The Last Outbreak - REVOLUTION - Book 4 (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

  The Last Outbreak

  REVOLUTION

  Jeff Olah

  Copyright © 2017 by Jeff Olah

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is merely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Rebecca Frank (http://rebeccafrank.design)

  . . .

  Visit the author’s website for free stories, behind the scenes extras, and much more.

  www.JeffOlah.com

  Contents

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  What’s Next?

  About the Author

  Also by Jeff Olah

  1

  Day Thirteen...

  Ethan Runner stopped at the center of the deserted intersection and wondered if he’d made a mistake, thought about returning to his friends. He’d walked away from the casino four hours earlier, but it felt like four days. His legs were tired, his back again ached, and looking out toward the interstate, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d even get the chance to see them again.

  His trip across the abandoned city had been fairly uneventful. Moving off the Strip and away from the organized plotting of billion-dollar casinos, he’d decided that the residential streets along the western edge of Interstate Fifteen would be his best bet for avoiding the dead. He had only seen a handful of Feeders along the way, and by staying in the shadows, he was able to avoid any serious confrontations.

  He continued to the right side of the street, slipped his backpack off his shoulders, and rolled his neck from one side to the other. Working the stiffness out of his aching body, he unzipped the pack and moved to a trio of abandoned vehicles that had been left to die in the middle-class Las Vegas neighborhood.

  As he approached, a white minivan rested with its front passenger side tire turned into the curb. From three feet away, Ethan surveyed the interior and then moved to the driver’s door. He used his gloved right hand to wipe away a thick layer of dust from the window, before looking through the forgotten vehicle and out into the front yard of the home beyond.

  He dropped his pack at his feet, pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink, making a point of acting as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Scanning the street in both directions, he tossed the water bottle back into the pack, turned away from the driver’s window, and took a seat along the warming asphalt.

  Breathing in slowly and deliberately, he closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the driver’s door. He had come to realize that over the last several minutes, he was being followed. Who it was, what they wanted, why they had yet to show themselves—those things were still a mystery.

  But it really didn’t matter; whoever it was, whatever they wanted, they only had two choices. They could turn and walk away, go back to whatever rock they climbed out from under and hopefully live to see another day.

  Or they could die.

  Ethan had stopped taking chances the minute he walked out of his parents’ driveway back in Colorado. He was going to get to his sister and there wasn’t anything or anyone that was going to stop him. His newly adopted motto—at least until he reached Emma—was to shoot first and then decide if it was necessary later.

  Ethan breathed out heavily and scanned the street to his right, watching as the slight breeze pushed a tumble weed through the front yard of the home three doors down. It rolled slowly at first and then once it reached the gradual incline of the driveway, picked up speed and carried out into the street.

  He watched as it continued to the opposite side, kicked up the curb, and disappeared behind the last home on the left. For some reason, the unremarkable spectacle made him chuckle. Slowly over the last thirteen days, he’d forgotten what it was like to focus on something other than fighting for his life. But he also knew that letting his guard down—even for a single second—wasn’t a luxury he could afford.

  And for all he knew, the person or persons still trailing him had moved out of the backyard and were now crossing the lawn as he watched the world around him moving without cause or reason. The same wind that had pushed the dried weed from one end of the block to the other could have also been masking the footfalls of those looking to do him harm.

  Reaching for the AK-47 he’d grabbed from the eleventh floor of the casino, he used the barrel to adjust the driver’s side mirror. Craning his neck backward, he looked into the mirror, again watching the front yard of the single-story ranch style home.

  His eyes moved from the fence that separated the rear and side yards, and then drifted back in the opposite direction, until he reached the area to his left and the street beyond.

  Nothing.

  Whoever it was must now know that Ethan was aware of their presence and had either dropped off or decided to come at him from another direction. He lowered the rifle into his shoulder and sat forward, dipping his head to the left and looking out past the rear driver’s side tire.

  Again, nothing.

  Ethan leaned back into the door and began slowly breathing in and out through his nose. He stared back in the direction he’d come and looked for anything he may have missed. Anything that was now hidden in the shadows. Anything that had skipped his mental checklist for this new world.

  Anything at all.

  Listening to only the sounds of the light breeze and the beating of his own heart, the lone Feeder that had stumbled out of a driveway eight houses away easily caught his attention. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed this slight distraction; however, on this crisp winter morning, anything above a whisper would sound as though it was shouted from a bullhorn.

  Right arm severed just below the elbow and its left leg obviously broken in more than one place, the former postal worker limped out into the street. Snarling as she made eye contact with Ethan, and attempting to increase her speed, she caught the foot she was dragging and fell face-first to the warming asphalt.

  He grinned and shook his head as the petite female dragged herself forward, continuing to maintain eye contact while her guttural moans echoed from one end of the abandoned neighborhood to the other.

  Ethan reached for his pack and sliding it over, noticed the former postal worker may not have been alone eight houses away.

  First there were three, and then four, and with each passing second, another new beast lumbered out from behind the light-colored SUV parked in the driveway of the largest home on the street.

  The next wave, a group of seven, plowed into a pair of blue recyclable waste trash cans that had somehow managed to stay upright and together for the last thirteen days. The first Feeder—a man wearing a blood speckled power suit—fell sideways over the plastic containers and sent the contents skipping out onto the street.

  Three others that were close behind tumbled over the former businessman and started a mini chain-reaction that caused Ethan to chuckle under his breath.

  “Never a dull moment.”

  The crowd continued to stream out into the street, now numbering in the dozens, and as Ethan pulled his right leg up under himself and started to stand, his pursuer finally made a move.

  Shuffling feet could be heard over the sounds of rapid breathing from somewhere on the opposite side of the white minivan. There was an odd cadence to the footfalls, almost as if the person or persons were sliding their feet along the damp grass.

  Ethan quickly moved to one knee, keeping an eye on the approaching crowd from his left. He shouldered the AK-47, slid away from the van, and waited as the individual rounded the right side of the van and stepped off the curb.

  Still unable to get a glimpse of his pursuer, Ethan held his breath as the footsteps suddenly came to a stop. The heavy breathing continued, although Ethan had second thoughts about lowering his head to street level just to take a peek under the van. Nothing to gain from leaving himself exposed.

  Ethan inched himself away from the van, grinding the Kevlar covering his right knee against the asphalt. He slowly leaned in and positioned the end of the rifle in line with the driver’s side front fender.

  Back over his left shoulder, he checked the growing crowd’s progress, but then quickly whipped his head b
ack to center. Within the next few seconds, he was going to have to make a move. One way or the other, he was going to have to vacate his current position. He didn’t have the luxury of hiding out behind the van. That spot was already occupied.

  There was only one way that this could play out, and now that the horde was aware of his presence, he saw no reason to remain silent. His voice would draw the crowd toward him, but at the same time, he could attempt to pull his pursuer out of hiding. It wasn’t a great plan or even a good one, but without the luxury of time, it was all he had.

  “Hey …”

  Ethan waited for a response he knew wasn’t coming.

  “We’re both gonna have to move along in the next few seconds. I know you see them too. I say we both just go our separate ways and not look back.”

  Again he waited.

  Again he got nothing.

  “Listen, I can fire into the front of the van.” Ethan paused for a moment. “And most likely you’ll take a few before you can fire back. But if you come out now, we can handle this the right way.”

  Ethan continued to focus his gaze on the left front corner of the van.

  As he again leveled the weapon at the edge of the fender, he heard something being dropped and then the faint sound of movement along the asphalt.

  A small oval-shaped shadow appeared to be moving away from the van, only seconds before a white leather sphere with torn red stitching rolled out from behind the front tire. Speckled with dark brown and black flecks, it kicked up a tiny trail of dust as it drifted to the center of the street and came to a stop.

  Ethan stared curiously at the baseball and slowly began to shift his weight onto his left leg. He gripped the rifle and held his finger just above the trigger as his pursuer finally stepped out from behind the front of the van and reached for the ball.

  2

  This suite was an exact duplicate of the one she’d spent the better part of the previous three days hoping to escape. Emma Runner watched the street below as Tom paced near the door. She hadn’t slept more than an hour or two the night before, and again waiting for Cedric to return, she was ready to do the unthinkable.

  “Tom …”

  He continued to pace, wiping sweat away from his forehead as he let out a long exasperated breath. “Yeah?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “You realize—”

  “Yeah, I know. It may not work, but at least it’s something. We don’t know where he is or even what he’s doing. He’s late once again, and this time I seriously doubt that he’s even coming back.”

  Tom stopped. He turned away from the door and started toward the window. He looked past Emma and set his gaze on the south side of town. Running his right index finger along the dirty window, he traced a line from their building to where Sixth Street faded into the horizon. “There’s really only one way back. But without a weapon and having to constantly watch for Blake and his men, I’m not sure if that’s where we want to be.”

  “What about going around?”

  “Wait,” Tom said. “You mean going back the way we came?”

  “It’s something they wouldn’t be expecting.”

  “They who? Do you mean Cedric or Blake?”

  Emma turned away from the south facing windows and started across the suite toward those facing east. She scanned the streets below looking for something … anything. She was well aware that their options, as well as their time to make a decision, had already run out. She just couldn’t bring herself to accept it. “Both I guess. If we make it out of here and Blake comes back to question Cedric, he’ll be able to deny he knows anything.”

  “You think that Blake will believe anything Cedric says?”

  “It won’t matter either way; that psychopath is going to do whatever he wants. But at least this way, Cedric won’t have the burden of lying to him. He can honestly say he didn’t have anything to do with us running off.”

  Tom rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head.

  “I don’t like it. I mean I know we really don’t have a choice, but this is insane. The streets are still overrun, and without a weapon, we’re just running from one problem right into the next.” Again he shook his head. “But … I’ve been up against worse odds.”

  “What about another building,” Emma said. “This is a big city, there’s got to be somewhere else we can go, even for just a few days.”

  Still looking out over the city from their new spot on the fourth floor, Tom nodded. “Yeah, there is somewhere we can go, but …”

  “But what?”

  “We’re gonna have to backtrack a bit. Might take a while to get back to the car.”

  Emma narrowed her gaze. “And?”

  “And I’m not sure it’s going to be much safer than what’s waiting for us down there.”

  The window beyond the suite had begun to take on the first few drops of the coming rain as Emma again searched the streets below for something she may have missed. The time to make their move, to save their own lives, had already arrived and was now quickly slipping away.

  Tom paused for a moment. He then walked quickly to the opposite end of the suite, braced his left foot against the wall, and placed his hands atop the only remaining piece of furniture in the room. The steel-framed desk moved easily as he slid it into a corner and then turned to Emma, waving her over with a quick flick of his right hand. “You’re right, grab your pack. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, right now. We’ve talked this thing to death. There isn’t anything or anyone who’s going to help us. We have to do it ourselves.”

  Emma didn’t know what to make of Tom’s sudden burst of decisiveness, but she liked it. The man who saved her from certain death back in that parking garage, the one who literally pulled her from death’s door was back. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. “Okay,” she said. “Where to?”

  Tom quickly scanned the suite and then locked eyes with Emma. “Where’s the radio?”

  She thought for a moment and then pointed toward the desk. “It’s in my bag.”

  Emma moved around Tom and then to the desk. She reached into the corner, grabbed the dirty orange backpack she had carried for the last two weeks, and reached inside. Pulling out the two-way radio Cedric had given them, she turned to Tom and flipped the power switch. “It was off?”

  She phrased the statement as a question, as if it was someone else who’d forgotten to turn it on when they reached the suite. Holding her hands out at her side the familiar crackle sounded through the speaker, announcing an incoming transmission.

  “Hey … I need you to respond. This is serious. They are in the building.”

  It was Cedric’s voice and from the rushed tone with which he almost forced the words through the handset, Emma could feel his agitation. He was quiet, but nearly shouting. His face sounded as though it was being smashed into the receiver, anger dripping from each syllable.

  Emma keyed the handset just as Tom shouted. “NO!”

  She turned to him but spoke into the radio. “We’re here Cedric … what is it?”

  Static, and then a distant voice, almost inaudible. “Go find them!”

  Static again filled the receiver, but then quickly faded away.

  Emma turned to Tom and tossed her bag over her shoulder, starting toward the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as the thoughts of what the next few minutes would hold began filling her mind.

  That other voice, who did it belong to? Was is Blake? Had that psychopath or one of his henchmen really found them? And if so, what was the worst thing that could happen? Emma had no idea and that scared her more than anything she could possibly imagine.

  “Wait!” Tom slid the desk further into the corner. “Give me the radio!”

  Emma turned. “What? Okay, but I don’t think—”

  Tom moved to her, took the two-way radio and tossed it into the corner behind the desk. “We’re leaving it here. We don’t need it.”

  Emma nodded and turned back toward the door. She waited as Tom again re-positioned the desk and then jogged back across the suite, meeting her at the door and then stepping around her.

  Tom gripped the handle, and before opening the door, turned to Emma. He waited for her eyes to meet his and with his left hand pulled her in close. He spoke quickly, but almost in a whisper. “I’m going out first. If it’s clear, we’ll head to the stairs on the far side of the lobby.”