Existence [Book 1] Page 8

  Not yet wanting to own the moment, Owen swallowed hard and turned to his right. He dropped his head, took a deep breath, and looked to his wife. “I … uh, I …”

  Natalie now stood twenty feet away, frozen on the sidewalk, her face wet with tears. She avoided looking at Owen and started across the grass, going wide around the motionless man and making a beeline for the front door.

  As she crossed the paved walkway, the man sat forward and started to stand. Owen saw her face change, and as she nearly lost her footing, he turned back toward the garage.

  Under his breath, Owen repeated the question he’d asked himself numerous times over the last twelve hours. “What in the hell is happening?”

  The man got to his feet and again moved toward Owen, now walking with a pronounced limp. Owen raised the Glock from his hip and again tracked the man’s midsection. With his finger covering the trigger Owen flinched.

  Two rapid shots were fired from behind and to the right.

  Before Owen had a chance to put the pieces together, a hole was opened up above the man’s right eye, and fraction of a second later the back of his head exploded outward.

  As the man dropped in heap to the driveway, Owen spun to his right, instinctively pointing the Glock at the shadowy figure standing twenty feet away. “YOU SON OF A—”

  “Hey, hey, hey, you need to point that thing somewhere else.” Black hooded sweatshirt, faded jeans, leather tactical boots, the large man clutching a Beretta M9 lowered his weapon and held his arms out at his side.

  Owen was nearly spitting, “You just … you—”

  The man nodded. “Yes, I did. But so did you; my aim was just better.”

  “Better?”

  “You don’t know?” The man paused. “Wait, is this your first?”

  Owen cocked his head. “Know about what?”

  “It has to be the head, only the head. Those things don’t stop otherwise, not for anything.”

  15

  Within the last thirty minutes, a light rain had started to fall. Owen and the man in the black tactical boots moved the body from the driveway and now sat in folding chairs at the center of the darkened garage. They watched as the neighbors piled into their vehicles and drove away from the neighborhood.

  “Name’s Owen Mercer, don’t remember seeing you around here. You live in the neighborhood?”

  “Good to meet you Owen Mercer.” The thirty-something man had a gravelly tone and a slight southern drawl. “I’m Chuck … Chuck Whitten, and no, I’m not exactly from around here.”

  “So?”

  Chuck pulled at his thick brown beard, began to laugh, now looking more like an out-of-work lumberjack. “Originally from Arkansas, most recently Texas. Decided to make a run out here to see my brother and his family.”

  Owen began to nod, remembered what he already should have. He looked out the garage and to the left just as a navy-blue Chevy Tahoe sped past. “Oh, your brother Nick. He lives just a few houses up, on the …” Then it hit him all at once. “Wait, is he okay”

  “I’m not entirely sure, haven’t spoken to him since yesterday.”

  “You haven’t?”

  Chuck pulled back his hoodie, adjusted his black ball cap. “Cell phones aren’t really my thing, but I’m guessing right about now, it wouldn’t matter much anyway.”

  Owen reached into his pocket, checked once again. “Nope, haven’t had any use for this thing for the last few hours.” He set his phone beside the chair, looked over his shoulder at the destroyed door and then at the refrigerator in the far corner of the garage. “Hey, you up for a beer?”

  “You know Mr. Mercer, I appreciate the offer,” he looked out over the driveway and the street beyond. “But I think for now I may want to keep my wits about me.”

  Stupid question. Owen looked away, stretched the stiffness from his shoulders and neck, felt the need to redirect. “Your brother Nick, you know where—”

  “Yeah, he and the family, some of his friends, they all left for Cecil’s earlier tonight. He left a note on the door. Looks like I missed him.”

  “Cecil’s, that huge bar and grill on the other side of the city?”

  Three gunshots sounded in the distance, maybe a mile off.

  Chuck tapped the side of his chair, ignored the interruption. He now appeared restless, looked like the kind of guy who had trouble sitting still for more than a few minutes. “One in the same. Nick’s a part owner, I probably should have known that’s where they’d end up.”

  “That where you were headed?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And you stopped when you saw …”

  “Hey partner, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Chuck turned in his chair, leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You didn’t know, no way you could have.”

  “How did you, uh …” Owen didn’t know how to properly phrase the question. “I mean they’re human, how is it okay to do what we did?”

  Chuck shook his head, his face now harder. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend; those things aren’t human—not anymore.”

  “How so?” Owen knew the obvious. The white eyes, the ravenous attacks, the blistering aggression, but in his mind there had to be a reasonable explanation.

  “That man, the one who broke down two doors to get into your home, to get to your children, to get to you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He would have killed them, he would have killed you, he would have killed your wife, and he would have killed me. They aren’t human, not even in the slightest. Once those people become infected, the only thing that matters to them is killing. They can’t be reasoned with, they can’t be swayed, and they most definitely can’t be cured. There’s only one thing that stops them, and you can’t hesitate, not even for a second.”

  Owen didn’t like it, but could see that the wiry man in the black hoodie was right, about everything. But there had to be another way, this couldn’t be all there was. “What about law enforcement? Once this all ends, they’re gonna come looking for people like us.”

  “People like us?”

  “People that decided to take the law into their own hands.”

  Again, Chuck grinned, fought back a laugh. “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Okay?”

  “How much,” Chuck awkwardly held up air quotes, as if it was the first time, “Law Enforcement did you see on your way home tonight? How many patrol cars have you seen rushing to the aid of those in need? The National Guard? The Military? Any one of those?”

  Owen again looked toward the street, the rain now coming down in sheets. He thought about what Chuck was implying and what it meant going forward. “Uh, I think you already know the answer.”

  “Yes sir,” Chuck said. “You getting it now?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Two more shots rang out, now closer, maybe half the distance from only minutes before.

  Chuck leaned back in his seat, again shook his head. “Partner, I don’t think we really have a choice, not anymore. You either have to be ready to do what’s necessary or throw in the towel right now. I gotta tell ya, I think this thing’s going to get a whole lot worse before anything gets better.”

  “Yeah.” Owen didn’t know what to say. It was coming all at once and he was fighting with everything he had to just stay in the moment. “I guess.”

  Chuck looked like he could see where Owen was headed. He reached out, placed his hand on Owen’s shoulder, and stared into his eyes, the intensity almost too much. “Listen my man, I need you to understand that no one—and I mean no one—is coming to help you. This is how things are going to be for now; you have to accept it and move on. Take care of yourself and your family, that’s your job now. Just survive, whatever you have to do.”

  Owen offered his new friend a crooked grin. “I think I am gonna need a beer.”

  “Yeah, I agree. But I think I’ll wait till I hit Cecil’s to put one back.”

  More shots, again closer. Ow
en lost count at eight, tried to ignore the thoughts running around his subconscious. “Chuck, you got family?”

  “My brother, my parents back in Arkansas, that’s about it. Never really found the right lady. I’m a guy that sees most things in black and white, not a lot of room for compromise. I like things how I like them, wouldn’t want to put any woman through that kind of torture.”

  Now Owen fought back the urge to laugh, didn’t feel it was appropriate. “Sounds like you got this thing figured out. Can I ask you a question?”

  Chuck seemed to relax, let his shoulders drop, tipped his ball cap back. “Shoot.”

  “A guy like me, I got a wife, two young kids. How do I navigate this thing?”

  Another four shots, sounded like they came from the end of his street.

  “Well,” Chuck said, “for starters we may want to get this garage door closed, cut the lights, and find somewhere else to chat.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m—”

  “Yeah, I know, but I can’t tell you how to get through this. Hell, I’m just figuring this thing out myself.” Chuck paused, looked toward the door and then back at the street. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you, the wife, and the kids pack up and follow me over to Cecil’s? At least for the night. It’s away from the city and if I know my brother, he’ll have reinforcements.”

  Two quick blasts, sounded like they were right next door.

  Owen leapt from his chair, cut the light and hit the garage door remote. As the door descended, he motioned for Chuck to follow him into the house. “I think I like your idea. Let me run it by the wife.”

  16

  His wife and his children had moved to the master bedroom and locked the door. They hadn’t come out in the last few hours, and now he wondered exactly how he was going to convince them to leave their home and run out into the unknown. Owen had gone over what he might say at least ten times, but now, standing at the top of the stairs, he realized he only needed to tell them the truth. Nothing else mattered.

  The day he’d asked Natalie to marry him, he thought that his life was complete. He thought that he’d been blessed and that things would only get better. They worked well as a team and had many of the same dreams, the same goals. At twenty-five, he thought he had things figured out. But now that all seemed like a fairytale.

  At one point, he realized that everything in his life could be taken in the blink of an eye. That no matter how hard you worked, no matter how many good deeds you tried to amass, no matter how many plans you made, life had a way of pulling the rug out from under you.

  So far, he had been lucky. No major illness, no significant financial losses, and no huge life-altering events. And with each new day that passed, he was reminded that he was one day closer to having it all fall apart. It had to—no one ever gets away without a few cuts and bruises.

  As Owen started toward the end of the darkened hall and his bedroom door, he now believed this might just be his reckoning. He didn’t like it, but felt like he needed to accept it. He’d been waiting for the day when it all went to hell and wondered how he’d live in a life less than perfect.

  Well, I guess I’m about to find out.

  It had been locked an hour before, but he figured he’d test the handle first. Then he gave three quick, soft knocks. There was movement and hushed voices from within the room, his son telling Natalie not to go to the door.

  “No Mom, please.”

  Keeping his voice just above a whisper, Owen leaned in near the door frame. “Hey, it’s just me.”

  There was a fumbling with the handle on the other side, more quiet voices, and then a flood of illumination into the hall.

  “Dad.”

  Noah lunged through the opening, grabbed Owen’s hand and pulled him inside. The nine-year-old quickly closed and relocked the door, then moved to the bed at the far-right side of the room.

  Natalie sat with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, leaning back against the massive oak and leather headboard, Ava tucked under her arm.

  Owen tapped the light switch, and under protest from the others, moved across the sparsely lit room and into the bathroom. He turned on the amber heat lamp above the shower, the filtering of light only reaching a few feet beyond the sink.

  “Hey,” Ava said. “What are you doing?”

  Owen ran his hands under the faucet, patted his face with the warm water, and moved to the bed. A big breath in through his nose, he filled his lungs and blew out slowly, peering out through the window and into the street.

  “I think we need to go.”

  The children turned to their mother, eyes wide and mouths open.

  Natalie leaned away from the headboard, set her glass on the end table, and slowly bit at the side of her lip. He’d seen this before; he figured he knew what was coming, was already planning his counter-argument.

  She only spoke two words. They were measured and calm, not a trace of anger.

  “Like hell.”

  He hadn’t been prepared for her lack of fury, and it appeared his children hadn’t either. They turned from her to him and finally back to her, waiting for what was sure to come, but never did.

  “Nat, everyone is leaving, I mean absolutely everyone. And in case you haven’t heard, those gunshots are—”

  “Yes, we’ve heard. Every. Single. One of them.” Her voice turned up a notch, she was fighting to remain in control. “Your children are scared out of their minds and there isn’t a thing I can tell them because I have absolutely no idea what’s happening out there, do you?”

  His first reaction was to shrug his shoulders, throw his hands up, and give her what she wanted. That would be the easy way, the path of least resistance, but it would do nothing to keep his family safe.

  “No, I don’t. But sitting around here waiting for someone to come save us isn’t the answer.” He looked to each of his children separately, then Natalie. “I’m thinking we’re gonna have to do this ourselves, there isn’t anyone coming.”

  As Natalie began to respond, there was an explosion somewhere in the distance, not close, but enough that the family of four took notice. A moment later, the light above the shower blinked out, came back on, and then blinked out again. It was a full ten seconds before it finally came back to life.

  This seemed to trigger something in Natalie, as if she was on the edge and had been pushed. “Where would we even go, and how would it be any better than just staying here and locking the doors?”

  Again, his son and daughter turned to him, hopeful expressions masking the fear.

  “Chuck says we can go with him, follow him to Cecil’s, should be others there. Safety in numbers.” He hated the words even as they left his mouth. He hadn’t even managed to convince himself. Natalie was surely going to tear him apart. This was going to be fun for her, easy.

  “Chuck, is that his name? Do you mean the man who shot the other man in the head in our driveway? Is that his name … Chuck?”

  He knew what she was doing and that she wasn’t looking for a response, but felt the need to shift the tide. “Yes, Chuck Whitten.”

  Natalie’s face softened, her eyes narrowing as she worked it through. She leaned back, reached for her glass. “Nick’s brother?”

  His children looked at one another, appeared lost.

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Maria had talked about him, said he was a good guy, bit of a drifter. He never really—”

  A dozen gunshots, all in rapid succession. Ava and Noah pushed into their mother, looked to Owen to judge his reaction.

  “Nat, we should go. At least for the night. I can’t tell you that I know what all of this is, but I think we need to be around a larger group, and Cecil’s seems like a good place to ride this out. Concrete and brick, big thick heavy metal doors, the place was built like a castle.”

  “Cecil’s, on the other side of town?”

  Owen nodded.

  She was thinking about it, weighing the validity of his plan. It was t
he same look she had when first meeting with a client, trying to see the details for what they were, how the opposition would come at her, reverse engineer her own opening statement. “Chuck’s suggestion or your own?”

  Her response surprised him. Seemed as if she was giving him an opening and leading him toward the answers she needed to hear. “Mine.”

  He lied to her.

  “Really? And Chuck also thinks this is a good idea?”

  “He told me that’s where his brother would have ended up. I asked him if they had room for us, he said there was.”

  Natalie seemed to measure his words, looked to Ava and then Noah. “The Mercedes?”

  Owen shook his head. “Not enough room for what we need to bring. I think it’s time we finally got some use from that damn Hummer.”

  17

  Owen pulled the charcoal grey Hummer H1 up onto the lawn, to within fifteen feet of the front door. Having the garage again opened was too much of a target. He had Natalie, Ava, and Noah running bags and boxes from the kitchen and the bedrooms out to the porch. He in turn ran them to the rear of the Hummer as Chuck stood in the driveway like a modern-day Centurion.

  From the porch, Owen looked out toward the street, motioned to Chuck. “Whatta ya think, we got another five minutes?”

  The wiry man in the black hoodie stepped to the end of the driveway, took a quick glance in both directions, and hurried back. “We’re good for now; could change any minute. I’d say we get moving. No need to risk it.”

  He was right.

  Owen’s heart rate had spiked the second they pulled the Hummer around and had yet to return to normal. Every minute spent packing the rear of the vehicle was time they lost out on the road. “Yeah,” Owen said, “I agree, just give me a second.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Into the living room, Owen leaned over the back of the sofa and looked into the kitchen. Ava turned the corner alone, a backpack slung over her left shoulder. “Where’s your mother?”