The Last Outbreak (Book 3): Desperation Page 6

  Now watching the horrific scene play out from less than ten feet away, Dalton felt his stomach drop and a tingling sensation creeping up both of his hands. He wasn’t prepared; this wasn’t him. He didn’t have faith that he’d ever be ready, but it didn’t matter. It was now or never.

  Slowly rising up from behind the truck, he watched as Walter stepped away from the stairs of the G280, now carrying an intimidating looking rifle. He thought he remembered Goodwin calling it an AR-15, but he wasn’t sure, and it really didn’t matter at this point. He needed to worry more about the pistol he gripped and whether or not he’d be able to do what was necessary.

  Rounding the front of the truck, Dalton stepped aside as Walter shouldered his weapon and pointed it at the remainder of the horde. The tall dark-skinned co-pilot began firing even as the thrashing corpse pulled itself awkwardly up onto Goodwin. He only half turned back toward Dalton and yelled between the rapid explosions.

  “Shoot that thing… In the head… Then drag it off… But only in the head.”

  Dalton hesitantly moved away from the truck. He raised his weapon just as Goodwin was able to free his own hands and wrap them around the throat of the attacking beast. Three hurried steps forward and Dalton moved the pistol in line with the businessman’s already deteriorated head, noticing that Goodwin was again grinning.

  Focusing solely on the stringy black cluster of hair just above the businessman’s right ear, Dalton spoke only to himself. “You have to do this. You will not fail. You are strong. You will live another day.”

  Finding the trigger with his right index finger, Dalton closed his eyes and pulled back. A flood of illumination that was evident even through his clamped eyelids preceded the jolt of electricity that shot up both arms, causing him to drop the weapon and open his eyes.

  The stench of death washed over him first, as the destroyed body of the bloodied beast lay diagonal across Goodwin. Its torso lay bent at a ninety-degree angle to its lower body, and what remained in its stomach cavity oozed out from under the blood-soaked dress shirt that had since become untucked.

  The rapid gunfire over his left shoulder had stopped, and as Dalton reached for Goodwin’s hand, the co-pilot tossed aside a spent 30 round magazine, inserted another, and continued to fire into the massive horde.

  Leaning in, Dalton’s first and only reaction was to reach for Goodwin’s hand. He ignored the ear-wrenching cracks that came in quick succession, like large hail stones crashing upon a tin roof. He also averted his eyes from the weapon he’d dropped, mostly because he feared what might happen if he picked it up again.

  Pushing away from the lifeless corpse, Goodwin declined Dalton’s offering and instead quickly moved to his feet and again shouldered the shotgun. Through narrowed eyes, he shot the younger man an intense look, shook his head, and rejoined the fight.

  The horde had thinned considerably, however as Walter turned to acknowledge Goodwin’s presence, Dalton had disappeared. The original crowd coming in from the far end of the runway had split, and it now appeared that a group of more than two dozen had chosen a more direct route. They’d come from the back end of the fuel truck, and had pulled Dalton to the ground before either Goodwin or Walter had a chance to react.

  Dalton choked as he fought to take a breath. He could feel himself being dragged backward and attempted to dig his fingernails into the wet tarmac with no luck. Unable to gain any traction with his hands, he dug in his heels and flexed his hamstrings, yet again unsuccessful as the first visions of his imminent demise raced through his mind.

  He’d be torn apart by the ravenous crowd. He’d seen it happen hundreds of times over the last several days and although he never imagined it would happen to him, here he was. Flat on his back, kicking and punching at the monsters who now fought one another to be the first to taste his warm flesh.

  As the gunfire continued only feet away and he lost sight of the two men battling the second group, Dalton wondered if they had yet noticed he was no longer there. If they had realized he was about to die. If they would really even care.

  Tucking his chin into his chest, he continued to be pulled backward as he peered down the remainder of his body. A petite teenaged girl with long red hair clung to his right leg. She growled as he made eye contact, revealing a set of jagged and bloodied teeth, her lips dried over and cracked. Attempting to pull his leg back, she forced her face down onto his ankle and drew back a mouth full of charcoal grey wool.

  With her second attempt, Dalton kicked down, striking the tiny beast along the right side of her face. She howled as her grip failed and pushed up onto all fours, clawing at the air. Again starting toward him, she was quickly overtaken by two additional Feeders as they toppled over her and landed on opposite sides of Dalton.

  Furiously kicking at the ground below, Dalton was again pulled by the back of his shirt, this time as his momentum forced his head to the ground, the world beyond went quiet. Was he losing himself yet again? Was this his body’s way of protecting him from the intense horror that he was about to face, or was he simply dying? He hadn’t yet felt any pain, although he’d also heard that in some cases, all sensory input fades away shortly before death pulls you from this world.

  His mind continued to race as he again attempted to control his breathing. In… Out… In… Out. Slowly returning to the present, Dalton opened his eyes. He’d reflexively clamped them down after kicking free of the teen girl and his new perspective was a colossal contradiction to only seconds ago.

  He remained on his back, and although the two Feeders at his side were still in pursuit, he failed to realize that the force pulling him backward wasn’t what he pictured through his closed lids.

  The pilot, Nicholas Jefferson, had at some point left the plane. He must have been watching from the top of the stairs and came to help. He was now in nearly the same predicament as Dalton, although as he reached the stairs, still clamped down on the collar of Dalton’s shirt, he was swinging a dark-colored stick at those crawling toward the pair.

  With one final tug, Nicholas had pulled Dalton close enough to the first stair that he could step around and take aim on their attackers. First he swung on the large fast food worker dressed in a torn brown and orange polyester uniform. As the dark stick traveled through his line of sight, Dalton was able to clearly make out the instrument being used to defend his life. The run of the mill nine iron tore into the face of the fast food worker, just as Dalton turned away. And out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the large man toppled over backward, pushing another into its place.

  With the terror controlling his mind beginning to fade, Dalton felt himself being tugged from the left. He looked down just in time to see another male Feeder lunging at his waist. Nicholas again swung hard and this time missed, the nine iron slipping out of his hands and flying off back toward the truck.

  “Oh hell.”

  The pilot’s voice was the only thing he heard as an explosion of pain ignited along his left side. The new attacker was on him, tearing at his hip and fighting to climb his torso. The immense pain he was sure he missing only seconds ago ran through him like a straw field on fire. He thought about how long he’d remain conscious and prayed that he’d drift away quickly. He didn’t fight. He didn’t scream. He didn’t want to.

  One word was all he could muster before dropping back onto the unforgiving stairs. His voice now came out weak and broken.

  “Help…”

  12

  Ethan was on the move before another perfect snowflake touched the ground, and with a second set of rapid footfalls less than ten feet away matching his pace, he knew that Griffin had the same idea. He was running toward the unknown, but that was no longer a concern. Through the darkened tree cover and the dead of night, his vision was at fifty percent, however, the terrain ahead was nearly twice as clear as it had been seconds before.

  Another shot rang out and then another, and finally one more, before the only sound was his deep labored breaths. The three rounds r
ocketed by, although none had come within five feet of where he raced across the snow dusted underbrush. The shooter from the street had lost their advantage the second the excessive illumination was choked out.

  Darting left around a thick outcropping of closely spaced pine, Ethan looked right and lost sight of Griffin. His friend had moved laterally in the opposite direction, but both still ran toward the same thing.

  Fifteen feet before reaching the sidewalk, her voice came back. It was every bit the same woman, but now held a twinge of apprehension. The words were calculated and came out even and flat, almost robotic.

  “Stop or I will kill everyone in that SUV.”

  As Ethan reached the treeline, he slowed and scanned the street. Josie was less than twenty yards to the right, but had yet to see him standing at the edge of the sidewalk. She stared into the trees, her eyes locked on their former position and her head half-cocked to the left.

  Continuing, she increased the volume in her voice and swept her pistol from right to left.

  “Come out now, give yourselves up, and we can all walk away.”

  She shook her head, cursed under her breath, and took a step forward. Squinting into the trees, Josie gripped the weapon with both hands straight out in front of her and paused. She seemed to be sniffing the air, as if she’d draw him out on scent alone.

  “Okay then, let’s do it your way—”

  Before she could continue, Griffin stepped out onto the sidewalk less than thirty yards from where she stood. She didn’t immediately react. Maybe she hadn’t noticed, maybe she was just collecting her thoughts, but either way, the man directly behind her, the one dressed in black fatigues had noticed. And as he raised his pistol, the time had come for Ethan to make his move.

  Before the man could line up his shot, Ethan stepped out away from the trees and raised both pistols. He eyed Griffin, Josie, and then the man in black. In the fraction of a second it took to send the signal from his optic nerve to his brain, he guided the nine millimeter in his left hand to the center of the street and gently squeezed the trigger.

  A second later, the man in black dropped to the street, a massive wound just below his right ear pulsing blood. He yelped as he rolled onto his side and continued to point his weapon in the direction he’d remembered seeing Griffin exit the trees. He looked franticly from right to left and back again.

  Griffin hadn’t moved, although the man in black was having trouble as he attempted to sight him. He moved up to his knees and using his left arm for balance, forced his shaky right arm up and fired off three desperately inaccurate shots. The first two skipped off the pavement closer to Josie than anyone else, and the third drifted high into the night sky.

  By the time Ethan stepped into the street to finish the job, Josie had turned completely around and now faced him. Locking eyes, she quickly fired on him. Two rounds zipped by his head, each so close he could taste the scorched air as they ripped through the night.

  With the weapon in his left hand still trained on the man kneeling in the street, Ethan was now acting on instinct. He fired once, striking the man in the left leg and sending him reeling onto his back once again.

  As the man in black let out a guttural moan, he twisted back toward Griffin and began wildly squeezing off one round after another. He tried to roll onto his stomach and spit a mouthful of blood out into the snow as he continued to fire.

  It was moving too fast. In the seven seconds since he and Griffin had stepped out away from the trees, Ethan had been shot at more than six times, two much closer than he was comfortable with and had most likely taken a third man’s life. And although Griffin had yet to fire his weapon, he now marched quickly toward Josie, raising the P320 nine millimeter as he walked.

  Her head on a swivel, Josie turned toward Griffin and fired once. The round went wide by at least three feet. A warning shot, almost as if she wanted to miss. A stark contrast to the accuracy she had displayed not more than two minutes before. Was she attempting to concede without actually saying the words or was this something else?

  As Griffin continued forward, it appeared that the man in black wasn’t taken with the same frame of mind. He turned his weapon on Griffin and pulled back the trigger twice. Griffin instantly grabbed the side of his head and fired back. A single round tore through the man’s chest, silencing him as he rolled onto his left side.

  Josie now stood between Griffin and Ethan. Two men on opposite sides, each with a weapon trained on her. She turned her body diagonally, minimizing the target she’d become. Swinging her head from Ethan to Griffin and then back to Ethan again, she dropped her arms, and appeared to be giving up.

  “You win.”

  Ethan was hesitant. He kept his weapon trained on her right shoulder as he took a step forward. She turned back to Griffin, looked him up and down before again turning back to Ethan. She was sizing them up, but for what? She was outnumbered and outgunned. She may be able to wound or even kill one of the two of them, however she had to know that she would also certainly perish.

  He didn’t like this. Something smelled wrong. Something about the area was off. As Ethan scanned the street, she followed his eyes and knew what he had seen only a moment before he figured out what he was looking at. It now made sense. And as the realization washed over them both, Josie again gripped her weapon in between her two hands.

  Before turning back and following the third set of tracks, Ethan shouted to Griffin. “There’s someone else… the other side of the street.”

  As Griffin took two paces to the right, Ethan returned his attention to Josie. He knew what this meant and he couldn’t control both situations from his current position. It was time to end this thing, but not the way he was envisioning sixty seconds ago. He had a vehicle full of friends fifty yards away that also needed his help.

  His eyes dropped to the snow-covered asphalt at Josie’s feet.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this. We’re on the same side.”

  The oddly attractive woman with close-cropped black hair curled her lip, shook her head, and quickly pointed her weapon at Ethan’s head.

  “No, we’re not.”

  The rapid gunfire in the distance had ended as quickly as it had begun. Frank pushed his right eye back into the scope and was surprised at the scene. Three silhouetted figures stood along the right-hand sidewalk, their faces obscured by the wintery night. A fourth body lay in a heap near the blue SUV, collecting the white powder that fell from the sky.

  Sweeping the rifle left, and following the opposite curb, another figure sat crouched behind a forgotten trash can less than half the distance from the others. It was the man he’d seen running toward him only seconds ago. The mystery man must have stopped to take refuge when the lights, along with his advantage, were extinguished.

  Taking a calculated breath, Frank watched as the man continually glanced back toward the scene playing out fifty yards away. Following the man’s gaze, Frank realized that he was now staring at Ethan, Griffin, and that woman from the university. The one that killed one of her own in cold blood.

  From the way they were positioned, he assumed that they were at a standstill, and with her weapon trained on the man he’d known for nearly thirty years, he only wished he could help. He could fire on her from where he was; however, he wasn’t absolutely sure he wouldn’t inadvertently hit one of his own. He could only hope to cover the man near the trash can and pray his friends would bring this to a quick and peaceful resolution.

  Glancing back at the man hidden in the shadows twenty-five yards away, Frank swallowed hard and rested his finger on the trigger guard. He momentarily moved his right eye away from the scope, rubbed it with a balled fist, and quickly moved back to his target. He still had no intention of eliminating the man he sighted, but if he had to choose between his friends and the faceless man, he knew what he’d be forced to do.

  Frank’s heart kicked as the man leaned out into the street, stood, and raised his weapon. Only this time, the man shrouded under
the cover of night wasn’t focused on Frank or the others in the SUV. He’d turned around, and was now walking back down the quiet street toward Ethan, Griffin, and that woman with the buzz cut.

  Fire a warning shot? Maybe put one into the trees near the blue SUV? Either way, his friends would have a few seconds to deal with the new threat. Or… he could just shoot the man walking toward them and attempt to find a way forgive himself later.

  Frank moved the crosshairs to the man’s right hip and waited. He breathed in and out slowly as he followed the man for another three strides. And sliding his shaky index finger down over the trigger, he flinched as a shot rang out.

  Confusion washed over him as he found the man through the scope. Frank was certain he hadn’t fired yet and as the man broke into a sprint, three more quick pops came from the scene fifty yards from where he knelt.

  Guiding the rifle toward the scene, Frank brought into focus the three individuals as the woman—still holding tight to the smoking weapon—dropped first to her knees and then sideways onto the snow covered asphalt.

  Pulling back, Frank quickly sighted the three remaining figures. The man from the sidewalk, and through process of elimination, he assumed the others to be Ethan and Griffin. And before he had an opportunity to fully process the events playing out through the scope, his assumption was confirmed.

  Breaking the short-lived silence, a familiar voice pulsed through the night.

  “STOP!” Ethan shouted.

  He and Griffin had moved back up onto the sidewalk and were cautiously moving toward the man who’d turned away as Josie was eliminated. The last of her men stood with his back to the pair and held his weapon at his side. He appeared to nervously fidget, but continued to walk slowly toward the opposite end of the street.