The Last Outbreak (Book 1): Awakening Read online

  The Last Outbreak

  AWAKENING

  Jeff Olah

  Copyright © 2015 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

  The Last Outbreak…

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  What’s Next?

  Sneak peek of The Dead Years

  Sneak peek of RATH

  The Last Outbreak…

  Many have asked about the connection between this new series The Last Outbreak and the previous series The Dead Years and how the two are related. Below are a few questions that should clear things up.

  Q: Can you give us a brief description of The Last Outbreak?

  A: Sure, The Last Outbreak is a story of survival set in a small fictional town, a few hours outside a larger, more densely populated metropolitan city. The story will follow the lives of a small group of individuals as they progress through what’s left of the world following the Zombie Apocalypse chronicled in the Best-Selling Post-Apocalyptic Thriller, The Dead Years.

  Q: Speaking of The Dead Years, is it necessary that one reads this series first to enjoy The Last Outbreak?

  A: I’m actually glad this question came up. It is not necessary to read The Dead Years first. The two series are complete stories and as such, stand alone in their own right. They are built in the same world and will have definite tie-ins, although nothing will be lost if you read one particular series before or after the other.

  Q: Okay… The Dead Years, what is that?

  A: The Dead Years is the Best-Selling Post-Apocalyptic Zombie series written between March of 2013 and June of 2015. There are eight books in total, which follow a small group of survivors as they traverse the worst plague the earth has ever seen. These individuals quickly realize that the flesh-devouring zombies are not the only thing to fear in this new world. The series can be found Here.

  Q: Regarding The Last Outbreak; is the entire series set in just one location?

  A: Another great question. I can see how one might gather that from the brief description above, however, without giving away too much, I can definitively say that not only will the characters break out of their small town, but they will also travel far and wide in search of what they believe to be the answers they are seeking. (It’s gonna get rough for these people pretty quickly.)

  Q: How long will this new series be?

  A: The series is scheduled for a five book run. It may go shorter and it may just go longer. It all depends on what the characters decide to do in their journey to Salvation. I’m going to throw this new group into impossible situations, watch what they do, and then report back. All I can say for certain is that it will not be an easy road for these survivors.

  Q: Where can we find the rest of these books?

  A: As each new book is released, it will be uploaded to my author page on Amazon, which you can find Here. Although, if you’d like to get an instant notification when each new book hits the virtual shelves at Amazon, you can join my Exclusive Reader Group and be among the first to pick up the new series.

  *I hope this intro to the new series is helpful, and as always, I thank you for your support and can’t wait to hear what you all think of The Last Outbreak. So, feel free to send me a message or stop by Facebook and join the party. We would love to have you.

  -Jeff Olah

  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.

  As the door to the hanger slammed shut, Emma dropped her phone into her bag and turned toward the exit. He came through with the same exaggerated stride as earlier, although he was different. Much different.

  Moving quickly to the second jet at the far end of the open air hanger, Marcus Goodwin spoke quickly to the unidentified man at his side. As Emma tossed her bag over her shoulder and started at a right angle toward the jet, he didn’t appear to notice her existence.

  “Mr. Goodwin, are we—”

  He didn’t acknowledge her; instead, he turned to the much smaller man who trailed by at least two paces and pointed at his plane. “James, let the pilot know that we need to be in the air within five minutes. I don’t want to hear any excuses. Once airborne, I need you to gain access to the offices and make sure we're ready. The next few days are going to be interesting.”

  As the smaller man moved away, Emma hurried to Goodwin’s side. “Sir, what are we doing here? Do I need to begin—”

  Stopping at the stairs to the second jet, Goodwin finally turned and acknowledged her. “I’m leaving.”

  “We’re leaving… right?”

  “Yes and no. I’m leaving in this plane and going back to the office. I’ve got a few things to take care of in the coming days, and will come for you when the time is right.”

  “Wait,” Emma said. “What do you mean come for me? I thought I was leaving as well.”

  “You are; however, you’re getting on that other jet and going home—to your house. I have arranged for a private security team to stay with you until I’m able to bring you to a safe place. I don’t have time to go through everything right now, although I want you to—”

  “Safe place?” Emma’s mouth went dry and as her knees began to falter, she questioned the cause. Was it from the punishing exhaustion brought on by her lack of sleep, or this new look of desperation poisoning Goodwin’s expression? She was willing to bet every penny she’d earned over the last year that it was the former. The man standing less than two feet away had little use for such emotion.

  Pulling out his phone as it again interrupted their conversation, Goodwin peered into the display and continued. “You haven’t seen the news tonight?”

  “No, why?”

  “I’ll have someone brief you on your flight back to Los Angeles. Just get home and stay put; I’ll be in contact.” Goodwin turned and quickly made his way into the plane, the door closing behind him.

  Walking back to the idling jet reserved only for her, Emma withdrew her phone, keyed in her four character pass code and began checking her social media feed. Now stopped at the foot of the steps, she leaned into the railing and tried to ignore the icy tendrils climbing up her spine. “What. The. Hell?”

  1

  Early winter, approaching sunset…

  Standing with his back to the wall, Ethan Runner wasn’t yet ready to end his best friend’s life.

  The weapon hung loosely in his left hand. It was heavier than he remembered and now felt a bit awkward. Turning to the others, he said, “I can’t do this.”

  No one said a word. Avoiding his gaze, the others had already made up their minds. They were done negotiating.

  Shaking his head, he slowly raised the nine millimeter and placed it against David’s temple. He’d run out of excuses for not doing what these people had demanded and the decision was no longer his to make. The four remaining survivors backed tightly into the rear of the vault had to take priority, and his best friend—were he still able—would have agreed.

  Scanning the room, every expectant eye now focused elsewhere—the group had spoken. T
hey not only wanted him to end what was left of his friend’s life, they were also asking that Ethan do it now, before it was too late. Some were scared and a few had just run out of patience. The group already made it extremely clear how they felt, and given the fact that this was for the most part his idea, he had a hard time disagreeing.

  Back to his friend, he stepped to the left and again checked the restraint. A five-foot section of audio cable tied around David’s wrists didn’t offer much in the way of security. He knew that. If what was happening out in the streets were to take hold of his friend, there would be little he or anyone else could do to stop what was coming.

  “Do it! You know what’s happening to him—just do it. You’re putting everyone at risk.” The outspoken drifter was finally putting a voice to what the group wanted to say.

  Ethan didn’t respond.

  “Give me the gun, I’ll do it.” Mr. Outspoken, again living up to his moniker, couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Placing him at just shy of forty years old, his overly muscled frame and a month’s worth of facial hair fit his exaggerated personality perfectly. Since entering the vault behind the two bank employees and pulling the door shut, he had yet to let up.