest chance of reuniting with Emma. The things he’s had to do just to get here were beyond mention; however, he had a suspicion that things may just get worse before they got any better.

As the wind picked up, pushing a wayward tumbleweed through the abandoned courtyard, Ethan stood and motioned back toward the building. “We should get back inside. I’m still not too sure about this place. I mean, I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where nothing makes sense and I just need to wake up.”

“I’ve felt that way for the last week.”

Making their way back into the main building, Ethan used the manual lock to secure the door and stayed at his mother’s side. He peered down each long hall and into the café, looking for something he and Griffin may have missed on their first pass through the building. Nothing, not a single thing in the entire building was out of place. Most times, this level of order was something to be proud of, but added to the fact that they hadn’t seen another person since pulling into town, Ethan was skeptical.

As his focus drifted toward the lobby, he hadn’t noticed his mother had stopped at the entrance to the café. She called to him and nodded toward the tables. “Ethan, go get the others.”

He immediately saw why she’d stopped. Along the back counter of the café were more boxes of cold cereal than he could count. And looking left, the cooler held at least six different types of soda.

Even though his body had already gone through the worst caffeine withdrawals known to man, he couldn’t be happier to see the bright green cans. He assumed the cooler had stopped functioning days ago, and that every can behind the etched glass door would be only slightly cooler than room temperature, but he didn’t care.

Striding back to his friends, Ethan felt a rumble in his stomach. He hadn’t remembered it being there five minutes ago, but he figured his mind had somehow told the rest of his body what was coming.

Reaching the lobby, three of the five had succumbed to the events of the last day, and were now in the midst of a midday nap. He moved first to the sofa Shannon lay sleeping on. He knelt beside her and whispered quietly. “You up for a little lukewarm caffeine and some dry cereal?”

Even before opening her eyes, she nodded.

Helping her to her feet, Ethan looked around the room and realized he hadn’t quite been as discreet as he had planned. The others were already awake and now staring up at him. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Interrupting, Ben flinched as he sat up straight. “Did someone say cereal?”

“More than you’re going to know what to do with.”